A Stranger in a Strange Land

by Robert Anson Heinlein

  "Too much of it, I'm sorry to say."

  "Well, this was not that sort of frenzy at all; this was quiet and easy, like dropping off to sleep. It was intense all right and got steadily more so, but - Jubal, ever sit in on a spiritualist sance?"

  "I have. I've tried everything I could, Ben."

  "Then you know how the tension can grow without anybody moving or saying a word. This was much more like that than it was like a shouting revival, or even the most sedate church service. But it wasn't mild; it packed terrific wallop."

  "The technical word is 'Apollonian.'"

  "Huh?"

  "As opposed to 'Dionysian.' And both rather Procrustean I'm sorry to say. People tend to simplify 'Apollonian' into 'mild,' and 'calm,' and 'cool.' But 'Apollonian' and 'Dionysian' are two sides of the same coin - a nun on her knees in her cell, holding perfectly still and her facial muscles relaxed, can be in a religious ecstasy more frenzied than any priestess of Pan Priapus celebrating the vernal equinox. Ecstasy is in the skull, not in the setting-up exercises." Jubal frowned. "Another common error is to identify 'Apollonian' with 'good' - merely because our most respectable sects are all rather Apollonian in ritual and precept. Mere local prejudice. Proceed."

  "Well� things weren't as quiet as a nun at her devotions anyhow. They didn't just stay seated and let Mike entertain them. They wandered about a bit, swapped seats, and there was no doubt that there was necking going on; no more than necking, I believe, but the lighting was very low key and it was hard to see from one pew to another. One gal wandered over our way, started to join us, but Patty gave her some sign to let us be so she just kissed us and left." Ben grinned. "Kissed quite well, too, though she didn't dally about it. I was the only person not dressed in a robe; I was as conspicuous as a space suit in a salon. But she gave no sign of noticing.

  "The whole thing was very casual� and yet it seemed as coordinated as a ballerina's muscles. Mike kept busy, sometimes out in front, sometimes wandering among the others - once he squeezed my shoulder and kissed Patty, unhurriedly but quickly. He didn't speak to me. Back of the spot where he stood when he seemed to be leading them was some sort of a dingus like a magic mirror, or possibly a big stereo tank; he used it for 'miracles,' only at this stage he never used the word - at least not in English. Jubal, every church promises miracles. But it's always jam yesterday and jam tomorrow, never jam today."

  "Exception," Jubal interrupted again. "Many of them deliver as a matter of routine - exempli gratia among many: Christian Scientists and Roman Catholics."

  "Catholics? You mean Lourdes?"

  "The example included Lourdes, for what it may be worth. But I referred to the Miracle of Transubstantiation, called forth by every Catholic priest at least daily."

  "Hmm- Well, I can't judge that subtle a miracle. To a heathen outsider like myself that sort of miracle is impossible to test. As for Christian Scientists, I won't argue - but if I break a leg, I want a sawbones."

  "Then watch where you put your feet," Jubal growled. "Don't bother me with your fractures."

  "Wouldn't think of it. I want one who wasn't a classmate of William Harvey."

  "Harvey could reduce a fracture. Proceed."

  "Yeah, but how about his classmates? Jubal, those things you cited as miracles may be such - but Mike offers splashy ones, ones the cash customers can see. He's either an expert illusionist, one who would make the fabled Houdini look clumsy� or an amazing hypnotist-"

  "He might be both."

  "-or he's smoothed the bugs out of closed-circuit stereovision to the point where it simply cannot be told from reality, for his special effects. Or 'I've been 'ad fer a button, dearie.'"

  "How can you rule out real miracles, Ben?"

  "I included them with the button. It's not a theory I like to think about. Whatever he used, it was good theater. Once the lights came up behind him and here was a black-maned lion, lying as stately and sedately as if guarding library steps, while a couple of little lambs wobbled around him. The lion just blinked and yawned. Sure, Hollywood can tape that sort of special effect any day - but it looked real, so much so that I thought I smelled the lion� and of course that can be faked, too."

  "Why do you insist on fakery?"

  "Damn it, I'm trying to be judicial!"

  "Then don't lean over backwards so far you fall down. Try to emulate Anne."

  "I'm not Anne. And I wasn't very judicial at the time. I just lounged back and enjoyed it, in a warm glow. It didn't even annoy me that I couldn't understand most of what was said; it felt as if I got the gist of it. Mike did a lot of gang-ho miracles - or illusions. Levitation and such. I wasn't being critical, I was willing to enjoy it as good showmanship Patty slipped away toward the end after whispering to me to stay where I was and she would be back. 'Michael has just told them that any who do not feel ready for the next circle should now leave,' she told me.

  "I said, 'I guess I had better leave, too.'

  "And she said, 'Oh, no, dear - You're already Ninth Circle - Y0U know that. Just stay seated, I'll be back.' And she left.

  "I don't think anybody decided to chicken out. This group was not only Seventh Circle but Seventh Circlers who were all supposed to be promoted. But I didn't really notice for the lights came up again� and there was Jill!

  "Jubal, this time it definitely did not feel like stereovision. Jill picked me out with her eyes and smiled at me. Oh, I know, if the person being photographed looks directly at the cameras, then the eyes meet yours no matter where you're seated But if Mike has it smoothed out this well, he had better patent it. Jill was dressed in an outlandish costume-priestess outfit, I suppose, but not like the others. Mike started intoning something to her and to us, partly in English� stuff about the Mother of All, the unity of many, and started calling her by a series of names� and with each name her costume changed-"

  Ben Caxton came quickly alert when the lights came up behind the High Priest and he saw Jill Boardman posed, above and behind the priest. He blinked and made sure that he had not again been fooled by lighting and distance - this was Jill She looked back at him and smiled. He half listened to the invocation while thinking that he had been convinced that the space behind the Man from Mars was surely a stereo tank, or some gitumick. But he could almost swear that he could walk up those steps and pinch her. He was tempted to do so - then reminded himself that it would be a crummy trick to ruin Mike's show. Wait till it was over and Jill was free - "Cybele!" - and Jill's costume suddenly changed - again

  "Frigg!"

  "Gel"

  "Devil"

  "Ishtar!"

  "Maryam"

  "Mother Eve! Mater Deus Magna! Loving and Beloved, Life Undying-"

  Caxton stopped hearing the words� for Jill suddenly was Mother Eve, clothed only in her own glory. The light spread and he saw that she was standing gently at rest in a Garden, beside a tree around and on which was twined a great serpent.

  Jill smiled at them all, turned a little, reached up and smoothed the serpent's head turned back and opened her arms to all of them. The first of the candidates moved forward to enter the Garden. Patty returned and touched Caxton on the shoulder. "Ben, I'm back. Come with me, dear."

  Caxton was reluctant, he wanted to stay and drink in the glorious vision of Jill� he wanted to do more than that; he wanted to join that procession and go where she was. But he found himself getting up and leaving with Patricia. He looked back and saw Mike about to put his arms around and kiss the first woman in the line� turned to follow Patricia outside and failed to see the candidates' robe vanish as Mike kissed her - and did not see what followed at once, when Jill kissed the first male candidate for elevation to the eighth circle�and his robe vanished.

  "We have to go long way 'round," Patty explained, "to give them time to get clear and on into the Temple of the Eighth Circle. Oh, it wouldn't actually hurt to barge in, but it would waste Michael's time, getting them back in the mood - and he does work so very hard."

  "W
here are we going now?"

  "To pick up Honey Bun. Then back to the Nest. Unless you want to take part in the initiation to the Eighth Circle. You can, you know, since you're Ninth Circle. But you haven't learned Martian yet; you'd find it very confusing."

  "Well - I'd like to see Jill. When will she be free?"

  "Oh. She told me to tell you that she was going to duck upstairs and see you. Down this way, Ben."

  A door opened and Ben found himself in the garden he had seed. The serpent was still festooned on the tree; she raised her head as they came in. "There, there, dears" Patricia said to her. "You were Mama's good girl, weren't you?" She gently unwrapped the boa and flaked it down into a basket, tail first. "Duke brought her down for me but I have to arrange her on the tree and tell her to stay there and not go wandering off. You were lucky, Ben; a transition service from Seventh to Eighth happens very seldom - Michael won't hold it until there are enough candidates ready to build and hold the mood� although we used to supply people out of the Innermost Circle to help the first candidates from outside through."

  Ben carried Honey Bun for Patty until they reached the top level and learned that a fourteen-foot snake is quite a load; the basket had steel braces and needed them. As soon as they were that high, Patricia stopped. "Put her down, Ben." She took off her robe and handed it to him, then go out the snake and draped it around her. "This is Honey Bun's reward for being a good girl; she expects to cuddle up to Mama. I've got a class starting almost at once, so I'll walk the rest of the way with her on me and let her stay on me until the last possible second. It's not a goodness to disappoint a snake; they're just like babies. They can't grok in fullness, except that Honey Bun groks Mama�and Michael, of course."

  They walked the fifty yards or so to the entrance to the Nest proper and at its door Patricia let Ben take off her sandals for her after he removed his shoes, He wondered bow she could balance on one foot under such a load� and noticed, too, that she had gotten rid of her socks or stockings at some point - no doubt while she was out arranging Honey Bun's stage appearance.

  They went inside and she went with him, still clothed in the big snake, while be shucked down to his jockey shorts - stalling as he did so, trying to make up his mind whether to discard the shorts, too. He had seen enough to be fairly certain that clothing, any clothing, inside the Nest was as unconventional by these conventions (and possibly as rude), as hob-nailed boots on a dance floor. The gentle warning on the exit door, the fact that there were no windows anywhere in the Nest, the womblike comfort of the Nest itself, Patricia's lack of attire plus the fact that she had suggested (but not insisted) that he do likewise - all added up to an unmistakable pattern of habitual domestic nudity� among people who were all at least nominally his own "water brothers," even though he had not met most of them.

  He had seen further confirmation in addition to Patricia, whose behavior he had discounted somewhat from a vague feeling that a tattooed lady might very well have odd habits about clothing. On coming into the living room they had passed a man headed the other way, toward the baths and the note 2 - and he had worn less than Patricia by one snake and lots of pictures. He had greeted them with "Thou art God" and gone on, apparently as used to buff as Patricia was. But, Ben reminded himself, this "brother" hadn't seemed surprised that Ben was dressed, either.

  There had been other such evidence in the living room: a body sprawled face down on a couch across the room - a woman, Ben thought, although he had not wanted to stare after a quick glance had shown him that this one was naked, too.

  Ben Caxton had thought himself to be sophisticated about such things. Swimming without suits be considered only sensible. He knew that many families were casually naked in their own homes - and this was a family, of sorts - although he himself had not been brought up in the custom. He had even (once) let a girl invite him to a nudist resort, and it had not troubled him especially after the first five minutes or so - he had simply regarded it as a silly lot of trouble to go to for the dubious pleasures of poison ivy, scratches, and an all-over sunburn that bad put him in bed for a day.

  But now he found himself balanced in perfect indecision, unable to make up his mind between the probable urbanity of removing his symbolic fig leaf� and the even stronger probability - certainty he decided - that if he did so and strangers came in who were dressed and stayed that way, he would feel all-fired silly. Hell, he might even blush!

  "What would you have done, Jubal?" Ben demanded.

  Harshaw lifted his eyebrows. "Axe you expecting me to be shocked, Ben? I have seen the human body, professionally and otherwise, for most of a century. It is often pleasing to the eye, frequently most depressing and never significant per se. Only in the subjective value the viewer places on the sight. I grok Mike runs his household along nudist lines. Shall I cheer? Or must I cry? Neither. It leaves me unmoved."

  "Damn it man!, it's easy for you to sit there and be Olympian about it - you weren't faced with the choice. I've never seen you take off your pants in company."

  "Nor are you likely to. 'Other times, other customs.' But I grok you were not motivated by modesty. You were suffering from a morbid fear of appearing ridiculous - a well-known phobia with a long, pseudo-Greek name with which I shall not bore you."

  "Nonsense! I simply wasn't certain what was polite."

  "Nonsense to you, sir - YOU already knew what was polite� but were afraid you might look silly� or possibly feared being trapped inadvertently in the gallant reflex. But I seem to grok that Mike had a reason for instituting this household custom - Mike always has reasons for everything he does, although some of them seem strange to me."

  "Oh, yes. He has reasons. Jill told me about them."

  Ben Caxton was standing in the foyer, his back to the living room and his hands on his shorts, having told himself, not very firmly, to take the plunge and get it over with - when two arms came snugly around his waist from behind. "Ben darling! How wonderful to have you here!"

  He turned and had Jill in his arms and her mouth warm and greedy against his - and was very glad that he had not quite finished stripping. For she was no longer "Mother Eve"; she was wearing one of the long, all-enveloping priestess robes. Nevertheless he was happily aware that he had a double armful of live, warm, and gently squirming girl; her priestly vestment was no greater impediment than would have been a thin gown, and both kinesthetic and tactile senses told him that the rest was Jill.

  "Golly!" she said, breaking from the kiss. "I've missed you, you old beast. Thou art God."

  "Thou art God," he conceded. "Jill, you're prettier than ever."

  "Yes," she agreed. "It does that for you. But I can't tell you what a thrill it gave me to catch your eye at the blow-off."

  "'Blow-off'?"

  "Jill means," Patricia put in, "the end of the service where she is All Mother, Mater Deum Magna. Kids, I must rush."

  "Never hurry, Pattycake."

  "I gotta rush so I won't have to hurry. Ben, I must put Honey Bun to bed and go down and take my class - so kiss me good-night now. Please?"

  Ben found himself kissing good-night a woman still wrapped most thoroughly by a giant snake - and decided that he could think of better ways� say wearing full armor. But he tried to ignore Honey Bun and treat Patty as she deserved to be treated.

  Jill kissed her and said, "Stop by and tell Mike to stall until I get there, pretty please."

  "He will anyhow. 'Night, dears." She left unhurriedly.

  "Ben, isn't she a lamb?"

  "She certainly is. Although she had me baffled at first."

  "I grok. But it's not because she's tattooed nor because of her snakes, I know. She baffled you - she baffles everybody - because Patty never has any doubts; she just automatically always does the right thing. She's very much like Mike. She's the most advanced of any of us - she ought to be high priestess. But she won't take it because her tattoos would make some of the duties difficult - be a distraction at least - and she doesn't want them t
aken off."

  "How could you possibly take off that much tattooing? With a flensing knife? It would kill her."

  "Not at all, dear. Mike could take them off completely, not leave a trace, and not even hurt her. Believe me, dear, he could, But he groks that she does not think of them as belonging to her; she's just their custodian - and he groks with her about it. Come sit down. Dawn will be in with supper for all three of us in a moment - I must eat while we visit or I won't have a chance until tomorrow. That's poor management with all eternity to draw from� but I didn't know when you would get here and you happen to arrive on a very full day. But tell me what you think of what you've seen? Dawn tells me you saw an outsiders' service, too."

  "Yes."

  "Well?"

  "Mike," Caxton said slowly, "has certainly blossomed out. I think he could sell shoes to snakes."

  "I'm quite sure he could. But he never would because it would be wrong - snakes don't need them. What's the matter, Ben? I grok there's something bothering you."

  "No," he answered. "Certainly not anything I can put my finger on. Oh, I'm not much for churches� but I'm not against them exactly - certainly not against this one. I guess I just don't grok it."

  "I'll ask you again in a week or two. There's no hurry."

  "I won't be here even a week."

  "You have some columns on the spike" - it was not a question.

  "Three fresh ones. But I shouldn't stay even that long."

  "I think you will� then you'll phone in a few� probably about the Church. By then I think you will grok to stay much longer."

  "I don't think so."

  "Waiting is, until fullness. You know it's not a church?"

  "Well, Patty did say something of the sort."