"Whew! Jubal, you should have been a preacher."
"Missed it by only a razor's edge, my boy - and I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. One more word in Mike's defense and I'll throw note 3 on the mercy of the court. If be can show us a better way to run this fouled-up planet, his sex life is vindicated thereby, regardless of your taste or mine. Geniuses are notoriously indifferent to the sexual customs of the culture in which they find themselves, they make their own rules; this is not opinion, it was proved by Armattoe 'way back in 1945. And Mike is a genius; he's shown it more ways than one. He can therefore be expected to ignore Mrs. Grundy and diddle to suit himself. Geniuses are justifiably contemptuous of the opinions of their inferiors.
"And from a religious standpoint Mike's sexual behavior IS as kosher as fish on Friday, as orthodox as Santa Claus. He preaches that all living creatures are collectively God� which makes him and his disciples the only self-aware gods in his pantheon which rates him a union card by the rules for godding on this planet. Those rules always permit gods sexual freedom limited only by their own judgment; mortal rules never apply. Leda and the Swan? Europa and the Bull? Osiris, Isis, and Horus? The incredible incestuous games of the Norse gods? Of course� but why stop there? Take a hard look at the family relations of the Trinity in one of the most widely respected western religion (I won't cite eastern religions; their gods do things a mink breeder wouldn't put up with!). The only way in which the odd interrelations of the various aspects of what purports to be a monotheos can be reconciled with the precepts of the religion thereto is by assuming that the rules in these matters for deity are not the rules for ordinary mortals. Of course most people don't think about it; they compartment it off in their minds and mark it: 'Holy - Do Not Disturb.'
"But an outside referee is forced to allow Mike the same dispensation granted all other gods. There are rules for this game: one god alone splits into at least two parts - male and female - and breeds. Not just Jehovah - they all do it. Look it up. Contrariwise, a group of gods will breed like rabbits, every time, and with as little regard for human formalities. Once Mike entered the godding business, those orgies of his group were as logically certain as Sunday follows Saturday. So quit using the standards of Podunk and judge them only by Olympian morals - I think you will then find that they are showing unusual restraint. Furthermore, Ben, this 'growing-closer' by sexual union, this unity-into-pluralty and plurality-back-into-unity, cannot tolerate monogamy inside the god group. Any pairing that excluded the others would be immoral, obscene, under the postulated creed. And if such mutual, shared-by-all sexual congress is essential to their creed, as I grok it has to be, then why do you expect this holy union to be hidden behind a door? Your insistence that they should hide it would have turned a holy rite - which it was - into something obscene - which it was not. You just plain did not understand what you were looking at."
"Maybe I didn't," Ben said glumly.
"I'm going to offer you one box - top premium, as an inducement. You wondered how Mike got rid of his clothes so quickly. I'll tell you how."
"How?"
"It was a miracle."
"Oh, for God's sake!"
"Could be. But one thousand dollars says that it was a miracle by the usual rules for miracles - outcome to be decided by you. Go back and ask Mike how he did it. Get him to show you. Then send me the money."
"Hell, Jubal, I don't want to take your money."
"You won't. I've got inside information. Bet?"
"No, damn it. Jubal, you go down there and see what the score is. I can't go back - not now."
"They'll take you back with open arms and not even ask why you left so abruptly. One thousand on that prediction, too. Ben, you were there less than a day - fifteen hours, about - and you spent over half that time sleeping and playing hopscotch with Dawn. Did you give them a square shake? The sort of careful investigation you give something smelly in public life before you blast it in your column?"
"But-"
"Did you, or didn't you?"
"No, but-"
"Oh, for Pete's sake yourself, Ben! You claim to be in love with Jill yet you won't give her the consideration you give a crooked politician. Not a tenth the effort she made to help you when you were kidnapped. Where would you be today if she had given it so feeble a try? Pushing up daisies! Roasting in hell! You're bitching about those kids over some friendly fornication - but do you know what I'm worried about?"
"What?"
"Christ was crucified for preaching without a police permit. Think it over."
Caxton stood up. "I'm on my way."
"After lunch."
"Now."
Twenty-four hours later Ben wired Jubal two thousand dollars.
When, after a week, Jubal had had no other message, he sent a stat care of Ben's office: "What the hell are you doing?" Ben's answer came back, somewhat delayed: "Studying Martian and the rules for hopscotch - fraternally yours - Ben."
PART FIVE: HIS HAPPY DESTINY
XXXIV
FOSTER LOOKED UP from his current Work in Progress. "Junior!"
"Sir?"
"That youngster you wanted - he's available now. The Martians have released him."
Digby looked puzzled. "I'm sorry. There was some young creature toward whom I have a Duty?"
Foster smiled angelically. Miracles were never necessary - in Truth the pseudo-concept "miracle" was self-contradicting. But these young fellows always had to learn it for themselves. "Never mind," he said gently. "It's a minor job and I'll handle it myself - and Junior?"
"Sir?"
"Call me 'Fog,' please - ceremony is all right in the field but we don't need it in the studio. And remind me not to call you 'Junior' after this - you made a very nice record on that temporary duty assignment. Which name do you like to be called?"
His assistant blinked. "I have another name?"
"Thousands of them. Do you have a preference?"
"Why, I really don't recall at this eon."
"Well� how would you like to be called 'Digby'?"
"Uh, yes. That's a very nice name. Thanks."
"Don't thank me. You earned it." Archangel Foster turned back to his work, not forgetting the minor item he had assumed. Briefly he considered how this cup might be taken from little Patricia - then chided himself for such unprofessional, almost human, thought. Mercy was not possible to an angel; angelic compassion left no room for it.
The Martian Old Ones had reached an elegant and awesome trial solution to their major esthetic problem and put it aside for a few filledthrees to let it generate new problems. At which time, unhurriedly but at once and almost absent-mindedly, the alien nestling which they had returned to his proper world was tapped of what he had learned of his people and dropped, after cherishing, since he was of no further interest to their purposes.
They collectively took the data he had accumulated and, with a view to testing that trial solution, began to work toward considering an inquiry leading to an investigation of esthetic parameters involved in the possibility of the artistic necessity of destroying Earth. But necessarily much waiting would be, before fullness would grok decision.
The Daibutsu at Kamakura was again washed by a giant wave secondary to a seismic disturbance some 280 kilometers off Honshu. The wave killed more than 13,000 people and lodged a small male infant high up in the Buddha image's interior, where it was eventually found and succored by surviving monks. This infant lived ninety-seven Terran years after the disaster that wiped out his family, and himself produced no progeny nor anything of any note aside from a reputation reaching to Yokohama for loud and sustained belching. Cynthia Duchess entered a nunnery with all benefits of modern publicity and left same without fanfare three days later. Ex-Secretary General Douglas suffered a slight stroke which impaired the use of his left hand but did not reduce his ability to conserve assets entrusted to his stewardship. Lunar Enterprises, Ltd., published a prospectus on a bond issue for the wholly owned subsidiary Ares
Chandler Corporation. The Lyle-Drive Exploratory Vessel Mary Jane Smith landed on Pluto. Fraser, Colorado, reported the coldest average February of its recorded history.
Bishop Oxtongue, speaking at the New Grand Avenue Temple in Kansas City, preached on the text (Matt. XXIV:24): 'For there shall arise false Christs and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect." He was careful to make clear that his diatribe did not refer to Mormons, Christian Scientists, Roman Catholics, nor Fosterites - most especially not to the last - nor to any other fellow travelers whose good works counted for more than minute and, in the final analysis, inconsequential differences in creed or ritual - but solely to recent upstart heretics who were seducing faithful contributors away from the faiths of their fathers. In a lush subtropical resort city in the southern part of the same nation three complainants swore an information charging public lewdness on the part of a pastor, three of his assistants, and Joe Doe, Mary Roe, et al., plus further charges of running a disorderly house and contributing to the delinquency of minors. The county attorney had at first only the mildest interest in prosecuting under the information as he had on file a dozen much like it - the complaining witnesses had always failed to appear at arraignment.
He pointed this out. Their spokesman said, "We know. But you'll have plenty of backing this time. Supreme Bishop Short is determined that this Antichrist shall flourish no longer."
The prosecutor was not interested in antichrists - but there was a primary coming up. "Well, just remember I can't do much without backing."
"You'll have it."
Farther north, Dr. Jubal Harshaw was not immediately aware of this incident and its consequences, but he did know of too many others for peace of mind. Against his own rules he had succumbed to that most insidious drug, the news. Thus far, he had contained his vice; he merely subscribed to a clipping service instructed for "Man from Mars," "V. M. Smith," "Church of All Worlds," and "Ben Caxton." But the monkey was crawling up his back - twice lately he had had to fight off an impulse to order Larry to set up the babble box in his study - Damn it, why couldn't those kids tape him an occasional letter? - instead of letting him wonder and worry. "Front!"
He heard Anne come in but he still continued to stare out a window at snow and an empty swimming pool. "Anne," he said without turning around, "rent us a small tropical atoll and put this mausoleum up for sale."
"Yes, Boss. Anything else?"
"But get that atoll tied down on a long-term lease before you hand this wilderness back to the Indians; I will not put up with hotels. How long has it been since I wrote any pay copy?"
"Forty-three days."
"You see? Let that be a lesson to you. Begin. 'Death Song of a Wood's Colt':
"The depths of winter longing are ice within my heart
The shards of broken covenants lie sharp against my soul
The wraiths of long-lost ecstasy still keep us two apart
The sullen winds of bitterness still keen from turn to pole.
"The scars and twisted tendons, the stumps of struck-off limbs,
The aching pit of hunger and the throb of unset bone,
My sanded burning eyeballs, as light within them dims,
Add nothing to the torment of lying here alone
"The shimmering flames of fever trace out your blessed face
My broken eardrums echo yet your voice inside my head
I do not fear the darkness that comes to me apace
I only dread the loss of you that comes when I am dead.
"There," he added briskly, "sign it 'Louisa M. Alcott' and have the agency send it to Togetherness magazine."
"Boss, is that your idea of 'pay copy'?"
"Huh? Of course it isn't. Not now. But it will be worth something later, so put it in file and my literary executor can use it to help settle the death duties. That's the catch in all artistic pursuits; the best work is always worth most after the workman can't be paid. The literary life - dreck! It consists in scratching the cat till it purrs."
"Poor Jubal! Nobody ever feels sorry for him, so he has to feel sorry for himself."
"Sarcasm yet. No wonder I don't get any work done."
"Not sarcasm, Boss. Only the wearer knows where the shoe pinches."
"My apologies. All right, here's pay copy. Begin. Title: 'One for the Road,'
"There's amnesia in a hang knot,
And comfort in the ax,
But the simple way of poison will make your nerves relax.
"There's surcease in a gunshot,
And sleep that comes from racks,
But a handy draft of poison avoids the harshest tax.
"You find rest upon the hot squat,
Or gas can give you pax,
But the closest corner chemist has peace in packaged stacks.
"There's refuge in the church lot
When you tire of facing facts,
And the smoothest route is poison prescribed by kindly quacks.
"Chorus-
With an ugh! and a groan, and a kick of the heels,
Death comes quiet, or it comes with squeals-
But the pleasantest place to find your end
Is a cup of cheer from the hand of a friend."
"Jubal," Anne said worriedly, "is your stomach upset?"
"Always."
"That one's for file, too?"
"Huh? That's for the New Yorker. Their usual pen name."
"They'll bounce it."
"They'll buy it. It's morbid, they'll buy it."
And besides, there's something wrong with the scansion."
"Of course there is! You have to give an editor something to change, or he gets frustrated. After he pees in it himself, he likes the flavor much better, so he buys it. Look, my dear, I was successfully avoiding honest work long before you were born - so don't try to teach Granpaw how to suck eggs. Or would you rather I nursed Abby while you turn out copy? Hey! It's Abigail's feeding time, isn't it? And you weren't 'Front,' Dorcas is 'Front.' I remember."
"It won't hurt Abby to wait a few minutes. Dorcas is lying down. Morning sickness."
"Nonsense. If she's pregnant, why won't she let me run a test? Anne, I can spot pregnancy two weeks before a rabbit can - and you know it. I'm going to have to be firm with that girl."
"Jubal, you let her be! She's scared she didn't catch� and she wants to think she did, as long as possible. Don't you know anything about women?"
"Mmm� come to think about it - no. Not anything. All right, I won't heckle her. But why didn't you bring our baby angel in and nurse her here? You have both hands free when you take dictation."
"In the first place, I'm glad I didn't - she might have understood what you were saying-"
"So I'm a bad influence, am I?"
"She's too young to see the marshmallow syrup underneath, Boss. But the real reason is that you don't do any work at all if I bring her in with me; you just play with her."
"Can you think of any better way of enriching the empty hours?"
"Jubal, I appreciate the fact that you are dotty over my daughter; I think she's pretty nice myself. But you've been spending all your time either playing with Abby� or moping. That's not good."
"How soon do we go on relief?"
"That's beside the point. If you don't crank out stories, you get spiritually constipated. It's reached the point where Dorcas and Larry and I are biting our nails - and when you do yell 'Front!' we jitter with relief. Only it's always a false alarm."
"If there's money in the bank to meet the bills, what are you worried about?"
"What are you worried about, Boss?"
Jubal considered it. Should he tell her? Any possible doubt as to the paternity of Abigail had been settled, in his mind, in her naming; Anne had wavered between "Abigail" and "Zenobia" - and had settled it by loading the infant with both names. Anne had never mentioned the meanings of those names; presumably she did not know that he knew them.
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Anne went on firmly, "You're not fooling anyone but yourself; Jubal. Dorcas and Larry and I all know that Mike can take care of himself. and you ought to know it. But because you've been so frenetic about it-"
"'Frenetic!' Me?"
"-Larry very quietly set up the stereo tank in his room and some one of us three had been catching the news, every broadcast. Not because we are worried, for we aren't - except about you. But when Mike gets into the news - and of course he does get into the news; he's still the Man from Mars - we know about it before those silly clippings ever reach you. I wish you would quit reading them."
"How do you know anything about any clippings? I went to a lot of trouble to see that you didn't. I thought."
"Boss," she said in a tired voice, "somebody has to dispose of the trash. Do you think Larry can't read?"
"So. That confounded oubliette hasn't worked right since Duke left. Damn it, nothing has!"
"All you have to do is to send word to Mike that you want Duke to come back - Duke will show up at once."
"You know I can't do that." It graveled him that what she said was almost certainly true - and the thought was followed by a sudden and bitter suspicion. "Anne! Are you still here because Mike told you to stay?"
A Stranger in a Strange Land Page 55
