Jill said, "I don't quite understand, Patty. I can see that it's wonderful for you to have been kissed by Foster - but how can he ever kiss us? After all, he's up in Heaven."
"Yes, dearie, he is. But let me explain. Any ordained priest or priestess can give you Foster's kiss. It means God's in your heart. God is part of you... forever."
Mike was suddenly intent. "Thou art God!"
"Huh, Michael? Well, that is a strange way to say it - I've never heard a priest put it quite that way. But that does sort of express it... God is in you and of you and with you, and the Devil can't ever get at you."
"Yes," agreed Mike. "You grok God." He thought happily that this was nearer to putting the concept across than he had ever managed before except that Jill was learning it, in Martian. Which was inevitable. "That's the idea, Michael. God... groks you - and you are married in Holy Love and eternal Happiness to His Church. The priest, or maybe priestess - it can be either - kisses you and then the kiss mark is tattooed on to show that it's forever. Of course it doesn't have to be this big - mine is just exactly the size and shape of Foster's blessed lips - and the kiss can be placed anywhere to shield from sinful eyes. Lots of men have a patch of skull shaved and then wear a hat or a bandage until the hair grows out. Or any spot where it's blessed certain it won't be seen unless you want it to be. You mustn't sit or stand on it - but anywhere else is okay. Then you show it when you go into a closed Happiness gathering of the eternally saved."
"I've heard of Happiness meetings," Jill commented, "but I've never known quite what they are."
"Well," Mrs. Paiwonski said judicially, "there are Happiness meetings and Happiness meetings. The ones for ordinary members, who are saved but might backslide, are an awful lot of fun - grand parties with only the amount of praying that comes natural and happily, and plenty of whoopit-up that makes a good party. Maybe, even, a little real lovin' - but that's frowned on there and you'd better be mighty careful who and how, because you mustn't be a seed of dissension among the brethren. The Church is way strict about keeping things in their proper place.
"But a Happiness meeting for the eternally saved - well, you don't have to be careful because there won't be anybody there who can sin - all past and done with. If you want to drink and pass out... okay, it's God's will or you wouldn't want to. You want to kneel down and pray, or lift up your voice in song - or tear off your clothes and dance; it's God's will. Although," she added, "you might not have any clothes on at all, because there can't possibly be anybody there who would see anything wrong in it."
"It sounds like quite a party," said Jill.
"Oh, it is, it is - always! And you're filled with heavenly bliss the whole time. And if you wake up in the morning on a couch with one of the eternally saved brethren, you know he's there because God willed it to make you all blessedly Happy. And you are. They've all got Foster's kiss on - they're yours." She frowned slightly. "It feels a little like 'sharing water.' You understand me?"
"I grok," agreed Mike.
("Mike?!!?")
("Wait, Jill. Wait for fullness.")
"But don't think," Patricia said earnestly, "that a person can get into an Inner Temple Happiness meeting just with a little tattoo mark - after all, it's too easy to fake. A visiting brother or sister - well, take me. As soon as I know where the carnie is going, I write to the local churches and send 'em my finger prints so they can check 'em against the master file of the eternally saved at Archangel Foster Tabernacle - unless they already know me. I give 'em my address care of Billboard. Then when I go to church - and I always go to church Sundays and I would never miss a Happiness meeting even if it means Tim has to slough the blow-off some nights - I go first time and get positively identified. Most places they're mighty glad to see me; I'm an added attraction, with my unique and unsurpassed sacred pictures - I often spend most of the evening just letting people examine me... and every minute of it bliss. Sometimes the priest wants me to bring Honey Bun and I do Eve and the serpent - that takes body make-up, of course, or skin-colored tights if there isn't time. Some local brother plays Adam and we get scourged out of the Garden of Eden, and the local priest explains the real meaning, not all the twisted lies you hear - and we end by regaining our blessed innocence and happiness, and that's certain to get the party really rolling. Joy!"
She added, "But everybody is always interested in my Foster's kiss, Because, since he went back to Heaven almost twenty years ago now and the Church has increased and flourished, not too many of us have a Foster's kiss that wasn't laid on by proxy - I always have the Tabernacle testify to that, too. And I tell them about it. Uh-"
Mrs. Paiwonski hesitated, then told them about it, in explicit detail - and Jill wondered where her admittedly limited ability to blush had gone? Then she grokked that Mike and Patty were two of a kind - God's innocents, unable to be anything else, no matter what they did. She wished, for Patty's sake, that this preposterous mishmash were really true, that Foster had really been a holy prophet who had saved her for eternal bliss.
But Foster! God's Wounds, what a travesty! Then suddenly, through her greatly improved recall, Jill was standing back in a room with a wall of glass and looking into Foster's dead eyes. But, in her mind, he seemed alive and she felt a shiver in her loins and wondered what she would have done if Foster himself had offered her his holy kiss - and his holy self?
She shut it out of her mind, but not before Mike had caught much of it. She felt him smile, with knowing innocence.
She stood up. "Pattycake darling, what time do you have to be back at the lot?"
"Oh dear! I should be back this blessed minute!"
"Why? The show doesn't roll until nine-thirty."
"Well... Honey Bun misses me...and she's jealous if I stay out late."
"Can't you tell her that it's a Happiness meeting night?"
"Uh...The older woman gathered Jill in her arms. "It is! It certainly is!"
"Good. Then I'm going to get a certain amount of sleep - Jill is bushed, believe me. What time do you have to be up, then?"
"Uh, if I'm back on the lot by eight, I can get Sam to tear down my living top and have time to make sure that my babies are loaded safely."
"Breakfast?"
"I don't eat breakfast right away, I'll get it on the train. Just coffee when I wake up, usually."
"We can make that right here in the room. I'll see that you're up. Now you dears stay up and talk religion as long as you like; I won't let you oversleep - if you sleep. Mike doesn't sleep."
"Not at all?"
"Never. He sort of curls up and thinks a while, if he's got something to think about - but he doesn't sleep."
Mrs. Paiwonski nodded solemnly. "Another sign. I know it - and, Michael, some day you will know. Your call will come."
"Maybe," agreed Jill. "Mike, I'm falling asleep. Pop me into bed. Please?" She was lifted, wafted into the bedroom, the covers rolled back by invisible hands - she was asleep before he covered her.
Jill woke up, as she had planned, exactly at seven. Mike had a clock in his head, too, but his was quite erratic so far as Earth calendars and times were concerned; it vibrated to another need. She slipped out of bed, put her head into the other room. Lights were out and the shades were tight; it was quite dark. But they were not asleep. Jill heard Mike say with soft certainty:
"Thou art God."
"'Thou art God' - " Patricia whispered back in a voice as heavy as if drugged.
"Yes. Jill is God."
"Jill... is God. Yes, Michael."
"And thou art God."
"Thou - are God. Now, Michael, now!"
Jill went very softly back in and quietly brushed her teeth. Presently she let Mike know in her mind that she was awake and found, as she expected, that he knew it. When she came back into the living room, shades were up and morning sun was streaming in. "Good morning, darlings!" She kissed them both.
"Thou art God," Patty said simply.
"Yes, Patty. And thou art God. God is i
n all of us." She looked at Patty in the harsh, bright morning light and noted that her new brother did not look tired. She looked as if she had had a full night of sleep and some extra ... and looked younger and sweeter than ever. Well, she knew that effect - if Mike wanted to stay up, instead of reading or thinking all night, Jill never found it any trouble... and she suspected that her own sudden sleepiness the night before had been Mike's idea, too - and heard Mike agree in his mind that it was.
"Now coffee for both you darlings - and me, too. And I just happen to have stashed away a redipak of orange juice, too."
They breakfasted lightly, filled out with happiness. Jill saw Patty looking thoughtful. "What is it, dear?"
"Uh, I hate to mention this - but what are you kids going to eat on? Happens that Aunt Patty has a pretty well stuffed grouch bag and I thought-"
Jill laughed. "Oh, darling, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to laugh. But the Man from Mars is rich! Surely you know that? Or don't you ever read the news?"
Mrs. Paiwonski looked baffled. "Well, I guess I knew - that way. But you can't trust anything you hear over the news."
Jill sighed. "Patty, you're an utter darling. And believe me, now that we're water brothers, we wouldn't hesitate an instant to impose on you - 'sharing the nest' isn't just poetry. But it happens to be the other way around. If you ever need money - it doesn't matter how much; we can't use it up - just say so. Any amount. Any time. Write to me - or better yet, call me - because Mike doesn't have the foggiest idea about money. Why, dear, I've got a couple of hundred thousand dollars in a checking account in my name right this minute. Want some of it?"
Mrs. Paiwonski looked startled, something she had not looked since Mike had caused her costume to go away. "Bless me! No, I don't need money."
Jill shrugged. "If you ever do, just holler. We can't possibly spend it all and the government won't let Mike give it away. At least, not much of it. If you want a yacht - Mike would enjoy giving you a yacht."
"I certainly would, Pat. I've never seen a yacht."
Mrs. Paiwonski shook her head. "Don't take me up on a tall mountain, dearie - I've never wanted much... and all I want from you two is your love-"
"You have that," Jill told her.
"I don't grok 'love'," Mike said seriously. "But Jill always speaks rightly. If we've got it, it's yours."
"-and to know that you're both saved. But I'm no longer worried about that. Mike has told me about waiting, and why waiting is. You understand me, Jill?"
"I grok. I'm no longer impatient about anything."
"But I do have something for you two." The tattooed lady got up and crossed to where she had left her purse, took a book out of it. She came back, stood close to them. "My dear ones... this is the very copy of the New Revelation that Blessed Foster gave me... the night he placed his kiss on me. I want you to have it."
Jill's eyes suddenly filled with tears and she felt herself choking. "But, Aunt Patty - Patty our brother! We can't take this one. Not this one. We'll buy one."
"No. It's...it's 'water' I'm sharing with you. For growing-closer."
"Oh-" Jill jumped up. "We'll take it. But it's ours now - all of us." She kissed her.
Presently Mike tapped her on the shoulder. "Greedy little brother. My turn."
"I'll always be greedy, that way."
The Man from Mars kissed his new brother first on her mouth, then paused and gently kissed the spot where Foster had kissed her. Then he pondered, briefly by Earth time, picked a corresponding spot on the other side where he saw that George's design could be matched well enough for his purpose - kissed her there while he thought by stretched-out time and in great detail what he wanted to accomplish. It was necessary to grok the capillaries - To the other two, subject and spectator, he simply gently and briefly pressed his lips to the garishly decorated skin. But Jill caught a hint of the effort he had exerted and looked. "Patty! See!"
Mrs. Paiwonski looked down at herself. Marked on her skin, paired stigmata in blood red, were his lips. She started to faint - then showed the depth of her own staunch faith. "Yes. Yes! Michael-"
Most shortly thereafter the tattooed lady had disappeared, replaced by a rather mousy housewife in high neck, long sleeves and gloves. "I won't cry," she said soberly, "and it's not good-by; there are no good-bys in eternity. But I will be waiting." She kissed them both, briefly, left without looking back.
* * *
XXVIII
"BLASPHEMY!"
Foster looked up. "Something bite you, Junior?" This temporary annex had been run up in a hurry and things did get in - swarms of almost invisible imps usually ... harmless, of course, but a bite from one left an itch on the ego.
"Uh... you'd have to see it to believe it - here, I'll run the omniscio back a touch."
"You'd be surprised at what I can believe, Junior." Nevertheless Digby's supervisor shifted a part of his attention. Three temporals - humans, he saw they were; a man and two women - speculating about the eternal. Nothing odd about that. "Yes?"
"You heard what she said! The 'Archangel Michael' indeed!"
"What about it?"
"'What about it?' Oh, for God's sake!"
"Very possibly."
Digby was so indignant that his halo quivered. "Foster, you must not have taken a good look. She meant that over-age juvenile delinquent that sent me to the showers. Scan it again."
Foster let the gain increase, noted that the angel-in-training had spoken rightly - and noticed something else and smiled his angelic smile. "How do you know he isn't, Junior?"
"Huh?"
"I haven't seen Mike around the Club lately and I recall that his name has been scratched on the Millennial Solipsist Tournament - that's a Sign that he's likely away on detached duty, as Mike is one of the most eager Solipsism players in this sector."
"But the notion's obscene!"
"You'd be surprised how many of the Boss's best ideas have been called 'obscene' in some quarters - or, rather, you should not be surprised, in view of your field work. But 'obscene' is a concept you don't need; it has no theological meaning. 'To the pure all things are pure.'"
"But-"
"I'm still Witnessing, Junior. You listen. In addition to the fact that our brother Michael seems to be away at this micro-instant - and I don't keep track of him; we're not on the same watch list - that tattooed lady who made that oracular pronouncement is not likely to be mistaken; she's a very holy temporal herself."
"Who says?"
"I say. I know." Foster smiled again with angelic sweetness. Dear little Patricia! Getting a little long in the tooth now but still Earthily desirable - and shining with an inner light that made her look like a stained glass window. He noted without temporal pride that George had finished his great dedication since he had last looked at Patricia - and that picture of his being called up to Heaven wasn't bad, not bad at all, in the Higher sense. He must remember to look up George and compliment him on it, and tell him he had seen Patricia - hmm, where was George? A creative artist in the universe design section working right under the Architect, as he recalled - no matter, the master file would dig him out in a split millennium.
What a delicious little butterball Patricia had been and such holy frenzy! If she had had just a touch more assertiveness and a touch less humility he could have made her a priestess. But such was Patricia's need to accept God according to her own nature that she could have qualified only among the Lingayats... where she wasn't needed. Foster considered scanning back and seeing her as she had been, decided against it with angelic restraint; there was work to be done - "Forget the omniscio, Junior. I want a word with you." Digby did so and waited. Foster twanged his halo, an annoying habit he had when he was meditating. "Junior, you aren't shaping up too angelically."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorrow is not for eternity. But the Truth is you've been preoccupied with that young fellow who may or may not be our brother Michael. Now wait - in the first place it is not for you to judge the instrument used to ca
ll you from the pasture. In the second place it is not he who vexes you - you hardly knew him - what's bothering you is that little brunette secretary you had. She had earned my kiss quite some temporal period before you were called. Hadn't she?"
"I was still testing her."
"Then no doubt you have been angelically pleased to note that Supreme Bishop Short, after giving her a most thorough examination himself - oh, very thorough; I told you he would measure up - has passed her and she now enjoys the wider Happiness she deserves. Mmmm, a shepherd should take joy in his work... but when he's promoted, he should take joy in that, too. Now it just happens I know there is a spot open for a Guardian-in-Training in a new sector being opened up - a job under your nominal rank, I concede, but good angelic experience. This planet - well, you can think of it as a planet; you'll see - is occupied by a race of tripolaxity instead of bipolarity and I have it on High Authority that Don Juan himself could not manage to take Earthly interest in any of their three polarities... that's not an opinion; he was borrowed as a test. He screamed, and prayed to be returned to the solitary hell he has created for himself."
"Going to send me out to Flatbush, huh? So I won't interfere!"
"Tut, tut! You can't interfere - the one impossibility that permits all else to be possible; I tried to tell you that when you arrived. But don't let it fret you; you are eternally permitted to try. Your orders will include a loop so that you will check back at here - now without any loss of temporality. Now fly away and get cracking; I have work to do." Foster turned back to where he had been interrupted. Oh, yes, a poor soul temporally designated as "Alice Douglas" - to be a goad was a hard assignment at best and she had met it unflaggingly. But her job was complete and now she would need rest and rehabilitation from the inescapable battle fatigue... she'd be kicking and screaming and foaming ectoplasm at all orifices.
Oh, she would need a thorough exorcism after a job that rough! But they were all rough; they couldn't be anything else. And "Alice Douglas" was an utterly reliable field operative; she could take any left-hand assignment as long as it was essentially virginal - burn her at the stake or put her in a nunnery; she always delivered.
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