A Stranger in a Strange Land

by Robert A. Heinlein

  At which point something happened which was totally unexpected to her because Mike had never explained that it was possible. She had been letting herself receive as much as possible of the stranger's emotions, intentionally teasing him with eyes and body, and relaying what she felt from him back to Mike - when suddenly the circuit was completed and she was looking at herself, seeing herself through strange eyes, much more lavish than she considered herself to be - and feeling the primitive need with which that stranger saw her.

  Blindly she stumbled and would have fallen flat had not Mike instantly sensed her hazard, caught her, lifted her, straightened her up, and steadied her until she could walk unassisted, second-sight gone.

  The parade of beauties continued on through exit. Once off stage the girl behind her said, "What the devil happened to you, Jill?"

  "Caught my heel."

  "Happens. But that was the wildest recovery I ever saw. For a second there you looked like a puppet on strings."

  (-and so I was, dear, and so I was! But we won't go into that.) "I'm going to ask the stage manager to check that spot. I think there's a loose board. A gal could break her leg."

  For the rest of the show whenever she was on stage Mike gave her quick glimpses of how she looked to various men while always making sure that she was not again taken by surprise. Jill was amazed to discover how varied were their images of her: one noticed only her legs, another seemed fascinated by the undulations of her torso, a third saw only her proud bosom. Then Mike, warning her first, let her look at other girls in the tableaux. She was relieved to find that Mike saw them as she saw them - but sharper.

  But she was amazed to find that her own excitement did not diminish as she looked at, second hand, the girls around her; it increased.

  Mike left promptly at the finale, ducking out ahead of the crowd as she had warned him to do, She did not expect to see him again that night since he had asked for relief from his job as croupier only long enough to see his wife in her show. But when she dressed and returned to their hotel room, she felt him inside before she reached the room.

  The door opened for her, she stepped inside, it closed behind her. "Hello, darling!" she called out. "How nice you came home!"

  He smiled gently. "I now grok naughty pictures." Her clothes vanished. "Make naughty pictures."

  "Huh? Yes, dear, of course." She ran through much the same poses she had earlier in the day. With each one, as soon as she was in it, Mike let her use his eyes to see herself. She looked at herself and felt his emotions and felt her own swell in response in a closed and mutually amplified re-echoing. At last she placed herself in a pose as randily carefree as her imagination could devise.

  "Naughty pictures are a great goodness," Mike said gravely.

  "Yes! And now I grok them, too! What are you waiting for?"

  They quit their jobs and for the next several days saw as many of the revues as possible, during which period Jill made still another discovery: she "grokked naughty pictures" only through a man's eyes. If Mike watched, she caught and shared his mood, from quiet sensuous pleasure in a beautiful woman to fully aroused excitement at times - but if Mike's attention was elsewhere, the model, dancer, or peeler was just another woman to Jill, possibly pleasant to look at but in no wise exciting. She was likely to get bored and wish mildly that Mike would take her home. But only mildly for she was now nearly as patient as he was.

  She pondered this new fact from all sides and decided that she preferred not to be excited by women other than through his eyes. One man gave her all the problems she could handle and more - to have discovered in herself unsuspected latent lesbian tendencies would have been entirely too much.

  But it certainly was a lot of fun - "a great goodness" - to see those girls through his eyes as he had now learned to see them - and a still greater, ecstatic goodness to know that, at last, he looked at her herself in the same way... only more so.

  They stopped in Palo Alto long enough for Mike to try (and fail to) swallow all the Hoover Library in mammoth gulps. The task was mechanically impossible; the scanners could not spin that fast, nor could Mike turn pages of bound books fast enough to read them all. He gave up and admitted that he was taking in raw data much faster than he could grok it, even by spending all hours the library was closed in solitary contemplation. With relief Jill moved them to San Francisco and he embarked on a more systematic search.

  She came back to their flat one day to find him sitting, not in trance but doing nothing, and surrounded by books - many books: The Talmud, the Kama Sutra, Bibles in various versions, the Book of the Dead, the Book of Mormon, Patty's precious copy of the New Revelation, Apocrypha of various sorts, the Koran, the unabridged Golden Bough, The Way, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, the sacred writings of a dozen other religions major and minor - even such deviant oddities as Crowley's Book of the Law.

  "Trouble, dear?"

  "Jill, I don't grok." He waved his hand at the books. ("Waiting, Michael Waiting for fullness is- ")

  "I don't think waiting will ever fill it. Oh, I know what's wrong; I'm not really a man, I'm a Martian - a Martian in a body of the wrong shape."

  "You're plenty of man for me, dear - and I love the way your body is shaped."

  "Oh, you grok what I'm talking about. I don't grok people. I don't understand this multiplicity of religions. Now among my people-"

  "Your people, Mike?"

  "Sorry. I should have said that, among the Martians, there is only one religion - and that one is not a faith, it's a certainty. You grok it. 'Thou art God!"

  "Yes," she agreed. "I do grok... in Martian. But you know, dearest, that it doesn't say the same thing in English... or any other human speech. I don't know why."

  "Mmmm... on Mars, when we needed to know anything - anything at all - we could consult the Old Ones and the answer was never wrong. Jill, is it possible that we humans don't have any 'Old Ones?' No souls, that has to mean. When we discorporate - die! - do we die dead? die all over and nothing left? Do we live in ignorance because it doesn't matter? Because we are gone and not a rack behind in a time so short that a Martian would use it for one long contemplation? Tell me, Jill. You're human."

  She smiled with sober serenity. "You yourself have told me. You have taught me to know eternity and you can't take it away from me, ever. You can't die, Mike - you can only discorporate." She gestured down at herself with both hands. "This body that you have taught me to see through your eyes... and that you have loved so well, someday it will be gone. But I shall not be gone... I am that I am! Thou art God and I am God and we are God, eternally. I am not sure where I will be, or whether I will remember that I was once Jill Boardman who was happy trotting bedpans and equally happy strutting her stuff in her buff under bright lights. I have liked this body-"

  With a most uncustomary gesture of impatience Mike threw away her clothes.

  "Thank you, dear," she said quietly, not stirring from where she was seated. "It has been a nice body to me - and to you - to both of us who thought of it. But I don't expect to miss it when I am through with it. I hope that you will eat it when I discorporate."

  "Oh, I'll eat you, all right - unless I discorporate first."

  "I don't suppose that you will. With your much greater control over your sweet body I suspect that you can live several centuries at least. If you wish it. Unless you choose to discorporate sooner."

  "I might. But not now. Jill, I've tried and tried. How many churches have we attended?"

  "All the sorts there are in San Francisco, I think - except, possibly, for little, secret ones that don't list their addresses. I don't recall how many times we have been to seekers' services."

  "That's just to comfort Pat - I'd never go again if you weren't sure that she needs to know that we haven't given up."

  "She does need to. And we can't lie about it - you don't know how and I can't, not to Patty. Nor any brother."

  "Actually," he admitted, "the Fosterites do have quite a bit on t
he ball. All twisted, of course. They are clumsy, groping - the way I was as a carney. And they'll never correct their mistakes, because this thing-" He caused Patty's book to lift. "-is mostly crap!"

  "Yes. But Patty doesn't see those parts of it. She is wrapped in her own innocence. She is God and behaves accordingly... only she doesn't know who She is."

  "Uh huh," he agreed. "That's our Pat. She believes it only when I tell her - with proper emphasis. But, Jill, there are only three places to look. Science - and I was taught more about how the physical universe is put together while I was still in the nest than human scientists can yet handle. So much that I can't even talk to them... even about as elementary a gimmick as levitation. I'm not disparaging human scientists... what they do and how they go about it is just as it should be; I grok that fully. But what they are after is not what I am looking for - you don't grok a desert by counting its grains of sand. Then there's philosophy - supposed to tackle everything. Does it? All any philosopher ever comes out with is exactly what be walked in with - except for those self-deluders who prove their assumptions by their conclusions, in a circle. Like Kant. Like many other tail-chasers. So the answer, if it's anywhere, ought to be here." He waved at the pile of religious books. "Only it's not. Bits and pieces that grok true, but never a pattern - or if there is a pattern, every time, without fail, they ask you to take the hard part on faith. Faith! What a dirty Anglo-Saxon monosyllable - Jill, how does it happen that you didn't mention that one when you were teaching me the words that mustn't be used in polite company?"

  She smiled. "Mike, you just made a joke."

  "I didn't mean it as a joke... and I can't see that it's funny. Jill, I haven't even been good for you - you used to laugh. You used to laugh and giggle until I worried about you. I haven't learned to laugh; instead you've forgotten how. Instead of my becoming human... you're becoming Martian."

  "I'm happy, dear. You probably just haven't noticed me laughing."

  "If you laughed clear down on Market Street, I would hear it. I grok. Once I quit being frightened by it I always noticed it - you, especially. If I grokked it, then I would grok people - I think. Then I could help somebody like Pat... either teach her what I know, or learn from her what she knows. Or both. We could talk and understand each other."

  "Mike, all you need to do for Patty is to see her occasionally. Why don't we, dear? Let's get out of this dreary fog. She's home now; the carnie is closed for the season. Drop south and see her... and I've always wanted to see Baja California; we could go on south into warmer weather - and take her with us, that would be fun!"

  "All right."

  She stood up. "Let me get a dress on. Do you want to save any of those books? Instead of one of your usual quick housecleanings I could ship them to Jubal."

  He flipped his fingers at them and all were gone but Patricia's gift. "Just this one and we'll take it with us; Pat would notice. But, Jill, right now I need to go out to the zoo."

  "All right."

  "I want to spit back at a camel and ask him what he's so sour about. Maybe camels are the real 'Old Ones' on this planet... and that's what is wrong with the place."

  "Two jokes in one day, Mike."

  "I ain't laughing. And neither are you. Nor is the camel. Maybe he groks why. Come on. is this dress all right? Do you want underclothes? I noticed you were wearing some when i moved those other clothes."

  "Please, dear. It's windy and chilly outdoors."

  "Up easy." He levitated her a couple of feet. "Pants. Stockings. Garter belt. Shoes. Down you go and lift your arms. Bra? You don't need a bra. And now the dress - and you're decent again. And you're pretty, whatever that is. You look good. Maybe I can get a job as a lady's maid if I'm not good for anything else. Baths, shampoos, massages, hair styling, make-up, dressing for all occasions - I've even learned to do your nails in a fashion that suits you. Will that be all, Madam?"

  "You're a perfect lady's maid, dear. But I'm going to keep you myself."

  "Yes, I grok I am. You look so good I think I'll toss it all away again and give you a massage. The growing closer kind."

  "Yes, Michael!"

  "I thought you had learned waiting? First you have to take me to the zoo and buy me peanuts."

  "Yes, Mike. Jill will buy you peanuts."

  It was cold and windy out at Golden Gate Park but Mike did not notice it and Jill had learned that she didn't have to be cold or uncomfortable if she did not wish it. Nevertheless it was pleasant to relax her control by going into the warm monkey house. Aside from its heat Jill did not like the monkey house too well - monkeys and apes were too much like people, too depressingly human. She was, she thought, finished forever with any sort of prissiness; she had grown to cherish an ascetic, almost Martian joy in all things physical The public copulations and evacuations of these simian prisoners did not trouble her as they once had; these poor penned people possessed no privacy, they were not at fault. She could now watch such without repugnance; her own impregnable fastidiousness untouched. No, it was that they were "Human, All Too Human", every action, every expression, every puzzled troubled look reminded her of what she liked least about her own race.

  Jill preferred the Lion House - the great males arrogant and sure of themselves even in captivity - the placid motherliness of the big females, the lordly beauty of Bengal tigers with jungle staring out of their eyes, the little leopards - swift and deadly, the reek of musk that airconditioners could not purge. Mike usually shared her tastes for other exhibits, too; he would spend hours in the Aviary, or the Reptile House, or in watching seals - once he had told her that, if one had to be hatched on this planet to be a sea lion would be of greatest goodness.

  When he had first seen a zoo, Mike had been much upset; Jill had been forced to order him to wait and grok, as be had been about to take immediate action to free all the animals. He had conceded presently, under her arguments - that most of these animals could not stay alive free in the climate and environment where he proposed to turn them loose, that a zoo was a nest... of a sort. He had followed this first experience with many hours of withdrawal, after which he never again threatened to remove all the bars and glass and grills. He explained to Jill that the bars were to keep people out at least as much as to keep the animals in, which he had failed to grok at first. After that Mike never missed a zoo wherever they went.

  But today even the unmitigated misanthropy of the camels could not shake Mike's moodiness; he looked at them without smiling. Nor did the monkeys and apes cheer him up. They stood for quite a while in front of a cage containing a large family of capuchins, watching them eat, sleep, court, nurse, grooms and swarm aimlessly around the cage, while Jill surreptitiously tossed them peanuts despite "No Feeding" signs.

  She tossed one to a medium sized monk; before he could eat it a much larger male was on him and not only stole his peanut but gave him a beating, then left. The little fellow made no attempt to pursue his tormentor; be squatted at the scene of the crime, pounded his knucks against the concrete floor, and chattered his helpless rage. Mike watched it solemnly. Suddenly the mistreated monkey rushed to the side of the cage, picked a monkey still smaller, bowled it over and gave it a drubbing worse than the one he had suffered - after which he seemed quite relaxed. The third monk crawled away, still whimpering, and found shelter in the arm of a female who had a still smaller one, a baby, on her back. The other monkeys paid no attention to any of it.

  Mike threw back his head and laughed - went on laughing, loudly and uncontrollably. He gasped for breath, tears came from his eyes; he started to tremble and sink to the floor, still laughing.

  "Stop it, Mike!"

  He did cease folding himself up but his guffaws and tears went on. An attendant hurried over. "Lady, do you need help?"

  "No. Yes, I do. Can you call us a cab? Ground car, air cab, anything - I've got to get him out of here." She added, "He's not well."

  "Ambulance? Looks like he's having a fit."

  "Anything!" A few minutes l
ater she was leading Mike into a piloted air cab. She gave the address, then said urgently. "Mike, you've got to listen to me. Quiet down."

  He became somewhat more quiet but continued to chuckle, laugh aloud, chuckle again, while she wiped his eyes, for all the few minutes it took to get back to their flat. She got him inside, got his clothes off, made him lie down on the bed. "All right, dear. Withdraw now if you need to."

  "I'm all right. At last I'm all right."

  "I hope so." She sighed. "You certainly scared me, Mike."

  "I'm sorry, Little Brother. I know. I was scared, too, the first time I heard laughing."

  "Mike, what happened?"

  "Jill... I grok people!"

  "Huh?" ("!!??")

  ("I speak rightly, Little Brother. I grok.")

  "I grok people now, Jill Little Brother... precious darling , little imp with lively legs and lovely lewd lascivious lecherous licentious libido... beautiful bumps and pert posterior... with soft voice and gentle hands. My baby darling."

  "Why, Michael!"

  "Oh, I knew all the words; I simply didn't know when or why to say them... nor why you wanted me to. I love you, sweetheart - I grok 'love' now, too."

  "You always have. I knew. And I love you... you smooth ape. My darling."

  "'Ape,' yes. Come here, she ape, and put your head on my shoulder and tell me a joke."

  "Just tell you a joke?"

  "Well, nothing more than snuggling. Tell me a joke I've never heard and see if I laugh at the right place. I will, I'm sure of it - and I'll be able to tell you why it's funny. Jill... I grok people!"

  "But how, darling? Can you tell me? Does it need Martian? Or mindtalk?"

  "No, that's the point. I grok people. I am people... so now I can say it in people talk. I've found out why people laugh. They laugh because it hurts so much... because it's the only thing that'll make it stop hurting."

  Jill looked puzzled. "Maybe I'm the one who isn't people. I don't understand."

  "Ah, but you are people, little she ape. You grok it so automatically that you don't have to think about it. Because you grew up with people. But I didn't. I've been like a puppy raised apart from other dogs - Who couldn't be like his masters and had never learned how to be a dog. So I had to be taught. Brother Mahmoud taught me, Jubal taught me, lots of people taught me... and you taught me most of all. Today I got my diploma - and I laughed. That poor little monk."