Jubal whispered it back to him. The scene made a five-second cut:
"Cahuenga Cave! The night club with real Los Angeles smog, imported fresh every day. Six exotic dancers."
"Lynch him! Give the bastard a nigger necktie!" A heavy-gauge shotgun blasted at close range and Mike's right arm was struck off at the elbow and fell. It floated gently down, then came to rest on the cool grasses, its hand curved open in invitation.
"Give him the other barrel, Shortie - and aim closer!" The crowd laughed and applauded. A brick smashed Mike's nose and more rocks gave him a crown of blood.
"The Truth is simple but the Way of Man is hard. First you must learn to control yourself. The rest follows. Blessed is he who knows himself and commands himself, for the world is his and love and happiness and peace walk with him wherever he goes." Another shotgun blast was followed by two more shots. One shot, a forty-five slug, hit Mike over the heart, shattering the sixth rib near the sternum and making a large wound; the buckshot and the other slug sheered through his left tibia five inches below the patella and left the fibula sticking out at an angle, broken and white against the yellow and red of the wound.
Mike staggered slightly and laughed, went on talking, his words clear and unhurried. "Thou art God. Know that and the Way is opened."
"God damn it - let's stop this taking the Name of the Lord in vain!"- "Come on, men! Let's finish him!" The mob surged forward, led by one bold with a club; they were on him with rocks and fists, and then with feet as he went down. He went on talking while they kicked his ribs in and smashed his golden body, broke his bones and tore an ear loose. At last someone called out, "Back away a little so we can get the gasoline on him!"
The mob opened up a little at that warning and the camera zoomed to pick up his face and shoulders. The Man from Mars smiled at his brothers, said once more, softly and clearly, "I love you." An incautious grasshopper came whirring to a landing on the grass a few inches from his face; Mike turned his head, looked at it as it stared back at him. "Thou art God," he said happily and discorporated.
* * *
XXXVIII
FLAME AND BILLOWING SMOKE came up and filled the tank. "Golly!" Patty said reverently. "That's the best blow-off ever used."
"Yes," agreed Becky judicially, "the Professor himself never dreamed up a better one."
Van Tromp said very quietly, apparently to himself: "In style. Smart and with style - the lad finished in style."
Jubal looked around at his brothers. Was he the only one who felt anything? Jill and Dawn were seated each with an arm around the other - but they did that whenever they were together; neither one seemed disturbed. Even Dorcas was dry-eyed and calm.
The inferno in the tank cut to smiling Happy Holiday who said, "And now, folks, a few moments for our friends at Elysian Fields who so graciously gave up their-" Patty cut him off.
"Anne and Duke are on their way back up," she said. "I'll let them through the foyer and then we'll have lunch." She started to leave.
Jubal stopped her. "Patty? Did you know what Mike was going to do?"
She seemed puzzled. "Huh? Why, of course not, Jubal. It was necessary to wait for fullness. None of us knew." She turned and left.
"Jubal-" Jill was looking at him. "Jubal our beloved father please stop and grok the fullness. Mike is not dead. How can he be dead when no one can be killed? Nor can he ever be away from us who have already grokked him. Thou art God."
"'Thou art God,'" he repeated dully.
"That's better. Come sit with Dawn and me - in the middle."
"No. No, just let me be." He went blindly to his own room, let himself in and bolted the door after him, leaned heavily with both hands gripping the foot of the bed. My son, oh my son! Would that I had died for thee! He had had so much to live for... and an old fool that he respected too much had to shoot off his yap and goad him into a needless, useless martyrdom. If Mike had given them something big-like stereo, or bingo - but he gave them the Truth. Or a piece of the Truth. And who is interested in Truth? He laughed through his sobs.
After a while he shut them off, both heart-broken sobs and bitter laugh, and pawed through his traveling bag. He had what he wanted with him; he had kept a supply in his toilet kit ever since Joe Douglas's stroke had reminded him that all flesh is grass.
Well, now his own stroke had come and he couldn't take it. He prescribed three tablets for himself to make it fast and certain, washed them down with water, and lay quickly on the bed. Shortly the pain went away.
From a great distance the voice reached him. "Jubal-"
"'M resting, Don' bother me."
"Jubal! Please, Father!"
"Uh... yes, Mike? What is it?"
"Wake up! Fullness is not yet. Here, let me help you."
Jubal sighed. "Okay, Mike" He let himself be helped and led into the bath, let his head be held while he threw up, accepted a glass of water and rinsed out his mouth.
"Okay now?"
"Okay, son. Thanks."
"Then I've got some things to attend to. I love you, Father. Thou art God."
"I love you, Mike. Thou art God." Jubal puttered around for a while longer, making himself presentable, changing his clothes, taking one short brandy to kill the slightly bitter taste still in his stomach, then went out to join the others.
Patty was alone in the room with the babble tank and it was switched off. She looked up. "Some lunch now, Jubal?"
"Yes, thanks."
She came up to him. "That's good. I'm afraid most of them simply ate and scooted. But each of them left a kiss for you. And here it is, all in one package." She managed to deliver in full all the love placed in her proxy cemented together with her own; Jubal found that it left him feeling strong, with her own serene acceptance shared, no bitterness left.
"Come out into the kitchen," she said. "Tony's gone so most of the rest are there - not that his growls ever really chased anybody out anyhow." She stopped and tried to stare down the back of her neck. "Isn't that final scene changing a little? Sort of smoky, maybe?"
Jubal solemnly agreed that he thought it was. He couldn't see any change himself... but he was not going to argue with Patty's idiosyncrasy. She nodded. "I expected it. I can see around me all right - except myself. I still need a double mirror to see my back clearly. Mike says my Sight will include that presently. No matter."
In the kitchen perhaps a dozen were lounging at a table and elsewhere; Duke was standing at the range, stirring a small sauce pan. "Hi, Boss. I ordered a twenty-place bus. That's the biggest that can land on our little landing flat... and we'll need one almost that big, what with the diaper set and Patty's pets. Okay?"
"Certainly. Are they all coming home now?" If they ran out of bedrooms, the girls could make up dosses that would do in the living room and here and there - and this crowd would probably double up mostly anyhow. Come to think of it, he might not be allowed to sleep solo himself and he made up his mind not to fight it. It was friendly to have a warm body on the other side of the bed, even if your intentions weren't active. By God, he had forgotten how friendly it was! Growing closer- "Not everybody. Tim will pilot us, then turn in the bus and go to Texas for a while. The Skipper and Beatrix and Sven we're simply going to drop off in New Jersey."
Sam looked up from the table. "Ruth and I have got to get back to our kids. And Saul is coming with us."
"Can't you stop by home for a day or two first?"
"Well, maybe. I'll talk it over with Ruth."
"Boss," put in Duke, "how soon can we fill the swimming pool?"
"Well, we never filled it earlier than the first of April before - but with the new heaters I suppose we could fill it anytime." Jubal added, "But we'll still have some nasty weather - snow still on the ground yesterday."
"Boss, lemme clue you. This gang can walk through snow hip deep on a tall giraffe and not notice it - and will, to swim. Besides that, there are cheaper ways of keeping that water from freezing than with those big oil heaters."
/> "Jubal!"
"Yes, Ruth?"
"We'll stop for a day or maybe more. The kids don't miss me - and I'm not aching to take over being motherly without Patty to discipline them anyhow. Jubal, you've never really seen me until you've seen me with my hair floating around me in the water - looking like Mrs. DoAsYouWouldBeDoneBy."
"It's a date. Say, where is the Squarehead and the Dutchman? Beatrix has never been home - they can't be in such a hurry."
"I'll tell 'em, Boss."
"Patty, can your snakes stand a clean, warm basement for a while? Until we can do better? I don't mean Honey Bun, of course; she's people. But I don't think the cobras should have the run of the house."
"Of course, Jubal."
"Mmm-" Jubal looked around. "Dawn, can you take shorthand?"
"She doesn't need it," put in Anne, "anymore than I do."
"I see. I should have known. Use a typewriter?"
"I will learn, if you wish it," Dawn answered.
"Consider yourself hired - until there's a vacancy for a high priestess somewhere. Jill, have we forgotten anybody?"
"No, Boss. Except that all those who have left feel free to camp on you anytime, too. And they will."
"I assumed that. Nest number two, when and as needed." He went over to the range and joined Duke, glanced into the pan he was stirring. It held a small amount of broth. "Hmm... Mike?"
"Yup." Duke dipped out a little in the spoon, tasted it. "Needs a little salt."
"Yes, Mike always did need a little seasoning." Jubal took the spoon and tasted the broth. Duke was correct; the flavor was sweet and could have used salt. "But let's grok him as he is, Who's left to share?"
"Just you. Tony left me here with strict instructions to stir by hand, add water as needed, and wait for you. Not to let it scorch."
"Then grab a couple of cups. We'll share it and grok together."
"Right, Boss." Two cups came sailing down and rested by the sauce pan. "This is a joke on Mike - he always swore that he would outlive me and serve me up for Thanksgiving. Or maybe the joke's on me - because we had a bet on it and now I can't collect."
"You won only by default. Split it evenly."
Duke did so. Jubal raised his cup. "Share!"
"Grow ever closer."
Slowly they drank the broth, stretching it out, savoring it, praising and cherishing and grokking their donor. Jubal found, to his surpriser that although he was overflowing with emotion, it was a calm happiness that did not bring tears. What a quaint and gawky puppy his son had been when first he saw him... so eager to please, so naive in his little mistakes - and what a proud power he had become without ever losing his angelic innocence. I grok you at last, son - and would not change a line!
Patty had his lunch waiting for him; he sat down and dug in, hungry and feeling that it had been days since breakfast. Sam was saying, "I was telling Saul that I grok no need to make any change in plans. We go on as before. If you've got the right merchandise, the business grows, even though the founder has passed on."
"I wasn't disagreeing," Saul objected. "You and Ruth will found another temple - and we'll found others. But we'll have to take time now to accumulate capital. This isn't a street corner revival, nor yet something to set up in a vacant shop; it requires staging and equipment. That means money - not to mention such things as paying for a year or two on Mars for Stinky and Maryam... and that's just as essential."
"All right already! Who's arguing? We wait for fullness... and go ahead."
Jubal said suddenly, "Money's no problem."
"How's that, Jubal?"
"As a lawyer I shouldn't tell this... but as a water brother I do what I grok. Just a moment - Anne."
"Yes, Boss."
"Buy that spot. The one where they stoned Mike. Better get about a hundred-foot radius around it."
"Boss, the spot itself is public parkway. A hundred-foot radius will cut off some public road and a piece of the hotel grounds."
"Don't argue."
"I wasn't arguing, I was giving you facts."
"Sorry. They'll sell. They'll reroute that road. Hell, if their arms are twisted properly, they'll donate the mind-twisting done through Joe Douglas, I think. And have Joe Douglas claim from the morgue whatever was left when those ghouls got through with him and we'll bury him right on that spot - say a year from now... with the whole city mourning and the cops that didn't protect him today standing at attention." What to put over him? The Fallen Caryatid? No, Mike had been strong enough for his stone. The Little Mermaid would be better - but it wouldn't be understood. Maybe one of Mike himself, just as he was when he had said, "Look at me. I am a Son of Man." If Duke didn't catch a shot of it, New World did - and maybe there was a brother, or would be a brother, with the spark of Rodin in him to do it right and not fancy it up.
"We'll bury him there," Jubal went on, "unprotects and let the worms and the gentle rain grok him. I grok Mike will like that. Anne, I want to talk to Joe Douglas as soon as we get home."
"Yes, Boss. We grok with you."
"Now about that other." He told them about Mike's will. "So you see, each one of you is at least a millionaire - just how much more than that I haven't estimated lately... but much more, even after taxes. No strings on it at all... but I grok that you will spend as needed for temples and similar stuff. But there's nothing to stop you from buying yachts if you wish. Oh, yes! Joe Douglas stays on as manager for any who care to let the capital ride, same pay as before... but I grok Joe won't last long, whereupon management devolves on Ben Caxton. Ben?"
Caxton shrugged. "It can be in my name. I grok I'll hire me a real business man, name of Saul."
"That wraps it then. Some waiting time but nobody will dare really fight this will; Mike rigged it. You'll see. How soon can we get out of here? Is the tab settled?"
"Jubal," Ben said gently, "we own this hotel."
Not long thereafter they were in the air, with no trouble from police - the town had quieted down as fast as it had flared up. Jubal sat forward with Stinky Mahmoud and relaxed - discovered that he was not tired, not unhappy, not even fretting to get back to his sanctuary. He discussed with Mahmoud his plans to go to Mars to learn the language more deeply after, Jubal was pleased to learn, completing the work on the dictionary, which Mahmoud estimated at about a year more for his own part in checking the phonetic spellings.
Jubal said grumpily, "I suppose I shall be forced to learn the pesky stuff myself, just to understand the chatter going on around me."
"As you grok, brother."
"Well, damn it, I won't put up with assigned lessons and regular school hours! I'll work as suits me, just as I always have."
Mahmoud was silent a few moments. "Jubal, we used classes and schedules at the Temple because we were handling groups. But some got special attention."
"That's what I'm going to need."
"Anne, for example, is much, much farther along than she ever let you know. With her total-recall memory, she learned Martian in nothing flat, hooked in rapport with Mike."
"Well, I don't have that sort of memory - and Mike's not available."
"No, but Anne is. And, stubborn as you are, nevertheless Dawn can place you in rapport with Anne - if you'll let her. And you won't need Dawn for the second lesson; Anne will then be able to handle it all. You'll be thinking in Martian inside of days, by the calendar - much longer by subjective time, but who cares?" Mahmoud leered at him. "You'll enjoy the warming-up exercises."
Jubal bristled. "You're a low, evil, lecherous Arab - and besides that you stole one of my best secretaries."
"For which I am forever in your debt. But you haven't lost her entirely; she'll give you lessons, too. She'll insist on it."
"Now go 'way and find another seat. I want to think."
Somewhat later be shouted, "Front!"
Dorcas came forward and sat down beside him, steno gear ready.
He glanced at her before he started to work. "Child, you look even happier than usual.
Glowing."
Dorcas said dreamily, "I've decided to name him 'Dennis.'" Jubal nodded. "Appropriate. Very appropriate." Appropriate meaning even if she were mixed up about the paternity, he thought to himself. "Do you feel like working?"
"Oh, yes! I feel grand."
"Begin. Stereoplay. Rough draft. Working title: 'A Martian Named Smith.' Opener: zoom in on Mars, using stock or bonestelled shots, unbroken sequence, then dissolving to miniature matched set of actual landing place of Envoy. Space ship in middle distance. Animated Martians, typical, with stock as available or rephotographed. Cut to close: Interior space ship. Female patient stretched on-"
* * *
XXIX
THE VERDICT TO BE PASSED on the third planet around Sol was never in doubt. The Old Ones of the fourth planet were not omniscient and in their way were as provincial as humans. Grokking by their own local values, even with the aid of vastly superior logic, they were certain in time to perceive an incurable "wrongness" in the busy, restless, quarrelsome beings of the third planet, a wrongness which would require weeding, once it had been grokked and cherished and hated.
But, by the time that they would slowly get around to it, it would be highly improbable approaching impossible that the Old Ones would be able to destroy this weirdly complex race. The hazard was slight that those concerned with the third planet did not waste a split eon on it.
Certainly Foster did not. "Digby!"
His assistant looked up. "Yes, Foster?"
"I'll be gone a few eons on a special assignment. Want you to meet your new supervisor." Foster turned and said, "Mike, this is Archangel Digby, your assistant. He knows where everything is around the studio and you'll find him a very steady straw boss for anything you conceive."
"Oh, we'll get along," Archangel Michael assured him, and said to Digby, "Haven't we met before?"
Digby answered, "Not that I remember. Of course, out of so many when - wheres." He shrugged.
"No matter. Thou art God."
"Thou art God," Digby responded.
Foster said, "Skip the formalities, please. I've left you a load of work and you don't have all eternity to fiddle with it. Certainly 'Thou art God' - but who isn't?"
A Stranger in a Strange Land Page 63
