Robert Heinlein - Stranger in a Strange Land

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 —art 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 in 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—”