Robert Heinlein - Stranger in a Strange Land

“She doesn’t do much preaching—we’ll get to that. Jubal, what do you read from the calendar?”

“Huh?”

“You know what I mean. You think Mike did it—in both cases. Or you think so if his visits home match up in either or both cases.”

Jubal said guardedly, “Why do you say that, Ben? I’ve said nothing to lead you to think so.”

“The hell you haven’t. You said that they were smug, both of them. I know all too well the effect that goddam superman has on women.”

“Hold it, son—he’s your water brother.”

Ben said levelly, “I know it—and I love him, too. If I ever decided to go gay, Mike would be my only choice. But that’s all the more reason why I understand why they are smug.”

Jubal stared at his glass. “Maybe they just hope. Ben, seems to me your name could be on the list, even easier than Mike’s. Yes?”

“Jubal, you’re out of your mind!”

“Take it easy. Nobody is trying to make you get married, I promise you—why, I haven’t even painted my shotgun white. While I am not snoopy and I never hold a bed check around here and I really do, so help me by all the Billion Names of God, believe in not poking my nose into other people’s business, nevertheless while I may be out of my mind—a ‘least hypothesis’ more than once, the last couple of years—I do have normal eyesight and hearing… and if a brass band parades through my home, fortissimo, I’ll notice it eventually. Question: You’ve slept under this roof dozens of times. Did you, on at least one of those nights, sleep alone?”

“Why, you scoundrel! Uh, I slept alone the very first night I was ever here.”

“Dorcas must have been off her feed. No, I remember, you were under sedative that night. You were my patient—doesn’t count. Some other night? Just one?”

“Your question is irrelevant, immaterial, and beneath my notice.”

“That’s an adequate answer, I think. But please note that the added bedrooms are as far from my bedroom as possible. Soundproofing is never perfect.”

“Jubal, it seems to me that your name is much higher up that list than mine can possibly be.”

“What?”

“Not to mention Larry and Duke. But, Jubal, almost everybody who knows you assumes that you are keeping the fanciest harem since the Sultan went out of business. Oh, don’t misunderstand me—they envy you. But they think you’re a lecherous old goat, too.”

Jubal drummed on the arm of his chair before replying. “Ben, I ordinarily do not mind being treated flippantly by my juniors. I encourage it, as you know. But in some matters I insist that my years be treated with respect. This is one of them.”

“Sorry,” Ben said stiffly. “I thought if it was all right for you to kick my sex life around, you would not mind my being equally frank.”

“No, no, no, Ben!—you misunderstand me. Your inquiry was in order and your side comments no more than I had invited. I mean that I require the girls to treat me with respect—on this one subject.”

“Oh—”

“I am, as you pointed out, old—quite old. Privately, to you alone, I am happy to say that I am still lecherous. But my lechery does not command me and I am not a goat. I prefer dignity and self-respect to indulging in pastimes which, believe me, I have already enjoyed in full measure and do not need to repeat. Ben, a man my age, who looks like a slum clearance in its most depressing stages, can attract a young girl enough to bed her—and possibly big her and thanks for the compliment; it just possibly might not be amiss—through three means only: money… or second, the equivalent of money in terms of wills and community property and the like and—pause for question: Can you imagine any of these three girls—these four, let me include Jill—bedding with a man, even a young and handsome one, for those reasons?”

“No. Categorical no—not any of them.”

“Thank you, sir. I associate only with ladies; I see that you know it. The third incentive is a most female one. A sweet young girl can, and sometimes does, take an old wreck to bed because she is fond of him and sorry for him and wishes to make him happy. Would that reason apply here?”

“Uh… yes, Jubal, I think it might. With all four of them.”

“I think it might, too. Although I’d hate like hell to have any of them sorry for me. But this third reason which any of these four ladies might find sufficient motivation is not sufficient motivation for me. I wouldn’t put up with it. I have my dignity, sir—and I hope that I retain my reason long enough to extinguish myself if it ever appears about to slip. So please take my name off the list.”

Caxton grinned. “Okay—you stiff-necked old coot. I just hope that when I am your age I won’t be so all-fired hard to tempt.”

Jubal smiled. “Believe me, it’s better to be tempted and resist, than not to resist and be disappointed. Now about Duke and Larry: I don’t know nor care. Whenever anyone has come here, to work and live as a member of the family, I have made it bluntly plain that this was neither a sweat shop nor a whore house, but a home… and, as such, it combined anarchy and tyranny without a trace of democracy, as in any well-run family, i.e., that they were utterly on their own except where I saw fit to give orders, which orders were not subject to vote or debate. My tyranny has never extended to their love life, if any. All the kids who live here have always chosen to keep their private matters reasonably private. At least—” Jubal smiled ruefully. “—until the Martian influence caused things to get a little out of hand… which includes you, too, my water brother. But Duke and Larry have been more restrained, in one sense or the other. Perhaps they have been dragging the gals behind every bush. If so, I haven’t seen it—and there have been no screams.”

Ben thought of adding a little to Jubal’s store of facts, decided against it. “Then you think it’s Mike.”

Jubal scowled. “Yep, I think it’s Mike. That part’s all right—I told you the girls were smugly happy… and I’m not broke plus the fact that I could bleed Mike for any amount without telling the girls. Their babies won’t lack. But, Ben, I’m troubled about Mike himself. Very.”

“So am I, Jubal.”

“And about Jill, too. I should have named Jill.”

“Uh… Jubal, Jill isn’t the problem—other than for me, personally. And that’s my hard luck, I hold no grudge. It’s Mike.”

“Damn it, why can’t the boy come home and quit this obscene pulpit pounding?”

“Mmm… Jubal, that’s not quite what he’s doing.” Ben added, “I’ve just come from there.”

“Huh? Why didn’t you say so?”

Ben sighed. “First you wanted to talk art, then you wanted to sing the blues, then you wanted to gossip. What chance have I had?”

“Uh… conceded. You have the floor.”

“I was coming back from covering the Cape Town conference; I squeezed out a day and visited them. What I saw worried the hell out of me—so much so that I stopped just long enough in Washington to get a few columns ahead, then came straight here. Jubal, couldn’t you rig it with Douglas to shut off the faucet and close down this operation?”

Jubal shook his head. “In the first place, I wouldn’t. What Mike does with his life is his business.”

“You would if you had seen what I saw.”

“Not I! But in the second place I can’t. Nor can Douglas.”

“Jubal, you know quite well that Mike would accept any decision you made about his money. He probably wouldn’t even understand it—and he certainly wouldn’t question it.”

“Ah, but he would understand it! Ben, recently Mike made his will, drew it up himself—no attorney—and sent it to me to criticize. Ben, it was one of the shrewdest legal documents I’ve ever seen. He recognized that he had more wealth than his heirs could possibly need—so he used half his money to guard the other half… rigged it so that anyone who contests the will does so to his own great disadvantage. It is a very cynical document in that respect and is booby-trapped not only against possible heirsclaimants of his legal parents and his natural parents—he knows he’s a bastard, though I don’t know how he found out—but also the same with respect to every member of the Envoy’s company… he provided a generous way to settle out of court with any possible unknown heir having a good prima-facie claim—and rigged it so that they would almost have to overthrow the government to go into court and break his will… and the will also showed that he knew exactly each stock, bond, security, and asset he owned. I couldn’t find anything to criticize in it.” (—including, Jubal thought, his provision for you, my brother!) “Then he went to the trouble of depositing holographic originals in several places… and Fair-Witness copies in half a dozen reliable brains. Don’t tell me that I could rig his money without his understanding what I had done!”