Robert Heinlein - Stranger in a Strange Land

“Well,” Ben answered. “Pat isn’t exactly body conscious, either—just about her tattoos. She wants to be stuffed and mounted, nude, when she dies, as a tribute to George.”

“‘George’?”

“Sorry. Her husband. Up in heaven, to my relief… although she talked about him as if he had just slipped out for a short beer. While she was behaving as if she expected a trial mounting and stuffing any moment. But, essentially, Pat is a lady… and she didn’t let me stay embarrassed—”

PATRICIA HAD HER ARMS around Ben Caxton and gave him the all-out kiss of brotherhood before he knew what hit him. She felt at once his unease and was herself surprised, because Michael had told her to expect him, given her Ben’s face in her mind, had explained that Ben was a brother in all fullness, of the Inner Nest, and she knew that Jill was grown closer with Ben second only to that with Michael… which was always necessarily first since Michael was the fountain and source of all their knowledge of the water of life.

But the foundation of Patricia’s nature was an endless wish to make other people as happy as she was; she slowed down. She invited Ben to get rid of his clothes but did so casually and did not press the matter, except to ask him to remove his shoes, with the explanation that the Nest was everywhere kind to bare feet and the unstated corollary that street shoes would not be kind to it—it was soft and clean as only Michael’s powers could keep things clean, which Ben could see for himself.

Aside from that she merely pointed out where to hang any clothes he found too warm for the Nest and hurried away to fetch him a drink. She didn’t ask his preferences; she knew them from Jill. She merely decided that he would choose a double martini this time rather than Scotch and soda, the poor dear looked tired. When she came back with a drink for each of them, Ben was barefooted and had removed his street jacket. “Brother, may you never thirst.”

“We share water,” he agreed and drank. “But there’s mighty little water in that.”

“Enough,” she answered. “Michael says that the water could be completely in the thought; it is the sharing. I grok he speaks rightly.”

“I grok. And it’s just what I needed. Thanks, Patty.”

“Ours is yours and you are ours. We’re glad you’re safely home. Just now the others are all at services or teaching. But there’s no hurry; they will come when waiting is filled. Would you like to look around your Nest?”

Still puzzled but interested Ben let her lead him on a guided tour. Some parts of it were commonplace: a huge kitchen with a bar at one end—rather short on gadgets and having the same kind-to-the-feet floor covering as elsewhere, but not notable otherwise save for size—a library even more loaded than Jubal’s, bathrooms ample and luxurious, bedrooms—Ben decided that they must be bedrooms although they contained no beds but simply floors that were even softer than elsewhere; Patty called them “little nests” and showed him one she said she usually slept in.

It contained her snakes.

It had been fitted on one side for the comfort of snakes. Ben suppressed his own slight queasiness about snakes until he came to the cobras. “It’s all right,” she assured him. “We did have glass in front of them. But Michael has taught them that they must not come past this line.”

“I think I would rather trust glass.”

“Okay, Ben.” In remarkably short order she replaced the glass barrier, front and top. But he was relieved when they left, even though he managed to stroke Honey Bun when invited to. Before returning to the huge living room Pat showed him one other room. It was large, circular, had a floor which seemed almost as cushiony as that of the bedrooms, and no furniture. In its center was a round pool of water, almost a swimming pool. “This,” she told him, “is the Innermost Temple, where we receive new brothers into the Nest.” She went over and dabbled a foot in the water. “Just right,” she said. “Want to share water and grow closer? Or maybe just swim?”

“Uh, not right now.”

“Waiting is,” she agreed. They returned to the living room and Patricia went to get him another drink. Ben settled himself on a big, very comfortable couch—then got up at once. The place was too warm for him, that first drink was making him sweat, and leaning back on a couch that adjusted itself too well to his contours made him just that much hotter. He decided it was damn silly to dress the way he would in Washington, warm as it was in here—and with Patty decked out in nothing but ink and a bull snake she had left around her shoulders during the latter part of the tour that reptile would keep him from temptation even if it wasn’t already clearly evident that Patty was not trying to be provocative.

He compromised by leaving on jockey shorts and hung his other clothes in the foyer. As he did so, he noticed a sign printed on the inside of the door through which he had entered: “Did You Remember to Dress?”

He decided that, in this odd household, this gentle warning might be necessary if any were absent-minded. Then he saw something else that he had missed on coming in, his attention earlier having been seized by the sight of Patty herself. On each side of the door was a large bowl, as gross as a bushel basket—and each was tilled with money.

More than filled—Federation notes of various denominations spilled out on the floor.

He was staring at this improbability when Patricia returned. “Here’s your drink, Brother Ben. Grow close in Happiness.”

“Uh, thanks.” His eyes returned to the money.

She followed his glance. “You must think I’m a sloppy housekeeper, Ben—and I am. Michael makes it so easy, most of the cleaning and such, that I forget.” She squatted down, retrieved the money, stuffed it into the less crowded bowl.

“Patty, why in the world?”

“Oh. We keep it here because this door leads out to the street. Just for convenience. If one of us is leaving the Nest—and I do, myself, almost every day for grocery shopping—we are likely to need money. So we keep it where you won’t forget to take some with you.”

“You mean… just grab a handful and go?”

“Why, of course, dear. Oh, I see what you mean. But there is never anyone here but us. No visitors, ever. If any of us have friends outside—and, of course, all of us do—there are plenty of nice rooms lower down, the ordinary sort that outsiders are used to, where we can visit with them. This money isn’t where it can tempt a weak person.”

“Huh! I’m pretty weak, myself!”

She chuckled gently at his joke. “How can it tempt you when it’s already yours? You’re part of the Nest.”

“Uh… I suppose so. But don’t you worry about burglars?” He was trying to guess how much money one of those bowls contained. Most of the notes seemed to be larger than singles—hell, he could see one with three zeroes on it still on the floor, where Patty had missed it in her tidying up.

“One did get in, just last week.”

“So? How much did he steal?”

“Oh, he didn’t. Michael sent him away.”

“Called the cops?”

“Oh, no, no—Michael would never turn anybody over to the cops. I grok that would be a wrongness Michael just—” She shrugged. “—made him go away. Then Duke fixed the hole in the skylight in the garden room—did I show you that? It’s lovely… a grass floor. But I remember that you have a grass floor, Jill told me. That’s where Michael first saw one. Is it grass all over? Every room?”

“Just my living room.”

“If I ever get to Washington, can I walk on it? Lie down on it? Please?”

“Of course, Patty. Uh… it’s yours.”