Robert Heinlein - Stranger in a Strange Land

“Jubal, I was so shocked I almost lost my breakfast.”

“WELL,” SAID JUBAL, “what did you do? Cheer?”

“Like hell. I left, at once. I dashed for the outer door, grabbed my clothes and shoes—forgot my bag and didn’t go back for it—ignored the sign on the door, went on through—jumped in that bounce tube with my clothes in my arms. Blooie! Gone without saying good-by.”

“Rather abrupt.”

“I felt abrupt. I had to leave. In fact I left so fast that I durn near killed myself. You know the ordinary bounce tube—”

“I do not.”

“Well, unless you set it to take you up to a certain level, when you get into it you simply sink slowly, like cold molasses I didn’t sink, I fell and I was about six stories up. But just when I thought I had made my last mistake, something caught me. Not a safety net—a field of some sort I didn’t quite splash. But Mike needs to smooth out that gadget. Or put in the regular sort of bounce tube.”

Jubal said, “I’ll stick to stairs and, when unavoidable, elevators.”

“Well, I hadn’t realized that this one was so risky. But the only safety inspector they’ve got is Duke… and to Duke whatever Mike says is Gospel. Jubal, that whole place is riding for a fall. They’re all hypnotized by one man… who isn’t right in his head. What can be done about it?”

Jubal jutted out his lips and then scowled, “Let’s see first if you’ve got it analyzed correctly. Just what aspects of the situation did you find disquieting?”

“Why… the whole thing.”

“So? In fact, wasn’t it just one thing? And that an essentially harmless act which we both know was nothing new… but was, we can assume rather conclusively, initially performed in this house or on these grounds about two years ago? I did not then object—nor did you, when you learned of it, whenever that was, in fact, I have implied that you yourself have, on other occasions, joined in that same act with the same young lady—and she is a lady, despite your tale—and you neither denied my implication nor acted offended at my presumption. To put it bluntly, son—what are you belly-aching about?”

“Well, for cripe’s sake, Jubal… Would you put up with it, in your living room?”

“Decidedly not—unless perhaps I have, it having taken place so clandestinely, at night perhaps, that no one noticed. In which case it would be—or has been, if such be the case—no skin off my nose. But the point is that it was not my living room… nor would I presume to lay down rules for another man’s living room. It was Mike’s house… and his wife—common law or otherwise, we need not inquire. So what business is it of mine? Or yours? You go into a man’s house, you accept his household rules—that’s a universal law of civilized behavior.”

“You mean to say you don’t find it shocking?”

“Ah, you’ve raised an entirely different issue. Public exhibition of lust I would find most distasteful, either as participant or spectator… but I grok this reflects my early indoctrination, nothing more. A very large minority of mankind—possibly a majority—do not share my taste in this matter. Decidedly not—for the orgy has a long and very widespread history. Nonetheless it is not to my taste. But shocking? My dear sir, I can be shocked only by that which offends me ethically. Ethical questions are subject to logic—but this is a matter of taste and the old saw is in point—‘de gusribus non est disputandu.’”

“You think that a public shagging is merely ‘a matter of taste?’”

“Precisely. In which respect I concede that my own taste, rooted in early training, reinforced by some three generations of habit, and now, I believe, calcified beyond possibility of change, is no more sacred than the very different taste of Nero. Less sacred—Nero was a god; I am not.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“In due course, possibly—if it is possible… a point on which I am ‘neutral-against.’ But, Ben, this wasn’t public.”

“Huh?”

“You yourself have said it. You described this group as a plural marriage—a group theogamy, to be precise. Not public but utterly private. ‘Aint nobody here but just us gods’—so how could anyone be offended?”

“I was offended!”

“That was because your own apotheosis was less complete than theirs—I’m afraid they over-rated you… and you misled them. You invited it.”

“Me? Jubal, I did nothing of the sort—”

“‘Tommy busted my dolly… I hitted him over the head with it.’ The time to back out was the instant you got there, for you saw at once that their customs and manners were not yours. Instead you stayed, and enjoyed the favors of one goddess—and behaved yourself as a god toward her—in short, you learned the score, and they knew it. It seems to me that Mike’s error lay only in accepting your hypocrisy as solid coin. But he does have the weakness—a godlike one—of never doubting his ‘water brothers’—but even Jove nods—and his weakness—or is it a strength?—comes from his early training; he can’t help it. No, Ben, Mike behaved with complete propriety; the offense against good manners lay in your behavior.”

“Damn it, Jubal, you’ve twisted things again. I did what I had to do—I was about to throw up on their rug!”

“So you claim reflex. So stipulated; however, anyone over the emotional age of twelve could have clamped his jaws and made a slow march for the bathroom with at worst the hazard of clogged sinuses—instead of a panicked dash for the street door—then returned when the show was over with a euphemistic but acceptable excuse.”

“That wouldn’t have been enough. I tell you I had to leave!”

“I know. But not through reflex. Reflex will evacuate the stomach; it will not choose a course for the feet, recover chattels, take you through doors and cause you to jump down a hole without looking. Panic, Ben. Why did you panic?”

Caxton was long in replying. He sighed and said, “I guess when you come right down to it, Jubal—I’m a prude.”

Jubal shook his head. “Your behavior was momentarily prudish, but not from prudish motivations. You are not a prude, Ben. A prude is a person who thinks that his own rules of propriety are natural laws. You are almost entirely free of this prevalent evil. You adjusted, at least with passable urbanity, to many things which did not fit your code of propriety whereas a true-blue, stiff-necked, incorrigible prude would promptly have affronted that delightful tattooed lady and stomped out. Dig deeper.. Do you wish a hint?”

“Uh, maybe you’d better. All I know is that I am mixed up and unhappy about the whole situation—on Mike’s account, too, Jubal!—which is why I took a day off to see you.”

“Very well. Hypothetical situation for you to evaluate: You mentioned a lady named Ruth whom you met in passing—a kiss of brotherhood and a few minutes conversation—nothing more.”

“Yeah?”

“Suppose the actors had been Ruth and Mike? Gillian not even present? Would you have been shocked?”

“Huh? Hell, yes, I would have been shocked!”

“Just how shocked? Retching? Panic flight?”

Caxton looked thoughtful, then sheepish. “I suppose not. I still would have been startled silly. But I guess I would’ve just gone out to the kitchen or something… then found an excuse to leave. I still feel like a fool for having made that mad dash to get out.”

“Would you actually have sought an excuse to leave? Or were you looking forward to your own ‘welcome home’ party that night?”

“Well,” Caxton mused. “I hadn’t made up my mind about that when this happened. I was curious, I admit—but I wasn’t quite sold.”