Robert Heinlein - Stranger in a Strange Land

Jubal dismissed the whole idea with one short, explosive word.

“Certainly,” Ben agreed. “Even Mike has his blind spots—I told you he was only human. But that’s how it is. You’re the patron saint of this church—and you’re stuck with it.”

“Well… there’s somebody I know, just came in. Jill! Jill! Turn around, dear!”

The woman turned rather hesitantly. “I’m Dawn. But thank you.” She came over, however, and Jubal thought for an instant that she was going to kiss him… and decided not to duck it. But she either had not that intention, or changed her mind. She dropped to one knee, took his hand and kissed it. “Father Jubal. We welcome you and drink deep of you.”

Jubal snatched his hand away. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, child! Get up from there and sit with us. Share water.”

“Yes, Father Jubal.”

“Uh… and call me Jubal—and pass the word around that I don’t appreciate being treated like a leper. I’m in the bosom of my family—I hope.”

“You are… Jubal.”

“So I expect to be called Jubal and treated as a water brother—no more, no less. The first one who treats me with respect will be required to stay in after school. Grok?”

“Yes, Jubal,” she answered demurely. “I’ve told them. They will.”

“Huh?”

“Dawn means,” explained Ben, “that she’s told Patty, probably, since Mike is withdrawn at the moment… and that Patty is telling everybody who can hear easily—with his inner ear—and they are passing the word to any who are still a bit deaf, like myself.”

“Yes,” agreed Dawn, “except that I told Jill—Patty has gone outside for something Michael wants. Jubal, have you been watching any of what is showing in the stereo tank? It’s very exciting.”

“Eh? No.”

“You mean the jail break, Dawn?”

“Yes, Ben.”

“We hadn’t discussed that—and Jubal doesn’t like stereo. Jubal, Mike didn’t merely crush out and come home when he felt like it; he gave them a dilemma to sit on. Here he has just been arrested for everything but raping the Statue of Liberty, with Bigmouth Short denouncing him as the Antichrist on the same day. So he gave ’em miracles to chew on. He threw away every bar and door in the county jail as he left… did the same at the state prison just out of town for good measure, and disarmed all the police forces, city, county, and state. Partly to keep ’em busy and interested… and partly because Mike just purely despises locking a man up for any reason at all. He groks a great wrongness in it.”

“That fits,” Jubal agreed. “Mike is gentle, always. It would hurt him to have anybody locked up. I agree.”

Ben shook his head. “Mike isn’t gentle, Jubal. Killing a man wouldn’t worry him. But he’s the ultimate anarchist—locking a man up is a wrongness. Freedom of self—and utter personal responsibility for self. Thou art God.”

“Wherein lies the conflict, sir? Killing a man might be necessary. But confining him is an offense against his integrity—and your own.”

Ben looked at him. “I grok Mike was right. You do grok in fullness—his way. I don’t quite—I’m still learning.” He added, “How are they taking it, Dawn?”

She giggled slightly. “Like a stirred-up hornets’ nest. The mayor has been on… and he’s frothing at the mouth. He’s demanded help from the state and from the Federation—and he’s getting it; we’ve seen lots of troop carriers landing. But as they pour out, Mike is stripping them—not just their weapons, even their shoes—and as soon as the troop carrier is empty, it goes, too.”

Ben said, “I grok he’ll stay withdrawn until they get tired and give up. Handling that many details he would almost have to stay in it and on eternal time.”

Dawn looked thoughtful. “No, I don’t think so, Ben. Of course I would have to, in order to handle even a tenth so much. But I grok Michael could do it riding a bicycle while standing on his head.”

“Mmm… I wouldn’t know, I’m still making mud pies.” Ben stood up. “Sometimes you miracle workers give me a slight pain, honey child. I’m going to go watch the tank for a while.” He stopped to kiss her. “You entertain old Pappy Jubal; he likes little girls.” Caxton left and a package of cigarettes he had left on a coffee table got up, followed him, and placed themselves in one of his pockets.

Jubal said, “Did you do that? Or Ben?”

“Ben did. I don’t smoke, unless the man I’m with wants to smoke. But he’s always forgetting his cigarettes; they chase him all over the Nest.”

“Hmmm… pretty fair-sized mud pies he makes these days.”

“Ben is advancing much more rapidly than he will ever admit. He’s a very holy person—but he hates to admit it. He’s shy.”

“Umph. Dawn, you are the Dawn Ardent I met at Foster Tabernacle about two and half years ago, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you remember!!” She looked as if he had handed her a lollipop.

“Of course I remember. But I was slightly puzzled. You’ve changed some. All for the better. You seem much more beautiful.”

“That’s because I am more beautiful,” she said simply. “You mistook me for Gillian. And she is more beautiful, too.”

“Where is that child? I haven’t seen her… and I expected to see her at once.”

“She’s been working.” Dawn paused. “But I told her and she says she’s coming in.” She paused again. “And I am to take her place. If you will excuse me.”

“Oh, certainly. Run along, child.”

“There’s no hurry.” But she did get up and leave almost at once as Dr. Mahmoud sat down.

Jubal looked at him sourly. “You might at least have had the common courtesy to let me know that you were in this country instead of letting me meet my goddaughter for the first time through the good offices of a snake.”

“Oh, Jubal, you’re always in such a bloody hurry.”

“Sir, when one is of—” Jubal was interrupted by two hands placed over his eyes from behind. A well-remembered voice demanded:

“Guess who?”

“Beelzebul?”

“Try again.”

“Lady Macbeth?”

“Much closer. Third guess, or a forfeit.”

“Gillian, stop that and come around here and sit beside me.”

“Yes, Father.” She obeyed.

“And knock off calling me ‘Father’ anywhere but home. Sir, I was saying that when one is of my age, one is necessarily in a hurry about some things. Each sunrise is a precious jewel… for it may never be followed by its sunset. The world may end at any moment.”

Mahmoud smiled at him. “Jubal, are you under the impression that if you stop cranking, the world stops going around?”

“Most certainly, sir—from my viewpoint.” Miriam joined them silently, sat down on Jubal’s free side; he put an arm around her. “While I might not be honing to see your ugly face again… nor even to gaze on the somewhat more acceptable one of my former secretary—”

Miriam whispered, “Boss, are you honing for a kick in the stomach? I’m exquisitely beautiful; I have it on highest authority.”

“Quiet,—new goddaughters are in another category. Through your failure to drop me so much as a postcard, I might have missed seeing Fatima Michele. In which case I would have returned to haunt you.”

“In which case,” Miriam pointed out, “you could take a took at Micky at the same time… rubbing strained carrots in her hair. A disgusting sight.”

“I was speaking metaphorically.”

“I wasn’t. She’s a sloppy trencherman.”

“Why,” asked Jill quietly, “were you speaking metaphorically, Boss?”

“Eh? The concept ‘ghost’ is one I feel no need for, other than as a figure of speech.”

“It’s more than a figure of speech,” insisted Jill.