Robert Heinlein: Stranger in a Strange Land

“Eh? Show him, of course! Demonstrate. He probably won’t understand much that you say to him, but he’s bright as a whip. He’ll be bathing himself by the end of the week.”

Smith ate lunch without help. Presently a male orderly came in to remove his tray. The man glanced around, then came to the bed and leaned over him. “Listen,” he said in a low voice, “I’ve got a fat proposition for you.”

“Beg pardon?”

“A deal, a bargain, a way for you to make a lot of money fast and easy.”

“‘Money?’ What is ‘money’?”

“Never mind the philosophy; everybody needs money. Now listen I’ll have to talk fast because I can’t stay in here long—and it’s taken a lot of fixing to get me in here at all. I represent Peerless Features. We’ll pay you sixty thousand for your exclusive story and it won’t be a bit of trouble to you—we’ve got the best ghost writers in the business. You just talk and answer questions; they put it together.” He whipped out a piece of paper. “Just read this and sign it. I’ve got the down payment with me.”

Smith accepted the paper, stared thoughtfully at it, holding it upside down. The man looked at him and muffled an exclamation. “Lordy! Don’t you read English?”

Smith understood this well enough to answer. “No.”

“Well—Here, I’ll read it to you, then you just put your thumb print in the square and I’ll witness it. ‘I, the undersigned, Valentine Michael Smith, sometimes known as the Man from Mars, do grant and assign to Peerless Features, Limited, all and exclusive rights in my true-fact story to be titled I Was a Prisoner on Mars in exchange for—”

“Orderly!”

Dr. Frame was standing in the door of the watch room; the paper disappeared into the man’s clothes. “Coming, sir. I was just getting this tray.”

“What were you reading?”

“Nothing.”

“I saw you. Never mind, come out of there quickly. This patient is not to be disturbed.” The man obeyed; Dr. Frame closed the door behind them. Smith lay motionless for the next half hour, but try as he might he could not grok it at all.

GILLIAN BOARDMAN WAS CONSIDERED professionally competent as a nurse; she was judged competent in wider fields by the bachelor internes and she was judged harshly by some other women. There was no harm in her and her hobby was men. When the grapevine carried the word that there was a patient in special suite K-12 who had never laid eyes on a woman in his life, she did not believe it. When detailed explanation convinced her, she resolved to remedy it. She went on duty that day as floor supervisor in the wing where Smith was housed. As soon as possible she went to pay a call on the strange patient.

She knew of the “No Female Visitors” rule and, while she did not consider herself to be a visitor of any sort, she sailed on past the marine guards without attempting to use the door they guarded—marines, she had found, had a stuffy habit of construing their orders literally. Instead she went into the adjacent watch room. Dr. “Tad” Thaddeus was on duty there alone.

He looked up. “Well, if it ain’t ‘Dimples!’ Hi, honey, what brings you here?”

She sat on the corner of his desk and reached for his cigarettes. “‘Miss Dimples,’ to you, chum; I’m on duty. This call is part of my rounds. What about your patient?”

“Don’t worry your fuzzy head about him, honey chile; he’s not your responsibility. See your order book.”

“I read it. I want to have a look at him.”

“In one word—no.”

“Oh, Tad, don’t go regulation on me. I know you.”

He gazed thoughtfully at his nails. “Ever worked for Doctor Nelson?”

“No. Why?”

“If I let you put your little foot inside that door, I’d find myself in Antarctica early tomorrow, prescribing for penguins’ chilblains. So switch your fanny out of here and go bother your own patients. I wouldn’t want him even to catch you in this watch room.”

She stood up. “Is Doctor Nelson likely to come popping in?”

“Not likely, unless I send for him. He’s still sleeping off low-gee fatigue.”

“So? Then what’s the idea of being so duty struck?”

“That’s all, Nurse.”

“Very well, Doctor!” She added, “Stinker.”

“Jill!”

“And a stuffed shirt, too.”

He sighed. “Still okay for Saturday night?”

She shrugged. “I suppose so. A girl can’t be fussy these days.” She went back to her duty station, found that her services were not in immediate demand, picked up the pass key. She was balked but not beaten, as she recalled that suite K-12 had a door joining it to the room beyond it, a room sometimes used as a sitting room when the suite was occupied by a Very Important Person. The room was not then in use, either as part of the suite or separately. She let herself into it. The guards at the door beyond paid no attention, unaware that they had been flanked.

She hesitated at the inner door between the two rooms, feeling some of the sharp excitement she used to feel when sneaking out of student nurses’ quarters. But, she told herself, Dr. Nelson was asleep and Tad wouldn’t tell on her even if he caught her. She didn’t blame him for keeping his finger on his number—but he wouldn’t report her. She unlocked the door and looked in.

The patient was in bed, he looked at her as the door opened. Her first impression was that here was a patient too far gone to care. His lack of expression seemed to show the complete apathy of the desperately ill. Then she saw that his eyes were alive with interest; she wondered if his face were paralysed? No, she decided; the typical sags were lacking.

She assumed her professional manner. “Well, how are we today? Feeling better?”

Smith translated and examined the questions. The inclusion of herself in the first query was confusing, but he decided that it might symbolize a wish to cherish and grow close. The second part matched Nelson’s speech forms. “Yes,” he answered.

“Good!” Aside from his odd lack of expression she saw nothing strange about him—and if women were unknown to him, he was certainly managing to conceal it. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She glanced around, noted that there was no glass on the bedside shelf. “May I get you water?”

Smith had spotted at once that this creature was different from the others who had come to see him. Almost as quickly he compared what he was seeing with pictures Nelson had shown him on the trip from home to this place—pictures intended to explain a particularly difficult and puzzling configuration of this people group. This, then, was a “woman.”

He felt both oddly excited and disappointed. He suppressed both in order that he might grok deeply, with such success that Dr. Thaddeus noticed no change in the dial readings in the next room.

But when he translated the last query he felt such a surge of emotion that he almost let his heartbeat increase. He caught it in time and chided himself for an undisciplined nestling. Then he checked his translation.

No, he was not mistaken. This woman creature had offered him the water ritual. It wished to grow closer.

With great effort, scrambling for adequate meanings in his pitifully poor list of human words, he attempted to answer with due ceremoniousness. “I thank you for water. May you always drink deep.”

Nurse Boardman looked startled. “Why, how sweet!” She found a glass, filled it, and handed it to him.

He said, “You drink.”

Wonder if he thinks I’m trying to poison him? she asked herself—but there was a compelling quality to his request. She took a sip, whereupon he took the glass from her and took one also, after which he seemed content to sink back into the bed, as if he had accomplished something important.