ONCE THEY WERE IN THE AIR Jubal said, .Well, Mike, what did youthink of it?“Mike frowned. .I do not grok.“.You aren’t alone, son. What did the Bishop have to say?“Mike hesitated a long time, finally said, .My brother Jubal, I need to ponderuntil grokking is.“.Ponder right ahead, son. Take a nap. That’s what I’m going to do.“Jill said suddenly, .Jubal? How do they get away with it?“.Get away with what?“.Everything. That’s not a church-it’s a madhouse.“It was Jubal’s turn to ponder before answering. .No, Jill, you’re mistaken. It isa church - . . and the logical eclecticism of our times.“.Huh?“.The New Revelation and all doctrines and practices under it are all old stuff,very old. All you can say about it is that neither Foster nor Digby ever had anoriginal thought in his life. But they knew what would sell, in this day and age.
So they pieced together a hundred timeworn tricks, gave them a new paintjob, and they were in business. A booming business, too. The only thing thatscares me is that I might live to see it sell too well- until it was compulsory foreverybody.“.Oh, no!“.Oh, yes. Hitler started with less and all he had to peddle was hate. Hatealways sells well, but for repeat trade and the long pull happiness is soundermerchandise. Believe me, I know; I’m in the same grift myself. As Digbyreminded me.“ Jubal grimaced. .I should have punched him, Instead, hemade me like it. That’s why I’m afraid of him. He’s good at it, he’s clever. Heknows what people want. Happiness. The world has suffered a long, bleakcentury of guilt and fear-now Digby tells them that they have nothing to fear,in this life or hereafter, and that God commands them to love and be happy.
Day in, day out, he keeps pushing it: Don’t be afraid, be happy“.Well, that part’s all right,“ Jill admitted, .and I concede that he works hardat it. But-.
.Piffle! He plays hard.“.No, he gave me the impression that he really is devoted to his work, that hehad sacrificed everything else to-.
.’Piffle!’ I said. For Digby it’s play. Jill, of all the nonsense that twists theworld, the concept of .altruism’ is the worst. People do what they want to do,every time. If it sometimes pains them to make a choice-if the choice turnsout to look like a .noble sacrifice’-you can be sure that it is in no wise noblerthan the discomfort caused by greediness . . . the unpleasant necessity ofhaving to decide between two things both of which you would like to do whenyou can’t do both. The ordinary bloke suffers that discomfort every day, everytime he makes a choice between spending a buck on beer or tucking it awayfor his kids, between getting up when he’s tired or spending the day in hiswarm bed and losing his job. No matter which he does he always chooseswhat seems to hurt least or pleasures most. The average chump spends hislife harried by these small decisions. But the utter scoundrel and the perfectsaint merely make the same choices on a larger scale. They still pick whatpleases them. As Digby has done. Saint or scoundrel, he’s not one of theharried little chumps.“.Which do you think he is, Jubal?“.You mean there’s a difference?“.Oh, Jubal, your cynicism is just a pose and you know it! Of course there’sa difference.“.Mmm, yes, you’re right, there is. I hope he’s just a scoundrel-because asaint can stir up ten times as much mischief as a scoundrel. Strike that fromthe record; you would just tag it as .cynicism’-as if tagging it proved it wrong.
Jill, what troubled you about those church services?“.Well ... everything. You can’t tell me that that is worship.“.Meaning they didn’t do things that way in the Little Brown Church in the Valeyou attended as a kid? Brace yourself, Jill-they don’t do it your way in St.
Peter’s either. Nor in Mecca.“.Yes, but- Well, none of them do it that way! Snake dances, slot machines . .
- even a bar right in church! That’s not reverence, it’s not even dignified! Justdisgusting.“.I don’t suppose that temple prostitution was very dignified, either.“.Huh?“.I rather imagine that the two-backed beast is just as sweaty and comicalwhen the act is performed in the service of a god as it is under any othercircumstances. As for those snake dances, have you ever seen a Shakerservice? No, of course not and neither have I; any church that is agin sexualintercourse (as they were) doesn’t last long. But dancing to the glory of Godhas a long and respected history. It doesn’t have to be good dancingaccordingto eye-witness reports the Shakers could never have made theBolshoi Ballet-it merely has to be enthusiastic. Do you consider the RainDances of our Southwest Indians irreverent?“.No. But that’s different.“.Everything always is-and the more it changes, the more it is the same. Nowabout those slot machines- Ever see a Bingo game in church?“.Well ... yes. Our parish used to hold them when we were trying to raise themortgage. But we held them on Friday nights; we certainly didn’t do suchthings during church services.“.So? Minds me of a married woman who was very proud of her virtue. Sheslept with other men only when her husband was away.“.Why, Jubal, the two cases aren’t even slightly alike!“.Probably not. Analogy is even slipperier than logic. But, .little lady’-.
.Smile when you call me that!“.’It’s a joke.’ Why didn’t you spit in his face? He had to stay on his goodbehavior no matter what we did; Digby wanted him to. But, Jill, if a thing issinful on Sunday, it is sinful on Friday-at least it groks that way to an outsider,myself . . . or perhaps to a man from Mars. The only difference I can see isthat the Fosterites give away, absolutely free, a scriptural text even if youlose. Could your Bingo games make the same claim?“.Fake scripture, you mean. A text from the New Revelation. Boss, haveyou read the thing?“.I’ve read it.“.Then you know. It’s just dressed up in Biblical language. Part of it is justicky-sweet with no substance, like a saccharine tablet, more of it is sheernonsense . . . and some of it is just hateful. None of it makes sense, it isn’teven good morals.“Jubal was silent so long that Jill thought he had gone to sleep. At last hesaid, .Jill, are you familiar with Hindu sacred writings?“.Mmm, I’m afraid not.“.The Koran? Or any other major scripture? I could illustrate my point from theBible but I would not wish to hurt your feelings.“.Uh, I’m afraid I’m not much of a scholar, Jubal. Go ahead, you won’t hurtmy feelings.“.Well, I’ll stick to the Old Testament, picking it to pieces usually doesn’t upsetpeople quite so much. You know the story of Sodom and Gomorrah? Andhow Lot was saved from these wicked cities when Yahweh smote .em with acouple of heavenly A-bombs?“.Oh, yes, of course. His wife was turned into a pillar of salt.“.Caught by the fallout, perhaps. She tarried and looked back. Always seemedto me to be too stiff a punishment for the peccadillo of female curiosity. Butwe were speaking of Lot. Saint Peter describes him as a just, Godly, andrighteous man, vexed by the filthy conversation of the wicked. I think we muststipulate Saint Peter to be an authority on virtue, since to him was given thekeys to the Kingdom of Heaven. But if you search the only recordsconcerning Lot, in the Old Testament, it becomes hard to determine exactlywhat Lot did or did not do that established him as such a paragon. He dividedup a cattle range at his brother’s suggestion. He got captured in a battle.
When he was tipped off, he lammed out of town in time to save his skin. Hefed and sheltered two strangers overnight but his conduct shows that heknew them to be V.I.P.s whether or not he knew they were angels-and by theKoran and by my own lights, his hospitality would have counted for more if hehad thought they were just a couple of unworthy poor in need of a pad and ahandout. Aside from these insignificant items and Saint Peter’s characterreference, there is just one thing that Lot did mentioned anywhere in theBible on which we can judge his virtue-virtue so great, mind you, thatheavenly intercession saved his life. See chapter nineteen of Genesis, verseeight.“.And what does it say?“.Look it up when we get home. I don’t expect you to believe me.“.Jubal! You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.“.And you’re a very pretty girl and a fair cook, so I don’t mind your ignorance.
All right, I’ll tell you-then you look it up anyhow. Some of Lot’s neighborscame and beat on his door and wanted to meet these two blokes from out oftown. Lot didn’t fight with them; he offered .em a deal instead. He had twoyoung daughters, virgins-at least, such was his opinion-and he told thiscrowd of men that he would give them these two little girls and they could usethem any way they liked-a gang shagging, a midnight revue, he pleaded withthem to do any damn thing they pleased to his daughters . . - only please go.way and quit beating on his door.“.Jubal ... does it really say that?“.Look it up yourself. I’ve modernized the language but the meaning is asunmistakable as a whore’s wink. Lot offered to let a gang of men- .young andold,’ the Bible say&-abuse two young virgins under his protection if only theywouldn’t break down his door. Say!“ Jubal leaned forward and beamed.
.Maybe I should have tried that when the S.S. was breaking my door down!
Maybe it would have got me into heaven-and Saint Peter knows my chancesaren’t too good otherwise.“ Then he frowned and looked worried. .No, itwouldn’t have worked. The recipe plainly calls for .virgins intactae’-and Iwouldn’t have known which two of you gals to offer those troopers.“.Hmmph/ You won’t find out from me.“.Possibly I couldn’t find out from any of you. Even Lot might have beenmistaken. But that’s what he promised .em-his virgin daughters, young andtender and scared-urged this street gang to rape them as much as theywished in any way they liked - . . if only they would leave him in peace?“Jubal snorted in disgust. .And the Bible cites this sort of scum as being arighteous man.“Jill said slowly, .I don’t think that’s quite the way we were taught it inSunday School.“.Damn it, look it up! They probably gave you a Bowdlerized version. That’snot the only shock in store for anybody who actually reads the Bible.
Consider Elisha. It says here that Elisha was so all-fired holy that merelytouching his bones restored a dead man to life. But he was a baldheaded oldcoot, like myself. So one day some children marie fun of his baldness, just asyou girls do. So God personally interceded and sent two bears to tear fortytwosmall children into bloody bits. That’s what it says -second chapter ofSecond Kings.“.Boss, I never make fun of your bald head.“.Who was it sent my name to those hair-restorer quacks? Dorcas, maybe?
Whoever it was, God knows-and she had better keep a sharp eye out forbears. I might turn pious in my dotage and start enjoying divine protection.
But I shan’t give you any more samples. The Bible is loaded with such stuff;read it and find out. Crimes that would turn your stomach are asserted to beeither divinely ordered or divinely condoned . . . along with, I must add, a lotof hard common sense and some pretty workable rules for social behavior. Iam not running down the Bible; it stacks up pretty well as sacred writings go.
It isn’t a patch on the sadistic, pornographic trash that goes by the name ofsacred writings among the Hindus. Or a dozen other religions. But I’m notsingling out any of them for condemnation, either; it is entirely conceivablethat some one of these mutually contradictory mythologies is the literal wordof God . . . that God is in truth the sort of bloodthirsty paranoid Who wouldrend to bits forty-two children for the crime of sassing one of his priests. Don’task me about the Front Office’s policies; I just work here. My point is thatFoster’s New Revelation that you’re so contemptuous of is pure sweetnessandlightas scripture goes. Bishop Digby’s Patron is a pretty good Joe; Hewants people to be happy-happy here on Earth plus guaranteed eternal blissin Heaven. He doesn’t expect you to chastise the flesh here and now in orderto reap rewards after you’re dead. Oh no! this is the modern gianteconomypackage. If you like to drink and gamble and dance and wench- and mostpeople do-come to church and do it under holy auspices. Do it with yourconscience free of any trace of guilt. Really have fun at it. Live it up! Gethappy!“Jubal failed to look happy himself. He went on, .Of course there’s a slightcharge; Digby’s God expects to be acknowledged as such-but that has beena foible of gods always. Anyone who is stupid enough to refuse to get happyon His terms is a sinner . . . and a sinner deserves anything that happens tohim. But this is one rule common to all gods and goddesses throughouthistory; don’t blame Foster and Digby, they didn’t invent it. Their brand ofsnake oil is utterly orthodox in all respects.“.Boss, you sound as if you were halfway converted.“.Not me! I don’t enjoy snake dances, I despise crowds, and I do not proposeto let my social and mental inferiors tell me where I have to go on SundaysandI wouldn’t enjoy Heaven if that crowd is going to be there. I simply objectto your criticizing them for the wrong things. As literature, the New Revelationstacks up about average-it should; it was composed by plagiarizing otherscriptures. As for logic and internal consistency, these mundane rules do notapply to sacred writings and never have-but even on these grounds the NewRevelation must be rated superior; it hardly ever bites its own tail. Tryreconciling the Old Testament with the New Testament sometime, orBuddhist doctrine with Buddhist apocrypha. As morals, Fosterism is merelythe Freudian ethic sugar-coated for people who can’t take their psychologystraight, although I doubt if the old lecher who wrote it-pardon me, .wasinspired to write it’-was aware of this. He was no scholar. But he was in tunewith his times, he tapped the Zeitgeist. Fear and guilt and a loss of faith- Howcould he miss? Now pipe down, I’m going to nap.“.Who’s been talking?“.’The woman tempted me.’“ Jubal closed his eyes.
On reaching home they found that Caxton and Mahmoud had flown intogether for the day. Ben had been disappointed to find Jill not at home onhis arrival but he had managed to bear up without tears through the companyof Anne, Miriam, and Dorcas. Mahinoud always visited for the avowedpurpose of seeing his protégé, Mike, and Dr. Harshaw; however, he too hadshown fortitude at having only Jubal’s food, liquor, garden- and odalisques-toentertain him during his host’s absence. He was lying face down with Miriamrubbing his back while Dorcas rubbed his head.
Jubal looked at him. .Don’t get up.“.I can’t, she’s sitting on me. A little higher up, Miriam. Hi, Mike.“.Hi, my brother Stinky Dr. Mahmoud.“ Mike then gravely greeted Ben,and asked to be excused.
.Run along, son,“ Jubal told him.
Anne said, .Wait a minute, Mike. Have you had lunch?“He said solemnly, .Anne, I am not hungry. Thank you,“ turned and wentinto the house.
Mahmoud twisted, almost unseating Miriam. .Jubal? What’s troublingour son?“.Yeah,“ said Ben. .He looks seasick.“.Let him alone and he’ll get well. An overdose of religion. Digby has beenworking on him.“ Jubal sketched the morning’s events.
Mahmoud frowned. .But was it necessary to leave him alone with Digby?
This seems to me—pardon me, my brotber! -- unwise.“.He’s not hurt. Stinky, he’s got to learn to take such things in his stride.
You’ve preached your brand of theology to him-I knoW you have; he’s toldme about it. Can you name me one good reason .why Digby shouldn’t havehis innings? Answer me ~s a scientist, not as a Muslim.“.I am unable to answer anything other than as a Muslim,“ Dr. Mahmoudsaid quietly.
.Sorry. I recognize the correctnesS of your answer, even though I don’tagree with it.“.But, Jubal, I used the word .Muslim’ in its exact, technical sense, not as asectarian which Maryam incorrectlY terms .Mohammedan.’“.And which I’m going to go right on calling you until you learn to pronounce.Miriam’ correctly! Quit squirming. I’m not hurting you.“.Yes, Maryant. Ouch! Women should not be so muscular. Jubal, as ascientiSt, I find Michael the greatest prize of my career. As a Muslim, I find inhim a willingness to submit to the will of God . . - and this makes me happyfor his sake, although I readily admit that there are great semantic difficultiesand as yet he does not seem to grok what the English word .God’ means.“He shrugged. .Nor the Arabic word .Allah’ But as a man -and always a Slaveof God-I love this young man, our foster son and water brother, and I wouldnot have him come under bad influences. Quite aside from his creed, thisDigby strikes me as a bad influence. What do you think?“.Ok!“ Ben applauded. .He’s a slimy bastard-and the only reason I haven’tbeen taking his racket apart in my column is that the Syndicate is afraid toprint it. Stinky, keep talking that well and you’ll have me studying Arabic andbuying a rug.“.I hope so. But the rug is not necessary.“Jubal sighed. .I agree with both of you. I’d rather see Mike smokingmarijuana than be converted by Digby. But I don’t think there is the slightestchance of Mike’s being taken in by that syncretiC hodgepodge Digbypeddles...and he’s got to learn to stand up to bad influences. I consider you agood influence-but I don’t really think you stand much more chance thanDigby has-the boy has an amazinglY strong mind of his own. Muhammadmay have to make way for a new prophet.“.If God so wills it,“ Mahmoud answered calmly.
.That leaves no room for argument,“ Jubal agreed.
.We were discussing religion before you got home,“ Dorcas said softly .Boss,did you know that women have souls?“.They do?“.So Stinky says.“.Maryam,“ Mahmoud explained, .wanted to know why we .Moharnmedans’
thought only men had souls. So I cited the Writings.“.Miriam, I’m surprised at you. That’s as vulgar a misconception as the notionthat Jews sacrifice Christian babies in secret, obscene rites. The Koran isexplicit in half a dozen places that entire families enter into Paradise, menand Women together. For example, see .Ornaments of Gold’ -verse seventy,isn’t it, Stinky?“.’Enter the Garden, ye and your wives, to be made glad.’ That’s as well as itcan be put, in English,“ agreed Mahmoud.
.Well,“ said Miriam, .I had heard about the beautiful bouris thatMohammedan men have for playthingS when they go to heaven and thatdidn’t seem to leave much room for wives.“.Houris aren’t women,“ said Jubal. .They are separate creations, like djinniand angels. They don’t need human souls, they are spirits to start with,eternal and unchanging and beautiful. There are male houris, too, or themale equivalent of houris. Houris don’t have to earn their way into Paradise;they’re on the staif. They serve endless delicious foods and pass arounddrinks that never give hangovers and entertain in other ways as requested.
But the souls of human wives don’t have to do any housework, any morethan the men. Correct, Stinky?“.Close enough, aside from your flippant choice of words. The lionris-. Hestopped and sat up so suddenly that he dumped Miriam. .Say! It’s justpossible that you girls don’t have souls!“Miriam sat up and said bitterly, .Why, you ungrateful dog of an infidel! Takethat back!“ .Peace, Maryam. If you don’t have a soul, then you’re immortalanyhow and won’t miss it. Jubal - . . is it possible for a man to die and notnotice it?“.Can’t say. Never tried it.“.Could I have died on Mars and just dreamed that I came home? Lookaround you! A garden the Prophet himself would be pleased with. Fourbeautiful houris, passing around lovely food and delicious drinks at all hours.
Even their male counterparts, if you want to be fussy. Is this Paradise?“.I can guarantee that it isn’t,“ Jubal assured him. .My taxes are due thisweek.“.Still, that doesn’t affect me.“.And take these houris- Even if we stipulate for the sake of argument thatthey are of beauty adequate to meet the specifications-alter all, beauty is inthe eye of the beholder-.
.They pass.“.And you’ll pay for that, Boss,“ Miriam added.
.-there still remains,“ Jubal pointed out, .one more requisite attribute ofhouris.“.Mmmm-. said Mahmoud, .I don’t think we need go into that. In Paradise,rather than a temporary physical condition, it would be a permanent spiritualattribute-more a state of mind. Yes?“.In that case,“ Jubal said emphatically, .I am certain that these are nothouris.“Mahmoud sighed. .In that case I’ll just have to convert one.“.Why only one? There are still places left in the world where you canhave the full quota.“.No, my friend. In the wise words of the Prophet, while the Legislations permitfour, it is impossible for a man to deal justly with more than one.“.That’s some relief. Which one?“.We’ll have to see. Maryam, are you feeling spiritual?“.You go to hell! .Houris’ indeed!“.Jill?“.Give me a break,“ Ben protested. .I’m still working on Jill.“.Later, Jill. Anne?“.Sorry. I’ve got a date.“.Dorcas? You’re my last chance.“.Stinky,“ she said softly, .just how spiritual do you want me to feel?“When Mike got inside the house, he went straight upstairs to his room,closed the door, got on the bed, assumed the foetal position, rolled up hiseyes, swallowed his tongue, and slowed his heart almost to nothing. He knewthat Jill did not like him to do this in the daytime, but she did not object aslong as he did not do it publicly. There were so many things that he must notdo publicly, but only this one really aroused her ire. He had been waiting todo this ever since he had left that room of terrible wrongness; he needed verybadly to withdraw and try to grok all that had happened. For he had donesomething else that Jill had told him not to- He felt a very human urge to tellhimself that it had been forced on him, that it was not his fault; but his Martiantraining did not permit him this easy escape. He had arrived at a cusp, rightaction had been required, the choice had been his. He grokked that he hadchosen correctly. But his water brother Jill had forbidden this choice- But thatwould have left him no choice. This was contradiction; at a cusp, choice is.
By choice, spirit grows.
He considered whether or not Jill would have approved had he taken otheraction, not wasting food?
No, he grokked that Jill’s injunction had covered that variant of action, too.
At this point the being sprung from human genes shaped by Martian thought,and who could never be either one, completed one stage of his growth, burstout and ceased to be a nestling. The solitary loneliness of predestined freewill was then his and with it the Martian serenity to embrace it, cherish it,savour its bitterness, and accept its consequences. With tragic joy he knewthat this cusp was his, not Jill’s. His water brother could teach, admonish,guide-but choice at a cusp was not shared. Here was .ownership“ beyondany possible sale, gift, hypothecation; owner and owned grokked fully,inseparable~ He eternally was the action he had taken at cusp.
Now that he knew himself to be self he was free to grok ever closer to hisbrothers, merge without let. Self’s integrity was and is and ever had been.
Mike stopped to cherish all his brother selves, the many threesfulfilled onMars, both corporate and discorporate, the precious few on Earth-the as-yet-unknown powers of three on Earth that would be his to merge with andcherish now that at last long waiting he grokked and cherished himself.
Mike remained in his trance; there was still much to grok, loose ends and bitsand pieces to be puzzled over and fitted into his growing pattern- all that hehad seen and heard and been at the Archangel Foster Tabernacle (not justthe cusp he had encountered when he and Digby had come face to facealone), why Bishop Senator Boone had made him warily uneasy withoutfrightening him, why Miss Dawn Ardent had tasted like a water brother whenshe was not, the texture and smell of the goodness he had incompletelygrokked in the jumping up and down and the wailing- Jubal’s storedconversation both coming and going-Jubal’s words troubled him more thanother details; he studied them with great care, compared them with what hebad been taught as a nestling, making great effort to bridge between his twolanguages, the one he thought with and the one he now spoke and wasgradually learning to think in, for some purposes. The human word .church“which turned up over and over again among Jubal’s words gave him mostknotty difficulty; there was no Martian concept of any sort to match it-unlessone took .church“ and .worship“ and .God“ and .congregation“ and manyother words and equated them all to the totality of the only world he hadknown during most of his growing-waiting . . . then forced the concept backawkwardly into English in that phrase which had been rejected Qiut by eachdifferently) by Jubal, by Mahmoud, by Digby.
.Thou art God“ He came closer to understanding it in English himself now,although it could never have the crystal inevitability of the Martian concept itstood for. In his mind he spoke simultaneously the English sentence and theMartian word and felt closer grokking. Repeating it like a student tellinghimself that the jewel is in the lotus he sank into nirvana untroubled.
Shortly before midnight he speeded up his heart, resumed normal breathing,ran down his engineering check list, found that all was in order, uncurled andsat up. He had been spiritually weary; now he felt light and gay and clearheaded,eager to get on with the many actions he saw spreading out beforehim.
He felt a puppyish need for company almost as strong as his earliernecessity for quiet. He stepped out into the upper hail, was delighted toencounter a water brother.
.!!!!“.Oh. Hello, Mike. My, you look chipper.“.I feel fine! Where is everybody?“.Everybody’s asleep but you and me-so keep your voice down. Ben andStinky went home an hour ago and people started going to bed.“.Oh.“ Mike felt mildly disappointed that Mahmoud had left; he wanted toexplain to him his new grokking. But he would do so, when next he saw him.
.I ought to be asleep, too, but I felt like a snack. Are you hungry?“.Me? Sure, I’m hungry!“.Good. You ought to be, you missed dinner. Come on, I know there’s somecold chicken and we’ll see what else.“ They went downstairs, loaded a traylavishly. .Let’s take it outside. It’s still plenty warm.“.That’s a fine idea,“ Mike agreed.
.Warm enough to swim if we wanted to-this is a real Indian summer. Just asecond, I’ll switch on the floods.“.Don’t bother,“ Mike answered. .I’ll carry the tray, I can see.“ He could see, asthey all knew, in almost total darkness. Jubal said that his exceptional nightsightprobably caine from the conditions in which he had grown up, and Mikegrokked that that was true but he grokked also that there was more to it thanthat; his foster parents had taught him to see. As for the night being warmenough, he would have been comfortable naked on Mount Everest, but heknew that his water brothers bad very little tolerance for changes intemperature and pressure; he was always considerate of their weakness,once he had learned of it. But be was eagerly looking forward to snow-seeingfor himself that each tiny crystal of the water of life was a unique individual,as he had read-walking barefoot in it, rolling in it.
In the meantime he was equally pleased with the unseasonably warmautumn night and the still more pleasing company of his water brother.
.Okay, you carry the tray. I’ll switch on just the underwater lights. That’ll beplenty to eat by.“.Fine.“ Mike liked having light coming up through the ripples; it was agoodness, a beauty, even though he did not need it. They picnicked by thepool, then lay back on the grass and looked at the stars.
.Mike, there’s Mars. It is Mars, isn’t it? Or is it Antares?“.It is Mars.“.Mike? What are they doing on Mars?“He hesitated a long time; the question was too wide in scope to pin down tothe sparse English language. .On the side toward the horizon- the southernhemisphere-it is spring; the plants are being taught to grow.“.’Taught to grow?’“He hesitated only slightly. .Larry teaches plants to grow every day. I havehelped him. But my people-the Martians, I mean; I grok now that you are mypeople-teach the plants another way. Jn the other hemisphere it is growingcolder and the nymphs, those who have stayed alive through the summer,are being brought into the nests for quickening and more growing.“ Hethought. .Of the humans we left at the equator when I came here, one hasdiscorporated and the others are sad.“.Yes, I heard about it in the news.“Mike had not heard about it in the news; he had not known it until he wasasked. .They should not be sad. Mr. Booker T. W. Jones Food TechnicianFirst Class is not sad; the Old Ones have cherished him.“.You knew him?“.Yes. He had his own face, dark and beautiful. But he was homesick.“.Oh, dear! Mike ... do you ever get homesick? For Mars?“.At first I was very homesick,“ he answered truthfully. .I was lonely always.“He rolled toward her and took her in his arms. .But now I am not lonely. Igrok I shall never be lonely again.“.Mike darling-. They kissed, and went on kissing.
Presently his water brother said breathlessly. .Oh, my! That was almostworse than the first time.“.You are all right, my brother?“.Yes. Yes indeed. Kiss me again.“Quite a long time later, by cosmic clock, she said, .Mike? Is that-I mean,.Do you know-.“.I know. It is for growing-closer. Now we grow closer.“.Well, I’ve been ready a long time-goodness, we all have, but never mind,dear; turn just a little. I’ll help.“As they merged, grokking together, Mike said softly and triumphantly:
.Thou art God.“Her answer was not in words. Then, as their grokking made them ever closerand Mike felt himself almost ready to discorporate, her voice called him back:
.Oh? ,.. Oh! Thou art God!“.We grok God.“