there was to say. Submission to God's will is not to be a robot, incapable of choice and thus of sin. Submission can include —
Jubal heaved a sigh. «Stinky, theology always gives me the pip. Where's Becky? I've seen her only once in twenty-odd years; that's too long.»
«You'll see her. But she can't stop now, she's dictating. Let me explain. Up to now, I've spent part of each day in rapport with Mike — just a few moments although it feels like an eight-hour day. Then I immediately dictated all that he poured into me onto tape. From those tapes other people, trained in Martian phonetics, made longhand transcriptions. Then Maryam typed them, using a special typer — and this master copy Mike or I — Mike by choice, but his time is choked — would correct by hand.
«But now Mike groks that he is going to send Maryam and me away to finish the job — or, more correctly, he has grokked that we will grok such a necessity. So Mike is getting months and years of tape completed in order that I can take it away and break it into phonetics. Besides that, we have stacks of Mike's lectures — in Martian — that need to be transcribed when the dictionary is finished.
«I am forced to assume that Maryam and I will be leaving soon, because, busy as Mike is, he's changed the method. There are eight bedrooms here equipped with tape recorders. Those who can do it — Patty, Jill, myself, Maryam, your friend Allie, some others — take turns in those rooms. Mike puts us into trance, pours language — definitions, idioms, concepts — into us for moments that feel like hours … then we dictate at
«I grok,» Jubal agreed, «although the picture of Becky Vesey as a Martian adept shakes me a little. Still, she was one of the best mentalists in show business; she could give a cold reading that would scare a mark out of his shoes. Stinky, if you are going away for peace and quiet while you unwind this, why don't you come home? Plenty of room in the new wing.»
«Perhaps we shall. Waiting is.»
«Sweetheart,» Miram said earnestly, «that's a solution I would love — if Mike pushes us out of the Nest.»
«If we grok to leave the Nest, you mean.»
«Same thing.»
«You speak rightly, my dearest. But when do we eat around here? I feel a most unMartian urgency. The service was better in the Nest.»
«You can't expect Patty to work on your dratted old dictionary, see to it that everyone is comfortable, run errands for Mike, and still have food on the table the instant you get hungry, my love. Jubal, Stinky will never achieve priesthood — he's a slave to his stomach.»
«Well, so am I.»
«You girls might give Patty a hand,» her husband added.
«That's a crude hint. You know we do all she'll let us — and Tony will hardly allow anyone in his kitchen.» She stood up. «Come on Jubal, let's see what's cooking. Tony will be flattered if you visit his kitchen.»
Jubal went with her, met Tony, who scowled until he saw who was with Miriam, then was beamingly proud to show off his workshop — accompanied by invective at the scoundrels who had destroyed «his» kitchen in the Nest. In the meantime a spoon, unassisted, continued to keel a pot of spaghetti sauce.
Shortly thereafter Jubal refused to sit at the head of a long table, grabbed a place elsewhere. Patty sat at one end; the head chair remained vacant … except for a feeling which Jubal suppressed that the Man from Mars was sitting there and that everyone but himself could see him.
Across the table was Dr. Nelson.
Jubal discovered that he would have been surprised only if Dr. Nelson had not been present. He nodded and said, «Hi, Sven.»
«Hi, Doc. Share water.»
«Never thirst. What are you? Staff physician?»
Nelson shook his head. «Medical student.»
«So. Learning anything?»
«I've learned that medicine isn't necessary.»
«If youda ast me, I coulda told yuh. Seen Van?»
«He ought to be in late tonight or early tomorrow. His ship grounded today.»
«Does he always come here?» inquired Jubal.
«He's an extension student. Can't spend much time here.»
«It'll be good to see him. I haven't laid eyes on him for a year.» Jubal picked up a conversation with the man on his right while Nelson talked with Dorcas, on his right. Jubal noticed the same tingling expectancy at the table which he had left before, but reinforced. There was nothing he could put his finger on — a quiet family dinner in relaxed intimacy. Once, a glass of water was passed all around the table. When it reached Jubal, he took a sip and passed it to the girl on his left — round-eyed and too awed to make chit-chat with him-and said, «I offer you water.»
She managed to answer, «I thank you for water, Fa — Jubal.» That was all he got out of her. When the glass completed the circuit, reaching the vacant chair at the head of the table, there was a half inch of water in it. It raised itself, poured, and water disappeared; the tumbler placed itself on the cloth. Jubal decided that he had taken part in a “Sharing-Water” of the Innermost Temple … probably in his honor — although it was not like the Bacchanalian revels he had thought accompanied such welcome. Was it because they were in strange surroundings? Or had he read into unexplicit reports what his own id wanted to find?
Or had they toned it down out of deference to him?
That seemed a likely theory — and it vexed him. He told himself that he was glad to be spared the need to refuse an invitation that he did not want — and would not have relished at any age, his tastes being what they were.
But just the same, damn it — «Don't anybody mention ice skating; Grandmaw is too old and frail and it wouldn't be polite. Hilda, you suggest dominoes and we'll all chime in — Grandmaw
Jubal resented the idea — he would almost prefer to go skating anyhow, even at the cost of a broken hip.
He put it out of mind with the help of the man on his right. His name, Jubal learned, was Sam.
«This setback is only apparent,» Sam assured him. «The egg was ready to hatch and now we'll spread out. Of course we'll go on having trouble — because no society will allow its basic concepts to be challenged with impunity. And we are challenging everything from the sanctity of property to the sanctity of marriage.»
«Property, too?»
«Property the way it is today. So far Michael has merely antagonized a few crooked gamblers. But what happens when there are thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands and more, of people who can't be stopped by bank vaults and have only self-discipline to restrain them from taking anything they want? To be sure, that discipline is stronger than any legal restraint — but no banker can grok that until he himself travels the thorny road to discipline … and he'll no longer be a banker. What happens to the market when illuminati know which way a stock will move?»
«Do
Sam shook his head. «Not interested. But Saul over there — that other big Hebe, my cousin — gives it grokking, with Allie. Michael has them be cautious, no big killings and they use a dozen dummy accounts — but any of the disciplined can make any amount of money at anything — real estate, stocks, horse races, gambling, you name it — when competing with the un-awakened. No, money and property will not disappear — Michael says that
