crippled, he reminded himself.
As for faces, Jubal had the most beautiful face Mike had ever seen, distinctly his own. These human females in Duke's picture collection could hardly be said to have faces. All young human females had the same face — how could it be otherwise?
He had never had trouble recognizing Jill's face; she was the first woman he had ever seen and his first female water brother — Mike knew every pore on her nose, every incipient wrinkle in her face, and had praised each one in happy meditation. But, while he now knew Anne from Dorcas and Dorcas from Miriam by faces, it had not been so at first. Mike had distinguished by size and coloration — and by voice, since voices were never alike. When, as sometimes
Mike knew that every English word held more than one meaning. It was a fact one got used to, just as the sameness of girl faces one could get used to … and, after waiting, they were no longer the same. Mike now could call up Anne's face and count the pores in her nose as readily as Jill's. In essence, even an egg was uniquely self, different from all other eggs any where and when. So each girl had potentially her own face, no matter how small the difference.
Mike gave the picture to Duke and was warmed by Duke's pleasure. Mike was not depriving himself; he could see it in his mind whenever he wished — even the face, as it had glowed with an unusual expression of beautiful pain.
He accepted Duke's thanks and went happily back to his mail.
Mike did not share Jubal's annoyance at the postal avalanche ; he reveled in it, insurance ads and marriage proposals. His trip to the Palace had opened his eyes to enormous variety in this world and he resolved to grok it all. It would take centuries and he must grow and grow and grow, but he was in no hurry — he grokked that eternity and the ever-beautifully-changing now were identical.
He decided not to reread the Encyclopedia Britannica; mail gave him brighter glimpses of the world. He read it, grokked what he could, remembered the rest for contemplation while the household slept. He was beginning, he thought, to grok «business,» «buying,» «selling,» and related unMartian activities — the Encyclopedia had left him unfilled, as (he now grokked) each article had assumed that he knew things that he did not.
There arrived in the mail, from Mr. Secretary General Joseph Edgerton Douglas, a checkbook and papers; his brother Jubal took pains to explain what money was and how it was used. Mike failed to understand, even though Jubal showed him how to make out a check, gave him «money» in exchange for it, taught him to count it.
Then suddenly, with grokking so blinding that he trembled, he understood money. These pretty pictures and bright medallions were not «money»; they were symbols for an idea which spread through these people, all through their world. But
Mike was dazzled with the magnificent beauty of money.
The flow and change and countermarching of symbols was beautiful in small, reminding him of games taught nestlings to encourage them to reason and grow, but it was the totality that dazzled him, an entire world reflected in one dynamic symbol structure. Mike then grokked that the Old Ones of this race were very old indeed to have composed such beauty; he wished humbly to be allowed to meet one.
Jubal encouraged him to spend money and Mike did so, with the timid eagerness of a bride being brought to bed. Jubal suggested that he «buy presents for friends» and Jill helped, starting by placing limits: one per friend and a total cost not even a reciprocal filled-three of the sum in his account — Mike had intended to spend
He learned how difficult it was to spend money. There were so many things, all wonderful and incomprehensible. Surrounded by catalogs from Marshall Field's and the Ginza, Bombay and Copenhagen, he felt smothered in riches. Even the Sears & Montgomery catalog was too much.
Jill helped. «No. Duke would not want a tractor.»
«Duke likes tractors.»
«He's got one, or Jubal has, which is the same thing. He might like one of those cute little Belgian unicycles — he could take it apart and put it together all day long. But even that is too expensive. Mike dear, a present ought not to be expensive — unless you are trying to get a girl to marry you — or something. A present should show that you considered that person's tastes. Something he would enjoy but probably would not buy.»
«How?»
«That's the problem. Wait, I just remembered something in this morning's mail.» She was back quickly. «Found it! Listen to this: “Living Aphrodite: A de-luxe Album of Feminine Beauty in Gorgeous Stereo-Color by the World's Greatest Artists of the Camera. Notice: this item cannot be mailed. Orders cannot be accepted from addresses in the following states — ” … Um, Pennsylvania is on the list — but we'll find a way — for if I know Duke's tastes, this is what he likes.»
It was delivered via S.S. patrol car — and the next ad boasted: « — as supplied to the Man from Mars, by special appointment,» which pleased Mike and annoyed Jill.
Picking a present for Jubal stumped Jill. What does one buy for a man who has everything he wants that money can buy? Three Wishes? The fountain that Ponce de Leon failed to find? Oil for his ancient bones, or one golden day of youth? Jubal had long forsworn pets, because he outlived them, or (worse yet) it was now possible that a pet would outlive him, be orphaned.
They consulted others. «Shucks,» Duke told them, «didn't you know? The boss likes statues.»
«Really?» Jill answered. «I don't see any sculpture around.»
«The stuff he likes mostly isn't for sale. He says the crud they make nowdays looks like disaster in a junk yard and any idiot with a blow torch and astigmatism calls himself a sculptor.»
Anne nodded. «Duke is right. You can tell by looking at books in Jubal's study.»
Anne picked out three books as bearing evidence (to her eyes) of having been looked at most often. «Hmm …» she said. «The Boss likes anything by Rodin. Mike, if you could buy one of these, which would you pick? Here's a pretty one “Eternal Springtime”. »
Mike glanced at it and turned pages. «This one.»
«What?» Jill shuddered. «Mike, that's
«That is beauty,» Mike said firmly.
«Mike!» Jill protested. «You've got a depraved taste — you're worse than Duke.»
Ordinarily such a rebuke, especially from Jill, would shut Mike up, force him to spend the night in trying to grok his fault. But in this he was sure of himself. The portrayed figure felt like a breath of home. Although it pictured a human woman it gave him a feeling that a Martian Old One should be near, responsible for its creation. «It is beauty,» he insisted. «She has her own face. I grok.»
«Jill,» Anne said slowly, «Mike is right.»
«Huh? Anne! Surely you don't
«It frightens me. But the book falls open in three places; this page has been handled more than the other two. This other one — »The Caryatid Fallen under Her Stone' — Jubal looks at almost as often. But Mike's choice is Jubal's pet.»
«I buy it,» Mike said decisively.
Anne telephoned the Rodin Museum in Paris and only Gallic gallantry kept them from laughing.
But for the Man from Mars unlikely things are possible. Anne called Bradley; two days later he called back. As a compliment from the French government — with a request that the present never be exhibited — Mike would receive a full-size, microscopically-exact bronze photo-pantogram of «She Who Used to Be the Beautiful Heaulmiиre.»
Jill helped select presents for the girls but when Mike asked what he should buy for
