Stranger in a Strange Land

Jill said slowly, «I don't think that's the way we were taught it in Sunday School.»

«Damn it, look it up! That's not the only shock in store for anybody who reads the Bible. Consider Elisha. Elisha was so all-fired holy that touching his bones restored a dead man to life. He was a bald-headed old coot, like myself. One day children made fun of his baldness, just as you girls do. So God sent bears to tear forty-two children into bloody bits. That's what it says — second chapter of Second Kings.»

«Boss, I never make fun of your bald head.»

«Who sent my name to those hair-restorer quacks? Whoever it was,God knows — and she had better keep a sharp eye for bears. The Bible is loaded with such stuff. Crimes that turn your stomach are asserted to be divinely ordered or divinely condoned … along with, I must add, hard common sense and workable rules for social behavior. I am not running down the Bible. It isn't a patch on the pornographic trash that passes as sacred writings among Hindus. Or a dozen other religions. But I'm not condemning them, either; it is conceivable that one of these mythologies is the word of God … that God is in truth the sort of paranoid Who rends to bits forty-two children for sassing His priest. Don't ask me about the Front Office; I just work here. My point is that Foster's New Revelation is sweetness-and-light as scripture goes. Bishop Digby's Patron is a good Joe; He wants people to be happy — happy on Earth plus eternal bliss in Heaven. He doesn't expect you to chastise the flesh. Oh no! this is the giant-economy package. If you like to drink and gamble and dance and wench — come to church and do it under holy auspices. Do it with your conscience free. Have fun at it. Live it up! Get happy!»

Jubal failed to look happy. «Of course there's a charge; Digby's God expects to be acknowledged. Anyone stupid enough to refuse to get happy on His terms is a sinner and deserves anything that happens to him. But this rule is common to all gods; don't blame Foster and Digby. Their snake oil is orthodox in all respects.»

«Boss, you sound halfway converted.»

«Not me! I don't enjoy snake dances, I despise crowds, and I do not let slobs tell me where to go on Sundays. I simply object to your criticizing them for the wrong things. As literature, the New Revelation stacks up about average — it should; it was composed by plagiarizing other scriptures. As for internal logic, mundane rules do not apply to sacred writ mgs — but here the New Revelation must be rated superior; it hardly ever bites its own tail. Try reconciling the Old Testament with the New, or Buddhist doctrine with Buddhist apocrypha. As morals, Fosterism is the Freudian ethic sugar-coated for people who can't take psychology straight, although I doubt if the old lecher who wrote it — pardon me, “was inspired to write it” — knew this; he was no scholar. But he was in tune with his times, he tapped the Zeitgeist. Fear and guilt and loss of faith — How could he miss? Pipe down, I'm going to nap.»

«Who's talking?»

«“The woman tempted me”.» Jubal closed his eyes.

On reaching home they found that Caxton and Mahmoud had flown in for the day. Ben had been disappointed to find Jill away but had managed to bear up through the company of Anne, Miriam, and Dorcas. Mahmoud always visited for the avowed purpose of seeing Mike and Dr. Harshaw; however, he too had shown fortitude at having only Jubal's food, liquor, garden — and odalisques — to entertain him. Miriam was rubbing his back while Dorcas rubbed his head.

Jubal looked at him. «Don't get up.»

«I can't, she's sitting on me. 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, «Mike, have you had lunch?»

He said solemnly, «Anne, I am not hungry. Thank you,» turned, and went into the house.

. Mahmoud twisted, almost unseating Miriam. «Jubal? What's troubling our son?»

«Yeah,» said Ben. «He looks seasick.»

«Let him be. An overdose of religion.» Jubal sketched the morning's events.

Mahmoud frowned. «Was it necessary to leave him alone with Digby? This seems to me — pardon me, my brother! — unwise.»

«Stinky, he's got to take such things in stride. You've preached theology at him — he's told me. Can you name one reason why Digby shouldn't have his innings? Answer as a scientist, not as a Muslim.»

«I am unable to answer anything other than as a Muslim,» Dr. Mahmoud said quietly.

«Sorry. I recognize your necessity, even though I disagree.»

«Jubal, I used the word “Muslim” in its exact sense, not as a sectarian which Maryam incorrectly terms “Mohammedan”. »

«Which I'll go on calling you until you learn to pronounce “Miriam”! Quit squirming.»

«Yes, Maryam.Ouch! Women should not be muscular. Jubal, as a scientist, I find Michael the prize of my career. As a Muslim, I find in him a willingness to submit to the will of God … and this makes me happy for his sake although there are difficulties and as yet he does not grok what the English word “God” means.» He shrugged. «Nor the Arabic word “Allah”. But as a man — and always a Slave of God — I love this lad, our foster son and water brother, and would not have him under bad influences. Aside from creed, this Digby strikes me as a bad influence. What do you think?»

«Olй!»Ben applauded. «He's a slimy bastard — I haven't exposed his racket in my column simply because the Syndicate is afraid to print it. Stinky, keep talking and you'll have me studying Arabic and buying a rug.»

«I hope so. The rug is not necessary.»

Jubal sighed. «I agree with you. I'd rather see Mike smoking marijuana than converted by Digby. But I don't think there is any danger of Mike's being taken in by that syncretic hodgepodge … and he's got to learn to stand up to bad influences. I consider you a good influence — but I don't think you stand much more chance — the boy has an amazingly strong mind. Muhammad may have to make way for a new prophet.»

«If God so wills,» Mahmoud answered.

«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 “Mohammedans” thought only men had souls.»

«Miriam, that's as vulgar a misconception as the notion that Jews sacrifice Christian babies. The Koran states that entire families enter into Paradise, men and 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 it can be translated,» agreed Mahmoud.

«Well,» said Miriam, «I had heard about the beautiful houris that Mohammedan men have for playthings in Paradise and that didn't seem to leave room for wives.»

«Houris,» said Jubal, «are separate creations, like djinni and angels. They don't need souls, they are spirits to start with, eternal, unchanging, and beautiful. There are male houris, too, or equivalents. Houris don't earn their way into Paradise; they're on the staff. They serve delicious foods and pass around drinks that never give hangovers and entertain as requested. But the souls of wives don't have to work. Correct, Stinky?»

«Close enough, aside from your flippant choice of words. The houris — » He sat up so suddenly that he dumped Miriam. «Say! Perhaps you girls don't have souls!»

Miriam said bitterly, «Why, you ungrateful dog of an infidel! Take that back!»

«Peace, Maryam. If you don't have a soul, then you're immortal anyhow. Jubal … is it possible for a man to die and not notice it?»

«Can't say. Never tried it.»

«Could I have died on Mars and just dreamed that I came home? Look around you! A garden the Prophet himself would envy. Four beautiful houris, serving lovely food and delicious drinks at all hours. Even their male counterparts, if you want to be fussy. Is this Paradise?»