«I couldn't see why, when people were hungry, some of them didn't volunteer to be butchered so that the rest could eat … on Mars this is obvious — and an honor. I couldn't understand why babies were so prized. On Mars our two little girls in there would be dumped outdoors, to live or die — and nine out of ten nymphs die their first season. My logic was right but I misread the data: here babies do not compete but adults do; on Mars adults never compete, they've been weeded out as babies. But one way or another, competing and weeding takes place… or a race goes downhill.
«But whether or not I was wrong in trying to take the competition out at both ends, I have lately begun to grok that the human race won't let me, no matter what.»
Duke stuck his head into the room. «Mike? Have you been watching outside? There is a crowd gathering around the hotel.»
«I know,» agreed Mike. «Tell the others that waiting has not filled.» He went on to Jubal, «“Thou art God”. It's not a message of cheer and hope, Jubal. It's a defiance — and an unafraid unabashed assumption of personal responsibility.» He looked sad. «But I rarely put it over. A very few, just these few here with us, our brothers, understood me and accepted the bitter along with the sweet, stood up and drank it — grokked it. The others, hundreds and thousands of others, either insisted on treating it as a prize without a contest — a “conversion” — or ignored it. No matter what I said they insisted on thinking of God as something outside themselves. Something that yearns to take every indolent moron to His breast and comfort him. The notion that the effort has to be their own … and that the trouble they are in is all their own doing … is one that they can't or won't entertain.»
The Man from Mars shook his head. «My failures so greatly out-number my successes that I wonder if full grokking will show that I am on the wrong track — that this race must be split up, hating each other, fighting, constantly unhappy and at war even with their own individual selves … simply to have that weeding out that every race must have. Tell me, Father? You must tell me.»
«Mike, what in hell led you to believe that I was infallible?»
«Perhaps you are not. But every time I have needed to know something, you have always been able to tell me — and fullness always showed that you spoke rightly.»
«Damn it, I refuse this apotheosis! But I do see one thing, son. You have always urged everyone else never to hurry “waiting will fill”, you say.»
«That is right.»
«Now you are violating your own rule. You have waited only a little — a very short time by Martian standards — and you want to throw in the towel. You've proved that your system works for a small group — and I'm glad to confirm it; I've never seen such happy, healthy, cheerful people. That ought to be enough for the short time you've put in. Come back when you have a thousand times this number, all working and happy and unjealous, and we'll talk it over again. Fair enough?»
«You speak rightly, Father.»
«I ain't through. You've been fretting that since you failed to hook ninety-nine out of a hundred, the race couldn't get along without its present evils, had to have them for weeding out. But damn it, lad, you've been doing the weeding — or rather, the failures have been doing it by not listening to you. Had you planned to eliminate money and property?»
«Oh, no! Inside the Nest we don't need it, but — »
«Nor does any healthy family. But outside you need it in dealing with other people. Sam tells me that our brothers, instead of getting unworldly, are slicker with money than ever. Right?»
«Oh, yes. Money making is a simple trick once you grok.»
«You've just added a new beatitude: “Blessed is the rich in spirit, for he shall make dough”. How do our people stack up in other fields? Better or worse than average?»
«Oh, better, of course. You see, Jubal, it's not a faith; the discipline is simply a method of efficient functioning in anything.»
«You've answered yourself, son. If all you say is true — and I'm not judging; I'm asking, you're answering — then competition, far from being eliminated, is rougher than ever. If one tenth of one percent of the population is capable of getting the news, then all you have to do is show them — and in a matter of some generations the stupid ones will die out and those with your discipline will inherit the Earth. Whenever that is — in a thousand years or ten thousand — will be soon enough to worry about some new hurdle to make them jump higher. But don't get faint-hearted because only a handful have turned into angels overnight. I never expected any to manage it. I thought you were making a damn fool of yourself by pretending to be a preacher.»
Mike sighed and smiled. «I was beginning to be afraid I was — worrying that I had let my brothers down.»
«I still wish you had called it “Cosmic Halitosis” or some such. But the name doesn't matter. If you've got the truth you can demonstrate it. Talking doesn't prove it.Show people.»
Mike did not answer. His eyelids drooped, he held perfectly still, his face was without expression. Jubal stirred restlessly, afraid that he had said too much, crowded the lad into a need to withdraw.
Then Mike's eyes opened, he grinned merrily. «You've got me all squared away, Father. I'm ready to show them now — I grok the fullness.» the Man from Mars stood up. «Waiting is ended.»
XXXVII
JUBAL and the Man from Mars strolled into the room with the big stereo tank. The entire Nest was gathered, watching it. It showed a dense and turbulent crowd, somewhat restrained by policemen. Mike glanced at it and looked serenely happy. «They come. Now is the fullness.» The sense of ecstatic expectancy Jubal had felt growing ever since his arrival swelled greatly, but no one moved.
«It's a might big tip, sweetheart,» Jill agreed.
«And ready to turn,» added Patty.
«I'd better dress for it,» Mike commented. «Have I got any clothes around this dump? Patty?»
«Right away, Michael.»
Jubal said, «Son, that mob looks ugly to me. Are you sure this is time to tackle them?»
«Oh, sure,» said Mike. «They've come to see me … so now I go down to meet them.» He paused while some clothing got out of the way of his face; he was being dressed at break-neck speed with the unnecessary help of several women — each garment seemed to know where to go and how to drape itself. «This job has obligations as well as privileges — the star has to show up for the show … grok me? The marks expect it.»
Duke said, «Mike knows what he's doing, Boss.»
«Well …I don't trust mobs.»
«That crowd is mostly curiosity seekers, they always are. Oh, there are some Fosterites and some others with grudges — but Mike can handle any crowd. You'll see. Right, Mike?»
«Keerect, Cannibal. Pull in a tip, then give 'em a show. Where's my hat? Can't walk in the noonday sun without a hat.» An expensive Panama with a sporty colored bank glided out and settled itself on his head; he cocked it jauntily. «There! Do I look all right?» He was dressed in his usual outer-services mufti, a smartly tailored, sharply creased, white business suit, shoes to match, snowy shirt, and luxurious dazzling scarf.
Ben said, «All you lack is a brief case.»
«You grok I need one? Patty, do we have one?»
Jill stepped up to him. «Ben was kidding, dear. You look just perfect.» She straightened his tie and kissed him — and Jubal felt kissed. «Go talk to them.»
«Yup. Time to turn the tip. Anne? Duke?»
«Ready, Mike.» Anne was wearing her Fair Witness cloak, wrapping her in dignity; Duke was just the opposite, being sloppily dressed, with a lighted cigarette dangling from his face, an old hat on the back of his head with a card marked «PRESS» stuck in its band, and himself hung about with cameras and kit.