«A little.»
«You speak it fluently, I heard you. Do you grok “grok”?»
Mahmoud looked thoughtful. «No. “Grok” is the most important word in the language — and I expect to spend years trying to understand it. But I don't expect to be successful. You need to think in Martian to grok the word “grok”. Perhaps you have noticed that Mike takes a veering approach to some ideas?»
«Have I! My throbbing head!»
«Mine, too.»
«Food,» announced Jubal. «Lunch, and about time! Girls, put it where we can reach it and maintain a respectful silence. Go on, Doctor. Or does Mike's presence make it better to postpone it?»
«Not at all.» Mahmoud spoke in Martian to Mike. Mike answered, smiled sunnily; his expression became blank again and he applied himself to food. «I told him what I was trying to do and he told me that I would speak rightly; this was not opinion but a fact, a necessity. I hope that if I fail to, he will notice and tell me. But I doubt if he will. Mike thinks in Martian — and this gives him a different “map”. You follow me?»
«I grok it,» agreed Jubal. «Language itself shapes a man's basic ideas.»
«Yes, but — Doctor, you speak Arabic?»
«Eh? Badly,» admitted Jubal. «Put in a while as an army surgeon in North Africa. I still read it because I prefer the words of the Prophet in the original.»
«Proper. The Koran cannot be translated — the “map” changes no matter how one tries. You understand, then, how difficult I found English. It was not alone that my native language has simpler inflections; the “map” changed. English is the largest human tongue; its variety, subtlety, and irrational idiomatic complexity make it possible to say things in English which cannot be said in any other language. It almost drove me crazy … until I learned to think in it — and that put a new “map” of the world on top of the one I grew up with. A better one, perhaps — certainly a more detailed one.
«But there are things which can be said in Arabic that cannot be said in English.»
Jubal nodded. «That's why I've kept up my reading.»
«Yes. But Martian is so much more complex than is English — and so wildly different in how it abstracts its picture of the universe — that English and Arabic might as well be one language. An Englishman and an Arab can learn to think each other's language. But I'm not certain that it will ever be possible for us to think in Martian (other than the way Mike learned it) — oh, we can learn “pidgin” Martian — that is what I speak.
«Take this word: “grok”. Its literal meaning, one which I suspect goes back to the origin of the Martian race as thinking creatures — and which throws light on their whole “map” — is easy. “Grok” means “to drink”.»
«Huh?» said Jubal. «Mike never says “grok” when he's just talking about drinking. He — »
«Just a moment.» Mahmoud spoke to Mike in Martian.
Mike looked faintly surprised. «“Grok” is drink.»
«But Mike would have agreed,» Mahmoud went on, «if I had named a hundred other English words, words which we think of as different concepts, even antithetical concepts. “Grok” means all of these. It means “fear”, it means “love”, it means “hate” — proper hate, for by the Martian “map” you cannot hate anything unless you grok it, understand it so thoroughly that you merge with it and it merges with you — then can you hate. By hating yourself. But this implies that you love it, too, and cherish it and would not have it otherwise. Then you can hate — and (I think) Martian hate is an emotion so black that the nearest human equivalent could only be called mild distaste.»
Mahmoud screwed up his face. «“Grok” means “identically equal”. The human cliché. “This hurts me worse than it does you” has a Martian flavor. The Martians seem to know instinctively what we learned painfully from modern physics, that observer interacts with observed through the process of observation. “Grok” means to understand so thoroughly that the observer becomes a part of the observed — to merge, blend, intermarry, lose identity in group experience. It means almost everything that we mean by religion, philosophy, and science-and it means as little to us as color means to a blind man.» Mahmoud paused. «Jubal, if I chopped you up and made a stew, you and the stew, whatever was in it, would grok — and when I ate you, we would grok together and nothing would be lost and it would not matter which one of us did the eating.»
«It would to me!» Jubal said firmly.
«You aren't a Martian.» Mahmoud stopped to talk to Mike in Martian.
Mike nodded. «You spoke rightly, my brother. Dr. Mahmoud. I am been saying so. Thou art God.»
Mahmoud shrugged helplessly. «You see how hopeless it is? All I got was a blasphemy. We don't think in Martian. We can't.»
«Thou art God,» Mike said agreeably. «God groks.»
«Let's change the subject! Jubal, could I impose on brotherhood for more gin?»
«I'll get it!» said Dorcas.
It was a family picnic, made easy by Jubal's informality, plus the fact that the newcomers were the same sort — each learned, acclaimed, and with no need to strive. Even Dr. Mahmoud, rarely off guard with those who did not share the one true faith in submission to the Will of God, always beneficent, merciful, found himself relaxed. It had pleased him greatly that Jubal read the words of the Prophet … and, now that he stopped to notice, the women of Jubal's household were plumper than he had thought. That dark one — He put the thought out of his mind; he was a guest.
But it pleased him that these women did not chatter, did not intrude into sober talk of men, but were quick with food and drink in warm hospitality. He had been shocked at Miriam's disrespect toward her master — then recognized it: a liberty permitted cats and favorite children in the privacy of the home.
Jubal explained that they were simply waiting on the Secretary General. «If he means business, we will hear from him soon. If we had stayed in the Palace, he might have been tempted to dicker. Here we can refuse to dicker.»
«Dicker for what?» asked Captain van Tromp. «You gave him what he wanted.»
«Not all he wanted. Douglas would rather have it be irrevocable … instead of on good behavior, with the power reverting to a man he detests — namely that scoundrel with the innocent smile, our brother Ben. But others would want to dicker, too. That bland buddha Kung — hates my guts, I snatched the rug out from under him. But if he could figure a deal that might tempt us, he would offer it. So we stay out of his way, too. Kung is one reason why we are eating and drinking nothing that we did not fetch.»
«You feel that's something to worry about?» asked Nelson. «Jubal, I assumed that you were a gourmet who demanded his own cuisine. I can't imagine being poisoned in a hotel such as this.»
Jubal shook his head sorrowfully. «Sven, nobody wants to poison you — but your wife might collect your insurance because you shared a dish with Mike.»
«You really think so?»
«Sven, I'll call room service for anything you want. But I won't touch it and won't let Mike touch it. They know where we are and they've had a couple of hours in which to act — so I must assume that any waiter is on Kung's payroll … and maybe two or three others. My prime worry is to keep this lad alive while we sterilize the power he represents.»
Jubal frowned. «Consider the black widow spider. A timid little beastie, useful, and the prettiest of the arachnids, with its patent-leather finish and its hourglass trademark. But the poor thing has the misfortune of too much power for its size. So everybody kills it.
«The black widow can't help it, it has no way to avoid its venomous power.»
«Mike is in the same dilemma. He isn't as pretty as a black widow — »