Stranger in a Strange Land

hardly to be blamed for that . . . their cooking (cooking/Il), their manners, their bastard architecture and sickly arts . . . and their blind, pathetic, arrogant belief in their superiority long after their sun had set. Their women. Their women most of all, their immodest, assertive women, with their gaunt, starved bodies which nevertheless reminded him disturbingly of houris. Four of them here, crowded around Valentine Michael-at a meeting which certainly should be all male- But Valentine Michael had offered him all these people-including these ubiquitous female creatures-offered them proudly and eagerly as his water brothers, thereby laying on Mahmoud a family obligation closer and more binding than that owed to the sons of one's father's brother-since Mahmoud understood the Martian term for such accretive relationships from direct observation of what it meant to Martians and did not need to translate it clumsily and inadequately as "catenative assemblage," nor even as "things equal to the same thing are equal to each other." He had seen Martians at home; he knew their extreme poverty (by Earth standards); he had dipped into-and had guessed at far more-of their cultural extreme wealth; and had grokked quite accurately the supreme value that Martians place on interpersonal relationships.
                Well, there was nothing else for it-he had shared water with Valentine Michael and now he must justify his friend's faith in him . . . he simply hoped that these Yanks were not complete bounders.
                So he smiled warmly and shook hands firmly. "Yes. Valentine Michael has explained to me-most proudly-that you are all in-" (Mahmoud used one word of Martian.) "-to him."
                "Eh?"
                "Water brotherhood. You understand?"
                "I grok it."
                Mahmoud strongly doubted if Harshaw did, but he went on smoothly, "Since I myself am already in that relationship to him, I must ask to be considered a member of the family. I know your name, and I have guessed that this must be Mr. Caxton-in fact I have seen your face pictured at the head of your column, Mr. Caxton; I read it when I have opportunity-but let me see if I have the young ladies straight. This must be Anne."
                "Yes. But she's cloaked at the moment."
                "Yes, of course. I'll pay my respects to her when she is not busy professionally."
                Harshaw introduced him to the other three . . . and Jill startled him by addressing him with the correct honorific for a water brother, pronouncing it about three octaves higher than any adult Martian would talk but with sore-throat purity of accent. It was one of the scant dozen Martian words she could speak out of the hundred-odd that she was beginning to understand-but this one she had down pat because it was used to her and by her many times each day.
                Dr. Mahmoud's eyes widened slightly-perhaps these people would turn out not to be mere uncircumcised barbarians after all . . . and his young friend did have strong intuitions. Instantly he offered Jill the correct honorific in response and bowed over her hand.
                Jill saw that Mike was obviously delighted; she managed, slurringly but passably, to croak the shortest of the nine forms by which a water brother may return the response-although she did not grok it fully and would not have considered suggesting (in English) the nearest human biological equivalent . . . certainly not to a man she had Just met!
                However, Mahmoud, who did understand it, took it in its symbolic meaning rather than its (humanly impossible) literal meaning, and spoke rightly in response. But Jill had passed the limit of her linguistic ability; she did not understand his answer at all and could not reply, even in pedestrian English.
                But she got a sudden inspiration. At intervals around the huge table were placed the age-old furniture of human palavers-water pitchers each with its clump of glasses. She stretched and got a pitcher and a tumbler, filled the latter.
                She looked Mahmoud in the eye, said earnestly, "Water. Our nest is yours." She touched it to her lips and handed it to Mahmoud.
                He answered her in Martian, saw that she did not understand him and translated, "Who shares water shares all." He took a