Stranger in a Strange Land

again in a week or two. There's no hurry."
                "I won't be here even a week."
                "You have some columns on the spike"-it was not a question.
                "Three fresh ones. But I shouldn't stay even that long."
                "I think you will ... then you'll phone in a few . . . probably about the Church. By then I think you will grok to stay much longer."
                "I don't think so."
                "Waiting is, until fullness. You know it's not a church?"
                "Well, Patty did say something of the sort."
                "Let's say it's not a religion. It is a church, in every legal and moral senses-and I suppose our Nest is a monastery. But we're not trying to bring people to God; that's a contradiction in terms, you can't even say it in Martian. We're not trying to save souls, because souls can't be lost. We're not trying to get people to have faith, because what we offer is not faith but truth-truth they can check; we don't urge them to believe it. Truth for practical purposes, for here-and-now, truth as matter of fact as an ironing board and as useful as a loaf of bread . . . so practical that it can make war and hunger and violence and hate as unnecessary as . . . as-well, as clothes here in the Nest. But they have to learn Martian first. That's the only hitch-finding people who are honest enough to believe what they see, and then are willing to do the hard work-it is hard work- of learning the language it can be taught in. A composer couldn't possibly write down a symphony in English . . and this sort of symphony can't be stated in English any more than Beethoven's Fifth can be." She smiled. "But Mike never hurries. Day after day he screens hundreds of people finds a few dozen . . . and out of those a very few trickle into the Nest and he trains them further. And someday Mike will have some of us so thoroughly trained that we can go out and start other nests, and then it can begin to snowball. But there's no hurry. None of us, even us in the Nest, are really trained. Are we, dear?"
                Ben looked up, somewhat startled by Jill's last three words-then was really startled to find bending over him to offer him a plate a woman whom he belatedly recognized as the other high priestess-Dawn, yes, that was right. His surprise was not reduced by the fact that she was dressed in Patricia's fashion, minus tattoos.
                But Dawn was not startled. She smiled and said, "Your supper, my brother Ben. Thou art God."
                "Uh, thou art God. Thanks." He was beyond being surprised when she leaned down and kissed him, then got plates for herself and Jill, sat down on the other side of him and began to eat. He was willing to concede that, if not God, Dawn had the best attributes associated with goddesses; he was rather sorry she had not sat down across from him-he couldn't see her well without being obvious about it.
                "No," Dawn agreed, between bites, "we aren't really trained yet, Jill. But waiting will fill."
                "That's the size of it, Ben," Jill continued. "For example, I took a break to eat. But Mike hasn't had a bite for well over twenty-four hours and won't eat until he's not needed-you happened to bit a crowded day, because of that group making transition to Eighth Circle. Then when Mike is through, he'll eat like a pig and that will carry him as long as necessary. Besides that, Dawn and I get tired . . . don't we, sweet?"
                "We surely do. But I'm not too tired, Gillian. Let me take this service and you can visit with Ben. Give me that robe."
                "You're crazy in your little pointy head, my love-and Mama spank. Ben, she's been on duty almost as long as Mike has. We both can take that long a stretch-but we eat when we're hungry and sometimes we need sleep. Speaking of robes, Dawn, this was the last vanishing robe in the Seventh Temple. I meant to tell Patty she'd better order a gross or two."
                "She has."
                "I should have known. This one seems a little tight." Jill wiggled in it in a fashion that disturbed Ben more than Dawn's perfect and unrobed skin. "Are we putting on weight, Dawn?"
                "I think we are, a little. No matter."
                "Helps, you mean. We were too skinny. Ben, you noticed, didn't