“Oh, I’ll eat you, all right—unless I discorporate first.”

“I don’t suppose that you will. With your much greater control over your sweet body I suspect that you can live several centuries at least. If you wish it. Unless you choose to discorporate sooner.”

“I might. But not now. Jill, I’ve tried and tried. How many churches have we attended?”

“All the sorts there are in San Francisco, I think—except, possibly, for little, secret ones that don’t list their addresses. I don’t recall how many times we have been to seekers’ services.”

“That’s just to comfort Pat—I’d never go again if you weren’t sure that she needs to know that we haven’t given up.”

“She does need to. And we can’t lie about it—you don’t know how and I can’t, not to Patty. Nor any brother.”

“Actually,” he admitted, “the Fosterites do have quite a bit on the ball. All twisted, of course. They are clumsy, groping—the way I was as a carney. And they’ll never correct their mistakes, because this thing—” He caused Patty’s book to lift. “—is mostly crap!”

“Yes. But Patty doesn’t see those parts of it. She is wrapped in her own innocence. She is God and behaves accordingly . . . only She doesn’t know who She is.”

“Uh huh,” he agreed. “That’s our Pat. She believes it only when I tell her—with proper emphasis. But, Jill, there are only three places to look. Science—and I was taught more about how the physical universe is put together while I was still in the nest than human scientists can yet handle. So much that I can’t even talk to them . . . even about as elementary a gimmick as levitation. I’m not disparaging human scientists . . . what they do and how they go about it is just as it should be; I grok that fully. But what they are after is not what I am looking for—you don’t grok a desert by counting its grains of sand. Then there’s philosophy—supposed to tackle everything. Does it? All any philosopher ever comes out with is exactly what he walked in with—except for those self-deluders who prove their assumptions by their conclusions, in a circle. Like Kant. Like many other tail-chasers. So the answer, if it’s anywhere, ought to be here.” He waved at the pile of religious books. “Only it’s not. Bits and pieces that grok true, but never a pattern—or if there is a pattern, every time, without fail, they ask you to take the hard part on faith. Faith! What a dirty Anglo-Saxon monosyllable—Jill, how does it happen that you didn’t mention that one when you were teaching me the words that mustn’t be used in polite company?”

She smiled. “Mike, you just made a joke.”

“I didn’t mean it as a joke . . . and I can’t see that it’s funny. Jill, I haven’t even been good for you—you used to laugh. You used to laugh and giggle until I worried about you. I haven’t learned to laugh; instead you’ve forgotten how. Instead of my becoming human . . . you’re becoming Martian.”

“I’m happy, dear. You probably just haven’t noticed me laughing.”

“If you laughed clear down on Market Street, I would hear it. I grok. Once I quit being frightened by it I always noticed it—you, especially. If I grokked it, then I would grok people—I think. Then I could help somebody like Pat . . . either teach her what I know, or learn from her what she knows. Or both. We could talk and understand each other.”

“Mike, all you need to do for Patty is to see her occasionally. Why don’t we, dear? Let’s get out of this dreary fog. She’s home now; the carnie is closed for the season. Drop south and see her . . . and I’ve always wanted to see Baja California; we could go on south into warmer weather—and take her with us, that would be fun!”

“All right.”

She stood up. “Let me get a dress on. Do you want to save any of those books? Instead of one of your usual quick house cleanings I could ship them to Jubal.”

He flipped his fingers at them and all were gone but Patricia’s gift. “Just this one and we’ll take it with us; Pat would notice. But, Jill, right now I need to go out to the zoo.”

“All right.”

“I want to spit back at a camel and ask him what he’s so sour about. Maybe camels are the real ‘Old Ones’ on this planet . . . and that’s what is wrong with the place.”

“Two jokes in one day, Mike.”

“I ain’t laughing. And neither are you. Nor is the camel. Maybe he groks why. Come on. Is this dress all right? Do you want underclothes? I noticed you were wearing some when I moved those other clothes.”