Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein Page A

offered it to Jill.
    â€œHey, don’t drink your bath water! Now, I don’t want it, either.”
    â€œNot drink?”
    His defenseless hurt was such that Jill did not know what to do. She hesitated, then bent her head and touched her lips to the offering. “Thank you.”
    â€œMay you never thirst!”
    â€œI hope you are never thirsty, too. But that’s enough. If you want a drink, I’ll get you one. Don’t drink any more of this water.”
    Smith seemed satisfied and sat quietly. By now Jill knew that he had never had a tub bath and did not know what was expected. No doubt she could coach him . . . but they were losing precious time.
    Oh, well! It was not as bad as tending disturbed patients in N.P. wards. Her blouse was wet to the shoulders from dragging Smith off the bottom; she took it off and hung it up. She had been dressed for the street and was wearing a little pediskirt that floated around her knees. She glanced down. Although the pleats were permanized, it was silly to get it wet. She shrugged and zipped it off; it left her in brassière and panties.
    Smith was staring with the interested eyes of a baby. Jill found herself blushing, which surprised her. She believed herself to be free of morbid modesty—she recalled suddenly that she had gone on her first bareskin swimming party at fifteen. But this childlike stare bothered her; she decided to put up with wet underwear rather than do the obvious.
    She covered discomposure with heartiness. “Let’s get busy and scrub the hide.” She knelt beside the tub, sprayed soap on him, and started working it into lather.
    Presently Smith reached out and touched her right mammary gland. Jill drew back hastily. “Hey! None of that!”
    He looked as if she had slapped him. “Not?” he said tragically.
    â€œ ‘Not,’ ” she agreed firmly, then looked at his face and added softly, “It’s all right. Just don’t distract me, I’m busy.”
    Jill cut the bath short, letting water drain and having him stand while she showered him off. Then she dressed while the blast dried him. The warm air startled him and he began to tremble; she told him not to be afraid and had him hold the grab rail.
    She helped him out of the tub. “There, you smell better and I bet you feel better.”
    â€œFeel fine.”
    â€œGood. Let’s get clothes on you.” She led him into Ben’s bedroom. But before she could explain, demonstrate, or assist in getting shorts on him a man’s voice scared her almost out of her senses:
    â€œOPEN UP-IN THERE!”
    Jill dropped the shorts. Did they know anyone was inside? Yes, they must—else they would never have come here. That damned robocab must have given her away!
    Should she answer? Or play-’possum?
    The shout over the announcing circuit was repeated. She whispered to Smith, “Stay here!” then-went into the living room. “Who is it?” she called out, striving to keep her voice normal.
    â€œOpen in the name of the law!”
    â€œOpen in the name of what law? Don’t be silly. Tell- me who you are before I call the police.”
    â€œWe are the police. Are you Gillian Boardman?”
    â€œMe? I’m Phyllis O’Toole and I’m waiting for Mr. Caxton. I’m going to call the police and report an invasion of privacy.”
    â€œMiss Boardman, we have a warrant for your arrest. Open up or it will go hard with you.”
    â€œI’m not ‘Miss Boardman’ and I’m calling the police!”
    The voice did not answer. Jill waited, swallowing. Shortly she felt radiant heat against her face. The door’s lock began to glow red, then white; something crunched and the door slid open. Two men were there; one stepped in, grinned and said, “That’s the babe! Johnson, look around and find him.”
    â€œOkay, Mr. Berquist.”
    Jill tried to be a road block. The man called