V

The Materialist

AS THE WOMAN LEFT, SHE ALMOST knocked over a man who was walking, stooped over, up the steps to the portico of the building. She stepped back in horror and gave him a wide berth--which made sense, since he was dressed in tatters and covered with filth of every description and could be smelled from ten feet away. He had a huge pack on his back, from which some of the odor clearly emanated, since it was half slit open, almost spilling its contents of elegant clothes, half-eaten roasts, and gaudy trinkets: superb taste mixed with the most execrable trash.

He managed to cower away from her and watch her stalk down the stairs. Uncertain, he turned back himself.

"Were you looking for something?" asked the owner.

The man stopped and looked over his pack at the owner. "Well, I--Never mind."

"I thought you were about to come in," said the owner.

"No, it's just that for a moment . . . But never mind."

"We do have rooms, you know."

"That's what the sign said. I noticed it as I was passing by, and I thought . . ."

"You thought you might come up and see if it was true."

"I'm sorry."

"But it is true."

The man looked down the gloomy road at the woman's back, and said, "Yeah, well . . ."

"Do you have somewhere else to stay?"

"Me? No. But don't worry about it; I've never really stayed anywhere all my life. There never seemed to be a place for me. But I made out all right. There's no reason it should be different in this country."

"What's the matter? Did the woman frighten you?"

"Well, I mean, if she couldn't even get in, then--look, don't make me say it. I didn't think you'd notice me; I just wanted to watch what happened. So I'll be going now." And he turned away and started back down the steps.

"Just a moment, please!" said the owner. "We have all sorts of rooms. And as to the woman, it wasn't that we refused to let her in, it was that for some reason she didn't think the room we had to offer was good enough for her. But wouldn't you at least like to look around inside a little? You don't have to stay if you don't want to; you don't have to do anything but look."

The man stopped. Then he made as if to go on down the steps.

"How can it hurt," said the owner, "now that you've spoken to me? Wasn't that your problem, really? Well, you've done it."

The man turned back, but did not come any closer.

"Weren't you afraid I was going to shout at you and drive you away? With a whip or something?"

"Well, no, I guess. . . . Not really. But--I don't know."

"But you felt you didn't deserve to come in here."

"I mean--Look at me."

"I have been. Look: if I have no problem inviting you inside, why should you? It's my house, after all."

"But why should the likes of you care about somebody like me? I mean, if you knew what I've done!"

"As a matter of fact, I do know what you've done, and you know I know; otherwise, why would you be refusing to come in here with me?"

"You sound like you don't care what I did."

"I don't."

"But everything I heard about you said just the opposite."

"Well," said the owner, "put it this way: it really doesn't make any difference to me what you've done. Before you did it, I warned you not to, not because of me, but because of what you were about to do to yourself. And wasn't I right? Look at you."

The man looked down at his torn, dirty clothes. "All right, I messed up; I admit it. But what can I do about it now? This is what I did to myself, and I have to live with it."

"Do you like being that way?"

"Of course not! Why are you torturing me like this?"

"Listen to me. Listen. I can help you get yourself cleaned up, if you want. I won't do it if you don't want me to. But that's not even the point. The point is that I'm not angry with you and I'm not going to punish you, and I'm not going to keep you out of my house if you want to come in. I have a room ready for you, if you want to look at it. If you don't want to, that's one thing. But if you'd like to see it, then don't think that the condition you're in makes any difference."

The man thought for a while, and then said, "Well, what the hell. Why not?" He began to follow the owner inside, but was stopped by his bag, which wouldn't fit through the door.

"I think you'd better leave that outside for the moment," said the owner. "You can come back for it later."

The man stopped at the threshold, and said, "Well, I don't know. I'd hate to lose it. I mean, all I have is in there."

"It's not likely to get stolen. It's possible, of course."

The man hesitated.

"I don't want to pressure you," said the owner. "But the arrangement here is that even if you lose something on your journey, we see to it that it's replaced with a replica or something of even greater value to you."

"You can't mean that. I mean, this isn't the way the world works."

"No, that's true. But it's the way things work here."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"You have to take my word for it, that's all. But why would I lie to you? Think. What do I have to gain from you or anything you have?"

"That's right. You're certainly getting no bargain. That's why I can't really believe it. There's got to be a catch somewhere."

"Try me."

"--Oh, what the hell! Who'd want what's in here anyway--except me? But still, I got so used to the bag being here on my shoulder. But it's only for a few minutes. You're sure I can come back and take out the stuff I want? And bring it in?"

"If you decide that you like the room and want to stay. If you don't, the bag will almost certainly be out here waiting for you."

The man began to slide the bag from his shoulder. "It's stuck!" he cried.

"Would you like me to help you?"

"No, that's all right." The man made a few more efforts, without success, and finally said. "Well, it doesn't really make any difference, I guess. I should have known from the beginning I couldn't get in."

"Now don't be like that," said the owner. "Let me give you a hand."

"No!" shouted the man. "Don't touch it!" The owner backed off. "Wait!" he said. He struggled a bit more. "Oh, go ahead!" he cried in despair. The owner put his hand on the bag and tore it off his back. He screamed in agony; the bag had rotted so thoroughly onto his shoulder that removing it had torn a huge chunk off his skin.

"God, that hurt!" said the man. He reached up to rub his shoulder and thought better of it.

"Yes, but it's over now. You'll be surprised at how fast it will heal, now that you're here. Think of it. When you come back for it, you'll actually be able to get at what's inside."

"You know, you're right. I never even looked in it for years and years; I couldn't have, could I? I just kept throwing stuff in, I was so afraid to let go of it. I don't even remember half of what's there any more. Let me take a look just for a second." And he stooped down about to rummage about inside the bag.

"I think," said the owner, with a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder, "it would be better if you came inside first. It shouldn't take long at all, and then you can come back and, if you like, I can help you sort things out."

"You really think I should?"

"I really think you should. Do you want that thing back on your shoulder again?"

"No," said the man, with an expression on his face that meant "yes." "No, I guess not. But you're not saying that I can't have it in case things don't work out in there, right?"

"No, if you decide you don't want the room, then you can take it back again and go wherever you want."

"Well, all right." He began to follow the owner through the door. "My shoulder hurts like hell--and so does my back, now."

"It's just that you've started to stand up straighter now that you don't have all that weight on your back." replied the owner. "Don't worry; you'll get used to it. Doesn't your shoulder feel less painful already?"

"--I guess it does, now that you mention it." The man stood on the shining marble inside the entrance, awestruck at the magnificence of the foyer and the staircase. "I can't believe it--Ow!" he said, lifting up his foot.

"I'm sorry; I should have warned you about the floors. They're cleaning off your feet. But don't be concerned; this will be over soon too."

"This is too much!" cried the man. "First you rip my stuff right off my back, and now you clean my feet off! I knew I didn't belong here!"

"Be a little patient," said the owner. "Think of the pain in your back and your shoulder. Don't you feel better in spite of it? Without that enormous weight you were carrying?"

The man considered for a few moments, standing now on one foot and now on the other. "I guess so. Yeah, I do."

"Then give this a chance too."

"Why should I? I mean, you're trying to make me over completely, aren't you?"

"Well, were you satisfied the way you were? You didn't look satisfied."

"Look, you've got to make allowances. I mean, I'm not complaining or anything--who am I to complain? But it's all so new!"

"I know. We make everything new here. But I think I ought to advise you to be a little careful what you touch for a while. The faster the cleaning process works, the more painful it is. But of course, you can suit yourself."

"If I stay."

"If you stay. But why shouldn't you? You're already inside, and no one has eaten you."

"Except the floor."

The owner laughed. "That's true, of course. But it's only eaten the dirt, really, and your feet are almost clean already."

"You're right. Hey, will you look at that! I'd forgotten what color I really was! And you know something? It's a lot easier to walk now than it's been for a long time. I feel as if my feet have been massaged."

"They have been."

"It seems it's okay when it's over. But you're not very gentle about it, are you?"

"No, when we massage in here, we often have to use sandpaper. But it works."

The man looked up at the owner. "You know something?" he said. "I think I like you."

"I had a feeling you would."

"You're not what I was expecting at all. You're easy to talk to, for one thing, even by somebody like me."

"Why should I find it hard to talk to you? If you're willing to take me as I am, I'm willing to take you as you are. What does it matter where you've been and what you've seen? You're here, and that's enough."

"But you ripped off my bag and started cleaning me up."

"So? Dirt and what was in that bag was just something you were hiding behind, wasn't it? You just said that you yourself forgot what color you really were."

"Like I say, I'm not complaining, really."

"Any time you dislike what's happening to you, you're free to go; it's perfectly all right with me if you don't like it here and leave; it's completely up to you. We have never yet put someone out of this house because we thought he wouldn't fit in; it's always been that he found it unsatisfactory for one reason or another and thought that he'd be happier--or perhaps I should say, less unhappy--outside somewhere. The only real condition for staying here is that everyone who remains has to be willing to accept himself for what he really is, just as I accept him; and all that usually means is that he has to give up some silly ideas about himself."

"That's all?"

"Well, that, and to like me--or at least, be willing to put up with me and my ways. I'm pretty likeable, actually, and we can get to be friends gradually, if that's the way the person wants it."

"But I thought you had to do all kinds of things to get here, and I never did any of them. I always did just the opposite."

"You're here, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I don't understand it. I can't believe it."

"You don't have to believe anything any more. But let me explain a little. Most people have to do all the things you never did, and avoid all the things you never avoided, to be in a condition to accept themselves for what they really are, and even to begin to like me at all for my own sake and not just for what I can do for them.

"I a way, you're lucky, you know. You did all the wrong things, and yet you never made a virtue of them, just because you did so many of them and saw how unsatisfying they all were. And you didn't want to accept yourself as that kind of person, which meant that you really wanted to be what you really are; but just weren't able to be. And I'll tell you a secret. No one is.

"But, you see, I can make anyone able. I just won't force them to be willing."

"I guess I am lucky," said the man. "I had the best of both worlds."

"Really? Do you really think that the things you hated yourself for doing even while you were doing them were the best way to enjoy yourself? Even before you came over here?"

"Well, there's that, of course."

"You never gave yourself a chance to find out if the other things were fun to do. You just took people's word for it that they were boring and painful--when in fact if you'd have tried them, you'd have discovered they were a lot more fun than what you called 'really living.'"

The man was silent for a few minutes. "Yeah, I guess. Now that I look back on it, I did make pretty much a wreck of my whole life, didn't I?"

"Pretty much. Not that it matters. And I don't want to deceive you; the room you've built for yourself is very small, and you might not like it. Here it is, in fact." They had been walking down several corridors as they talked, and had reached a very plain door, which the owner opened. It was indeed a tiny room, sparsely furnished, but neat and clean, with a very small window in the door (closed) that led to the garden beyond.

"Yeah, you're right," said the man. "A little less, and it wouldn't be a room at all. But on the other hand, it's kind of cozy, when you come to think of it. It sort of fits."

"You'll have to leave that curtain drawn over the window for a while, because the light is so bright out there that it might blind you while your eyes are in the process of healing. And you won't have full run of the palace at the beginning, more or less for the same reason. But afterwards, of course, you can visit any other room you choose, and even stay with the other person for as long as you wish--I would say overnight, but there is no night here--or spend your time in the garden. This, however, will always be your room; and once you have gone back to your bag and chosen the things you want to keep from it, perhaps to hang on the walls, and so on, or put on shelves we can furnish, then the room will never change. But there's the garden."

"No, no, don't worry about it. This room is just fine. Better than I deserve--a lot better. Besides, like I said, it fits; it feels like home already."

"I rather thought it would. It's not this size because we think this is the size you should have; it's this size because this is the one you wanted."

The man looked around the room contentedly. "It'll be nice just to have a rest for a while," he remarked.

"Well then, let's go back out to your bag," said the owner.

"That's right; I almost forgot about that. I'm not sure I want anything in it now."

"Well, we'd better go out and see. We wouldn't want to throw anything out that you'd be missing later. I'll help you pick out the things you want to bring in here, and then I'll leave you for a while, and be there in the garden when you get well."

"That'll be nice," said the man. "I can hardly wait."

"It won't be long," said the owner. "Like everything else here, it's all up to you."