WHAT'S HE DOING IN THERE?
By FRITZ LEIBER
He went where no Martian everwent before—but would he comeout—or had he gone for good?
Illustrated By BOWMAN
The Professor was congratulatingEarth's first visitorfrom another planet onhis wisdom in getting in touch witha cultural anthropologist beforecontacting any other scientists (orgovernments, God forbid!), and inlearning English from radio andTV before landing from his orbit-parkedrocket, when the Martianstood up and said hesitantly, "Excuseme, please, but where is it?"
That baffled the Professor andthe Martian seemed to growanxious—at least his long mouthcurved upward, and he had earlierexplained that it curling downwardwas his smile—and he repeated,"Please, where is it?"
He was surprisingly humanoidin most respects, but his complexionwas textured so like therich dark armchair he'd just beenoccupying that the Professor's pin-stripedgray suit, which he hadeagerly consented to wear, seemedan arbitrary interruption betweenhim and the chair—a sort ofMother Hubbard dress on a phantomconjured from its leather.
The Professor's Wife, always aperceptive hostess, came to herhusband's rescue by saying withequal rapidity, "Top of the stairs,end of the hall, last door."
The Martian's mouth curledhappily downward and he said,"Thank you very much," and wasoff.
Comprehension burst on theProfessor. He caught up with hisguest at the foot of the stairs.
"Here, I'll show you the way,"he said.
"No, I can find it myself, thankyou," the Martian assured him.
Something rather final inthe Martian's tone made theProfessor desist, and after watchinghis visitor sway up the stairswith an almost hypnotic softlyjogging movement, he rejoined hiswife in the study, saying wonderingly,"Who'd have thought it, byGeorge! Function taboos as strictas our own!"
"I'm glad some of your professionalvisitors maintain 'em," hiswife said darkly.
"But this one's from Mars, darling,and to find out he's—well,similar in an aspect of his life isas thrilling as the discovery thatwater is burned hydrogen. WhenI think of the day not far distantwhen I'll put his entries in thecross-cultural index ..."
He was still rhapsodizing whenthe Professor's Little Son raced in.
"Pop, the Martian's gone to thebathroom!"
"Hush, dear. Manners."
"Now it's perfectly natural, darling,that the boy should noticeand be excited. Yes, Son, the Martian'snot so very different fromus."
"Oh, certainly," the Professor'sWife said with a trace of bitterness."I don't imagine his turquoisecomplexion will cause any commentat all when you bring him toa faculty reception. They'll justfigure he's had a hard night—andthat he got that baby-elephantnose sniffing around for assistantprofessorships."
"Really, darling! He probablythinks of our noses as disagreeablyamputated and paralyzed."
"Well, anyway, Pop, he's in thebathroom. I followed him when hesquiggled upstairs."
"Now, Son, you shouldn't havedone that. He's on a strange planetand it might make him nervous ifhe thought he was being spied on.We must show him every courtesy.By George, I can't wait to discussthese things with Ackerly-Ramsbottom!When I think of howmuch more this encounter has togive the anthropologist than eventhe physicist or astronomer ..."
He wa