Helpfully Yours Read online

"Helpfully Yours." Reprinted in theparent paper, it was read with edification and pleasure all over Fizbus.Everyone wanted to learn more about the ancient and other-worldly Terranculture.

  The handbook, _A Brief Introduction to Terrestrial Manners and Mores_,owed much of its content to "Helpfully Yours." A grateful, almostfulsome, introductory note had said so. But the column truly deservedall the praise that had been lavished upon it by the handbook. How wellshe had studied the thoughtful letters that filled it and the excellentand well-reasoned advice--erring, if it erred at all, on the side ofovertolerance--that had been given in return. Of course, on Earth,spiritual adjustment apparently was more important than the physical;you could tell that from the questions that were asked. A number of theletters had been reprinted in an appendix to the manual.

  _New York_

  _Dear Senbot Drosmig:_

  _When in contact with Terrestrial culture, I find myself constantly overawed and weighed down by the knowledge of my own inadequacy. I cannot seem to appreciate the local art forms as disseminated by the juke box, the comic strip, the tabloid._

  _How can I help myself toward a greater understanding?_

  _Hopefully yours,_

  _Gnurmis Plitt_

  * * * * *

  Dear Mr. Plitt:

  Remember, Orkv was not excavated in a week. It took the Terrestrials many centuries to develop their exquisite and esoteric art forms. How can you expect to comprehend them in a few short years? Expose yourself to their art. Work, study, meditate.

  Understanding will come, I promise you.

  Helpfully yours,

  Senbot Drosmig

  * * * * *

  _Paris_

  Dear Senbot Drosmig:

  _To think that I am enjoying the benefits of Terra while my wife and little ones are forced to remain on Fizbus makes my heart ache. Surely it is not fair that I should have so much and they so little. Imagine the inestimable advantage to the fledgling of even a short contact with Terrestrial culture!_

  _Why cannot my loved ones come to join me so that we can share all these wonderful spiritual experiences and be enriched by them together?_

  _Poignantly yours,_

  _Tpooly N'Ox_

  * * * * *

  Dear Mr. N'Ox:

  After all, it has been only five years since Fizbian spaceships first came into contact with Terra. In keeping with our usual colonial policy--so inappropriate and anachronistic when applied to a well-developed civilization like Terra's--at first only males are allowed to go to the new world until it is made certain over a period of years that the planet is safe for mothers and future mothers of Fizbus.

  But Stet Zarnon himself, the celebrated and capable editor of the Terran edition of _The Fizbus Times_, has taken up your cause, and I promise you that eventually your loved ones will be able to join you.

  Meanwhile, work, study, meditate.

  Helpfully yours,

  Senbot Drosmig

  * * * * *

  _Ottawa_

  _Dear Senbot Drosmig:_

  _Having just completed a two-year tour of duty on Earth as part of a diplomatic mission, I am regretfully leaving this fair planet. What books, what objects of art, what, in short, souvenirs shall I take back to Fizbus which will give our people some small idea of Earth's rich cultural heritage and, at the same time, serve as useful and appropriate gifts for my friends and relatives back Home?_

  _Inquiringly yours,_

  _Solgus Zagroot_

  * * * * *

  Dear Mr. Zagroot:

  Take back nothing but your memories. They will be your best souvenirs.

  Out of context, any other mementos might convey little, if anything, of the true beauty and advanced spirituality of Terrestrial culture, and you might cheapen them were you to use them crassly as souvenirs. Furthermore, it is possible that you, in your ignorance, might unwittingly select some items that give a distorted and false idea of our extrafizbian friends.

  The Fizbian-Earth Cultural Commission, sponsored by _The Fizbian Times_, in conjunction with the consulate, is preparing a vast program of cultural interchange. Leave it to them to do the great work, for you can be sure they will do it well.

  And be sure to tell your fellow-laborers in the diplomatic vineyards that it is wiser not to send unapproved Terran souvenirs back Home. They might cause a fatal misunderstanding between the two worlds. Tell them to spend their time on Earth in working, studying and meditating, rather than shopping.

  Helpfully yours,

  Senbot Drosmig

  * * * * *

  And now she--Tarb Morfatch--herself was going to be the guiding spiritthat brought enlightenment and uplift to countless thousands on Terraand millions on Fizbus. Her name wouldn't appear on the columns, but thereward of having helped should be enough. Besides, Drosmig was due toretire soon. If she proved herself competent, she would take over thecolumn entirely and get the byline. Grupe had promised faithfully.

  But what, she wondered, had put Drosmig "out of commission"?

  The taxi drew up before a building with a vulgar number of floorsshowing above ground.

  "Ah--before we--er--meet the others," Stet suggested, twitching hiscrest, "I was wondering whether you would care to--er--have dinner withme tonight?"

  This roused Tarb from her speculations. "Oh, I'd love to!" _A date withthe boss right away!_

  Stet fumbled in his garments for appropriate tokens with which to paythe driver. "You--you're not engaged or anything back Home, MissMorfatch?"

  "Why, no," she said. "It so happens that I'm not."

  "Splendid!" He made an abortive gesture with his leg, then let her getout of the taxi by herself. "It makes the natives stare," he explainedabashedly.

  "But why shouldn't they?" she asked, wondering whether to laugh or not."How could they help but stare? We are different." _He must be joking._She ventured a smile.

  He smiled back, but made no reply.

  The pavement was hard under her thinly covered soles. Now that walkinglooked as if it would present a problem, the ban on wing use loomed morethreateningly. She had, of course, walked before--on wet days when herwings were waterlogged or in high winds or when she had surfacebusiness. However, the sidewalks on Fizbus were soft and resilient. Nowshe understood why the Terrestrials wore such crippling foot armor, butthat didn't make her feel any better about it.

  A box-shaped machine took the two Fizbians up to the twentieth story intwice the time it would have taken them to fly the same distance. Tarbsupposed that the offices were in an attic instead of a basement becauseexchange difficulties forced the _Times_ to such economy. She wonderedruefully whether her own expense account would also suffer.

  But it was no time to worry about such sordid matters; most importantright now was making a favorable impression on her co-workers. She didwant them to like her.

  Taking out her compact, she carefully polished her eyeballs. The man atthe controls of the machine practically performed a ritual _entrechat_.

  "Don't do that!" Stet ordered in a harsh whisper.

  "But why not?" she asked, unable to restrain a trace of belligerencefrom her voice. He hadn't been very polite himself. "The handbook saidrespectable Terran women make up in public. Why shouldn't I?"

  He sighed. "It'll take time for you to catch on, I suppose. There's alot the handbook doesn't--can't--cover. You'll find the setup hererather different from on Fizbus," he went on as he kicked open the doorneatly lettered _THE FIZBUS TIMES_ in both Fizbian and Terran. "We'vefound it expedient to follow the local
newspaper practice. Forinstance--" he indicated a small green-feathered man seated at a deskjust beyond the railing that bisected the room horizontally--"we have aCopy Editor."

  "What does he do?" she asked, confused.

  "He copies news from the other papers, of course."

  "And what are _you_ doing tonight, Miss Morfatch?" the Copy Editorasked, springing up from his desk to execute the three ritual entrechatswith somewhat more verve than was absolutely necessary.

  "Having dinner with me," Stet said quickly.

  "Pulling rank, eh, old bird? Well, we'll see whether position orsterling worth will win out in the end."

  As the rest of the staff crowded around Tarb, leaping and booing asappreciatively as any girl could want, she managed to snatch a rapidlook around. The place wasn't really so very much different from aFizbian newsroom, once she got over the oddity of going across, not upand down, with the desks--queerly shaped but