8

Leider and Jane spent the rest of the afternoon walking and talking.

'You don’t teep?' said Leider.

'Do you?’ asked Jane.

‘Of course I do; it’s amazing.’

‘What’s with the singing, then?’ Jane asked. ‘I mean, couldn’t you mind-meld it to them or something?’

‘Actually, no. Music doesn’t work in teeping. I’ve tried, lots of people have, but it doesn’t have anywhere near the same effect.’

I should say here that many scholars have studied this phenomenon, and the consensus seems to be that music was a mere sensual pleasure with the Martians.¹ Their songs were simply sounds, without sense or meaning—pleasing to the ear, without conveying a single idea to the mind; the Martian ear was gratified by sound, as their stomach by food.² Obviously, there are many physical sensations that prove difficult to fully express in teeping, yet it seems that the Martians are alone in having developed a music so devoid of [tangible] meaning.

‘So you’re singing songs to them, hoping they’ll notice you?’ asked Jane.

‘We have a team working on a teep translation of the Bible, and we have a team preaching to them in teep around the clock. We thought songs might make an impression. I’ll admit doing it naked was my idea. Meeting them halfway, sharing their culture.’

‘Have you...converted any of them?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Well, don’t try to convert me,’ said Jane.

‘I wouldn’t think of it,’ said Leider. ‘I’m just here for the epic poetry. Can I read any of your work?’

'I don't know. I’m not finished, and I don't think it's ready, I mean, it's...’

'Look, I am gonna sound like a preacher for a minute here: there’s no such thing as making art for yourself. Anyone who says that’s what they are doing is lying. Art is for all of us. We make it to say something to the whole world. You got to show it to people.’

'I know, but…'

‘Let me read some of it.'

Jane knew she needed a reader, someone to get her out of her own mind. She had known this since before Franklin left, and yet she never let Franklin read any of her writing. Perhaps Jane was intimidated by Franklin’s dead first wife—who had achieved far more notoriety with her writing than Jane. [It’s even possible that she thought Franklin would do more harm than good in reading it.]

Every day, when Franklin returned from Flinders’ office, he asked Jane how her writing had gone, and she said it was okay. Early on, Franklin asked to read what she had written, but Jane always said no, and eventually he stopped asking. And yet, when Franklin stopped asking, Jane couldn’t help feeling like he had decided her writing probably wasn’t worth it.

So it was truly surprising that Jane let Leider read her writing. Especially since she had only just met him. But there it is. Perhaps she allowed herself a freedom or courage because he was a stranger and she didn’t expect the relationship to last. It is undeniable that there is a thrilling freedom that takes root in the anonymity of strangers. She agreed to meet him again the next day, and to bring some pages of her poem.