Benefits

by Zoë Fairbairns

  ‘The sister —’ Lynn again ‘— referred to those who believe that mothers should be content with love and respect. She said that that would only do if love and respect were negotiable currency — and concluded from the outrageousness of the idea that women must regretfully insist on cash. But why? Why should we not build a society in which love and respect are — so to speak — negotiable currency? We have a lot of time, sisters. We have all the time we once spent on our domestic duties. Think what that means! We have the ultimate bargaining weapon. We will have babies again when we are good and ready; when our society is a fit place to bring them.’

  Lynn had her hand up. The red-haired woman noticed and said, ‘The government spokesman wants a word.’

  ‘Please, I’m not,’ said Lynn.

  ‘Of course she isn’t,’ said Cath.

  ‘Could we make one immediate demand of the government?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Our political prisoners —’

  ‘Must be freed. Of course,’ said Cath.

  The women didn’t leave at once. They stayed, as Cath put it, ‘to practise making demands’. She teased them for their modesty (‘What do you mean, you want your roof fixed? Wouldn’t you like a new house?’) and mocked the way they asked for things for their men or their children (‘What do you want for yourselves?’). When they got the idea it became hilarious: the still white dome frowned down on woman after woman demanding wealth or medical care or a world cruise, or rubbish to be collected from the tip at the bottom of the street; getting closer, giggling, then hugging each other and crying as they revealed wishes to be childless or lesbian or promiscuous or celibate; they wanted to love men, to farm them, to rape them, to be repaid by them; they were drunk and there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in the place. At one point a woman said, ‘Isn’t this all a bit childish? I mean, let’s be practical,’ and Lynn thought you’re a braver woman than I am, sister, and Cath winked at the questioner and said, ‘Men are the practical ones. They’ll work out the details.’ The questioner shrugged and smiled but left shortly afterwards; and Lynn left too.

  There was no Women’s Centre in Lynn’s area; it had been burned; but light and voices seeped out of the old church hall across the street. Women were meeting there. Lynn slipped in, unnoticed.

  ‘... they’ll say: what you demand isn’t natural. We’ll say: who defined nature? They’ll say: we can’t afford it. We’ll say: oh? What have you been spending all the money on? They’ll say: you undermine the family. We’ll say: yes, and the state, and morality, and every other institution built on our unpaid work. Then they’ll start to wheedle. They’ll say: you must admit there’s a population problem, and we’ll say, when Europea stops hogging the resources of the world, if women and children are still hungry, then we’ll talk about a population problem ...’

  Beautiful strong girls speaking to their rapt elders. Lynn found she was crying again.

  ‘... they’ll say: you must admit there’s a difference between men and women. We’ll say, yes, and we’re going to find out what it is! We’re going to find out who we are when we’re not dependent on you and ruled by you. We’re going to live free of you ...’

  Lynn whispered to her neighbour (a woman her age) about the need to free prisoners. The neighbour whispered back, yes, it was the first thing they decided.

  Lynn worried about Marsha’s homecoming. She hadn’t known what to believe about tales of her being mad; and when it looked as if she might be in prison for ever, she hadn’t even known what she wanted to believe. Now she knew she would need a lot of care (though she didn’t know what kind) in a household of people already so screamingly polite to each other that some kind of dust-up must be on the way. Jane wanted to share the baby but not impose; Martin strove to bring in enough money but not pull rank as breadwinner; Derek helped everybody and felt guilty; Lynn supposed she was the emotional pivot and tried to make, bright remarks and keep domestic wheels oiled.

  Marsha was pale, still and frightened, but not mad. Her bones stuck out and she left trails of long grey hairs as she paced the house. She paced ceaselessly; sometimes she wanted a little space to be safe in, and then Derek and Martin would adjust walls in the top of the house to make a hideout, but shortly afterwards she would panic for open spaces and Lynn would walk with her through the streets.

  ‘I’m the village idiot,’ Marsha said once.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Idiots are silly. Time and space were sort of ... peculiar in that place where I was. You are good to me, though ... all of you. It’s like having a family. I wish Jane wasn’t so suspicious.’

  ‘Jane has a way of making people feel that when it isn’t necessarily true.’

  Visitors came in the daytime to welcome Marsha and bring her news of myriad meetings which they hoped she would attend when she felt well, and sheaves of leaflets that they were turning out, and news of plans for women’s communities, women’s farms, women’s factories, women’s shows. The other side of the news came over the radio. Unease, objectivity and hauteur competed in the voices of the male broadcasters.

  ‘The princess said today that she was pleased to see women working together to overcome their grief, and that she had no sympathy whatever for men left at home with the chores. “A taste of their own medicine," she called it ...’

  ‘Scant enthusiasm has greeted the government’s announcement that the London Eurodome will be the site of a massive skills-training drive for women seeking employment. No one turned up to enrol ...’

  ‘Our scientific correspondent reports that, owing to unusually heavy rainfall, the contraceptive in the water supply is losing potency at an encouraging rate ...’

  Some visiting women heard this while sitting with Marsha and Lynn and Jane.

  ‘Thanks for the warning,' they scoffed.

  ‘I’m going to get one of those caps,’ said Jane, ‘At half-strength that stuff might damage a foetus. Who knows?’

  ‘Or you could give up having heterosexual intercourse.’

  Another day, the radio reported, ‘... has indicated willingness to make more funds available for research into test-tube babies ...’

  ‘Test-tube babies, is it!’ Marsha shouted. She was having one of her claustrophobic times, sitting downstairs with Lynn in 3 a.m. darkness with all the windows open.

  ‘Ssh.’

  ‘Test-tube babies! And test-tube uteruses too, no doubt! And test-tubes to change their nappies in the middle of the night — well, that’s okay. Let them get on with it, they’ll learn a lot. But no. Silly of me. A baby designed by a man will have no ass-hole. It’ll keep all its shit inside.’

  ‘Marsha please, there are other people in the house.’

  ‘How prim you are. Why should you have to be peacemaker, mother? Why don’t you just tell me to shut up?’

  ‘I am.’

  Marsha got up and closed all the windows with quiet speed. Then she lit the fire, an open fire with a rudimentary self-built chimney that was inadequate to its task. The room filled up with smoke and the smell of burnt street-rubbish. ‘Are you cold?’ Lynn asked mildly, but Marsha was staring at the flames. Triumph and horror writhed in her eyes as Lynn read her thoughts.

  ‘Marsha, do you want to tell me about David?’

  Marsha started to whimper, to nestle by Lynn’s lap like a dog. ‘Which would be worse, if I meant to do it or if I didn’t?’

  ‘Neither.’

  ‘It was nice of you to send me Posy’s ... posy. I didn’t get any letters.’

  ‘I did write.’

  ‘Posy always said we should go on strike.’

  ‘But like this?’

  ‘Where are you, Lynn? I mean, where are we?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Last time we were together, we were really together.’

  ‘And we’re together now.’

  ‘But you rushed away to your family duties.’

  ‘I don’t have any more duties.’

&n
bsp; The fire was chewing sullenly on damp rags, thickening the air till even Marsha coughed and pulled away the fuel. ‘The air’s fresher near the floor,’ she said huskily, tugging Lynn’s hand and they lay down together.

  ‘Were you waiting for me to make the first move?’

  ‘I was waiting till you were better so it wouldn’t be guilt or pity.’ Marsha felt she had been starving and had been given bread. Lynn felt Marsha as part of her own body. She just wanted to hold and assimilate — notions like undressing or arousing or admiring or coming seemed absurd tonight. There would be lots of time for that, but now it seemed trivial, demeaning against this coming together that was hardly sex.

  ‘You don’t like what’s happening, do you?’ said Marsha.

  Lynn paused to be sure she knew what she meant. ‘I just don’t think it’ll happen.’

  ‘It will, if we make it.’

  ‘You see, I’m not going to leave Derek.’

  Marsha stiffened.

  Lynn went on, ‘I want you to live here with us. Derek must accept that. But I’m not going off to some commune.’

  ‘Well,’ said Marsha, ‘that’s it then.’

  ‘Not unless you decide it is.’

  ‘Just because your man is the great shining exception doesn’t mean you haven’t got a duty —’

  ‘I told you before,’ Lynn said, ‘about duty.’

  Marsha shrugged, lay tense. Lynn said timidly, ‘Do you want to come?’ Marsha murmured, ‘Why, where are you going?’ and by the time she realised her mistake Lynn was asleep, but she woke her up and told her and it seemed astonishingly funny so early in the morning.

  They slept late, realising from Jane’s pursed lips and fierce hold on her baby that she must have come down early and seen them. Lynn felt she ought to say something but was not sure what. She was glad she hadn’t when Marsha grabbed Jane by the shoulders and demanded, ‘Why?’ Jane stiffened and flared but Marsha didn’t let go.

  Jane hung her head helplessly. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Haven’t you had enough out of your mother?’

  ‘It’s just ... well, I live here!’

  Lynn intervened. ‘Is it Derek?’

  ‘I suppose it is, partly.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s between me and him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When you’ve finished discussing me,’ said Derek coming in and speaking far too heartily, ‘may I just say I feel very privileged to be living with any women at all?’

  ‘You don’t mean that,’ said Lynn.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s the best I can do.’

  The consultative document New Deal for Women was impressive, it had to be admitted. You might think that there were no men left, the way the new order was going to concern itself with the needs and desires of women!

  Old age pensions, homes, hospitals, childcare centres, canteens and laundries would all ensure the state sharing the burden of their traditional domestic duties. There would be laws for equal opportunity, and these laws would have teeth. The absolute right of women to control their own fertility was acknowledged, and there would be Benefits for all mothers. The new fertility drug (in the final stages of testing) would be free on demand, and so, when the drinking water was clear of the contraceptive, would be the most modern methods of birth control. The women gave back their answer in a thousand marches and on a million walls: ‘It’s not enough I’

  ‘What do the women want?’ the politicians wondered, and begged for someone — anyone — to come forward and negotiate. But it seemed that the only way the government could communicate with The Women was by means of public announcements, and the only way The Women replied was with slogans and demonstrations and actions, the most common of which now seemed to be thronging into buildings of varying degrees of suitability (barns, government offices, second homes left empty by the rich) and setting up house.

  ‘These places are a health hazard,’ the government warned.

  ‘Then give us somewhere else! Give us the Welfare Hostels!'

  The government turned cagey. It was true that, with the alternative provision now planned for the poor, the Hostels would soon lose their purpose. But in whose name was this demand being made? Who would feel satisfied if it were granted? Next year, the scientists were almost sure, it would be possible for women to have babies again in complete confidence. In celebration of the first births, the government would hand over Welfare Hostels to properly constituted women’s groups for properly constituted charitable purposes.

  ‘You can’t say fairer than that,’ said Lynn. ‘Really.’

  ‘Who can’t?’

  ‘Well, I mean you can’t expect a government to.’

  It was a thick, dark night. Marsha was calm but sleepless.

  ‘The government isn’t in this any more,’ she said.

  ‘Oh Marsha.’

  ‘It’s true. Who’s going to dare to be the first to conceive? This could just possibly be the end of the world.’

  ‘Marsha, I hate to tell you this, but there are one or two women in the world who aren’t in this country.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. But our women are going to be the first to find a style of life that isn’t defined by men having power over us because we have children. That’s what it’s all about, in the end. And when we find it, we may also find it’s so delightful that we’ll have the women of the world clamouring to bring back the professor and pour his fluids into their drinking water. And even that’ll be unnecessary if they do what I recommend, which is to give up sex with men altogether ...’ She glanced at Lynn out of the corner of her eye.

  ‘All right, all right.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Marsha chucked her under the chin. ‘The first thing we’ve got to do is retake Collindeane Tower.’

  Lynn yawned. ‘What, now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Marsha, where are you going, please?’

  Marsha had pulled on her coat and was fumbling around in a cupboard where they kept tools, making a dreadful noise. ‘Where’s my axe?’

  Lynn sighed. ‘Do be quiet. Here.’

  That’s not an axe, Lynn, it’s a hammer. Don’t treat me as if I’m mad. Come on.’

  ‘Where? Don’t go out Marsha, it’s late and cold —’

  ‘Wear a coat then. Come on.'

  It was a long walk. It was very windy and dark, the moon peeping in fragments from behind black lumps of cloud. Marsha strode with her head erect and long strands of hair whipping up with the wind. Lynn gave up arguing, trotted along behind, hoped she could keep her safe. If she wanted to do something really mad she wasn’t sure she could overpower her.

  When they reached the stretch of rubble that had once been Seyer Street the sky was beginning to lighten. The Collindeane Welfare Hostel tilted against the pale blue. Great blotches of half-painted white gleamed on its side like a skin disease, wrinkled with cracks.

  ‘Poor old Collindeane,’ Marsha whispered, brandishing her hammer.

  ‘It ought to be pulled down,’ said Lynn.

  'No. At least not unless it’s by us. Come on, sister. Charge!’ Marsha lurched forward and stumbled. Lynn held her and their eyes met. The light in Marsha’s was quenched by sheepishness. An official face appeared at a window, noted the two women with indifference, looked away.

  Lynn said gently, ‘We can’t knock it down now, Marsha. There are people in it. And anyway, they’ll give it to us eventually if we want it.’

  Fire darted in Marsha’s eyes again. ‘We mustn’t wait for them to give it to us. We must take it.’ But all her energy was in her voice. She sat on a pile of bricks as if very tired. She glared at Lynn. ‘I dare you!’ she yelled, and to calm her Lynn said, ‘Maybe if we wait a while some others’ll come and help us.’

  They sat together in silence watching the sun come up. It was going to be one of those odd mornings when it was in the sky at the same time as the moon, racing with the clouds.

 

  Zoë Fairbairns, Benefits