“I am watching her, Mama. But she’s faster than I am.”
“And smarter.”
“Who said that? Who said that? Slugger, you’ll rue the day.”
“Stop it, children. Time we talked about the Howard Foundation.”
Quite a while later Donald said, “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that I have to marry a girl on my list and Priss has to marry a man on her list?”
“No, no, no! Nothing of the sort. Nobody has to marry anybody. If you do marry, it will be your own free choice and it need not be another Howard. There is just one marriage you can’t make and that is to each other. Oh, you could marry each other; there are thousands of incestuous marriages in this country—so some Kinseys have calculated. You could do it by cutting out on your own again, supporting yourselves somewhere else and somehow until you both look old enough to convince a county clerk that you are both over twenty-one. You could do that and I would make no effort to stop you.
“But I would not help you. Not a thin dime. I’m not going to try to give you a course in genetics this morning, but I will later. Just let it stand for the moment that close incest isn’t just against the Bible, and against the laws of Missouri and all the other fifty-five states, it’s against natural laws because it makes unhealthy babies.”
“I know that. But I could get a vasectomy.”
“So you could. What are you going to use for money? I certainly won’t pay for it! Donald, I hate to hear you talk that way. I would rather pay to have your eyes removed than see you submit to sterilization. You are here not only to live your life but to pass that life along. Your genes are very special; that is why the Foundation will subsidize any offspring of yours that you share with a female Howard. The same applies to you, Priscilla; you both have the genes for long life. Barring accidents, each of you will live to be more than a hundred. How much more we can’t tell but it has been stretching longer each generation.
“Now here is how the Howard Foundation system works. If you ask for it, the Foundation will supply each of you with a list of Howard eligibles near your age, while your name and address will be supplied to each person on your list. When I was young, it used to be eligibles close by, say fifty or a hundred miles or inside one state. Today, with glide rockets spanning North America in thirty minutes and everybody moving around like disturbed ants, you can elect to have your name supplied to every bachelor or spinster Howard in North America if you like and get back a list like a phone book. Not quite true; I understand that they dole them out a couple of dozen at a time, grouped geographically…but you can go on shopping until you find the man—or woman—with whom you want to spend the rest of your life.”
I continued, “Just one thing. When you date another Howard, while it can be fun, it is dead serious, too. You’ll be looking him over as a prospective husband, Priscilla. If he is utterly impossible, for any reason or none, you must tell him so and tell him not to come back…or tell me and I’ll tell him so. But if he appeals to you and better acquaintance causes you to think of him as a possible husband, then it’s time to take him to bed. Right here at home and I’ll arrange things so that you can do so comfortably and without embarrassment.”
“Wait a minute! Make love to somebody else? With Donnie right upstairs and knowing what I’m doing?”
“No. One—Donnie is not likely to be upstairs. He is likely to be at the home of a girl on his list. Two—nobody is urging you to have intercourse with anyone. That is strictly, totally, and utterly up to you. I am saying only that if he is a young man whose name has been sent to you by Uncle Justin, and you decide you want to try him, you can do so safely at home…and if, after sober consideration, you and he decide to marry, then you can get pregnant right at home. Howard brides are almost always pregnant—always, so far as I know—because it would be sad indeed to marry a man and discover, too late, that you and he are not fertile together. Oh, divorce is easy today…but it is better to have a seven-month, seven-pound baby than to have a divorce before you are twenty.”
I added, “You’re going to have plenty of time to think about it. I want to check on some basics today. Priscilla, will you stand up and take off your wrap? We can ask Donald to leave the room if you wish. I want to guess how old you are, biologically.”
“I’ll go upstairs, Slugger.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve seen me before and Mama knows you slept with me last night.” My daughter stood up, took off my wrap, hung it on her chair. “Any special way, Mama?”
“No.” No baby fat left that I could see and hers was not a baby face. A young woman, physically mature, functioning as such and enjoying it. Well, we’ll get an expert opinion from Dr. Rumsey. “Priscilla, it seems to me that you look about the way I did at seventeen. We will see what Dr. Rumsey says. For the sooner you start shopping your Howard list the sounder I will sleep.”
I turned to my son. “I’m sure you can be listed as eighteen, Donald if you wish, and receive a list of eligible girls. And—I may be prejudiced you’re my son—but it is my guess that you can spend the next couple of years, if you choose to, traveling around the country, meeting Howard couples, eating at their tables and sleeping with their daughters—a different bedmate every week, until you find the right one. That program would be safest for your sister.”
“Mama! What a nasty idea! Donnie! You wouldn’t! Would you?”
“Son, don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Soothsayer
“Priscilla, you have not yet admitted to yourself that you can’t marry your brother. Until you realize that, right down in your gizzard, you aren’t mature enough to start courting no matter how grown up your body is. But you must not try to interfere with Donald’s right to a-wooing go.”
“But I love him!”
“What do you mean by ‘love’?”
“Oh, you’re just being mean to me!”
“Quit blubbering and try to behave like a grown woman. I want you to tell me what you mean by the word ‘love.’ That you are horny about him, so hot for him that you would couple with him behind any bush if he would let you, I will concede. It doesn’t surprise me; I find him just as attractive, he’s as pretty as a collie pup. But I have more sense about it than you have. Any woman is going to find Donald sexually attractive; if you try to keep other women away from him, you’ll be piling up more grief for yourself than you will ever be able to handle.
“But being in sexual heat over a man is not love, my sweet daughter. I am willing to believe that Donald loves you as he stood up to three muggers to protect you. But tell me what you mean when you say that you love him…other than your hot pants—an irrelevant concurrent phenomenon.”
“Uh…everybody knows what love is!”
“If you can’t define a word, you don’t know what it means. Priscilla, this is a fruitless discussion and today is a busy day. We have established that you have hot pants over Donald. We have established that Donald loves you but we have not established that you love him. And I have pointed out what all of us know, that you can’t marry your brother…which your brother has conceded but you are not willing to admit. So we’ll continue this discussion on some later date when you’ve grown up a bit.” I stood up.
“But—Mama, what do you mean by ‘love’?”
“‘Love’ means a number of things but it always means that the other person’s happiness and welfare come first. Come, let’s get bathed and dressed, so—”
The telephone sounded. I said, “Catch it, will you, Donald?”
“Yes, Mum; thankee, Mum.” The screen was in the living room; Donald went there still carrying Princess Polly in his left arm. He flipped the switch. “Start talking; it’s your money.”
I heard Susan’s voice. “Mama, I—Polly! Oh, you bad, bad girl!”
Polly turned up her nose, wiggled and jumped down, stalked away. I must add that she had never taken any interest in telephone images and voices.
I think it may have been the lack of living odor but I must admit that feline reasoning is not for mortal man to comprehend. Or woman.
Donald said, “Susie, am I going to have to show you the strawberry mark on my shoulder? I’m your brother, Mrs. Schultz, the handsome one. How’s married life? Boring?”
“Married life is just dandy and what are you doing in Kansas City and why didn’t you come four days ago for my wedding and where’s Mother?”
“Mama is around here somewhere and you didn’t invite me.”
“I did so!”
I moved in. “Yes, you did invite him, Sweet Sue, and all the rest of his family, all eight. Nine. But only Brian was able to come, as you know, so don’t needle Donald. Good to see you, dear. How is Henry?”
“Oh, Hanky’s all right. He says I can’t cook the way you do but that he has decided to keep me for other reasons—I rub his back.”
“That’s a good reason.”
“So he says. Mama, I called for two reasons…and the first reason no longer applies. I’ve been screwing up my courage since Sunday to tell you that I lost Princess Polly. And now she’s not lost. How did she get there?”
“I don’t know. How did you lose her?”
“I’m not sure. We were all the way to Olathe before we found a filling station that also serviced Shipstones. While Hank was trading his stone for a fully charged one, I opened Polly’s cage to change her sand box—she had made a mess and the dragon wagon was stinking.
“I’m not clear just what happened then. I thought that I shut her back in. Hank says that I told him it was all right to let her ride free in the back. Anyhow we left and picked up the control road at Olathe and Hank turned it over to the bug, and we eased back the seats and went right to sleep. Oh, we were tired!”
“I’ll bet you were!” I agreed, thinking about my own wedding.
“The alarm woke us when we reached Wichita and we were just getting our baggage out at the Holiday Inn when I saw that Polly was missing. Mama, I almost had a heart attack.”
“What did you do?”
“What could we do? We turned around and rolled back to Olathe. And the station was closed. And we played kitty, kitty, here, Polly! for a half hour and the station owner’s name was on the building and we asked a policeman and found his house and woke him and he wasn’t pleased.”
“I find myself unsurprised.”
“But, yes, he had seen a little black and white cat, about the time we were there, but not later, which means she wasn’t there all the time it took us to drive four hundred miles. So we left your telecode and asked him to call you if she showed up and we started back to Wichita but the bug quit and we took turns keeping each other awake while we rode the wire by hand…or we would have had to get onto a slow road. Just the same it was three in the morning by the time we got to Wichita again and they hadn’t held our room and we slept in the car till morning. Mama, it was not the most successful wedding night on record. I think Hanky was ready to toss me back…and I wouldn’t have blamed him.”
“Are things better now?”
“Oh, yes! But—Finding Princess Polly at home raises another point.”
“Do you want me to ship her to you?”
Susan suddenly stopped smiling. “Mama…pets are not permitted in married students’ dormitories. I didn’t know. So I guess I’ve got to go out into Tempe and find us somewhere else to live…and I’m not sure we can afford it. You won’t let her stay there? Yes, she’s my cat, but—Please?”
“Susan, I’m selling this house today.”
She looked blank. “Yes, Mama. Uh, if you put her in a kennel…with her doctor, I guess… I’ll come and get her. As fast as I can make arrangements. We’ll have to cash a bond. I’ll have to work it out with Henry. But I won’t let you down. I promised. I know it.”
“My good Susan. Dear, Princess settled it, I think, when she managed to find her way home in only three days, when she’s never been anywhere before. Yes, I’m selling this house but we are moving only a mile or so. I want a smaller house and not all this acreage. I can persuade Princess to accept a new home that close by, I think; it is a problem I’ve coped with before.”
Susan let out a deep sigh. “Mama, have I told you lately that you’re wonderful?”
“No.”
“You’re wonderful!”
“Thank you. Is that all?” (The clock was crowding me.)
“Just one thing. Aunt Eleanor was here today—”
“She was? I thought she was in Toronto. On Saturday she didn’t say anything about going to Arizona.”
“Uncle Justin went to Toronto; she came here. To Scottsdale, I mean. She’s going to Toronto. Right away, if this works. She’s had caretaker trouble two seasons now, she tells me, and she wants Hanky and me to move into their place and take care of it. What do you think?”
(I think you would be out of your mind to move into the luxurious summer palace of a supermillionaire; you’ll learn bad habits and fancy tastes—that’s no way to start a marriage. And that commute up and down Scottsdale Road—six miles? Seven?—might take up enough time each day to interfere with your studies.) “Susan, what I think does not matter. What does your husband think?”
“He suggested that I talk to you.”
“But what does he think?”
“Uh… I’m not sure. Will you talk to him?”
“Have him call me back. Susan, I have a business appointment and I’m late; I’ve got to switch off. Bye!”
Whew! Nine-thirty-five—I punched up Harriman and Strong, got the same female zombie as yesterday. “Maureen Johnson speaking. Let me speak to George Strong.”
“Mr. Strong is not available. Will you record—”
“We went through that routine yesterday. I’m Maureen Johnson and he has an appointment with me at my house in twenty minutes and you know it! Catch him before he leaves the building or phone him in his car. Move, damn it!”
“I’m here, Maureen.” George’s face replaced hers. “I’ve been held up. Will you forgive me if I make it ten-thirty instead of ten?”
“Quite all right, George. You recall those envelopes I left with you in 1947?”
“Certainly. In my personal safe. Never mingled with business papers.”
“Would you, please, bring with you envelopes numbers one and two?”
“Certainly, dear lady.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I switched off. “Up we go, darlings, and bathe and dress. Priscilla, come share my bath”—and my bidet; you smell like a whorehouse and don’t realize it, dear—“and we’ll put you into something of mine. Something summery, the day is going to be a scorcher. Shorts and a halter, probably. Donald, Patrick left some clothes behind, so look around. Shorts and a T-shirt, maybe. Or Levi’s. We’ll stop at the Plaza later and do some fast shopping. Don’t use all the hot water—three baths at once. Be ready by ten-twenty. On your mark, get set, go!”
George had two houses to show me. One was near Seventy-fifth Street and Mission Road in Johnson County, close to Shawnee Mission East High School. It belonged to New World Homes, a Harriman Enterprise, and had all the newer-than-tomorrow touches New World Homes are famous for—and it reminded me of a Bauhaus flat.
My youngsters loved it.
The other was on the Missouri side of the line, about halfway between our old house and Southwest High School, off Linden Road. It was not as new. The appearance of the development and my memory told me that it had been built in 1940, give or take a year. “George, this is a J. C. Nichols subdivision.”
“The Nichols organization always builds excellent houses. This came into our hands because I bought it from one of our executives in a compassionate move, following a tragic accident. He lost his wife and two children. When he got out of hospital, we shipped him to Tucson to recuperate, then put him to work in Paradise, at the power plant. Complete change of work, scene, people—my partner’s notion of how to rehabilitate a good man who has had his very life chopped
off. Delos—Mr. Harriman—takes care of his people. Shall we go in?”
It was a pleasant house, with good landscaping and a fenced back yard—and it was furnished. Mr. Strong said, “All he asked to have shipped to him were his books and his clothes. Her clothes and those of his youngsters and their personal possessions all went to the Salvation Army. The rest—bed linens, blankets, rugs, towels, drapes—have all been cleaned and the mattresses sterilized. The house is for sale furnished or unfurnished, and you can have it either way on lease.”
It had a master bedroom and two smaller ones upstairs, each with bath. The master bedroom was on the west and had a “sunset” balcony, like the flat we had in 1940 on Woodlawn in Chicago. Downstairs was both a parlor and a family room, an arrangement I strongly favor for any family having children at home. Youngsters need a place where they can be less than neat, without disturbing Mother when she has someone in for tea.
Off the back hallway, balancing the kitchen, was a maid’s room and bath. The kitchen had a GE dishwasher and a Raytheon electronic cooking unit of the same sort that I had in my old farmhouse—and in both cases the equipment was new, not the age of either house. A feature that struck my eye was an abundance of built-in bookcases…added later, it seemed to me, except a pair of small ones flanking the fireplace in the family room. Most houses didn’t even have that much, as most people don’t read.
(Before the twentieth century was out that could be worded, “—most people can’t read.” One of the things I learned in studying the histories of my home planet and century on various time lines was that in the decline and fall that took place on every one of them there was one invariant: illiteracy.
In addition to that scandalous flaw, on three time lines were both drug abuse and concurrent crime in the streets, plus a corrupt and spendthrift government. My own time line had endless psychotic fads followed by religious frenzy; time line seven had continuous wars; three time lines had collapse of family life and marriage—but every time line had loss of literacy…combined with—riddle me this—more money per student spent on education than ever before in each history. Never were so many paid so much for accomplishing so little. By 1980 the teachers themselves were only semiliterate.)
To Sail Beyond the Sunset Page 34