For Us, The Living

by Robert Heinlein

  "Let's try it."

  Diana switched to 'plane' combination and gave it the gun. In fifteen minutes they were over Monterey Bay. Diana continued past Point Pinos for a few miles, circled, changed to helico, and settled down in a little cove which faced southwest. The waves broke gently on a narrow ribbon of beach. On each side shoulders of granite jutted out onto the sea. They opened the door and stepped out. The air was almost still and the afternoon sun beat down on them. The sand was warm underfoot. The sea smell, ripe and tangy, stirred in their nostrils. They walked toward the water but soon the joy of being alive lifted them up and they felt compelled to run. They splashed into the water, yelling and laughing. Perry charged along and dived head first onto the face of a breaker. He came up and dog-paddled in the back wash. Diana's head broke beside him.

  "This is swell ." He gasped.

  "A little bit chilly. Look out! Duck!" He turned around just in time to catch a wall of green water in the face. He came up blowing, and swam over to where Diana stood laughing at him. His hand struck bottom, he dropped his feet and stood beside her.

  "This is grand, Dian'. I wish we could have done this in my day."

  "My goodness! Didn't you?"

  "Swim raw I mean. We swam but we wore swimming suits."

  She looked incredulous. "I've read about it, of course. But it seems so ridiculous—so unsanitary." She shivered a little. "I'm going to dry off, Perry. I'm cold."

  "One more dive and I'm with you." She moved off up the beach. When Perry returned he found her by the door of the car, rubbing herself briskly with a big fluffy towel. He picked up a second towel which was lying in the door. "Turn around and I'll rub your back." She turned obediently. When he had finished, she scrubbed away at his back, then stepped away and snapped him with her towel. "Ouch!" He rubbed the spot ruefully. "Was that nice?"

  She grinned impishly. "No, but it was fun."

  "You ought to be paddled for that."

  "You'll have to catch me first." She was off down the beach, hair flying, legs flashing. He took off after her and ran her down. He grabbed her from behind, she struggled, and they fell down together, a laughing disorderly heap. He tussled with her and tried to turn her over into a favorable position for a smacking, but she was lithe as an otter and nearly as slippery. Their contortions brought their faces close to each other. He bent his head down and kissed her on her lips. She became instantly quiet, not relaxed but tense. In sudden alarm he searched her face. Her expression was serious but she did not seem angry. Slowly he bent his head again. She made no move, but did not draw away. His mouth touched hers gently. Her body relaxed and melted into his and her lips parted slightly as her right arm went about his neck. They held still for a long time.

  There are kisses and kisses. Some are given in sport and some in passion. There are formal kisses of greeting and departure, and there are perfunctory pecks of accustomed affection. Once in a great while lips meet and two spirits merge for a time and the universe is right and complete and the planets wheel in their proper places. Once in a while the lonely, broken spirit of man is healed and made whole. For a while his quest is over and his questions are answered.

  She lay quiet in his arms. "Oh, Perry."

  "Dian', Dian'."

  Presently she stirred. "Let's go back to the car." They arose and were surprised to find muscles stiff and cold. The warm glow of the interior of the car was welcome. "Shall we go home?" He nodded and she drew back the stick. The shadows on the beach were lengthening and the car's shadow flew out ahead of them to the east. She leveled off and shifted combinations. Presently her hands left the controls. "I've set the robot on Reno. Let's move back." They seated themselves side by side on the cushions.

  "Cigarette?"

  "Thanks." He lit it for her and one for himself. A long silence. Presently he spoke.

  "Dian'."

  "Yes, Perry?"

  "I didn't say so, but I suppose you know that I love you."

  "Yes, I know."

  "Well?"

  "I love you too, Perry."

  Neither spoke for a long time. The quiet whir of the screw and the clicking of the robot marked the growth of time. He kissed her. When their lips parted she left her head on his shoulder. The room filled with their thoughts. In course of time a bell tinkled and a little light flashed on the instrument board. Diana arose hastily. "We're abreast of home. I must take over." Quickly she slid into her pilot's chair and changed course to the right. Five minutes later she spoke. "Look down and see if you can pick out our field."

  "I see a light below."

  "Work this switch and see if it blinks."

  He did so. "It's ours all right."

  "Will you land us, Perry?"

  "Why, yes, if you wish."

  "I want you to."

  He set them gently down. A few moments later Captain Kidd was telling them in blasphemous terms what he thought of people who stayed away all day. There seemed to be some mention of inconsiderate, something about no sense of responsibility and a distinct intention of writing to the Times. Diana hastily procured a saucer of milk and one of sardines. He accepted her apology—tentatively.

  When Perry came out of the refresher, he found Diana at the food preparer, her hands fairly flying about the place. He called to her.

  "Dian'."

  "Yes?"

  "You've still got your sandals on."

  She glanced down and smiled. "So I have. Your supper will be ready the sooner." She placed a few more items on the tray. "Here, set it up." She dived into her refresher and returned in less than five minutes, sandal-less, her hair fluffed out and her body glowing from a quick shower. She slid into her seat. "All ready? Get set. Go!" They ate like starved children for a few minutes. Then their eyes met and they both laughed without knowing why. They finished more slowly and Perry chucked the dishes in the fire. He returned and sat down beside her. The evening passed without much talk. They sat and watched the fire and listened to the music Diana had selected. She read some poetry to him. After that he asked her if she had anything by Rudyard Kipling and she produced a thin volume of his verses. He found what he sought and read aloud The Mary Gloster. Then he kissed a cheek wet with tears and made it damper with his own. A long time later she smothered a yawn. He smiled and spoke. "I'm sleepy, too, but I don't want to go away and leave you."

  She looked at him, round eyed and serious.

  "You needn't leave me, unless you wish."

  "But—See here, darling, I want to marry you, but I don't want to rush you into anything you might regret."

  "Regret? I don't understand you. But as far as I am concerned we are married now, if you wish it so."

  "I suppose we could run out tomorrow and have the ceremony performed."

  "There is no need. These things are in the private sphere. Oh, don't make it complicated." She began to cry.

  He hesitated for a moment, then picked her up in his arms and laid her on the widest part of the couch. Then he lay down beside her. A coal in the fire cracked and firelight flickered about the room.

  VI

  Perry pressed back on the control stick and his plane shot higher and higher. He had to fly high because the Princess, his passenger, lived back of the Moon. He struck a bank of keys and plumes of fire shot from the tail of his plane and the plane climbed and climbed. He felt a swelling in joy within him at his own skill and the power of his plane and the warm beautiful knowledge that the Princess loved him and rode beside him. The Princess smiled and reached out a graceful little hand and caressed his face. Her face grew closer to his. The plane and the Moon faded away but the face of the Princess was still close beside him.

  "Awake, darling?" Her head was on the thick of his arm and her hand rested softly on his cheek. He blinked. His eyes blurred and crossed. He blinked again and she came back into focus.

  "Awake? Oh, I guess so. Almost, anyhow. Good morning, beautiful. I love you."

  "And I love you."

  When their lips parted,
he spoke again. "Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why do you love me? How did I find you? Why was I singled out for this end? Who am I to claim your love? Why are you so wonderful and beautiful and why do you love me?"

  She laughed and hugged him. "I can't answer any but the last. I'm not wonderful. I'm a very ordinary human woman with a lot of failings. I'm vain and I'm lazy and sometimes I'm bad tempered and cross. I'm beautiful because you think I am. And I want you to tell me that I'm wonderful and beautiful every morning of my life."

  "And every night and every day." He kissed her again.

  Later she stretched and yawned and made little contented sounds. "Hungry?"

  "I guess I am. Yes, I am. If I could make magic in that witch's den of yours I'd bring you your breakfast in bed."

  "It won't take but a moment. But thanks. Will you have yours in bed?"

  "No, I'll come joggle your elbow and get in your way." He followed her to the kitchen nook.

  "Tell me, Diana, when were all these fresh fruits delivered?"

  "Last summer, mostly. I unfreeze them as I need them. Father picked out my supplies. He's in foods."

  "Your father? Is your father alive?"

  "Surely. Why not?"

  "And your mother?"

  "Yes. She's a surgeon. Why? Did you think they were dead?"

  "I didn't think so consciously. I just hadn't thought about it. You were you. I didn't fill in your background. Say, does your father keep a shotgun around the house?"

  "Whatever for?"

  "It just seemed possible that he might think I'd wronged our Nell."

  "Wronged our Nell? What does that mean?"

  "It's just an expression. What I mean is this: If he knew about us, wouldn't he disapprove pretty violently? After all we may be married to each other but the world doesn't know it."

  "But why should the world know it, or Father, unless we choose to tell him? And even if he didn't like you—and I'm sure he will—how would that affect us? He would never dream of mentioning it. Listen, Perry, you must realize that marriage, as an institution, has changed enormously. We talked about this once before. Marriage isn't a public contract anymore. It's strictly in the private sphere. You and I love each other and want to live together. We are doing so. Therefore we are married."

  "Then there isn't any ceremony, nor any contract?"

  "You can have all the ceremony you want if you care to apply to any of the churches. But I hope you won't ask me to do it. It would embarrass me terribly, and make me feel—well—dirtied."

  His brow wrinkled. "I don't understand some of your customs darling, but the way that suits you suits me."

  "We could draw up a domestic economy contract if you want one. Personally I'd rather not bother. We both have comfortable credit accounts and it would just mean a lot of unnecessary records. Let's just be casual about it. Even if you didn't make any money, we probably couldn't manage to spend my income."

  "I don't want to be a gigolo."

  "What's a gigolo?"

  "A man who lets a woman support him in exchange for love making."

  Her lip trembled and tears welled up in her eyes.

  "Perry, you shouldn't have said that to me."

  "Sweetheart! Please—Oh, Lord, I'm sorry, I truly am. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but good heavens, I don't know the customs of this topsy-turvy world."

  The tears stopped. "OK, darling. I should have made allowances. But let's say no more about credits and contracts. We don't need to."

  After breakfast Perry re-opened the subject. "Dian' darling, there is just one thing that worries me about this casual modern way of getting married. What about children?"

  She looked at him levelly and soberly. "Do you want to give me a child, Perry?"

  "Why, no. Well, no, I don't mean no. I'd want to, I suppose, if you wanted to. I wasn't thinking about us personally; I was thinking about children in general. Say, have I already? I mean do you think it likely?"

  "No, not until we decide to and want to."

  "That's good. I mean of course it would be an honor and a privilege, but there is your career—and as for me—Look, Dian', how can I be a father?"

  "Why not, Perry?"

  "You know. This isn't my body."

  "I think it is, Perry. Perhaps we can find out."

  "Suppose you wake up some morning and I'm not in this body anymore—Suppose Gordon comes back?"

  She put her arms around him. "I don't think that will happen, Perry. Don't ask me why for I don't know. But I feel sure of it just the same.

  "But you ask about children. Children aren't a financial burden as they were in your day. A child's own credit account is enough to support it. A child can live with its parents if it wants to and they want it, or if it chooses, it can grow up in a development center. If parents separate, the child can go with which ever it chooses."

  "It sounds awfully cold-blooded."

  "It's not, really. In most cases children spend most of their childhood with one or both parents. Usually parents will insist on a child spending at least a year or two in a development center to be sure that the child is adjusted to social living. Take my case for example. I lived with one or the other of my parents practically all the time until I was eighteen, except for two years in a development center between fourteen and sixteen."

  "You say one or the other of your parents. Aren't they married anymore?"

  "Oh yes. But they are not very domestic, and their work keeps them apart a lot of the time. But take the case of my half brother Pharion. He's the son of a very talented actress who fell madly in love with Dad for a while and wanted a child by him. But they never married. He grew up in a development center almost entirely because he didn't like his parents. He was a sober minded boy and they were both too frivolous for him. Then there is my half sister Susan; she's mother's child by another great surgeon. I don't believe they were in love at all the way you mean it, but I am sure that they both hoped that their child would be a genius in surgery. Sue has lived with mother all her life."

  "That sounds polygamous to me."

  "No—I really don't think you could call it that. There is no custom against polygamy or polyandry, if anyone wants to. I have two friends, girls, who live together. They have a friend, a man, who lives with them most of the time. Of course I don't know but I think they are both married to him."

  Perry shook his head. "I don't understand it. It seems unnatural."

  "Don't worry about it, darling. You will understand in time."

  Perry was much too busy for the next several days to trouble his mind with misgivings and doubts. He was happy, happier he thought than he had ever been in his life—or lives?—he could not be sure which was the proper term. Life was a picnic, a honeymoon, a delightful and interesting school, a Cook's tour, and the land of the Lotus Eaters, all rolled into one. He listened for hours to records of events that fascinated him, studied new techniques and advances in science in a medium that made his early day studies seem left handed and awkward, trudged through the mountain snows with Diana, watched her rehearse her dances, listened with her to gorgeous music and stirring drama, flew about the country-side in their car, and spent the nights in his darling's arms. Their intimacy ripened and grew. She encouraged him to talk of his early life, his childhood in Kansas, the adolescent triumph of winning an appointment as a midshipman, his school days, his life in the service, the things that he had seen and experienced, and the evaluations that he placed on all these things.

  Meanwhile, as he observed the life of the modern world, listened to the records and studied the code of customs, he found in talking with Diana that his opinions had changed from the world that he had left, and that he was beginning to assess that past life from the point of view of a citizen of the modern world. That which had appeared to be the natural order of things, now seemed grotesque. Values lumped together as "sportsmanship" now appeared to be the stupid exhibitionism of savages. Things that were known as "sp
ort" now appeared to range from harmless but pointless play to callous sadism. Nice points of "honor" between "gentlemen" struck him now as the posturing of peacocks. But most of all he came to despise the almost universal deceit, half lies and downright falsehood that had vitiated the life of 1939. He realized that it had been a land of hokum and cheat. The political speeches, the advertising slogans, the spit-licking, prostituted preachers, the billboards, the ballyhoo, the kept press, the pussy-footing professors, the incredible papier-mâché idol of "society", the yawping Neanderthal 100% Americanism, paving contracts, special concessions and other grafts, the purchased Senators and hired attorneys, the corrupt judges and cynical politicians, and over and through it all the poor desiccated spirit of the American peasant, the "wise guy" whose motto was "Cheat first, lest ye be cheated" and "Never give a sucker a break." The poor betrayed overgrown lunk who had played too young with the big boys and learned a lot of nasty habits, who had deluded himself with his own collective lies, whose father had deluded him from the best of intentions and who would in turn delude his own son from the same good intentions. The pillar of the community who taught his son that a man has to "go with a woman" but the women you marry are somehow different from the women you "go with." The mother who encourages her daughter to "make a good match" but wants to "run out of town" her sister from across the tracks who strikes a more generous bargain. The whole tribe, lying, lied to and lied about, who had been taught to admire success, even in a scoundrel, and despise failure, even in a hero.

  Perry came to despise and be nauseated by all of these things, but he did not hate the people from which he came, nor loathe himself for being one of them, for he knew these people, and he knew that they were good people, warm-hearted and generous, yes, and brave and courageous. He knew that any one of the posturing morons among those 100%ers would dive under the wheels of a locomotive to rescue a child, that the crooked real-estate promoter would buy a meal for any hungry man, and the vicariously ambitious mother would go without food to buy her daughter a party dress. He knew that kindliness and generosity were as universal as deception and cut-throat competition. Perry realized that not one in a thousand men had ever had a chance to act the decent, honest creature that he potentially was. He knew that the ordinary man from 1939 was too weak-willed and too naive to stand up against the system in which he found himself.