Consider Her Ways (8 page)

‘The Council appears to have felt that this advice, suitably modified, could be expected to lead to a state of affairs which would provide most of the requisite characteristics.

‘A four-class system was chosen as the basis, and strong differentiations were gradually introduced. These, now that they have become well established, greatly help to ensure stability – there is scope for ambition within one's class, but none for passing from one class to another. Thus, we have the Doctorate – the educated ruling-class, fifty per cent of whom are actually of the medical profession. The Mothers, whose title is self-explanatory. The
Servitors who are numerous and, for psychological reasons, small. The Workers, who are physically and muscularly strong, to do the heavier work. All the three lower classes respect the authority of the Doctorate. Both the employed classes revere the Mothers. The Servitors consider themselves more favoured in their tasks than the Workers; and the Workers tend to regard the puniness of the Servitors with a semi-affectionate contempt.

‘So you see a balance has been struck, and though it works somewhat crudely as yet, no doubt it will improve. It seems likely, for instance, that it would be advantageous to introduce sub-divisions into the Servitor class before long, and the police are thought by some to be put at a disadvantage by having no more than a little education to distinguish them from the ordinary Worker …'

She went on explaining with increasing detail while the enormity of the whole process gradually grew upon me.

‘Ants!' I broke in, suddenly. ‘The ant-nest! You've taken
that
for your model?'

She looked surprised, either at my tone, or the fact that what she was saying had taken so long to register.

‘And why not?' she asked. ‘Surely it is one of the most enduring social patterns that nature has evolved – though of course some adaptation –'

‘You're – are you telling me that only the Mothers have children?' I demanded.

‘Oh, members of the Doctorate do, too, when they wish,' she assured me.

‘But – but –'

‘The Council decides the ratios,' she went on to explain. ‘The doctors at the clinic examine the babies and allocate them suitably to the different classes. After that, of course, it is just a matter of seeing to their specialized feeding, glandular control, and proper training.'

‘But,' I objected wildly, ‘what's it
for
? Where's the sense in it? What's the good of being alive, like that?'

‘Well,
what
is
the sense in being alive? You tell me,' she suggested.

‘But we're
meant
to love and be loved, to have babies we love by people we love.'

‘There's your conditioning again; glorifying and romanticizing primitive animalism. Surely you consider that we are superior to the animals?'

‘Of course I do, but –'

‘Love, you say, but what can you know of the love there can be between mother and daughter when there are no men to introduce jealousy? Do you know of any purer sentiment than the love of a girl for her little sisters?'

‘But you don't understand,' I protested again. ‘How should you understand a love that colours the whole world? How it centres in your heart and reaches out from there to pervade your whole being, how it can affect everything you are, everything you touch, everything you hear … It can hurt dreadfully, I know, oh, I know, but it can run like sunlight in your veins … It can make you a garden out of a slum; brocade out of rags; music out of a speaking voice. It can show you a whole universe in someone else's eyes. Oh, you don't understand … you don't know … you can't … Oh, Donald, darling, how can I show her what she's never even guessed at …?'

There was an uncertain pause, but presently she said:

‘Naturally, in your form of society it was necessary for you to be given such a conditioned reaction, but you can scarcely expect us to surrender our freedom, to connive at our own re-subjection, by calling our oppressors into existence again.'

‘Oh, you
won't
understand. It was only the more stupid men and women who were continually at war with one another. Lots of us were complementary. We were pairs who formed units.'

She smiled. ‘My dear, either you are surprisingly ill-informed on your own period, or else the stupidity you speak of was astonishingly dominant. Neither as myself, nor as an historian, can I consider that we should be justified in resurrecting such a state of
affairs. A primitive stage of our development has now given way to a civilized era. Woman, who is the vessel of life, had the misfortune to find man necessary for a time, but now she does no longer. Are you suggesting that such a useless and dangerous encumbrance ought to be preserved, out of sheer sentimentality? I will admit that we have lost some minor conveniences – you will have noticed, I expect, that we are less inventive mechanically, and tend to copy the patterns we have inherited; but that troubles us very little; our interests lie not in the inorganic, but in the organic and the sentient. Perhaps men could show us how to travel twice as fast, or how to fly to the moon, or how to kill more people more quickly; but it does not seem to us that such kinds of knowledge would be good payment for re-enslaving ourselves. No, our kind of world suits us better – all of us except a few Reactionists. You have seen our Servitors. They are a little timid in manner, perhaps, but are they oppressed, or sad? Don't they chatter among themselves as brightly and perkily as sparrows? And the Workers – those you called the Amazons – don't they look strong, healthy, and cheerful?'

‘But you're robbing them all – robbing them of their birthright.'

‘You mustn't give me cant, my dear. Did not your social system conspire to rob a woman of her “birthright” unless she married? You not only let her know it, but you socially rubbed it in: here, our Servitors and Workers do not know it, and they are not worried by a sense of inadequacy. Motherhood is the function of the Mothers, and understood as such.'

I shook my head. ‘Nevertheless, they
are
being robbed. A woman has a right to love –'

For once she was a little impatient as she cut me short.

‘You keep repeating to me the propaganda of your age. The love you talk about, my dear, existed in your little sheltered part of the world by polite and profitable convention. You were scarcely ever allowed to see its other face, unglamorized by Romance.
You
were never openly bought and sold, like livestock;
you
never had to sell yourself to the first-comer in order to live;
you
did not happen to be one of the women who through the centuries have screamed in agony and suffered and died under invaders in a sacked city – nor were you ever flung into a pit of fire to be saved from them;
you
were never compelled to suttee upon your dead husband's pyre;
you
did not have to spend your whole life imprisoned in a harem;
you
were never part of the cargo of a slave-ship;
you
never retained your own life only at the pleasure of your lord and master …

‘That is the other side – the age-long side. There is going to be no more of such things. They are finished at last. Dare you suggest that we should call them back, to suffer them all again?'

‘But most of these things had already gone,' I protested. ‘The world was getting better.'

‘Was it?' she said. ‘I wonder if the women of Berlin thought so when it fell? Was it, indeed? – Or was it on the edge of a new barbarism?'

‘But if you can only get rid of evil by throwing out the good too, what is there left?'

‘There is a great deal. Man was only a means to an end. We needed him in order to have babies. The rest of his vitality accounted for all the misery in the world. We are a great deal better off without him.'

‘So you really consider that you've improved on nature?' I suggested.

‘Tcha!' she said, impatient with my tone. ‘Civilization
is
improvement on nature. Would you want to live in a cave, and have most of your babies die in infancy?'

‘There are some things, some fundamental things –' I began, but she checked me, holding up her hand for silence.

Outside, the long shadows had crept across the lawns. In the evening quiet I could hear a choir of women's voices singing, a little distance away. We listened for some minutes until the song was finished.

‘Beautiful!' said the old lady. ‘Could angels themselves sing
more sweetly! They sound happy enough, don't they? Our own lovely children – two of my granddaughters are there among them. They
are
happy, and they've reason to be happy: they're not growing up into a world where they must gamble on the goodwill of some man to keep them; they'll never need to be servile before a lord and master; they'll never stand in danger of rape and butchery, either. Listen to them!'

Another song had started and came lilting lightly to us out of the dusk.

‘Why are you crying?' the old lady asked me as it ended.

‘I know it's stupid – I don't really believe any of this is what it seems to be – so I suppose I'm crying for all you would have lost if it were true,' I told her. ‘There should be lovers out there under the trees; they should be listening hand in hand to that song while they watch the moon rise. But there are no lovers now, there won't be any more …' I looked back at her.

‘Did you ever read the lines: “Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desert air?” Can't you feel the forlornness of this world you've made? Do you
really
not understand?' I asked.

‘I know you've only seen a little of us, but do
you
not begin to understand what it can be like when women are no longer forced to fight one another for the favours of men?' she countered.

We talked on while the dusk gave way to darkness and the lights of other houses started to twinkle through the trees. Her reading had been wide. It had given her even an affection for some periods of the past, but her approval of her own era was unshaken. She felt no aridity in it. Always it was my ‘conditioning' which prevented me from seeing that the golden age of woman had begun at last.

‘You cling to too many myths,' she told me. ‘You speak of a full life, and your instance is some unfortunate woman hugging her chains in a suburban villa. Full life, fiddlesticks! But it was convenient for the traders that she could be made to think so. A truly full life would be an exceedingly short one, in any form of society.'

And
so on …

At length, the little parlourmaid reappeared to say that my attendants were ready to leave when it should be convenient. But there was one thing I very much wanted to know before I left. I put the question to the old lady.

‘Please tell me. How did it – how could it – happen?'

‘Simply by accident, my dear – though it was the kind of accident that was entirely the product of its time. A piece of research which showed unexpected, secondary results, that's all.'

‘But how?'

‘Rather curiously – almost irrelevantly, you might say. Did you ever hear of a man called Perrigan?'

‘Perrigan?' I repeated. ‘I don't think so, it's an uncommon name.'

‘It became very commonly known indeed,' she assured me. ‘Doctor Perrigan was a biologist, and his concern was the extermination of rats – particularly the brown rat, which used to do a great deal of expensive damage.

‘His approach to the problem was to find a disease which would attack them fatally. In order to produce it he took as his basis a virus infection often fatal to rabbits – or, rather, a group of virus infections that were highly selective, and also unstable since they were highly liable to mutation. Indeed, there was so much variation in the strains that when infection of rabbits in Australia was tried, it was only at the sixth attempt that it was successful; all the earlier strains died out as the rabbits developed immunity. It was tried in other places, too, though with indifferent success until a still more effective strain was started in France, and ran through the rabbit population of Europe.

‘Well, taking some of these viruses as a basis, Perrigan induced new mutations by irradiation and other means, and succeeded in producing a variant that would attack rats. That was not enough, however, and he continued his work until he had a strain that had enough of its ancestral selectivity to attack only the brown rat, and with great virulence.

‘In
that way he settled the question of a long-standing pest, for there are no brown rats now. But something went amiss. It is still an open question whether the successful virus mutated again, or whether one of his earlier experimental viruses was accidently liberated by escaped “carrier” rats, but that's academic. The important thing is that somehow a strain capable of attacking human beings got loose, and that it was already widely disseminated before it was traced – also, that once it was free, it spread with devastating speed; too fast for any effective steps to be taken to check it.

‘The majority of women were found to be immune; and of the ten per cent or so whom it attacked over eighty per cent recovered. Among men, however, there was almost no immunity, and the few recoveries were only partial. A few men were preserved by the most elaborate precautions, but they could not be kept confined for ever, and in the end the virus, which had a remarkable capacity for dormancy, got them, too.'

Inevitably several questions of professional interest occurred to me, but for an answer she shook her head.

‘I'm afraid I can't help you there. Possibly the medical people will be willing to explain,' she said, but her expression was doubtful.

I manoeuvred myself into a sitting position on the side of the couch.

‘I see,' I said. ‘Just an accident – yes, I suppose one could scarcely think of it happening any other way.'