The contributions came thick and fast, from every corner and from every Line.
“It’s as if they weren’t really even there at all!”
“They look right at you, and they don’t interrupt or fidget — they fold their hands in their laps and give you what is supposed to be their full attention, right? More attention, God knows, than they ever used to give. But somehow you know, you know, that their minds are a thousand miles away. They’re not really looking at you — and not really listening!”
“They might as well be androids, for all the good they are; androids would at least be uniformly attractive.”
“They are so goddam cursed boring!”
It went on for some time, and James Nathan let it go. He nodded now and then, encouraging them, wanting them to get it all out in the open, wanting the consensus of sullen anger that he could feel building. None of it was new; he’d been listening to it for what seemed to be years and years — though as Dano had said, it couldn’t really be that long. Whatever it was, it was true that at the beginning it had seemed to be something desirable. What man would not be pleased to have his women always serene, always compliant, always courteous, always respectful?
Dano Mbal spoke again.
“It used to be,” he said, “that when a man had done something in which he could take legitimate pride, he could go home and talk to his wife and his daughters about it, and that pride would grow — it would be a reason to do even more, and to do it even better. We all remember that… it was important to us. But now, now, it would be just as satisfying to go outside and talk about our plans and our accomplishments to a tree. As so many of you have said — it’s not that they interrupt, it’s not that they won’t give a man all the time he wants — it’s that they are simply not really there at all. There’s no feedback from them that couldn’t be obtained from a decently programmed computer. It is as frustrating to address your remarks to our women as to address them to your elbow.”
That was true. They all agreed. No question about it, it was the same for all. And there was the other side of the coin, which each secretly suspected mattered only to him, and which would not be mentioned aloud.
It used to be that a man could do something he was ashamed of, too, and then go home and talk to his women about it and be able to count on them to nag him and harangue him and carry on hysterically at him until he felt he’d paid in full for what he’d done. And then a man could count on the women to go right on past that point with their nonsense until he actually felt that he’d been justified in what he’d done. That had been important, too — and it never happened anymore. Never. No matter what you did, it would be met in just the same way. With respectful courtesy. With a total absence of complaint.
And it used to be that three or four women would go off in a corner and talk to each other and make a man feel left out somehow… but that was normal. You could raise hell about it and make them leave off their woman-gibberish. It was annoying, but you could do something about it, and you knew where you were. They never did that anymore, either. They were always at your disposal… it was as if they had no need to talk to one another any longer. But you couldn’t complain about that. You couldn’t raise hell about it. You couldn’t order them to stop it. You knew what they would do if you were fool enough to try it. Those pleasant, serene, obscenely courteous faces… they would look at you, with nobody home back of their eyes, and they would say “Stop what, my dear?” And there’d be no answer. Stop giving me your full attention when I ask for it? Stop doing without the gossip and gabble I always ridiculed you for? It was out of the question.
“Gentlemen,” said James Nathan, “am I correct that it’s unanimous? Our women are a constant irritation? A total royal pain in the butt? Impossible to live with? Useful only for the occasional bed session, and even then it’s like fucking a well-bred rubber doll? Do I have it right, gentlemen? Am I leaving anything out? Overstating the case? Is there anyone here who feels that his women are an exception, or that the rest of us have gone over the edge?”
“No,” they said. No, he had it exactly right. And by God they would not stand for it.
“All right, we’re agreed. We can’t live with the bitches, and we can’t find any way to cure them of whatever it is they’ve come down with.”
“It’s unbearable, Chornyak,” blurted young Luke. “It’s unbearable!”
James Nathan nodded slowly, pleased. This wasn’t going to take as long as he’d expected. He’d thought there would be a lot of hedging and waffling, a lot of “perhaps I am exaggerating the situation” and “it may well be that I have only imagined this” and similar offputting. There’d been none of that.
“The question, then, is what we are going to do about it,” he stated flatly.
“Damn right.”
“Except,” Emmanuel Belview pointed out, “that there isn’t anything we can do about it. That’s precisely the problem. They’re fucking saints — how are we going to punish them for that?”
“I don’t think we should punish them.”
“What?”
“What? What do you mean, not punish them?”
He held up both hands against the clamor, and hushed them.
“If we can’t live with them,” said James Nathan, enjoying himself very much, “let’s live without them.”
“What?”
The immediate racket was so completely disorganized that he could only laugh, and wait; and he was sorry he wouldn’t have anyone to listen to him talk about the disorderly way they’d behaved, after this was over. It would have been a relief to talk about it — to talk to a real woman about it.
“Gentlemen? Could I have a little quiet, please?” he tried.
“I said,” he repeated when he finally had them reasonably attentive again, “let’s live without them, since we can’t live with them. We need them for many things, I know that. Not only for breeding. We need them, and need them badly, to do their share in the interpreting and translating booths. We’re spread so thin already that we couldn’t begin to keep up with the work without them — we can’t afford to dispense with them. But, gentlemen, we do not have to live with them!”
“But — ”
“They are total wet blankets,” he continued. “They take every smallest fraction of pleasure out of life. Being with them is like being sentenced to life imprisonment with some terribly charming elderly maiden aunt that you hardly know and don’t care to know better. And I repeat, we do not have to do it!”
He leaned forward to make his point.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “the solution is right under our noses. I opened this meeting by telling that there hasn’t been one like it since the day our forefathers met to work out the establishment of the first Barren House. Right here. In this room, at this table. And for almost the same reason, different only in scope — because the barren women were an intolerable pain in the ass and they had to be gotten out of the men’s hair. Without — and this is crucial! — without sacrificing any of the essential services they provided. We have only to follow the excellent example they set us!”
“By God,” said one of the Shawnesseys. “He means build them houses. By God!”
“Exactly!” James Nathan struck the table with his fist, and beside him David was laughing openly, delighted. “The precedent already has been set. The barren women have had separate houses, have lived apart from the men, all these years. It’s been no problem. It hasn’t interfered in any way with their performance of their duties. It has worked superbly, agreed? Well! We need only extend that privilege to all our women. Not move them to the Barren House, those buildings aren’t large enough or suitably equipped. But build them houses of their own, gentlemen. Women’s Houses! Every one of the Households has land enough to build a separate women’s residence, put it close by as we’ve done with the Barren Houses… where it will be convenient when we need to see a woman for some reason, sexual or otherwise, but where the women will be out of our way.”