They stared at her. George felt as if the last prop of his own personal universe had been knocked out from under him.
“You, Hilda?” said Luther incredulously.
“Oh, yes.” She looked back at them, not smiling now, and laid her hand on Joe Krueger’s sleeve. “This is my son, gentlemen—my youngest son. I have three.”
There was a shocked silence.
Joe said, “She brought me up in a private estate in the Berk-shires, with some help from my brothers, but alone most of the time. She nursed me, took care of me when I was sick, and taught me everything she could. For twenty years … My twentieth birthday was two months ago.”
Luther said, “Hilda, do I understand that you began this absolutely alone?”
She smiled, but it was a different smile from the one they knew. Her face had changed subtly, George thought; there was a calm patience and wisdom in it that Had never been there before—or that she had never allowed them to see.
Her eyes softened, and she said, “I don’t blame you, darlings, because you don’t know—you can’t know. Poor things, you run the world, but you don’t understand what keeps it going.
“Anyhow, I told Golightly all that, and I presented a chemical analysis of Joe’s blood. He hasn’t had the longevity treatment yet, you know; that showed in the test. And then I gave him some statistics Joe had dug up. You’d better tell that part, Joe.”
“I was curious to know whether the incidence of amnesia had gone up since the Last War,” said Joe. “I had an idea that Other people besides Hilda had thought of that dodge. So I checked. It was up, way up. There was even an article about it in the North American Journal of Psychology, not so many years ago.”
Art muttered something in an irritated voice.
“Art?” said Hilda.
“Nothing. I saw that article; I remember it now. It didn’t make any impression on me.”
“Or on anybody, apparently,” said Joe “—luckily for us members of the younger generation.” He grinned. “Then I looked up some population figures and drew curves. You couldn’t prove anything that way, but it was significant if you knew the answer to begin with. After the War, the line went downward fairly sharply for about the first century, and then it began to level off just a little more than anyone had expected. At a rough guess, there are several hundred million people alive today who were born after the birth prohibition!”
Inside the apartment, a fax machine chuckled to itself and then sounded a clear note. Luther jumped, and George started to rise.
Hilda said, “You get it, will you, Joe?” The young man—it was astonishing how young he seemed, now—smiled and went inside. He came out a moment later and handed the fax sheet to George.
George read, “ ‘The birth prohibition has been rescinded, it was revealed at 10 a. m. Greenwich time today, by an extraordinary session of the Executive Council meeting in Berne, president Golightly released the following statement:
“ ‘ “It has been proved to my satisfaction, and to the satisfaction of the highest medical authorities, that a clear danger of total sterility of the human race exists. Under these circumstances, grave though the decision is, I have no possible alternative but to revoke all penalties against giving birth.
” ‘ “We stand today at the crossroads of human destiny. On one hand we see the total extinction of our kind: on the other, a new and more glorious fulfilment. The centuries to come will be hard ones for some of us; they will bring many profound ‘ changes in our society, and many grave problems. But given the boundless courage of our people, and their unflinching determination to succeed—” ’ ”
“Does he say anything else?” asked Art.
“No. But here’s something about us. ‘Arthur Levinson, M. D., George Miller, Morey Stiles and Luther Wheatley, ringleaders of the so-called Committee Against Human Extinction, were released early this morning by the Paris division of the Security Police. In a special statement, S. P. chief Paul Krzewski characterized their activities as “sincere but premature,” and indicated that no charges would be pressed against any member of their organization.’ ”
Morey lit a cigar. “That’s about as much thanks as we’ll ever get,” he said.
“You weren’t finished, were you, Hilda?” Art asked. “I don’t quite see Golightly listening to reason, even with all that evidence.”
“No,” she said. “All that first part was just the preliminary. Then I called in his granddaughter—she was waiting outside. That was why I had to persuade her before I could do anything.”
“I begin to see the light,” said Art softly. “She’s a mother, too.”
“Of course. I’ve known it for years. As a matter of fact—this is rather funny, and something I didn’t know before—she told Golightly that his private secretary is her daughter.”
Her face grew pinker. She leaned her forehead on her hand for a moment. Her shoulders were shaking. “You should have seen his face!” she said.
They were all roaring with laughter, the tension in them dissolving to leave them weak and wonderfully relieved. It was several moments before George glanced at Hilda and saw that Joe was standing over her in an attitude of concern, his hand on her shoulder. Her head was still bent into her palm. George realized abruptly that she was no longer laughing, but crying.
He stood up and went around to her, feeling awkward. “Anything I can do?” he asked.
Hilda dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and then looked up at them. “Just a touch of hysterics, I guess. I do feel like a fool. Only—I didn’t realize how scared I’d been.”
George squeezed her shoulder and went back to his place. Joe left the table again to bring in a bottle of Chablis and glasses; there was a pleasant interval of tinkling and gurgling, and when it was over, Hilda was her usual self again.
Luther raised his glass. “To Hilda.”
“Hilda, my dear,” said Art slowly, “would you mind telling me why you did it? I hope I don’t sound ungrateful, but—it wasn’t just to save our lives?”
Hilda hesitated a moment. No, Art.”
“I didn’t think so,” he said. “I’ve just now managed to picture you as a mother, and in that light I can see you doing almost anything else for us four, obtuse as you must have thought us— but not risking a hair of young Joe’s head.”
She smiled fondly at him. “I don’t really think you’re obtuse, Art. If I sounded that way, it was just feminist exaggeration. I suppose you’re thinking now that all your trouble and danger were for nothing, because we women have been breeding right along … but I don’t think that’s true.
“I think that’s the difference, the really fundamental difference, between men and women. We women endure—we plug along, doing the obvious things, keeping house and worrying about our men and bearing children and so on. And if we didn’t, Lord knows what would become of us all. But left to ourselves, we’re too conservative. Women felt this problem of children from the beginning, and solved it on their own level. But not completely, not satisfactorily. You four discovered the same problem intellectually only a few months ago, and look what you’ve done!”
She made little fists on the table for a moment. “I’ll confess that it was very hard for me to risk Joe. And I didn’t do it, finally, because of my fondness for you four. If it had been only that, I honestly don’t know what I should have done.
“But—well, perhaps an example will show you best. My oldest son, Edwin, wants to be a doctor, wants it more than anything. He’s fifty years old now—that’s a long time to wait for the one thing you want most in the world. But there are no medical schools, only research seminars and a few brush-up courses. There’s no place in the world now like the one where Art got his earliest training.’