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'The people of this land have the right to decide who a woman will marry, how many
children she will have and when they will be born.' Thus asserted Cecily Proudfoot,
Lecturer in Social Genetics at the University in the course of a seminar on marriage with a
class of third-year students. 'Angel Passareil, do you have some problem in that regard?' | 'No, Maam. Except that I shall marry who I feel like marrying.' Initially, Lecturer Proudfoot attributed Angel's statement to girlish exuberance. 'Naturally, Angel, you will have some choice in the matter. The Genetics Administration identifies several candidates for each woman and vice versa.' The Lecturer, herself once married and since separated following the statutory period encompassing childbirth and five years subsequent cohabitation was a thin, unattractive woman in her forties. 'Even I had a choice once, you know, Angel.' 'I can't imagine anyone ever wanting to marry her!' whispered Angel, far too loudly beneath her breath, causing a nervous, general laugh among her classmates. Angel's rudeness to a faculty member was cause for a reprimand from her Moral Tutor. When he called her in to see him, though she was contrite, the Reverend Williams thought to himself, with considerable consternation, that no student in his memory had changed so much as Angel Passareil. A blackness seemed to hang about her. He went immediately to the Dean. 'She's been back at Shining River less than a month and I've had nothing but complaints: work not completed, rudeness, extreme sentiments. I just don't understand it.' The Dean however, tended to discount the problem. 'Lecturer Proudfoot shouldn't be so sensitive. She is well aware that her course is the one in which the first mention of the obligations these young people have is fully discussed with them. Sometimes it is a shock to them. Usually their parents soften the blow.' 'And the Passareil's haven't. It's so surprising.' 'Passareil has never been close to his daughter. I have discussed this with him myself. It has been a matter of policy to keep his distance from her and one must be sympathetic. The men who are chosen to lead us through great social changes must inevitably had a broader outlook of the trials and challenges that confront us. In a way you could say that we need leaders with the very qualities we are trying to suppress among the bulk of the population. But, naturally, such a leader would not wish to corrupt his children. On the other hand, to tell you the truth, Williams, I've always thought of his wife as being weak. The next incident involved Connie Chang, whom the Rev. Williams regarded as one of his nicest girls: so devout and self-effacing! The dormitory Warden called him to his office on a matter of great urgency. There he found the pair of them. Connie Chang, wearing her vestments for the Choir, was sobbing. Her clothing was torn at the shoulder, her left cheek carried a nasty scratch and above it were the possible makings of a black eye. 'I found them on the main stairway, screaming,' said the Warden. 'I had to tear Miss Passareil off poor Miss Chang. I've never seen anything like it in twenty years!' Connie wailed, 'I was coming with Marsha from the memorial service for David Heilbron and she attacked me! All we were doing was singing. She called me horrible names as well! I didn't do anything to her, Pastor, really!' Angel was not contrite. 'Look at her! She looks like a vulture in that stupid costume. Last time it was Mike and Peter, now it's David. All they have those services for is to gloat! They live off death!' 'Angel, be quiet!' The Pastor almost screamed. 'I'll hear no more of these revolting sentiments. You have attacked poor Connie without the slightest provocation. If you won't apologize then you are suspended from your classes. Until I know more about the causes of your behavior I will not take the risk of your infecting others.' With that, the Rev. Williams sent Angel home at once, not allowing her to communicate with anyone, and immediately began an investigation. He questioned Angel's friends extensively, particularly Elizabeth Bluemud, but could discover nothing from them. 'How ironic,' said Helga, 'that a year ago you worried that the Bluemud girl might corrupt her. And now it is the reverse. Whatever Dean Wilson thinks, that girl is sick!' Confirmation of this opinion came soon enough. Going through Angel's possessions the Rev. Williams came upon a diary, cleverly hidden, which was no compendium of any ordinary girl's activities! Many of the entries made him cringe. December 22nd: I won't marry like that. Whatever they say I will marry who I want and he will be nothing like they would let me have. How could anybody want to be like them? I would rather die. January 17th: I can't take much more of this. It's like they all had a terrible disease and I know what the cure is but there is nothing I can do because they don't want to be helped. Today we got the news that David Heilbron is dead. That means another service and the Rev. Williams will spout his usual lies. I wish they'd take him to the War. I would like to hear that he was dead. That's one service I would go to, and cheer! January 25th: David's service was today. I was going to go but at the last minute I couldn't bear the thought of all those vultures who would be there: Celia, Marsha and all the rest of them. One day, someone will realize what they have done, though by then it will be too late. They will all say they were very sorry and expect that to be the end of it. Just like Mike said: get the unpleasant parts over with and you can always repent at leisure. It's a principle they borrowed from the Catholic Church. After reading these lines the Rev. Williams was reduced to a pale trembling shell. He could hardly bring himself stagger from the room, let to raise his eyes to Heaven. That came later. Such a catastrophe! Such desecration! And his charge too! The daughter of the Secretary of State himself going so grievously astray! And they never borrowed anything from the Catholic Church! |
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