"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 "sport" 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. The thing for which Perry most admired the Americans of his period was that in them, potentially, lay 2086. In a short century and a half these callous, kind hearted, gullible, deceitful bumpkins had stumbled and zig-zagged into a culture they could be proud of. Somehow or other (Cathcart's explanations seemed too simple now) the universal longing of the older generations that things might be different for their children had borne fruit. Perhaps that alone had accounted for it. Perhaps to have the desire for better things for our children, and our children's children, than we had for ourselves is to be immortal and to become divine. Perry had ample opportunity as the days marched by to see this culture as well as to hear about it and view it in shadow show. He visited the socialistic state of Wisconsin which had grown up in its own direction within the framework of the federation. Diana and he spent several days in the Gulf States where there still remained the large group of blacks not yet assimilated by the white majority. Here he found a culture as free as the rest of the country--perhaps less highly mechanized, but undoubtedly richer in arts, and social graces, and zest for living. Gradually Diana introduced Perry to her friends and helped him over the rough spots in adjusting himself to new social customs. After a few weeks of the casual, easy, good-humored atmosphere of her circle of acquaintances, he felt, and she agreed, that he was ready to get by in any company without betraying the peculiar circumstances of his life. He had acquired some of the modern liking for privacy and decided not to expand the number of those who knew. One morning about six weeks after his advent Diana announced that she expected a visitor. Perry looked up with interest. "Who is it? Anyone I know?" "No. It's a young fellow named Bernard. I used to be very close to him. He's a dancer, too. We used to be partners." "What do you mean, 'used to be very close to him'?" "Why, I was very fond of him. We lived together about a year." "What!" "Why, Perry, what's the matter?" "What do you mean? Do you mean you lived with him in the sense that we are living together now?" Her face grew dark. "You've no right to ask that sort of a question. However, I will answer. We lived together, as man and woman, as you and I are doing." He strode up and down, a black look on his face. Finally he turned and faced her. "Diana, is this your way of telling me that you are through with me?" She reached out and placed a hand impulsively on his arm. "Why, no, darling. No, No." He shrugged off her grasp. "Then why do you invite this old flame of yours here? Are you trying to humiliate me?" Her face was white and tense. "Perry, Perry darling! Nothing of the sort. You mustn't think such things. He is coming because he has occasion to. He and I are billed to appear in a series of dances together. He's coming here to work out the choreography and rehearse." "Why hadn't I heard about it?" "There was no reason to discuss it, Perry. We signed the contract last fall and we don't open until the first of May. But now we must rehearse." He looked up and his face had cleared a little. "You used to love him, Diana?" "A little. Not as I love you, Perry." "He means nothing to you, nothing at all?" "I wouldn't say that. I'm still very fond of him and he was very good to me. We just got bored with each other and split up, but I still count him as a staunch friend." He looked sulky. "Staunch friend, my foot. I'll bet he's still nuts about you." Diana looked hurt and bewildered and seemed about to cry. "Perry, Perry, darling. I don't understand you. What is this all about? What have I done to harm you? We were so happy, so very happy, and now all this. It seems so silly. Why? Why?" Tears welled up and spilled over. Perry wore the harassed indignant look of the eternal male confronted with the incomprehensible irrational feminine viewpoint. "Good Lord! What do you expect? I guess I'm as tolerant and broadminded as the next one, and I've never thought it was my business to go poking my nose into your past, but can't you see that this is a bit thick? When a guy shows up whom you admit is an old lover of yours, and you want me to receive him into the house as a friend of the family, it's too much. Anybody'd be jealous. Don't you think I have my pride?" His face settled into sullen, stubborn lines and the corners of his mouth twitched. "The free and easy business may be all right for casual love-making, but apparently you didn't realize that I was serious. I thought we were married. I thought you felt the same way about me. I didn't know what all this casual immorality you showed me amounted to." He passed his hand over his face. "OK. I've been a sap. But don't you worry. I'll pack up and be out of here in no time. Thanks for everything you've done for me of course. I'll figure up what I owe you and pay you back right away." Diana stood rigid, her hands clenched and her face screwed up like that of a child whose world has crumbled about her. Scalding tears pressed out of her tight shut eyes and splashed on her breast. He turned to go. She moved quickly and clung to him. "Perry! Perry! No! Don't! What have I done? I don't understand. Please, darling, please. Anything, but don't just leave me alone." She sobbed brokenly. Perry patted her awkwardly. Her sobbing continued. He turned her face up and wiped at her tears. "Don't cry kid. I can't stand it. And let me go. It's better that way. Stop it, kid, please. Oh Lord, what can I do?" The sobs abated, and died away. She sniffled and gulped. "Perry, it's some awful mistake. But tell me that you love me and you're not going away." He looked troubled. "Well, I don't want to go away. Listen, Dian', I love you and I want to stay. Look. Will you call up this mug and tell him to stay away?" She looked unhappy. "I can't Perry. He'll be here any minute." "What can we do then?" "I don't know." "Christ!" He strode over to the view windows and stared out, his fists jammed against his hips. Diana waited. Then he turned. "Look, Dian'. I guess I'll have to be polite to this guy for today. After he's gone we can figure out what to do about your contract and so forth." She started to speak, then fell silent. "Well?" "All right, Perry." He smiled and took her in his arms and kissed her. He felt the warm glow of one who has done a magnanimous thing. He could not know that she was still deeply troubled. As they were finishing lunch they heard the thump of a careless landing overhead. Shortly the door light glowed and there was admitted their guest. He was a young man, tall, well muscled and beautifully made. Perry noted with dissatisfaction his obvious good looks. He greeted Diana with "Hello, beautiful!," swung her off her feet, kissed her, and set her down with a flourish. Diana turned uneasily to Perry. "Bernard, this is Perry." The visitor seemed momentarily startled, recovered himself, made the ghost of a formal bow and muttered, "Do you a service?" Perry acknowledged as briefly. Bernard turned to Diana. "Dancer?" Diana shook her head. Bernard continued, "OK. Let's get going. I've got a lot of brand new stuff and, baby, it's hot. Look at this." He pulled a roll out of his belt, then shrugged off the belt and threw it on the couch. "This one now. It's historical, see? I'm an army aviator and you're a war nurse. We do the first half in costume with lots of action, then in the finale we duck the costumes and it's all symbolical. The score is Radetzky's War Birds with my own arrangement." They fell into a discussion of technical terms which Perry failed to understand. He went over to the reproducer, selected a record and cut in the earphones. Grimly he kept up the pretense of studying for the better part of two hours. Finally he realized that he had played a record on engineering materials and processes three times and remembered none of it. He snapped off the machine and turned and watched the rehearsal. There was no avoiding the fact that Bernard was graceful and handsome. His shoulders were broad and his hips narrow and he moved like a black panther. His body was the