Part 9 (1/2)

”Correct,” said Madame, with an admonitory look at Mouche. ”Men are taught to dismiss the need for babying as mere 'female stuff,' that is, foolishness, but this nurturing does not seem foolish to women. Women are hungry for affectionate words and that's why we have conversation mistresses: to teach you to use them! Your colleague or brother may accept your striking him forcefully and addressing him as 'You old mismothered b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' Your patroness will not do so.

”We do other things similarly. We teach you to dance in ways that make your patroness feel skilled and graceful. We teach you to stack a deck of cards so your patroness will win the game if at that moment she needs to win a game. Simon or Jeremy are skilled cheats, and they will teach you how to do it.

”Now, in order to make a woman contented, we must be alert to the stories she creates about her own feelings. It is important for you to recognize when your patroness is inventing.

”Let us suppose that on some other world a young woman falls 'in love' with an utterly unsuitable young man. Describe an unsuitable young man, Battel.”

Bartel scratched his forehead with his pen, leaving a smear of ink at the top of his nose. ”Well, Ma'am, he'd be lazy. He'd be ... unkind. He'd be ... I suppose he could be dirty. Or ugly....”

”She wouldn't fall in love with him if he was ugly,” objected Tyle.

”Well, then not ugly,” conceded Barton.

”On the contrary, Tyle, he could be ugly,” said Madame. ”And he could be lazy and abusive as well. The woman still might fall in love with him. Why? Anyone?”

Fentrys said, ”Because her hormones are pus.h.i.+ng her toward mating, he has a dangerous look, and he is spreading pheromones all over the place.”

”Quite true,” agreed Madame. ”Now, she cannot say to her friends or parents that her body is s.e.xually receptive and that this man looks dangerous and smells virile. Can she? What would her family say?”

Fentrys laughed. ”They'd say he was ugly and lazy and abusive.”

”And the woman actually knows that,” said Madame. ”She may refuse to admit it, but she knows that. What she doesn't know is why she is responding to him. She does not know that she is being led by evolution and her nose. Though she can see his inadequacies with her mind, her body wants him nonetheless, so she has to justify herself. What does she do?”

”She makes up a story,” said Mouche, suddenly enlightened.

”Indeed. All unconscious of what is going on, she makes up a story. What does she say?”

Interested, Fentrys said, ”She could say he has good things about him that n.o.body sees. Some women are very tenderhearted, so she could say he needs her....”

Tyle offered, ”She could say he would change after they got married. I heard my aunt say that about a man who offered for my cousin.”

”Indeed,” said Madame. ”And after they are married, he abuses her, and what does she say?”

Mouche said, ”She says, 'He broke my arm, but he really loves me.' ”

”She wouldn't!” said a voice from the back of the room. ”Women aren't crazy.”

”Quite true,” said Madame. ”They aren't crazy, but they are sometimes quite helpless in dealing with their biology. Our theoretical woman might say just what Mouche proposes. Or, she might say, 'He's under a strain, and he goes all to pieces, and it was my fault, I upset him.' An interesting fact about such stories is that repeating them actually calms the mind and a.s.suages the pain of abuse by eliciting the release of serotonins and endorphins. Such stories are a kind of self-hypnosis, a verbal veil over reality. In this example, the woman a.s.signs the man the role of one helpless in his affliction and a.s.signs herself the role of nurturing mother-martyr, using the verbal veil as her device for surviving in that role.”

”She wouldn't do that here on Newholme,” said Fentrys. ”My mother wouldn't do that!”

”Women don't need to do that on Newholme,” Madame agreed. ”On this world, any woman who did do such a thing would be referred to the psych machines for rebalancing! Here, physical abuse of women took place only at the time of the women raids and the Hags put a stop to that! We do, however, hear women say things like, 'My father really treasured me. He didn't want to let me go....' Or, 'My married daughter would come visit me with the children if she could get away from home.' What are these?”

Tyle said, ”They'd be the same kind of veils. To hide her disappointment?”

”Exactly. Admitting the fiction would be destructive to the woman's ego, so she uses a verbal veil to conceal disappointment. Why do we care? Why do we talk about it? Because as Consorts, you will hear these stories as symptoms of need! Your patroness should be without disappointments if you are doing your job correctly. When you hear your patroness lying to herself, your job is to eliminate her need to do so.”

”We tell her she's being silly,” said the voice from the rear of the room.

”You will not,” snapped Madame. ”That is a traditionally male response which is totally unhelpful! You won't say she is silly or that the situation she describes is not true or that she should forget it. You will say, 'Yes, I know what you mean. I understand. I know of a similar case,' and you will go on to tell a parallel story, which will allow her to feel that her own disappointments are universally shared, that she is not exceptional in this regard, that she need not worry over them....

”Fentrys? You look confused.”

”I am confused, Madame. Our patronesses are supposed to be exceptional, so why ...”

”Your patronesses are supposed to be exceptional in all favorable favorable regards. You will let them know they are exceptionally witty, exceptionally beautiful, exceptionally charming, patient, and so forth, and you will tell them so at least hourly. But if your patroness is troubled, if she thinks 'Why me?' the 'Why me?' must be turned into 'It's not just me.' It's normal for husbands to be preoccupied with business, for children to be thoughtless, for familial relations.h.i.+ps to be unfulfilling. That is exactly why you are there, to make up for such things. If such disappointments weren't normal, Consorts wouldn't be needed. You'll know you have succeeded when your patroness does not lie to herself anymore, when, instead of coping with sadness, she turns to you for her ent.i.tlements.” regards. You will let them know they are exceptionally witty, exceptionally beautiful, exceptionally charming, patient, and so forth, and you will tell them so at least hourly. But if your patroness is troubled, if she thinks 'Why me?' the 'Why me?' must be turned into 'It's not just me.' It's normal for husbands to be preoccupied with business, for children to be thoughtless, for familial relations.h.i.+ps to be unfulfilling. That is exactly why you are there, to make up for such things. If such disappointments weren't normal, Consorts wouldn't be needed. You'll know you have succeeded when your patroness does not lie to herself anymore, when, instead of coping with sadness, she turns to you for her ent.i.tlements.”

17.

Mouche Becomes a Hunk.

Though Mouche grew accustomed to his new suite and his new status, the pictures in the hallway continued to disturb him. It was only after some months had pa.s.sed that he realized he was worrying about his own eventual patroness, something he hadn't even thought about until the most recent Amatory Arts lectures. The time of graduation had seemed remote, and he had never once visualized himself as actually fulfilling the necessary role, but now he thought of Her, the Patroness, someone sad, maybe. Someone needing care. Or, he found himself thinking almost obsessively, someone like ... someone in one of those pictures.

There were stories about Hunks who had been required to do things so evil and depraved they had gone mad. There were tales about Wilderneers, Hunks who had killed their owners and escaped after swearing revenge against all females. Little girls were frightened with this tale beside the fire of an evening. ”They'll come in the night,” the story-spinner would say. ”Tapping at your window. Their eyes are red with blood, and their teeth are sharp....”

The suddenly perceived reality of his future made him self-conscious. In the privacy of his own suite that night, Mouche stripped down, set candles either side of the cheval gla.s.s, and tilted the mirror to give himself a slow looking over. His skin was very white and smooth, due to all the bathing and oiling and ma.s.sage. His ashen hair was not yet as long as Madame wanted it, but it was a good deal longer than when he came, the silver-gold ma.s.s artfully curled up and away from his brow, which was wide and unlined and interrupted only by the wings of his dark brows, plucked into full but graceful arcs. His nails were smooth and polished, his teeth likewise. The health machines brought by the settlers had seen to that.

Since Mouche was only thirteen, the hairdresser, manicurist and facialist worked on him only once in a tenday. Later, it would be every day or so. Light hair and dark eyes, said Madame, were a dramatic combination. Mouche's eyes were malachite green, fringed with heavy dark lashes. His mouth was wide, the upper lip somewhat narrow, the lower more full. Even now, his jaw was round enough to denote strength. He would not have to keep a full beard, as some Hunks did, in order to look properly romantic.

As for his body, it wasn't much as yet. Lean and muscular, of course, with all the training he was getting, but he had little bulk. His shoulders were broader than when he came, and his legs straighter and more comely. He turned, looking at his back view from over his shoulder. Women were attracted by b.u.t.ts, as men were to b.r.e.a.s.t.s, so b.u.t.ts were important. The ideal b.u.t.t was small, neat, round, and smooth. His wasn't bad. Nothing would be done to his s.e.x, if at all, until he was sold.

Every Consort was sterilized as soon as he was sold, for the one thing absolutely taboo to Consorts was the fathering of children. Extravagant dowries a.s.sured that children would be of a man's own name, his own line. Every Family Man had a right to expect his own unique line, his own genetic makeup, his own descendants. Elder son to elder son to elder son, the lineage honored and remembered, his own name honored and remembered. The g'name was the important thing. There could be no doubt about who fathered whom.

Later, after most or all of the children were born, that man's wife would shop for someone much like Mouche, who now turned before the mirror trying to envision himself after another five years or so. When dressed in a clean tunic and a graceful mantle, he made a good appearance. Several times during the park promenades, he had caught people looking at him. Some of them had been women, though there had been a few men as well. He had, as instructed, dimpled at the former and ignored the latter. Madame did not sell to h.o.m.os.e.xuals, unless the Hunk was being purchased by a woman as a gift for her husband-an erotic aide, as it were, in the necessary business of procreation.

He struck a fencing att.i.tude. He liked fencing, and his fencing master was pleased with him. He rose on his toes and turned, then bowed and stepped and turned again. His dancing master had moved him to the advanced cla.s.s. Mouche liked fencing better than dancing, but dancing was important, so he did it. Sometimes women held soirees for their friends and their Hunks, and the Hunks had to be able to put on a show. He cleared his throat and did a few lalas. The singing master had been pleased with him also, though Mouche's voice was now beginning to crack. Beginning next year he would learn to accompany himself on the lap harp or lute.

All in all, except for recurrent fantasies of the sea, Mouche was reasonably content. He had gotten over feeling shamed, for in House Genevois his status was not considered shameful. How one is regarded by one's peers is most important, and Mouche's peers were friendly enough. The embarra.s.sment he had thought he would feel forever had lasted only a cycle or two, though he often thought of Mama and Papa, wondering if he would ever see them again.

Mouche did see his papa again, for once a student went into Consort Country, he could receive visitors, as Mouche soon learned. He sent word to Papa, and Papa arrived shortly thereafter, looking unusually prosperous, with a new c.o.c.kade on his hat and much news of the new calf and the new kittens and the successful repairs to the mill. Papa did not mention that Mama was pregnant, an event long considered impossible, but which may well have resulted from a lessening of worry and an improvement in diet. When little Bianca was born some months later, Mouche was not informed of that, either. Even though money could have been borrowed on the girl's prospects, Mouche could not have been redeemed. Sales to Consort Houses were considered final. Repayment, even with interest, would not have been accepted by Madame, and the contract Papa had signed was not susceptible to cancellation.

When Bianca had a baby sister, a year later, and then a baby brother a year after that, Mouche was not told of either event. Though Papa continued to visit faithfully, appearing ever more prosperous over the next few years, he didn't mention to Mouche that for all practical purposes, the new baby boy was now the g'Darbos-apparent, as Papa's eldest son.

At sixteen, the boys entered upon the most demanding part of their education. Four hours of physical training each day were coupled with five hours of cla.s.sroom work, and to this was now added the actual practice of amatory arts. The women who came to House Genevois to a.s.sist in this education were masked during the sessions, no one knew who they were except Madame, and Madame did not even hint at who they might be. Some were young and shapely, and some were not, but the quality of work expected from a Consort was to be the same, regardless. In fact, the highest prices would be paid for those from whom the pleasures given a thirty-year-old wife and a sixty-year-old grandmama were indistinguishable. What these women had to say about the students was perhaps more important than any other a.s.sessment they might receive.

Amatory arts required, Mouche found, a good deal of concentration, the acquisition of certain autohypnotic abilities, and careful attention to his physical health. There were certain drugs that helped in certain cases, either taken by the Consort or by his patroness, though Madame did not recommend their use except in cases of extreme need.

”In this respect, graduates of House Genevois are unlike the graduates of, say, House Fantuil. In House Fantuil they do a great deal of drug-induced work, but in my mind such sensationism-I do not call it sensuality, which is a natural effect-not only suffers in comparison with the natural modes, but also shortens the lifespans of its pract.i.tioners. Of course, given the clientele to whom House Fantuil sells, perhaps the drugs are necessary! I am proud to say that House Genevois never expects the impossible from its graduates!”

Mouche now paid strict attention to the lectures, usually given by Madame but occasionally by other women, concerning the nature or natures of women, for he now could put the theory into action. He decided women were more complicated than he had imagined possible. At night, in the Consort suites, there was a great deal of talk about these complications, about natural versus unnatural modes, and all the middle ground between.