The Way of Decision Part 2

Oh, sometimes they laughed at Joan for being much too serious about her part. She was the artist and the self-acknowledged arbiter of good taste, the monitor of the proper way. She was the gracious hostess when visitors were at hand. To her the clan had conceded the job of deciding the arrangement of the rooms. To her the girls turned for advice in how to dress. And her advice was good. With some real though limited talent as an artist, she had the touch of instinct, the sense of rightness, and the drive to be unsatisfied with anything but what was right. And she, conceding that children were necessary and even desirable in their places, still deplored the havoc they could wreak. She was not a good manager of the children.

But then, he thought, why should she be? The clan had other purposes than to raise children; that was one of the important needs the clan fulfilled, but it was only one. In fact, it was one of the strengths of the clan that the different members had separate talents they could bring to it. Each with his own value, each unique. With the separateness that let them complement each other to form the whole. This was their strength.

No, Marcia was not greatly maternal, certainly--but this was not important. But he could not quite decide what was important.

He was still puzzling over it when Betsy bounced into the kitchen.

"Whew," she said, giving him a light kiss, "what a day!" She pulled out a mirror from her pocket and looked into it. "I think I'm going to have a red nose. That sun was bright and hot; I hope none of the kids got too much. But they _will_ keep das.h.i.+ng into the water, and it's hard to catch them again to get them to put their s.h.i.+rts on. I think Timmy's back is a little red, but I guess it won't be too much." She collapsed violently into a chair.

Tom smiled at her. It was refres.h.i.+ng to see anyone who could be tired in such a dynamic way. "You look as if you had a day," he said.

"We did," she said, looking happy. She heaved herself up to get a cup and saucer and to pour herself a cup of coffee. Then, sitting down, she looked at him. "And what have you been doing?" she asked him.

"Oh, buzzing around town," he told her. "And brooding."

"Brooding?" she asked. He explained to her what the situation was, telling her that they must soon decide what to do about Marcia--whether to accept her as a member of the clan or not. He told her that only by accepting the girl could they get the job at Eltron Electronics that they wanted. And he told her Ricky's thinking that the thing must be decided that night, and warned her of the coming caucus. The words boiled out of him; when he was through, he slumped down, suddenly tired.

Betsy c.o.c.ked her head and studied him. There was a soft look in her eyes of the sort she usually saved for the children. "Why has it upset you?"

she asked.

"Upset me?" Tom seemed surprised. "Well, yes, I suppose it has. Sue was in here, and I got to thinking of the kids. What this'll mean to them."

"The kids?" She looked surprised. "Why should this mean anything to the kids? Anything special, that is?"

"Well, if we turn her down, we got to take the Universal job," he explained. "And that means moving. Moving's always hard on kids. And if we accept her, then the kids'll have a lot to do with her."

"I a.s.sume she won't roast them live over the coals," Betsy said. "And I think the kids are tough enough to take almost anything else." She snickered. "You don't see them as much as I do. If you did you'd know they were a lot tougher than they look, the delicate little things!"

"Oh, I'm not talking about that," he said. "I don't expect her to bat them around or anything. But I just wonder how they'll take to _her_."

She shrugged. "If they don't like her, they can always come to me. Or Rita. Or Polly or Esther or Sandy. Or even Joan, providing they don't mess up the livingroom while they do it. The kids will get along, don't worry.

"As a matter of fact," she went on, "that's a funny thing. One of the chief arguments against the clans is that it doesn't single out a man and a woman as the parents of a child. This is supposed to do something to the child--make him insecure, somehow. But as far as I can see, it makes him more secure. In the first place, he's got that many more parents to choose from, and he can usually find one at least in the mood and with the time to give him what he needs at the moment. Then, too, the clan can afford to have one or two of its people completely concentrated on the children at any given time. And that job can get sort of pa.s.sed around so n.o.body gets fed up with it.

"Or, rather, if a person does get fed up with the kids, she doesn't have to force herself to be halfway decent to them; she doesn't have to have anything to do with them at all until she gets over her blues. So most of the time, the kids get the kind of attention they ought to get, and they get it from a person who's in the mood to give it. Personally, I think that they're a lot better off under this system, and you'd have a hard time telling me any different."

"They do look healthy and happy," he said.

"They sure do." She looked proud and satisfied. "I'd hate to be the one to try to keep up with them if they were any healthier. Or any fuller of ideas."

"That's why I hate to risk it," he told her. "Everything's going so well now.... The kids are so obviously.... But I take it you don't think there's much risk?"

"No." Her tone was incisive. "Any storms she can cook up, the kids can stand better than you and I can."

"Maybe you're right," Tom conceded. "But what about yourself? You think she is apt to make 'storms'?"

Betsy shrugged. "There's always storms when you take in a new member.

You have to adjust; and, even more, the new one has to adjust. And adjustments aren't ever easy. I remember when I came in. I had some bad times--and I was brought up in a clan, too; I knew what I was getting into. But still there were times when it hurt. When I felt lost. When I didn't know what you people were like. When I felt like a stranger, not knowing your private jokes and unconscious language. When I felt out of place and alone.

"There were plenty of times when this happened, but I stuck it out. And I learned. I learned what made you people tick, and why you did some of the things you did. I grew into being a part of you. Now I am one of the clan, legally, socially, and in my inmost self.

"That's _my_ story. Marcia will have a lot harder time; she doesn't even know what a clan is. She's not only never been a part of one, but the people she has been with have sneered at them, and made no effort to understand. She hasn't even been able to get along with one husband; she's going to have a hard time learning to get along with seven. Not to mention six co-wives. Chances are she's been spoiled, made the center of things without due cause. She was an only child, wasn't she? She's going to have it awfully tough."

"Do you think she can take it?" Tom asked.

"Not knowing the lady, that's guessing too hard," Betsy answered. "I think it's possible that she can learn. And maybe it's not entirely against her that she doesn't know anything about the clans except what's wrong. She'll soon find out she doesn't know a thing, and then she can start from scratch--learn like the kids do. Maybe that's easier than the unlearning of the 'almost-right' that people like me have to do. At least she's got no preconceived ideas that will stand more than a day or two of actual experience." She shrugged.

"The thing that I'm worried about," Tom said, "is that she may be able to split us--divide us up into factions and set us against each other. I hope she can't, but what happens if she does?"

"Then we split," Betsy answered. "But so what? I don't think she can do it; but even if she can, so what? I wouldn't want it to happen but it wouldn't be a disaster. We'd all land on our feet somewhere. I know I'd head out for the nearest clan and I'd get into that clan just as soon as I could. When I got into it, and got accepted as a real part of it, then I'd think of the rest of this as just an unhappy incident. A tragedy, but not the end of life. But as far as I'm concerned, this is too remote a possibility to worry about."

"You are quite unafraid, aren't you?" Tom said.

"Yes," she answered simply, her voice calm and cool. "I'm not afraid of Marcia--not of what she can do to the kids or to myself. I think the kids are strong enough emotionally to stand anything. And I think I am, too."

There was a quiet confidence in her voice. She reached out and patted his hand. Then, getting up, she started to get out the food for the evening meal while Tom continued to sit there, thinking. And when Tom got up and walked out, she still said nothing but looked after him with a look that had something warm and tender in it.

As he walked through the livingroom, he saw Rita stretched out on the couch. He looked questioningly at her wondering if the day had been too hard for her, being, as she was, six months along towards the twelfth child of the clan. But she smiled at him and shook her head. "Don't be worried," she said; "I'm just a little tired but not too much."

"Anything I can get you?" he asked.

"No, thanks," she said, her voice cheerful. "I just need to get off my feet."

He started to say something about Marcia, but then stopped. What good would it do? he asked himself. Rita, with the instinct of birth close upon her, was too absorbed in herself and the life she carried. The problem, to her, would exist only if it threatened herself or her child.

And by all the signs, she felt no threat. Her calm acceptance of the daily life, her quiet absorption in the now and here, measured a confidence in the clan that was complete.

No, to talk of Marcia could do no good. If he succeeded in impressing her with the importance of the problem, it would be because he made her realize that Marcia was a threat. It would be at the expense of her feeling of security, the security that let her wait her time out in calm acceptance and a.s.surance. And if he did not persuade her of the problem's significance, she could not contribute to it. Under normal circ.u.mstances, she was not one to deal with abstract questions. She had an acute awareness of personalities that transcended logic. She had an instinct, a sixth sense, almost, for responding to the needs of others.

But she was not a philosopher, and neither could she handle abstract problems.

And so he smiled at her and told her: "Call me if you do want anything.

I'll be outside." And he pa.s.sed on through and out the door.

4

As he walked out the door, he saw, coming in the gate, the rest of the clan returning from work. The children were rus.h.i.+ng to meet them, whooping their greetings. The whole scene was one of happy chaos. Out in front was Paul, his round, cherubic face beaming with delight. He bent down to whisper something in little Randy's ear which sent that boy off shrieking with delight. Behind him was Sam, Polly, and Herb.

Sam's face was dark and his eyes deepset. Generally, he looked sullen and dour. But those who knew him, could also see the twinkle in his eye and knew that he had a subtle and penetrating sense of humor. The kids liked him, and both Alice and Ken, aged five and six, were crowding around him now while he gravely asked them something.

Polly, beside him, was peering around delightedly, sparkling with the general excitement. Her eyes were darting all around looking, Tom knew, not for any one thing or person, but simply to absorb it all.

On Polly's other side was Herb. The mechanic of the crowd, he had an eager interest that was somewhat boyish. His happiest moments were spent under the car or bus with his face all smeared with grease. With people, he lacked the touch that he had with machines. There was an awkwardness, almost an uncouthness, that would have been tragic, Tom thought, anywhere but in the haven of a clan.