girl," said the handsome man, "do you actually mean to tell usthat you _prefer_ that body?"
"Yes sir."
"May I ask why."
"I like it. It's--hard to explain, but it's me and that's what I like.Not the looks, maybe, but the _me_."
"You can look in the mirror and see yourself, then look at--well, atyour mother and be content?"
"Yes, sir." Mary thought of her reasons; fuzzy, vague, but verydefinitely there. Maybe she had said the reason. No. Only a part of it.
"Mrs. Cuberle," the doctor said, "I suggest that your husband have along talk with Mary."
"My husband is dead. That affair near Ganymede, I believe. Somethinglike that."
"Oh, splendid. Rocket man, eh? Very interesting organisms. Somethingalways seems to happen to rocket men, in one way or another. But--Isuppose we should do something." The doctor scratched his jaw. "When didshe first start talking this way," he asked.
"Oh, for quite some time. I used to think it was because she was such ababy. But lately, the time getting so close and all, I thought I'dbetter see you."
"Of course, yes, very wise. Er--does she also do odd things?"
"Well, I found her on the second level one night. She was lying on thefloor and when I asked her what she was doing, she said she was tryingto sleep."
Mary flinched. She was sorry, in a way, that Mother had found that out.
"To--did you say 'sleep'?"
"That's right."
"Now where could she have picked that up?"
"No idea."
"Mary, don't you know that nobody sleeps anymore? That we have aninfinitely greater life-span than our poor ancestors now that thewasteful state of unconsciousness has been conquered? Child, have youactually _slept_? No one knows how anymore."
"No sir, but I almost did."
The doctor sighed. "But, it's unheard of! How could you begin to try todo something people have forgotten entirely about?"
"The way it was described in the book, it sounded nice, that's all."Mary was feeling very uncomfortable now. Home and no talking man in afoolish white gown....
"Book, book? Are there _books_ at your Unit, Madam?"
"There could be--I haven't cleaned up in a while."
"That is certainly peculiar. I haven't seen a book for years. Not since'17."
Mary began to fidget and stare nervously about.
"But with the tapes, why should you try and read books--where did youget them?"
"Daddy did. He got them from his father and so did Grandpa. He saidthey're better than the tapes and he was right."
Mrs. Cuberle flushed.
"My husband was a little strange, Doctor Hortel. He kept those thingsdespite everything I said.
"Dear me, I--excuse me."
The muscular, black-haired doctor walked to another cabinet and selectedfrom the shelf a bottle. From the bottle he took two large pills andswallowed them.
"Sleep--books--doesn't want the Transformation--Mrs. Cuberle, my _dear_good woman, this is grave. Doesn't want the Transformation. I wouldappreciate it if you would change psychiatrists: I am very busy and, uh,this is somewhat specialized. I suggest Centraldome. Many fine doctorsthere. Goodbye."
The doctor turned and sat down in a large chair and folded his hands.Mary watched him and wondered why the simple statements should have sochanged things. But the doctor did not move from the chair.
"Well!" said Mrs. Cuberle and walked quickly from the room.
The man's legs were being blown off again as they left the receptionroom.
Mary considered the reflection in the mirrored wall. She sat on thefloor and looked at different angles of herself: profile, full-face,full length, naked, clothed. Then she took up the magazine and studiedit. She sighed.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall--" The words came haltingly to her mind andfrom her lips. She hadn't read them, she recalled. Daddy had said them,quoted them as he put it. But they too were lines from a book--"who isthe fairest of--"
A picture of Mother sat upon the dresser and Mary considered this now.Looked for a long time at the slender, feminine neck. The golden skin,smooth and without blemish, without wrinkles and without age. The darkbrown eyes and the thin tapers of eyebrows, the long black lashes, setevenly, so that each half of the face corresponded precisely. Thehalf-parted-mouth, a violet tint against the gold, the white, whiteteeth, even, sparkling.
Mother. Beautiful, Transformed Mother. And back again to the mirror.
"--of them all...."
The image of a rather chubby girl, without lines of rhythm or grace,without perfection. Splotchy skin full of little holes, puffs in thecheeks, red eruptions on the forehead. Perspiration, shapeless hairflowing onto shapeless shoulders down a shapeless body. Like all ofthem, before the Transformation.
Did they _all_ look like this, before? Did Mother, even?
Mary thought hard, trying to remember exactly what Daddy and Grandpa hadsaid, why they said the Transformation was a bad thing, and why shebelieved and agreed with them so strongly. It made little sense, butthey were right. They _were_ right! And one day, she would understandcompletely.
Mrs. Cuberle slammed the door angrily and Mary jumped to her feet. Shehadn't forgotten about it. "The way you upset Dr. Hortel. He won't evensee me anymore, and these traumas are getting horrible. I'll have to getthat awful Dr. Wagoner."
"Sorry--"
Mrs. Cuberle sat on the couch and crossed her legs carefully.
"What in the world were you doing on the floor?"
"Trying to sleep."
"Now, I won't hear of it! You've got to stop it! You _know_ you're notinsane. Why should you want to do such a silly thing?"
"The books. And Daddy told me about it."
"And you mustn't read those terrible things."
"Why--is there a law against them?"
"Well, no, but people tired of books when the tapes came in. You knowthat. The house is full of tapes; anything you want."
Mary stuck out her lower lip.
"They're no fun. All about the Wars and the colonizations."
"And I suppose books are fun?"
"Yes. They are."
"And that's where you got this idiotic notion that you don't want theTransformation, isn't it? Of course it is. Well, we'll see to that!"
Mrs. Cuberle rose quickly and took the books from the corner and fromthe closet and filled her arms with them. She looked everywhere in theroom and gathered the old rotten volumes.
These she carried from the room and threw into the elevator. A buttonguided the doors shut.
"I thought you'd do that," Mary said. "That's why I hid most of the goodones. Where you'll never find them."
Mrs. Cuberle put a satin handkerchief to her eyes and began to weep.
"Just look at you. Look. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this!"
"Deserve what, Mother? What am I doing that's so wrong?" Mary's mindrippled in a confused stream.
"What!" Mrs. Cuberle screamed, _"What!_ Do you think I want people topoint to you and say I'm the mother of an idiot? That's what they'llsay, you'll see. Or," she looked up hopefully, "have you changed yourmind?"
"No." The vague reasons, longing to be put into words.
"It doesn't hurt. They just take off a little skin and put some on andgive you pills and electronic treatments and things like that. Itdoesn't take more than a week."
"No." The reason.
"Don't you want to be beautiful, like other people--like me? Look atyour friend Shala, she's getting her Transformation next month. And_she's_ almost pretty now."
"Mother, I don't care--"
"If it's the bones you're worried about, well, that doesn't hurt. Theygive you a shot and when you wake up, everything's moulded right.Everything, to suit the personality."
"I don't care, I don't care."
"But _why_?"
"I like me the way I am." Almost--almost exactly. But not quite. Part ofit, however. Part of what Daddy and Grandpa meant.
"But you're so ugl
y, dear! Like Dr. Hortel said. And Mr. Willmes, at thefactory. He told some people he thought you were the ugliest girl he'dever seen. Says he'll be thankful when you have your Transformation. Andwhat if he hears of all this, what'll happen then?"
"Daddy said I was beautiful."
"Well really, dear. You _do_ have eyes."
"Daddy said that real beauty is only skin deep. He said a lot of thingslike that and when I read the books I felt the same way. I guess I