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still while he gave me the most moving plea for my own efficiency, my
rationality, my status as a human being. He ended by saying anxiously, "Do you
think it'll work?"
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Joanna Russ - The Female Man
"Well " I began.
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"Of course, of course," (interrupted this damned fool once again) "you're not
a diplomat, but we have to work through the men we have, don't we? Individual
man can accomplish ends where Mass-man fails.
Eh?"
I nodded, picturing myself as Individual Man. The "woman's work" explains it,
of course; it makes him dangerously irritable. He had gotten now into the
poignant part, the mystifying and moving account of our Sufferings. This is
where the tears come in. It helps to be able to classify what they're going to
do, but Lord! it's depressing, all the same. Always the same. I sit on,
perfectly invisible, a chalk sketch of a woman. An idea. A walking ear.
"What we want" (he said, getting into stride) "is a world in which everybody
can be himself
. Him. Self.
Not this insane forcing of temperaments. Freedom. Freedom for all. I admire
you. Yes, let me say that I
do indeed, and most frankly, admire you. You've broken through all that. Of
course most women will not be able to do that in fact, most women given the
choice will hardly choose to give up domesticity altogether or even" (here he
smiled) "even choose to spend much of their lives in the market-
place or the factory. Most women will continue to choose the conservative
caretaking of childhood, the formation of beautiful human relationships, and
the care and service of others. Servants. Of. The. Race.
Why should we sneer at that? And if we find there are certain traits connected
with sex, like homemaking, like reasoning power, like certain temperamental
factors, well of course there will be, but why derogate one sex or the other
on that account? People" (braced for the peroration) "people are as they are.
If "
I rose to my feet. "Excuse me," I said, "but business "
"Damn your business!" he said in heat, this confused and irritable man. "Your
business isn't worth two cents compared with what I'm talking about!"
"Of course not, of course not," I said soothingly.
"I should hope so!"
Numb, numb. With boredom. Invisible. Chained.
"That's the trouble with you women, you can't see anything in the abstract!"
He wants me to cringe. I really think so. Not the content of what I say but
the endless, endless feeding of his vanity, the shaky structure of self. Even
the intelligent ones.
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Joanna Russ - The Female Man
"Don't you appreciate what I'm trying to do for you?"
Kiss-me-I'm-a-goodguy.
"Don't you have any idea how important this is?"
Sliding down the slippery gulf into invisibility.
"This could make history!"
Even me, with all my training!
"Of course, we have a tradition to uphold."
It'll be slow.
" we'll have to go slowly. One thing at a time."
If it's practical.
"We'll have to find out what's practicable. This may be uh visionary. It may
be in advance of its time."
Can't legislate morality.
"We can't force people against their inclinations and we have generations of
conditioning to overcome.
Perhaps in a decade "
Perhaps never.
" perhaps never. But men of good will "
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Did he hear that?
" and women, too, of course, you understand that the word 'men' includes the
word 'women'; it's only usage "
Everyone must have his own abortion.
" and not really important. You might even say" (he giggles) " 'everyone and
his husband' or 'everyone will be entitled to his own abortion' " (he roars)
"but I want you to go back to your people and tell them
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Joanna Russ - The Female Man
 "
It's unofficial.
" that we're prepared to negotiate. But it can't be official. You must
understand that I face considerable opposition. And most women not, you, of
course; you're different well, most women aren't used to thinking a thing
through like this. They can't do it systematically. Say, you don't mind my
saying that about 'most women,' do you?"
I smile, drained of personality.
"That's right," (he said) "don't take it personally. Don't get feminine on
me," and he winked broadly to show he bore me no ill-will. This is the time
for me to steal away, leaving behind half my life's blood and promises,
promises, promises; but you know what? I just can't do it. It's happened too
often. I have no reserves left. I sat down, smiling brilliantly in sheer
anticipation, and the dear man hitched his chair nearer. He looks uneasy and
avid. "We're friends?" he says.
"Sure," I say, hardly able to speak.
"Good!" he said. "Tell me, do you like my place?"
"Oh yes," I say.
"Ever see anything like it before?"
"Oh no!" (I live in a chicken-barn and eat shit.)
He laughed delightedly. "The paintings are pretty good. We're having a kind of
Renaissance lately.
How's art among the ladies, huh?"
"So-so," I said, making a face. The room is beginning to sway with the
adrenalin I can pump into my bloodstream when I choose; this is called
voluntary hysterical strength and it is very, very useful, yes indeed. First
the friendly chat, then the uncontrollably curious grab, and then the hatred
comes out. Be prepared.
"I suppose," he said, "you must've been different from the start from a little
girl, eh? doing a job like this. You've got to admit we have one thing up on
you we don't try to force everybody into the same role. Oh no. We don't keep a
man out of the kitchen if that's what he really wants."
"Oh sure," I said. (Those chemical-surgical castrati)
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Joanna Russ - The Female Man
"Now you do," he said. "You're more reactionary than we are. You won't let
women lead the domestic life. You want to make everyone alike. That's not what
I visualize."
He goes into a long happy rap about motherhood, the joys of the uterus. The
emotional nature of
Woman. The room is beginning to sway. One gets very reckless in hysterical
strength; the first few weeks I trained, I broke several of my own bones but I
know how to do it now. I really do. My muscles are not for harming anyone
else; they are to keep me from harming myself. That terrible concentration,
That feverish brightness. Boss-Idiot has not talked to anyone else about his
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grand idea; he's still in First
Cliche' stage and any group discussion, however moronic, would have weeded out
the worst of them.
His dear Natalie. His gifted wife. Take me, now; he loves me. Yes he does. Not
physically, of course.
Oh no. Life seeks its mate. Its complement. Romantic rubbish. Its other self.
Its joy. He won't talk business tonight. Will he ask me to stay over?
"Oh, I couldn't," says the other Jael. He doesn't hear it; there's a gadget in
Boss's ear that screens out female voices. He's moved closer, bringing his
chair with him some silly flub-dub about not being able to talk the length of
the room. Spiritual intimacy. Smiling foolishly he says:
"So you like me a little, huh?"
How terrible, betrayal by lust. No, ignorance. No pride.
"Hell, go away," I say.
"Sure you do!" He expects me to act like his Natalie, he bought her, he owns
her. What do women do in the daytime? What do they do when they're alone?
Adrenalin is a demanding high; it untunes all your finer controls.
"Get away," I whisper. He doesn't hear it. These men play games, play with
vanity, hiss, threaten, erect their neck-spines. It sometimes takes ten [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]