I had skimmed it. “Reasonably familiar,” I said—cautiously, I thought.
“Then you know the First Freedom guaranteed by the Charter and its current application through F & A Control Board Administrative Order Number eleven-seventy-six dated three March of this year. You concede therefore that all grain grown on the Moon in excess of the local ration is ab initio and beyond contest the property of all, title held in trust by the Federated Nations through its agencies for distribution as needed.” He was writing as he talked. “Have you anything to add to that concession?”
I said, “What in Bog’s name you talking about?” Then, “Come back! Haven’t conceded anything!”
So Great New York Times printed:
LUNAR “UNDERSECRETARY” SAYS: “FOOD BELONGS TO HUNGRY”
New York Today—O’Kelly Davis, soi-disant “Colonel of the Armed Forces of Free Luna” here on a junket to stir up support for the insurgents in the F.N. Lunar colonies, said in a voluntary statement to this paper that the “Freedom from Hunger” clause in the Grand Charter applied to the Lunar grain shipments—
I asked Prof how should have handled? “Always answer an unfriendly question with another question,” he told me. “Never ask him to clarify; he’ll put words in your mouth. This reporter—Was he skinny? Ribs showing?”
“No. Heavyset.”
“Not living on eighteen hundred calories a day, I take it, which is the subject of that order he cited. Had you known you could have asked him how long he had conformed to the ration and why he quit? Or asked him what he had for breakfast—and then looked unbelieving no matter what he answered. Or when you don’t know what a man is getting at, let your counter-question shift the subject to something you do want to talk about. Then, no matter what he answers, make your point and call on someone else. Logic does not enter into it—just tactics.”
“Prof, nobody here is living on eighteen hundred calories a day. Bombay, maybe. Not here.”
“Less than that in Bombay. Manuel, that ‘equal ration’ is a fiction. Half the food on this planet is in the black market, or is not reckoned through one ruling or another. Or they keep two sets of books, and figures submitted to the F.N. having nothing to do with the economy. Do you think that grain from Thailand and Burma and Australia is correctly reported to the Control Board by Great China? I’m sure that the India representative on that food board doesn’t. But India keeps quiet because she gets the lion’s share from Luna … and then ‘plays politics with hunger’—a phrase you may remember—by using our grain to control her elections. Kerala had a planned famine last year. Did you see it in the news?”
“No.”
“Because it wasn’t in the news. A managed democracy is a wonderful thing, Manuel, for the managers … and its greatest strength is a ‘free press’ when ‘free’ is defined as ‘responsible’ and the managers define what is ‘irresponsible.’ Do you know what Luna needs most?”
“More ice.”
“A news system that does not bottleneck through one channel. Our friend Mike is our greatest danger.”
“Huh? Don’t you trust Mike?”
“Manuel, on some subjects I don’t trust even myself. Limiting the freedom of news ‘just a little bit’ is in the same category with the classic example ‘a little bit pregnant.’ We are not yet free nor will we be as long as anyone—even our ally Mike—controls our news. Someday I hope to own a newspaper independent of any source or channel. I would happily set print by hand, like Benjamin Franklin.”
I gave up. “Prof, suppose these talks fail and grain shipments stop. What happens?”
“People back home will be vexed with us … and many here on Terra would die. Have you read Malthus?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Many would die. Then a new stability would be reached with somewhat more people—more efficient people and better fed. This planet isn’t crowded; it is just mismanaged … and the unkindest thing you can do for a hungry man is to give him food. ‘Give.’ Read Malthus. It is never safe to laugh at Dr. Malthus; he always has the last laugh. A depressing man, I’m glad he’s dead. But don’t read him until this is over; too many facts hamper a diplomat, especially an honest one.”
“I’m not especially honest.”
“But you have no talent for dishonesty, so your refuge must be ignorance and stubbornness. You have the latter; try to preserve the former. For the nonce. Lad, Uncle Bernardo is terribly tired.”
I said, “Sorry,” and wheeled out of his room. Prof was hitting too hard a pace. I would have been willing to quit if would insure his getting into a ship and out of that gravity. But traffic stayed one way—grain barges, naught else.
But Prof had fun. As I left and waved lights out, noticed again a toy he had bought, one that delighted him like a kid on Christmas—a brass cannon.
A real one from sailing ship days. Was small, barrel about half a meter long and massing, with wooden carriage, only kilos fifteen. A “signal gun” its papers said. Reeked of ancient history, pirates, men “walking plank.” A pretty thing but I asked Prof why? If we ever managed to leave, price to lift that mass to Luna would hurt—I was resigned to abandoning a p-suit with years more wear in it—abandon everything but two left arms and a pair of shorts, If pressed, might give up social arm. If very pressed, would skip shorts.
He reached out and stroked shiny barrel. “Manuel, once there was a man who held a political make-work job like so many here in this Directorate, shining brass cannon around a courthouse.”
“Why would courthouse have cannon?”
“Never mind. He did this for years. It fed him and let him save a bit, but he was not getting ahead in the world. So one day he quit his job, drew out his savings, bought a brass cannon—and went into business for himself.”
“Sounds like idiot.”
“No doubt. And so were we, when we tossed out the Warden. Manuel, you’ll outlive me. When Luna adopts a flag, I would like it to be a cannon or, on field sable, crossed by bar sinister gules of our proudly ignoble lineage. Do you think it could be managed?”
“Suppose so, if you’ll sketch. But why a flag? Not a flagpole in all Luna.”
“It can fly in our hearts … a symbol for all fools so ridiculously impractical as to think they can fight city hail. Will you remember, Manuel?”
“Sure. That is, will remind you when time comes.” Didn’t like such talk. He had started using oxygen tent in private—and would not use in public.
Guess I’m “ignorant” and “stubborn”—was both in place called Lexington, Kentucky, in Central Managerial Area. One thing no doctrine about, no memorized answers, was life in Luna. Prof said to tell truth and emphasize homely, warm, friendly things, especially anything different. “Remember, Manuel, the thousands of Terrans who have made short visits to Luna are only a tiny fraction of one percent. To most people we will be as weirdly interesting as strange animals in a zoo. Do you remember that turtle on exhibition in Old Dome? That’s us.”
Certainly did; they wore that insect out, staring at. So when this male-female team started quizzing about family life in Luna was happy to answer. I prettied it only by what I left out—things that aren’t family life but poor substitutes in a community overloaded with males, Luna City is homes and families mainly, dull by Terra standards—but I like it. And other warrens much same, people who work and raise kids and gossip and find most of their fun around dinner table. Not much to tell, so I diseussed anything they found interesting. Every Luna custom comes from Terra since that’s where we all came from, but Terra is such a big place that a custom from Micronesia, say, may be strange in North America.
This woman—can’t call her lady—wanted to know about various sorts of marriage. First, was it true that one could get married without a license “on” Luna?
I asked what a marriage license was?
Her companion said, “Skip it, Mildred. Pioneer societies never have marriage licenses.”
“But don’t you keep records?
” she persisted.
“Certainly,” I agreed. “My family keeps a family book that goes back almost to first landing at Johnson City—every marriage, birth, death, every event of importance not only in direct line but all branches so far as we can keep track. And besides, is a man, a schoolteacher, going around copying old family records all over our warren, writing a history of Luna City. Hobby.”
“But don’t you have official records? Here in Kaintucky we have records that go back hundreds of years.”
“Madam, we haven’t lived there that long.”
“Yes, but—Well, Luna City must have a city clerk. Perhaps you call him ‘county recorder.’ The official who keeps track of such things. Deeds and so forth.”
I said. “Don’t think so, madam. Some bookies do notary work, witnessing chops on contracts, keeping records of them. Is for people who don’t read and write and can’t keep own records. But never heard of one asked to keep record of marriage. Not saying couldn’t happen. But haven’t heard.”
“How delightfully informal! Then this other rumor, about how simple it is to get a divorce on the Moon. I daresay that’s true, too?”
“No, madam, wouldn’t say divorce is simple. Too much to untangle. Mmm … take a simple example, one lady and say she has two husbands—”
“Two?”
“Might have more, might have just one. Or might be complex marriage. But let’s take one lady and two men as typical. She decides to divorce one. Say it’s friendly, with other husband agreeing and one she is getting rid of not making fuss. Not that it would do him any good. Okay, she divorces him; he leaves. Still leaves endless things. Men might be business partners, co-husbands often are. Divorce may break up partnership. Money matters to settle. This three may own cubic together, and while will be in her name, ex-husband probably has cash coming or rent. And almost always are children to consider, support and so forth. Many things. No, madam, divorce is never simple. Can divorce him in ten seconds but may take ten years to straighten out loose ends. Isn’t it much that way here?”
“Uh … just fuhget ah evah asked the question, Cunn’l; it may be simpluh hyuh.” (She did talk that way but was understandable once I got program. Won’t spell it again.) “But if that is a simple marriage, what is a ‘complex’ one?”
Found self explaining polyandries, clans, groups, lines, and less common patterns considered vulgar by conservative people such as my own family—deal my mother set up, say, after she ticked off my old man, though didn’t describe that one; Mother was always too extreme.
Woman said, “You have me confused. What is the difference between a line and a clan?”
Are quite different. Take own case. I have honor to be member of one of oldest line marriages in Luna—and, in my prejudiced opinion, best. You asked about divorce. Our family has never had one and would bet long odds never will. A line marriage increases in stability year after year, gains practice in art of getting along together, until notion of anybody leaving is unthinkable. Besides, takes unanimous decision of all wives to divorce a husband—could never happen. Senior wife would never let it get that far.”
Went on describing advantages—financial security, fine home life it gives children, fact that death of a spouse, while tragic, could never be tragedy it was in a temporary family, especially for children—children simply could not be orphaned. Suppose I waxed too enthusiastic—but my family is most important thing in my life. Without them I’m just one-armed mechanic who could be eliminated without causing a draft.
“Here’s why is stable,” I said. “Take my youngest wife, sixteen. Likely be in her eighties before is senior wife. Doesn’t mean all wives senior to her will die by then; unlikely in Luna, females seem to be immortal. But may all opt out of family management by then; by our family traditions they usually do, without younger wives putting pressure on them. So Ludmilla—”
“Ludmilla?”
“Russki name. From fairy tale. Milla will have over fifty years of good example before has to carry burden. She’s sensible to start with, not likely to make mistakes and if did, has other wives to steady her. Self-correcting, like a machine with proper negative feedback. A good line marriage is immortal; expect mine to outlast me at least a thousand years—and is why shan’t mind dying when time comes; best part of me will go on living.”
Prof was being wheeled out; he had them stop stretcher cart and listened. I turned to him. “Professor,” I said, “you know my family. Would mind telling this lady why it’s a happy family? If you think so.”
“It is,” agreed Prof. “However, I would rather make a more general remark. Dear madam, I gather that you find our Lunar marriage customs somewhat exotic.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far!” she said hastily. “Just somewhat unusual.”
“They arise, as marriage customs always do, from economic necessities of the circumstances—and our circumstances are very different from those here on Earth. Take the line type of marriage which my colleague has been praising . . and justifiably, I assure you, despite his personal bias—I am a bachelor and have no bias. Line marriage is the strongest possible device for conserving capital and insuring the welfare of children—the two basic societal functions for marriage everywhere—in an enviroment in which there is no security, neither for capital nor for children, other than that devised by individuals. Somehow human beings always cope with their environments. Line marriage is a remarkably successful invention to that end. All other Lunar forms of marriage serve that same purpose, though not as well.”
He said goodnight and left. I had with me—always!—a picture of my family, newest one, our wedding with Wyoming. Brides are at their prettiest and Wyoh was radiant—and rest of us looked handsome and happy, with Grandpaw tall and proud and not showing failing faculties.
But was disappointed; they looked at it oddly. But man—Mathews, name was—said, “Can you spare this picture, Colonel?”
Winced. “Only copy I have. And a long way from home.”
“For a moment, I mean. Let me have it photographed. Right here, it need never leave your hands,”
“Oh. Oh, certainly!” Not a good picture of me but is face I have, and did Wyoh justice and they just don’t come prettier than Lenore.
So he photographed it and next morning they did come right into our hotel suite and woke me before time and did arrest and take me away wheel chair and all and did lock me in a cell with bars! For bigamy. For polygamy. For open immorality and publicly inciting others to same.
Was glad Mum couldn’t see.
19
Took Stu all day to get case transferred to an F.N. court and dismissed. His lawyers asked to have it tossed out on “diplomatic immunity” but F.N. judges did not fall into trap, merely noted that alleged offenses had taken place outside jurisdiction of lower court, except alleged “inciting” concerning which they found insufficient evidence. Aren’t any F.N. laws covering marriage; can’t be—just a rule about each nation required to give “full faith and credence” to marriage customs of other member nations.
Out of those eleven billion people perhaps seven billion lived where polygamy is legal, and Stu’s opinion manipulators played up “persecution”; it gained us sympathy from people who otherwise would never have heard of us—even gained it in North America and other places where polygamy is not legal, from people who believe in “live and let live.” All good, because always problem was to be noticed. To most of those bee-swarm billions Luna was nothing; our rebellion hadn’t been noticed.
Stu’s operators had gone to much thought to plan setup to get me arrested. Was not told until weeks later after time to cool off and see benefits. Took a stupid judge, a dishonest sheriff, and barbaric local prejudice which I triggered with that sweet picture, for Stu admitted later that range of color in Davis family was what got judge angry enough to be foolish even beyond native talent for nonsense.
My one consolation, that Mum could not see my disgrace, turned out mistaken; pictures, taken through b
ars and showing grim face, were in every Luna paper, and write-ups used nastiest Earthside stories, not larger number that deplored injustice. But should have had more faith in Mimi; she wasn’t ashamed, simply wanted to go Earthside and rip some people to pieces.
While helped Earthside, greatest good was in Luna. Loonies become more unified over this silly huhu than had ever been before. They took it personally and “Adam Selene” and “Simon Jester” pushed it. Loonies are easygoing except on one subject, women. Every lady felt insulted by Terran news stories—so male Loonies who had ignored politics suddenly discovered I was their boy.
Spin-off—old lags feel superior to those not transported. Later found self greeted by ex-cons with: “Hi, jailbird!” A lodge greeting—I was accepted.
But saw nothing good about it then! Pushed around, treated like cattle, fingerprinted, photographed, given food we wouldn’t offer hogs, exposed to endless indignity, and only that heavy field kept me from trying to kill somebody—had I been wearing number-six arm when grabbed, might have tried.
But steadied down once I was freed. Hour later we were on way to Agra; had at last been summoned by committee. Felt good to be back in suite in maharajah’s palace but eleven-hour zone change in less than three did not permit rest; we went to hearing bleary-eyed and held together by drugs.
“Hearing” was one-sided; we listened while chairman talked. Talked an hour; I’ll summarize:
Our preposterous claims were rejected. Lunar Authority’s sacred trust could not be abandoned. Disorders on Earth’s Moon could not be tolerated. Moreover, recent disorders showed that Authority had been too lenient. Omission was now to be corrected by an activist program, a five-year plan in which all phases of life in Authority’s trusteeship would be overhauled. A code of laws was being drafted; civil and criminal courts would be instituted for benefit of “client-employees”—which meant all persons in trust area, not just consignees with uncompleted sentences. Public schools would be established, plus indoctrinal adult schools for client-employees in need of same. An economic, engineering, and agricultural planning board would be created to provide fullest and most efficient use of Moon’s resources and labor of client-employees. An interim goal of quadrupling grain shipments in five years had been adopted as a figure easily obtainable once scientific planning of resources and labor was in effect. First phase would be to withdraw client-employees from occupations found not to be productive and put them to drilling a vast new system of farm tunnels in order that hydroponics would commence in them not later than March 2078. These new giant farms would be operated by Lunar Authority, scientifically, and not left to whims of private owners. It was contemplated that this system would, by end of five-year plan, produce entire new grain quota; in meantime client-employees producing grain privately would be allowed to continue. But they would be absorbed into new system as their less efficient methods were no longer needed.