life. Your glass is empty, my dear."
"Transferred personality," I repeated wonderingly, as I held out my glass. Now, if that were possible."
"Oh, there's no doubt about the possibility. Those three cases I mentioned are fully authenticated."
"It might be thatalmost," I admitted. "At least, in some ways it might bebut not in others. There is this nightmare quality. You seem perfectly normal to me, but look at me, myselfand at your little maid! There's certainly an element of delusion. I seem to be here, like this, and talking to youbut it can't really be so, so where am I?"
"I can understand, better than most, I think, how unreal this must seem to you. In fact, I have spent so much of my time in books that it sometimes seems unreal to meas if I did not quite belong anywhere. Now, tell me my dear, when were you born?"
I told her. She thought for a moment.
"H'm," she said. "George the Sixth--but you'd not remember the second big war?"
"No," I agreed.
"But--you might remember the coronation of the next Monarch? Whose was that?"
"Elizabeth--Elizabeth the Second. My mother took me to see the procession," I told her.
"Do you remember anything about it?"
"Not a lot reallyexcept that it rained, nearly all day," I admitted.
We went on like that for a little while, then she smiled, reassuringly.
"Well, I don't think we need any more to establish our point. I've heard about that coronation beforeat second hand. It must have been a wonderful scene in the abbey." She mused a moment, and gave a little sigh. You've been very patient with me, my dear. It is only fair that you should have your turnbut I'm afraid you must prepare yourself for some shocks."
"I think I must be inured after my last thirtysix hours or what has appeared to be thirtysix hours," I told her.
"I doubt it," she said, looking at me seriously.
"Tell me," I asked her. "Please explain it allif you can."
"Your glass, my dear. Then I'll get the crux of it over."
She poured for each of us, then she asked: "What strikes you as the oddest feature of your experience, so far?"
I considered. "There's so much"
Might it not be that you have not seen a single man?" she suggested.
I thought back. I remembered the wondering tone of one of the Mothers asking: "What is a man?"
"That's certainly one of them," I agreed. Where are they?"
She shook her head, watching me steadily.
"There aren't any, my dear. Not any more. None at all"
I simply went on staring at her. Her expression was perfectly serious and sympathetic. There was no trace of guile there, or deception, while I struggled with the idea. At last I managed: "Butbut that's impossible! There must be some somewhere... You couldn'tI mean, how? I mean..." My expostulation trailed off in confusion.
She shook her head.
"I know it must seem impossible to you, Janemay I call you Jane? But it is so. I am an old woman now, nearly eighty, and in all my long life I have never seen a mansave in old pictures and photographs. Drink your sherry, my dear. It will do you good." She paused. "I'm afraid this upsets you."
I obeyed, too bewildered for further comment at the moment, protesting inwardly, yet not altogether disbelieving, for certainly I had not seen one man, nor sign of any. She went on quietly, giving me time to collect my wits: "I can understand a little how you must feel. I haven't had to learn all my history entirely from books, you see. When I was a girl, sixteen or seventeen, I used to listen to my grandmother. She was as old then as I am now, but her memory was still very good. I was able almost to see the places she talked aboutbut they were part of such a different world that it was difficult for me to understand how she felt. When she spoke about the young man she had been engaged to, tears would roll down her cheeks, 42 even thennot just for him, of course, but for the whole world that she had known as a girl. I was sorry for her, although I could not really understand how she felt. How should I? But now
"Transferred personality," I repeated wonderingly, as I held out my glass. Now, if that were possible."
"Oh, there's no doubt about the possibility. Those three cases I mentioned are fully authenticated."
"It might be thatalmost," I admitted. "At least, in some ways it might bebut not in others. There is this nightmare quality. You seem perfectly normal to me, but look at me, myselfand at your little maid! There's certainly an element of delusion. I seem to be here, like this, and talking to youbut it can't really be so, so where am I?"
"I can understand, better than most, I think, how unreal this must seem to you. In fact, I have spent so much of my time in books that it sometimes seems unreal to meas if I did not quite belong anywhere. Now, tell me my dear, when were you born?"
I told her. She thought for a moment.
"H'm," she said. "George the Sixth--but you'd not remember the second big war?"
"No," I agreed.
"But--you might remember the coronation of the next Monarch? Whose was that?"
"Elizabeth--Elizabeth the Second. My mother took me to see the procession," I told her.
"Do you remember anything about it?"
"Not a lot reallyexcept that it rained, nearly all day," I admitted.
We went on like that for a little while, then she smiled, reassuringly.
"Well, I don't think we need any more to establish our point. I've heard about that coronation beforeat second hand. It must have been a wonderful scene in the abbey." She mused a moment, and gave a little sigh. You've been very patient with me, my dear. It is only fair that you should have your turnbut I'm afraid you must prepare yourself for some shocks."
"I think I must be inured after my last thirtysix hours or what has appeared to be thirtysix hours," I told her.
"I doubt it," she said, looking at me seriously.
"Tell me," I asked her. "Please explain it allif you can."
"Your glass, my dear. Then I'll get the crux of it over."
She poured for each of us, then she asked: "What strikes you as the oddest feature of your experience, so far?"
I considered. "There's so much"
Might it not be that you have not seen a single man?" she suggested.
I thought back. I remembered the wondering tone of one of the Mothers asking: "What is a man?"
"That's certainly one of them," I agreed. Where are they?"
She shook her head, watching me steadily.
"There aren't any, my dear. Not any more. None at all"
I simply went on staring at her. Her expression was perfectly serious and sympathetic. There was no trace of guile there, or deception, while I struggled with the idea. At last I managed: "Butbut that's impossible! There must be some somewhere... You couldn'tI mean, how? I mean..." My expostulation trailed off in confusion.
She shook her head.
"I know it must seem impossible to you, Janemay I call you Jane? But it is so. I am an old woman now, nearly eighty, and in all my long life I have never seen a mansave in old pictures and photographs. Drink your sherry, my dear. It will do you good." She paused. "I'm afraid this upsets you."
I obeyed, too bewildered for further comment at the moment, protesting inwardly, yet not altogether disbelieving, for certainly I had not seen one man, nor sign of any. She went on quietly, giving me time to collect my wits: "I can understand a little how you must feel. I haven't had to learn all my history entirely from books, you see. When I was a girl, sixteen or seventeen, I used to listen to my grandmother. She was as old then as I am now, but her memory was still very good. I was able almost to see the places she talked aboutbut they were part of such a different world that it was difficult for me to understand how she felt. When she spoke about the young man she had been engaged to, tears would roll down her cheeks, 42 even thennot just for him, of course, but for the whole world that she had known as a girl. I was sorry for her, although I could not really understand how she felt. How should I? But now
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