第61章 Chapter Seven(5)

　　“Oh， my dear， my dear.” The torrent of words flowed sobbingly. “If you knew how glad–after all these years！ A civilized face. Yes， and civilized clothes. Because I thought I should never see a piece of real acetate silk again.” She fingered the sleeve of Lenina’s shirt. The nails were black. “And those adorable viscose velveteen shorts！ Do you know， dear， I’ve still got my old clothes， the ones I came in， put away in a box. I’ll show them you afterwards. Though， of course， the acetate has all gone into holes. But such a lovely white bandolier–though I must say your green morocco is even lovelier. Not that it did me much good， that bandolier.” Her tears began to flow again. “I suppose John told you. What I had to suffer–and not a gramme of soma to be had. Only a drink of mescal every now and then， when Popé used to bring it. Popé is a boy I used to know. But it makes you feel so bad afterwards. the mescal does， and you’re sick with the peyotl； besides it always made that awful feeling of being ashamed much worse the next day. And I was so ashamed. Just think of it： me， a Beta–having a baby： put yourself in my place.” （The mere suggestion made Lenina shudder.） “Though it wasn’t my fault， I swear； because I still don’t know how it happened， seeing that I did all the Malthusian Drill–you know， by numbers， One， two， three， four， always， I swear it； but all the same it happened， and of course there wasn’t anything like an Abortion Centre here. Is it still down in Chelsea， by the way？” she asked. Lenina nodded. “And still floodlighted on Tuesdays and Fridays？” Lenina nodded again. “That lovely pink glass tower！” Poor Linda lifted her face and with closed eyes ecstatically contemplated the bright remembered image. “And the river at night，” she whispered. Great tears oozed slowly out from behind her tight-shut eyelids. “And flying back in the evening from Stoke Poges. And then a hot bath and vibro-vacuum massage…But there.” She drew a deep breath， shook her head， opened her eyes again， sniffed once or twice， then blew her nose on her fingers and wiped them on the skirt of her tunic. “Oh， I’m so sorry，” she said in response to Lenina’s involuntary grimace of disgust. “I oughtn’t to have done that. I’m sorry. But what are you to do when there aren’t any handkerchiefs？ I remember how it used to upset me， all that dirt， and nothing being aseptic. I had an awful cut on my head when they first brought me here. You can’t imagine what they used to put on it. Filth， just filth. ‘Civilization is Sterilization，’ I used to say them. And ‘Streptocock-Gee to Banbury-T， to see a fine bathroom and W.C.’ as though they were children. But of course they didn’t understand. How should they？ And in the end I suppose I got used to it. And anyhow， how can you keep things clean when there isn’t hot water laid on？ And look at these clothes. This beastly wool isn’t like acetate. It lasts and lasts. And you’re supposed to mend it if it gets torn. But I’m a Beta； I worked in the Fertilizing Room； nobody ever taught me to do anything like that. It wasn’t my business. Besides， it never used to be right to mend clothes. Throw them away when they’ve got holes in them and buy new. ‘The more stiches， the less riches.’ Isn’t that right？ Mending’s anti-social. But it’s all different here. It’s like living with lunatics. Everything they do is mad.” She looked round； saw John and Bernard had left them and were walking up and down in the dust and garbage outside the house； but， none the less confidentially lowering her voice， and leaning， while Lenina stiffened and shrank， so close that the blown reek of embryo-poison stirred the hair on her cheek. “For instance，” she hoarsely whispered， “take the way they have one another here. Mad， I tell you， absolutely mad. Everybody belongs to every one else–don’t they？ don’t they？” she insisted， tugging at Lenina’s sleeve. Lenina nodded her averted head， let out the breath she had been holding and managed to draw another one， relatively untainted. “Well， here，” the other went on， “nobody’s supposed to belong to more than one person. And if you have people in the ordinary way， the others think you’re wicked and anti-social. They hate and despise you. Once a lot of women came and made a scene because their men came to see me. Well， why not？ And then they rushed at me…No， it was too awful. I can’t tell you about it.” Linda covered her face with her hands and shuddered. “They’re so hateful， the women here. Mad， mad and cruel. And of course they don’t know anything about Malthusian Drill， or bottles， or decanting， or anything of that sort. So they’re having children all the time–like dogs. It’s too revolting. And to think that I…Oh， Ford， Ford， Ford！ And yet John was a great comfort to me. I don’t know what I should have done without him. Even though he did get so upset whenever a man…Quite as a tiny boy， even. Once （but that was when he was bigger） he tried to kill poor Waihusiwa–or was it Popé？–just because I used to have them sometimes. Because I never could make him understand that that was what civilized people ought to do. Being mad’s infectious I believe. Anyhow， John seems to have caught it from the Indians. Because， of course， he was with them a lot. Even though they always were so beastly to him and wouldn’t let him do all the things the other boys did. Which was a good thing in a way， because it made it easier for me to condition him a little. Though you’ve no idea how difficult that is. There’s so much one doesn’t know； it wasn’t my business to know. I mean， when a child asks you how a helicopter works or who made the world–well， what are you to answer if you’re a Beta and have always worked in the Fertilizing Room？ What are you to answer？”