Woman (12 page)

     Yes, there are. Women seem
to be turning their backs on life itself as dictated by men. Each year, more
than fifty million abortions are performed in the world. This is more than mere
disenchantment.

     I feel defensive now. Are
women to blame for this?

     Not at all. They have every
right to resent the fact that, in order to achieve parity in the world, they've
been forced to distort their basic nature, becoming some sort of in-between sex
that suffers male afflictions—high blood pressure, ulcers, nervous breakdowns,
heart attacks—but rarely enjoys male advantages. To quote Esther Harding; by
organizing and conventionalizing herself, a woman has cut herself off from the
springs of life which lie in the depths of her being.

     Is that what
you
think is happening to women?

     Candidly speaking, yes. I
think too many women are losing direction by ignoring their inner rhythms and
trying to match the inner rhythms of men. What can possibly be worse than being
dominated by men? Answer: Being dominated by the essence of maleness.

     Are men and women really
that much different, Doctor?

     I believe they are. To
women, life is cyclic, a force that ebbs and flows in her, not only in daily
rhythms but in monthly ones as well. In the course of one lunar cycle, a
woman's energy waxes, shines, then wanes. These changes affect not only her
physical and sexual life, but her psychic life as well; Esther Harding again.

     So what can women do to
regain their. . .inner rhythms, as you call them?

     Frankly, I don't know. The
trouble is that, now-a-days, women seem disinclined to look into their own
fundamental natures. They erect a barrier of will between their outward and
inner selves. And it's this inner self—whatever you choose to call it—that's
been 'turned sour', if you will, by eons of mistreatment and misunderstanding.

     Do men have any idea that
all this is going on?

     Some think they do. It's
primarily intellectualized, though. Little emotional intuition involved. That's
why, to the greater majority of men, women are bewildering and vexing
creatures, beyond their comprehension. And, yet, they're so much more.
Cavendish in
Man, Myth and Magic
describes them as—quote—in touch with reality through a secret
sympathy with the heart of things—unquote.

     Can these differences ever
be reconciled, Doctor?

     They
have
to be. Men and women need each
other. And, yet, their aims are so divergent that the conflict could prove
irreconcilable.

     What then? Revolution?

     As a social movement? No.
This runs deeper.

11:39  A.M.

"Idon't know
what
to think," Liz said.

     She and David were sitting
on the living room sofa in their pajamas, having coffee and pastries. On the
radio, a Mozart symphony was playing softly.

     "I don't either,"
David admitted. "It's damn strange though. What happened to Val, what
happened to Charlie. I just can't make myself believe this girl had anything to
do with either occurrence. And then to find out that she doesn't live in this
building at all. It's too bizarre."

     "It
is,"
Liz agreed. "I keep
thinking of the look on her face. Blind terror."

     "Well, that's not
surprising. She
is
disturbed
in some way we can't possibly evaluate. What happened to your brother and
Charlie probably terrified her."

     "I suppose," Liz
said, "what happened to Charlie isn'tthat surprising though, the way he
eats and drinks, his being over-weight. It's what happened to Val that really
disturbs me."

     "Have you spoken to him
this morning?"

     "He didn't answer his
phone. I left a message." She sighed deeply. "Anyway, let's forget
about what happened. I'd like to talk about the show again. "It would have
been nice if we'd been able to pick up those three Emmys in person."

     "I know," he
sympathized. "I'm really sorry about that. You deserved to be there."

     "Even though the show
is drivel?" she asked, her voice tightened.

     "Let's not go back to
that again," he said.

     "I think we
should
go back to that," Liz
disagreed. "What you don't seem to realize—and
never
have—
"she cut off his attempted
objection—"is that I am fully aware—as all of us are, that
Country Boy
is basically designed for
morons. Morons who create a nice healthy rating though. Morons whose votes got
us three damn Emmys."

     "I
am
aware of that, Liz," David said.
"But what
you
don't seem
to be aware of—or more likely, refuse to admit—is that the premise of the
series is the denigration of women."

     "Oh, come on
David," Liz said with a faint smile. "You're making too much of
it."

     "Liz,
Country Boy
constantly makes fools of
women. Really, I'm amazed at the show's ratings considering that a large
proportion of the viewers has to be women."

     "David,
come on"
Liz said. "The show is
childlike. Country Boy is an idiot. If he demeans women, it only reflects on
him, makes
him
look stupid,
not the women he makes fun of."

     David shrugged. "I
still don't understand your acceptance of the show. You of all people."

     "It doesn't
bother
me, David, because I'm
above
it," she said. "I'm
successful. I make good money. I'm acquiringmore and more influence in the
business. That's enough for me. Who gives a damn what the show's about? I'll
leave it when something better comes along. That's how much I think of
Country Boy."

     David sighed.
"Okay," he said.

     Liz bristled at his tone.
"It's perfectly all right for a man to make money any way he
pleases," she said accusingly. "No one questions that."

     "I question it,"
David told her.

     "All right, you're an
exception. Congratulations," she said coolly. "The point is—I'm
making it in a chauvinistic world. I think that's pretty damn good."

     "Of course it is,"
he said. "You know I'm proud of your accomplishment."

     "Then stop hassling
me," she snapped.

     He wanted to let it go. But
her attitude disturbed him. "You're talking a lot about chauvinism these
days," he told her.

     "Yeah, well there's a
lot of it going around," she said sarcastically.

     "And yet you defer to
your brother who's as chauvinistic as they come," he said.

     "He's a baby," Liz
said. "I don't take him seriously."

     "A baby what?" he
asked. "Viper?"

     She started to speak but he
cut her off. "You have such strong convictions about being a woman and yet
you let him insult women right in front of you."

     "That's because I
identify with his male aggressiveness.
Right?"

     David frowned at her.
"Did I say that?"

     "I know you think I've
changed and you don't like the change. I'm not the sweet liberal Elizabeth you
married. I'm ballsy Liz now."

     "If that's how you
prefer to see yourself," he said, his voice mildly scolding.

     "Well, isn't it
true?" she demanded. "I used to give a lot of credence to 'justice
for all.' Now I'm out for myselfbecause no one in this world is going to help
me otherwise."

     He didn't speak, looking at
her with a distressed expression. Then he murmured,
"No
one?"

     She was about to speak, then
sighed and looked repentant. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know
you're on my side."

     He smiled and, leaning over,
kissed her lightly on the cheek. She returned the smile and was about to say
something when the telephone rang.

     "More bad news, no
doubt," she said. David smiled a little sadly.

     Liz picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"

     She listened. "Yes,
Catherine," she said. Listened again. Her features tightened. "Oh, my
God," she said. She listened, nodding. "I'll come over as soon as I
can."

     She hung up, looking at
David with a grim expression.

     "What is it?" he
asked.

     "That was Charlie's
ex-wife. The bleeding won't stop. He's in the hospital."

     "Oh, no." He
grimaced. "Poor guy." He shook his head. "He always looked so
rugged."

     "He always seemed to
be." Liz stood. "Obviously, he wasn't." She started for the
bedroom. "I'm going over to see him."

     David stood up. "I'll
go with you."

     "You don't have
to," she said. "You barely know him."

     
"Liz.
I'll go with you."

     "All right, fine,"
she said distractedly. She moved into the bedroom to get dressed.

     David started to follow her.
He'd only taken a few steps when his right ankle twisted abruptly and he
stumbled, almost falling. "Oh! Jesus!" he cried.

     "What is it?" she
called.

     "My
ankle,"
he told her, "I think I
sprained it." He tried to stand on it and cried out hollowly.
"No"
he said.

     Hissing with pain, he limped
to the nearest chair and slumped down on it. He twisted his right foot
experimentally, crying out again.

     Liz came back into the
living room. "You sprained your
ankle?"
she asked. She sounded as though she couldn't believe it.

     "Yeah," he said,
his teeth set on edge.