Greybeard

The girl appeared first, walking pertly and looking about her as she went. At the cheer that rose from the crowd, her face lit; she climbed the platform and waved. She was completely hairless, the structure of her skull knobbly through her pale skin. One of her ears, as Greybeard had been warned, was swollen until it was no more than a confused mess of flesh. When she turned so that it was towards the spectators, she resembled a goblin.

The crowd were delighted by the sight of youth. Many people clapped. The boys appeared next. The one with the withered arm looked unwell; his face was pinched and blueish; he stood there apathetically, waving but not smiling. He was perhaps thirteen. The other boy was older and healthier. His eye as he regarded the crowd was calculating; Greybeard watched him with sympathy, knowing how untrustworthy a crowd is. Perhaps the boy felt that those who cheered so easily today might by next year be after his blood, if the wind but changed direction. So he waved and smiled, and never smiled with his eyes.

That was all. The children went in amid cries from the crowd, among which were many wet cheeks. Several old women wept openly, and hawkers were doing a beneficial business in handkerchiefs.

“Extremely affecting,” said Morton harshly.

He spoke to the driver of their cart, and they began to move off, manœuvring with difficulty through the crowds. It was obvious that many of the spectators would hang about yet awhile, enjoying each other’s company.

“There you have it,” Gavin said, pulling a handkerchief from a pocket to mop his sebaceous brow. “So much for the miracle, the sign that under certain conditions the human race might renew itself again. But it is less easy for humans to build up from scratch than it is for most of our mammals. You only need a pair of Morton’s stoats or coypu or rabbits, and in five years, given moderate luck, you have a thriving little horde of them, eh, Morton? Human beings need a century to reach anything like similar numbers. And then they need more than moderate luck. Rodents and lesser animals do not kill each other as does homo sapiens. Ask yourself how long it is before that girl we’ve seen comes of rapeable age, or the older boy, out after a bit of fun, gets set on by a group of coffin-bearers and beaten to death with stinking crutches.”

“I suppose the purpose of this yearly exhibition is to make people familiar with the children, so that they are less likely to be harmed?” Martha said.

“The psychological effect of such actions is frequently the very opposite of that intended,” Gavin said severely.

After that, they rode silently down the Corn and St. Aldates and in through the tall gate of Christ Church. As they dismounted, Greybeard said, “Would you ban the demonstration outside Balliol, Student Morton, if it were within your power?”

The old man looked at him slyly. “I’d ban human nature if I could. We’re a bad lot, don’t you know.”

“Just as you’ve taken it upon yourself to ban Christmas?” The stringy old countenance worked into something like a smile. He winked at Martha. “I ban what I see fit — I, and Gavin, and Vivian here. We exercise our wisdom, you see, for the common good. We have banned many things more important than Christmas, let me tell you.”

“Such as?”

“The Dean for one,” Student Vivian said, displaying false teeth in a rare grin. “You ought to have a look in the cathedral,” Morton said. “We have converted it into a museum, where we keep a lot of banned things. How about it, gentlemen, shall we take a turn round our museum, since the day is fine?”

The other two Students, Gavin and Vivian, assenting, the little party made their way across to the east side of the market quad, where the cathedral formed a part of the college.

“Wireless — the radio, don’t you know — is one of the things we do not like in our quiet little gerontocracy,” Morton said. “It could not profit us, and might upset us, to have news of the outside world. Who wishes to learn the death rate in Paris, or the extent of famine in New York? Or even the state of the weather in Ireland?”

“You have a wireless station here, then?” Greybeard asked. “Well, we have a truck that broadcasts -“ he broke off, fiddling with a large key in the cathedral door.

Pushing together, he and Vivian got the door open. They entered together into the gloom of the cathedral. There, standing close to the door, was their DOUCH(E) truck. “This truck belongs to me!” Greybeard exclaimed, running forward, and pressing his gloved hands over the bonnet. He and Martha stared at it in a sort of amazed ecstasy. “Forgive me, but it is not yours,” Morton said. “It is a possession of the Students of this House.”

”They’ve done no damage to it,” Martha said, her cheeks flushed, as Greybeard opened the driver’s door and looked in. “Oh, Algy, doesn’t this take you back! I never thought to see it again! How did it get here?”