“What do they say?”
“Well—let’s think. That you have your uses—uses. That you are valuable in so far as you bear children and are obedient to your husbands. That, outside that, your beauty has its uses also within limits that are rather strictly marked. That in many rebirths you will develop your soul and be immortal; if you behave, that is! If not—then who shall say? But you have your chance all the time. With them you are neither goddess or fiend. You are just women. Not even Woman.”
“What ghastly materialism!”
“No, no! The happy mean. The perfect wisdom. Meanwhile, you yourselves are all hunting after the ideals of the market-place, the platform, the pulpit. I wonder how many extra rebirths it will cost you! Never mind. Time is long. The gods are never in a hurry, and you will arrive even if you only catch the last train.”
“But this is all fault-finding, and unfair at that. Will you have the goodness to advise? If we stick on our pedestals, you all run off to the frivolers. If we frivol, you weep for the pedestal. What is it you really want? If we knew, we’d try to deliver the goods, I’m sure.”
“I’m not!” I said, and reflected. Then, gathering resolution, “Have you the patience to listen to a story?”
“If it’s a good one. How long will it take?”
“Ten minutes. The author is the Serpent.”
“Then I’ll certainly put off Inez for fifteen minutes. Who’s it about?”—running to the telephone.
“Eve, Lilith, Adam.”