they began to explain, carefully using such words as we could understand. It appeared that we were considered as guests of the country—sort of public wards. Our first violence had made it necessary to keep us safeguarded for a while, but as soon as we learned the language—and would agree to do no harm—they would show us all about the land.
Jeff was eager to reassure them. Of course he did not tell on Terry, but he made it clear that he was ashamed of himself, and that he would now conform. As to the language—we all fell upon it with redoubled energy. They brought us books, in greater numbers, and I began to study them seriously.
“Pretty punk literature,” Terry burst forth one day, when we were in the privacy of our own room. “Of course one expects to begin on child-stories, but I would like something more interesting now.”
“Can’t expect stirring romance and wild adventure without men, can you?” I asked. Nothing irritated Terry more than to have us assume that there were no men; but there were no signs of them in the books they gave us, or the pictures.
“Shut up!” he growled. “What infernal nonsense you talk! I’m going to ask ‘em outright—we know enough now.”
In truth we had been using our best efforts to master the language, and were able to read fluently and to discuss what we read with considerable ease.
That afternoon we were all sitting together on the roof—we three and the tutors gathered about a table, no guards about. We had been made to understand some time earlier that if we would agree to do no violence they would withdraw their constant attendance, and we promised most willingly.
So there we sat, at ease; all in similar dress; our hair, by now, as long as theirs, only our beards to distinguish us. We did not want those beards, but had so far been unable to induce them to give us any cutting instruments.
“Ladies,” Terry began, out of a clear sky, as it were, “are there no men in this country?”
“Men?” Somel answered. “Like you?”
“Yes, men,” Terry indicated his beard, and threw back his broad shoulders. “Men, real men.”
“No,” she answered quietly. “There are no men in this country. There has not been a man among us for two thousand years.”
Her look was clear and truthful and she did not advance this astonishing statement as if it was astonishing, but quite as a matter of fact.
“But—the people—the children,” he protested, not believing her in the least, but not wishing to say so.
“Oh yes,” she smiled. “I do not wonder you are puzzled. We are mothers—all of us—but there are no fathers. We thought you would ask about that long ago—why have you not?” Her look was as frankly kind as always, her tone quite simple.
Terry explained that we had not felt sufficiently used to the language, making rather a mess of it, I thought, but Jeff was franker.
“Will you excuse us all,” he said, “if we admit that we find it hard to believe? There is no such—possibility—in the rest of the world.”
“Have you no kind of life where it is possible?” asked Zava.
“Why, yes—some low forms, of course.”
“How low—or how high, rather?”
“Well—there are some rather high forms of insect life in which it occurs. Parthenogenesis, we call it—that means virgin birth.”
She could not follow him.
“BIRTH, we know, of course; but what is VIRGIN?”
Terry looked uncomfortable, but Jeff met the question quite calmly. “Among mating animals, the term VIRGIN is applied to the female who has not mated,” he answered.
“Oh, I see. And does it apply to the male also? Or is there a different term for him?”
He passed this over rather hurriedly, saying that the same term would apply, but was seldom used.
“No?” she said. “But one cannot mate without the other surely. Is not each then—virgin—before mating? And, tell me, have you any forms of life in which there is birth from a father only?”
“I know of none,” he answered, and I inquired seriously.
“You ask us to believe that for two thousand years there have been only women here, and only girl babies born?”
“Exactly,” answered Somel, nodding gravely. “Of course we know that among other animals it is not so, that there are fathers as well as mothers; and we see that you are fathers, that you come from a people who are of both kinds. We have been waiting, you see, for you to be able to speak freely with us, and teach us about your country and the rest of the world. You know so much, you see, and we know only our own land.”
In the course of our previous studies we had been at some pains to tell them about the big world outside, to draw sketches, maps, to make a globe, even, out of a spherical fruit, and show the size and relation of the countries, and to tell of the numbers of their people. All this had been scant and in outline, but they quite understood.
I find I succeed very poorly in conveying the impression I would like to of these women. So far from being ignorant, they were deeply wise—that we realized more and more; and for clear reasoning, for real brain scope and power they were A No. 1, but there were a lot of things they did not know.
They had the evenest tempers, the most perfect patience and good nature—one of the things most impressive about them all was the absence of irritability. So far we had only this group to study, but afterward I found it a common trait.
We had gradually come to feel that we were in the hands of friends, and very capable ones at that—but we couldn’t form any opinion yet of the general level of these women.
“We want you to teach us all you can,” Somel went on, her firm shapely hands clasped on the table before her, her clear quiet eyes meeting ours frankly. “And we want to teach you what we have that is novel and useful. You can well imagine that it is a wonderful event to us, to have men among us—after two thousand years. And we want to know about your women.”
What she said about our importance gave instant pleasure to Terry. I could see by the way he lifted his head that it pleased him. But when she spoke of our women—someway I had a queer little indescribable feeling, not like any feeling I ever had before when “women” were mentioned.
“Will you tell us how it came about?” Jeff pursued. “You said ‘for two thousand years’—did you have men here before that?”
“Yes,” answered Zava.
They were all quiet for a little.
“You should have our full history to read—do not be alarmed—it has been made clear and short. It took us a long time to learn how to write history. Oh, how I should love to read yours!”
She turned with flashing eager eyes, looking from one to the other of us.
“It would be so wonderful—would
