“What is this heritage check business?”
“Let’s not go into that now. When you study the economic system you’ll understand. Right now it means a hundred and fifty dollars, more or less, every month. You could live comfortably on two-thirds of that, if you wanted to. What I wanted to talk about was the ‘what to do about it’ aspect.”
“Where do we start?”
“I can’t decide what you are to do about anything, but it seems to me that the very first thing to do is to bring you up to date so that you will fit in twenty-eighty-six. It is a rather different world. You must learn a lot of new customs and a century-and-a-half of history and a number of new techniques and so forth. When you are up to date, you can decide for yourself what you want to do—and then you can do anything you want.”
“It sounds to me as if I’d be too old to want to do anything by that time.”
“No, I don’t think so. You can start right away. I’ve got a number of ideas. In the first place, while I haven’t very many useful books in this house, I do have a pretty fair history of the United States and a short world history. Yes, and a dictionary and a fairly recent encyclopedia. Oh and I nearly forgot, an abridged code of customs that I had when I was a kid. Then I am going to call Berkeley and ask for a group of records on a number of subjects that you can play on the televue whenever you like. That will really be your most beneficial and easiest way to learn in a hurry.”
“How does it work?”
“It’s very simple. You saw my act in the televue tonight. Well, it’s just as easy to put a record on it and see and hear anything that you want to that has ever been recorded. If you wanted to, you could see President Berzowski open Congress in 2001 January. Or if you like, you could see any of my dances from records.”
“I’ll do that first. To hell with history!”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You will study until you are oriented. If you want to see me dance, I’ll dance for you.”
“OK, right now.”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “Be serious. Besides the records, I’ll think over who among my friends can help and I’ll get them to come talk with you and explain the things that I can’t.”
“Why do you take all this trouble about me, Dian’?”
“Why, anybody would, Perry. You were sick and cold and needed help.”
“Yes, but now you undertake to educate me and set me on my feet.”
“Well, I want to do it. Won’t you let me?”
“Well, maybe. But look here, oughtn’t I to get out of your house and find some other place to stay?”
“Why, Perry? You’re welcome here. Aren’t you comfortable?”
“Oh, of course. But how about your reputation? What will people say?”
“I don’t see how it could affect my reputation; you don’t dance. And what does it matter what people think—all they could think is that we were companions, if they bothered to think about it at all. Besides very few people except my friends will know. It is strictly in the private sphere of action. The custom is quite clear.”
“What custom?”
“Why, the custom which says that what people do out of public service or private employment is private as long as it doesn’t violate the other customs. Where people go, what they eat, or drink, or wear, or how they entertain themselves, or who they love, or how they play are strictly in the private sphere. So one must not print anything about it or broadcast it, or speak about it in a public place, without specific permission.”
“Paging Walter Winchell! What in the world is in your newspapers?”
“Lots of things. Political news and ships’ movements and public events and announcements of amusements and most anything about public officials—though their private sphere is much narrower. It’s an exception in the custom. And new creations in clothing and architecture and food and new scientific discoveries and lists of new televue records and broadcasts, and new commercial projects. Who’s Walter Winchell?”