The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

“You aren’t putting me on?”

“I’d swear by a stack of Bibles, if any existed.”

“Briefly, it’s a title which the members of the women’s liberation movement in the sixties adopted. Miss and Mrs. were too indicative of male sexual attitudes. To be a Miss was to be unmarried, which automatically evoked contempt, consciously or unconsciously, on the part of the male, if the Miss were past marriageable age. It implied that something was lacking in the woman, and also that the Miss must be dying to be referred to as Mrs. That is, without an identity of her own, regarded as an appendage to her husband, a sec­ond-class citizen. Why should a Miss, for that matter, be known by her father’s name? Why not her mother’s?”

“In the latter case,” our intrepid replied, “the name would still be a man’s, the woman’s father’s name.”

“Exactly. That is why I changed my name from Johnetta Georgette Redd-you’ll notice that both my so-called Chris­tian names are feminizations of masculine names-I changed it to Jill Gulbirra. My father raised hell about that, even my mother protested strongly. But she was a typical Aunt Dora-brainwashed.”

”Interesting,” Mr. Bligh said. “Gulbirra? What kind of a name is that? Slavic? And why did you choose it?”

“No, it’s Australian aborigine, you dummy. A gulbirra is a kangaroo that catches dogs and eats them.”

“A carnivorous kangaroo? I thought they were all vegetarians.”

“Well, actually, it may not have existed. But the abos claimed that it did exist in the outlands. It may have been mythical, but what’s the difference? It’s the symbolism that counts.”

“So you identify with the gulbirra? I can imagine what the dogs symbolize.”

At this point, Miz Gulbirra smiled so terrifyingly that your correspondent felt compelled to down a snort of the Dutch courage he always carries in his shoulderbag.

“Not that I chose that name because I identify with, or sympathize with, blackfellow culture,” the Miz said. “I am one-quarter abo, but so what? It was a male chauvinist culture through and through, women were mere objects, subject to slavery, they did all the hard work and they were often beaten by their fathers and husbands. A lot of Cauca­sian males have sentimentalized about the destruction of abo society, but I personally thought it was a good thing. Of course, I deplore the suffering that went along with its disintegration.”

“Deploration, unlike defloration, is usually managed without pain,” Mr. Bligh said.

“Virginity! That’s another male myth, invented solely to aggrandize the male ego and enforce his opinions about his property rights,” Miz Gulbirra said bitterly. “Fortunately, that attitude changed considerably during my lifetime. But there are still plenty of pigs around, fossil boars, I called them, who . . .”

“That’s all very interesting,” the dauntless dared to inter­rupt. “But you can reserve your opinions for the Letters to the Editor page. Mr. Bagg will print anything you say, no matter how scurrilous. Our readers just now would like to know what your professional plans are. Just how do you see yourself as contributing to Project Airship, as it’s officially called? Just where do you think you’ll fit into the hierarchy?”

By now, the heavy acrid fumes of marijuana overrode all others. A wild, fierce light glittered in her drug-expanded pupils. Your correspondent felt it necessary to expand his rapidly shrinking dauntless state with another pull on the divine bottle.

“By all logic and by right of superior knowledge, experi­ence , and capability,” she said slowly but loudly, “I should be in charge of the project. And I should be captain of the airship! I’ve checked out everybody’s qualifications, and there’s no doubt at all that I am by far the best qualified.

“So why am I not put in charge of the construction? Why am I not even considered as a candidate for the captaincy? Why?”

“Don’t tell me,” your intrepid answered. Possibly he was overly emboldened by the liquid lava coursing through his veins and dulling his otherwise fine sensibilities. “Don’t tell me. Let me hazard a guess. Could it be, I’m just groping for an explanation, mind you, could it be that you are rele­gated to an inferior position because you are only a woman?”