Rite of Passage

“Well, say you and I agree on everything, and I respect you, and you never do me any harm — like backbiting all the time for no good reason — and yet I can’t stand you. Or say there were somebody I ought to dislike — a total rat, somebody who’ll do anything if he sees advantage in it — and I like him. Can you separate liking from what a person does?”

Mr. Mbele smiled, as though the course of the conversation amused him. “Well, do you separate them?”

“I suppose I do,” I said.

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy didn’t say anything for a minute while he decided whether he did or whether he didn’t. I already knew the answer, having just worked it out myself. Everybody does, or there wouldn’t be charming sociallyaccepted bastards in the world.

Jimmy said, “I suppose I do, too.”

I said, “What I think I mean was should you separate them?”

“Isn’t it more to the point to ask whether it makes any difference if you do or not?”

“You mean, if you can’t help it anyway?”

“No,” Mr. Mbele said. “I meant do your emotions make a difference in your judgment of people that you like or dislike?”

Jimmy said, “Alicia MacReady? Everybody likes her, they say. Will that make any difference in what the Assembly decides?”

Alicia MacReady was the woman who was carrying an illegal baby. The question of what to do in the case had come up before the Council, but it hadn’t stayed there. She had apparently thought that she would get more lenient treatment if the Ship’s Assembly were to make the judgment, so before the Council could decide, she had opted to take the matter out of their hands. The Council had agreed, as in difficult or important cases they were likely to.

The Ship’s Assembly was a meeting of all the adults in the Ship, coming together in the amphitheater on Second Level, and voting. Since she was a popular person — I’d heard this only; until this had come up I had never heard of her or met her — the MacReady woman wanted to face the Assembly, hoping her friendships would count for more than they would in Council.

“That’s a good example,” Mr. Mebele said. “I don’t know if it will make a difference. I would suggest that since you can’t attend, you watch what goes on on your video. Then perhaps we can discuss the decision next time. This is just part of a larger problem, however: what constitutes proper conduct? That is, ethics. This is something an ordinologist” — a nod to Jimmy — “or a synthesist” — a nod toward me — “should be thoroughly familiar with. I’ll give you titles to start with. Take your time with them, and when you’re ready to talk, let me know.”

So he started us reading in ethics. He went to his book shelves and called off titles and authors for us to copy: Epicureans and Utilitarians; Stoics; Power Philosophers, both sophisticated and unsophisticated; and Humanists of several stripes. All these not to mention various religious ethical systems. If I’d known all this was to come out of my one simple, honestly prejudiced remarked, I would never have opened my mouth. Maybe there is a lesson in that, but if there is, I’ve never learned it; I still have an unbecoming tendency to open my mouth and get myself in trouble.

I saw Dr. Jerome on Wednesday, June I. I’d seen him once or twice a year ever since I could remember. He was of middle height, inclined to be portly, and like most doctors wore a beard. His was black. I’d asked him about it when I was much younger and he’d said, “It’s either to give our patients confidence or to give ourselves confidence. I’m not sure which.”

As he examined me, he talked as he always did, a constant flow of commentary directed half at me and half at himself, all given in an even, low-pitched voice. Its effect, and perhaps its intention, was to give reassurance in the same way that a horseman soothes a skittish colt with his voice. It was part of Dr. Jerome’s professional manner.

“Good enough, good enough. Sound. Good shape. Breathe in. Now, out. Good. Hmm-hum. Yes. Good enough.”

There’s always the question of how much you can believe of what a doctor says — he has one of those ethical problems in how much he can tell you — but I had no reason not to believe Dr. Jerome when he told me I was in perfectly sound shape. I was due for no treatments of any kind before starting Survival Class. I was in first-class condition.

“It’s always good to see you, Mia,” he said. “I wish everybody were in as good health. I might have a little more spare time.”

He said one other thing. When he took my height and weight, he said, “You’ve gained three inches since the last time you were here. That’s very good.”

Three inches. I wasn’t sure whether it was Daddy’s doing or nature, but I wasn’t displeased to hear it.

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