"I don't have a soul. That's what I've been telling you."

"Oh, stop it! You were born in Seattle. Your father was an electronics engineer; your mother was a pediatrician. You lost them in the quake. You told us all about them-you showed us pictures."

'My mother was a test tube; my father was a knife.' Vickie, there may be a million or more artificial people whose 'birth records' were 'destroyed' in the destruction of Seattle. No way to count them as their lies are never assembled. After what happened just this month there will start being lots of people of my sort who were 'born' in Acapulco. We have to find loopholes like that to avoid being persecuted by the ignorant and the prejudiced."

"Meaning I'm ignorant and prejudiced!"

"Meaning you are a sweet girl who was fed a pack of lies by your elders. I'm trying to correct that. But if the shoe fits, you can lie in it."

I shut up. Vickie didn't kiss me good-night. We were a long time getting to sleep.

The next day each of us pretended that the argument had never taken place. Vickie did not mention Ellen; I did not mention artificial persons. But it spoiled what had started out to be a merry outing. We got the shopping done and caught the evening shuttle home. I did not do as I had threatened-I did not call Ellen as soon as we were home. I did not forget Ellen; I simply hoped that waiting a while might mellow the situation. Cowardly, I suppose.

Early the following week Brian invited me to go with him while he inspected a piece of land for a client. It was a long pleasant ride with lunch at a licensed country hotel-a fricasee billed as hogget although almost certainly mutton, washed down by tankards of mild. We ate out under the trees.

After the sweet-a berry tart, quite good-Brian said, "Marjorie, Victoria came to me with a very odd story."

"So? What was it?"

"My dear, please believe that I would not mention this were not Vickie so troubled by it." He paused.

I waited. "Upset by what, Brian?"

"She claims that you told her that you are a living artifact masquerading as a human being. I'm sorry but that's what she said."

"Yes, I told her that. Not in those words."

I did not add any explanation. Presently Brian said gently, "May I ask why?"

"Brian, Vickie was saying some very silly things about Tongans, and I was trying to make her see that they were both silly and wrong-that she was wronging Ellen by it. I am very much troubled about Ellen. The day I arrived home you shushed me about her, and I have kept quiet. But I can't keep quiet much longer. Brian, what are we going to do about Ellen? She's your daughter and mine; we can't ignore how she is being mistreated. What shall we do?"

"I do not necessarily agree that something should be done, Marjorie. Please don't change the subject. Vickie is quite unhappy. I am attempting to straighten out the misunderstanding."

I answered, "I have not changed the subject. Injustice to Ellen is the subject and I won't drop it. Is there any respect in which Ellen's husband is objectionable? Other than prejudgment against him because he is Tongan?"

"None that I know of. Although, in my opinion, it was inconsiderate of Ellen to marry a man who had not even been introduced to her family. It does not show a decent respect for the people who have loved her and cared for her all her life."

"Wait a moment, Brian. As Vickie tells it, Ellen asked to bring him home for inspection-as I was brought home-and Anita refused to permit it. Whereupon Ellen married him. True?"

"Well, yes. But Ellen was headstrong and hasty. I don't think she should have done so without talking to her other parents. I was quite hurt by it."

"Did she try to speak to you? Did you make any attempt to talk to her?"

"Marjorie, by the time I knew of it, it was a fait accompli."

"So I hear. Brian, ever since I got home I have been hoping that someone would explain to me what happened. According to Vickie none of this was ever settled in family council. Anita refused to let Ellen bring her beloved home. The rest of Ellen's parents either did not know or did not interfere with Anita's, uh, cruelty. Yes, cruelty. Whereupon the child got married. Whereupon Anita compounded her initial cruelty by a grave injustice: She refused Ellen her birthright, her share of the family's wealth. Is all this true?"

"Marjorie, you were not here. The rest of us-six out of seven- acted as wisely as we could in a difficult situation. I don't think it is proper of you to come along afterwards and criticize what we have done-upon my word, I don't."

"Dear, I don't mean to offend you. But my very point is that six of you have not done anything. Anita, acting alone, has done things that seem to me to be cruel and unjust... and the rest of you stood aside and let her get away with it. No family decisions, just Anita's decisions. If this is true, Brian-and correct me if I'm wrong-then I feel compelled to ask for a full executive session of all husbands and wives to correct this cruelty by inviting Ellen and her husband to visit home, and to correct the injustice by paying to Ellen her fair share of the family's wealth, or at least to acknowledge the debt if it can't be liquidated at once. Will you tell me your opinion of that?"

Brian drummed his nails on the tabletop. "Marjorie, that's a simplistic view of a complex situation. Will you admit that I love Ellen and have her welfare in mind quite as much as you do?"

"Certainly, darling!"

"Thank you. I agree with you that Anita should not have refused to let Ellen bring her young man home. Indeed, if Ellen had seen him against the background of her own home, with its gentle ways and its traditions, she might well have decided that he was not for her. Anita stampeded Ellen into a foolish marriage-and I have told her so. But the matter cannot be immediately corrected by inviting them here. You can see that. Let's agree that Anita should receive them warmly and graciously... but it's God's own truth that she won't-if she has them shoved down her throat."

He grinned at me and I was forced to grin in return. Anita can be charming... and she can be incredibly cold, rude, if it suits her.

Brian went on: "Instead, I'll have reason to make a trip to Tonga in a couple of weeks and this will let me get well acquainted without having Anita at my elbow-"

"Good! Take me along-pretty please?"

"It would annoy Anita."

"Brian, Anita has considerably more than annoyed me. I won't refrain from visiting Ellen on that account."

"Mmm... would you refrain from doing something that might damage the welfare of all of us?"

"If it were pointed out to me, yes. I might ask for explanation."

"You will have it. But let me deal with your second point. Of course Ellen will get every penny that is coming to her. But you will concede that there is no urgency about paying it to her. Hasty marriages often do not last long. And, while I have no proof of it, it is quite possible that Ellen has been taken in by a fortune hunter. Let's wait a bit and see how anxious this chap is to lay hands on her money. Isn't that prudent?"

I had to admit it. He continued: "Marjorie, my love, you are especially dear to me and to all of us because we see too little of you. It makes each of your trips home a fresh honeymoon for all of us. But, because you are away most of the time, you don't understand why the rest of us are always careful to keep Anita soothed down."

"Well- No, I don't. It should work both ways."

"In dealing with the law and with people I have found a vast difference between 'should' and 'is.' I've lived with Anita longest of any of us; I've learned to live with her little ways. What you may not realize is that she is the glue that holds the family together."

"How, Brian?"