“They’re biologists, Bee! They’d be sure to notice!”
Bee laughed and shook her head. “They’re plant biologists. They know nothing about mammalian reproduction. And they don’t want to know about human reproduction. They like me because I work hard and do good work and keep up with all the teaching they give me, and because I can teach the first years how to graft and don’t mind getting my hands stained.” Bee’s hands were so permanently stained with dyes used for staining cells that Pat had come to think of it as normal. “They won’t ask questions if I don’t say anything, but if I do say anything they’ll be forced to get rid of me. And while you like teaching, you could get a job teaching anywhere. Biological research isn’t like that. And we couldn’t all four live on your guidebook income and what we make selling eggs and honey.”
“All four,” Pat said, her eyes moist. “Do you really think we could do it?”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Bee said.
It was a month later and they were almost ready to leave for Italy when Bee gave up trying to find a way to do it. The legitimate possibilities were closed off immediately. No doctor would prescribe AI for two single women, either in Britain or the US. The procedure wasn’t available at all in Italy, where Bee suggested that outright bribery would probably have worked to get them on the list. Nor would any of the vets she knew who were doing it routinely with cows agree to try it on humans. “I don’t want to give up, but it would seem almost easier to do it the old-fashioned way,” Bee said as they were sitting down to dinner.
“I’ve never—” Pat hesitated, looking at her plate. “I mean, with a man.”
“Not with Mark when you were engaged?” Bee asked.
“Oh, I was so naive in those days. And Mark was so religious. I really don’t think either of us knew what we were doing. We barely kissed. I had no idea really what people did. I’m still a little hazy on what men and women do. I assume it’s pretty much the same only with the man putting his thing inside when he’s ready to orgasm?”
Bee looked away. “It’s not the same at all,” she said. “I had some unpleasant experiences when I was evacuated. The father of the family where I was billeted came into my room. It went on and on.”
“Do you think that’s why you’re a lesbian?” Pat asked.
Bee frowned, then very deliberately ate a carrot, chewing it hard. “I don’t think so,” she said, putting her fork down. “I mean that was repulsive, and he was a horrible man, making me promise not to say anything to his wife, saying I’d tempted him and it was all my fault. It took me a long time to realize that I hadn’t done anything different on the days when he came in than on the days when he didn’t. But it wasn’t the sex itself that was so awful. The worst thing was the guilt and all of that, not what he actually did. It wasn’t all that important. I think it would be giving it too much importance to say that it made me a lesbian. He was just—a thing that happened. As if I’d got caught in the rain and caught a chill. It would be ridiculous to say that’s why I love you. I’d have loved you anyway, no matter what happened before.”
“I think the same,” Pat said. “No matter what happened we’d have found each other.” She put her hand on Bee’s. “Do you think you could go through with that again, to have a baby?”
“I think so,” Bee said, uncertainly. “How about you?”
“I suppose so,” Pat said. “Do you think we should try and find somebody in Italy, or wait until we come home in the autumn?”
“Oh, wait until we come home!” Bee said immediately. “Italian men all think they’re God’s gift to women anyway, and even the nicest of our friends in Florence would behave as if everything he’d ever thought about lesbians really wanting men had been confirmed if we asked him.”
Pat shuddered.
“The other thing I thought was maybe you could ask Donald.” Bee picked up her fork again.
“Donald? Your brother Donald?”
“I’d really be related to your baby then,” Bee said.
“If only Oswald hadn’t been killed,” Pat said, immediately seeing the advantages. “It really is so unfair of biology to be organized this way so that we can’t just have each other’s babies the way we want to.”
“I sometimes think I should have been a man,” Bee agreed.
“I wouldn’t want you to be any different. You wouldn’t be you if you were a man.”
“Would you want to be a man, if you could just change?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.” Pat hesitated. “Being paid more and everything being so easy—getting a mortgage and jobs and being respected without needing to struggle. But I do like being me.”
“Yes, me too,” Bee said.
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