“Certainly my inner world will never be a peaceful place of bloom; it will have some peace, and occasional riots of bloom, but always a little fight going on too. There is no way I can be peacefully happy in this society and in this skin. I am committed to Uneasy Street. I like it; it is my idea that this street leads to the future, and that I am being true to a way of life which is not here yet, but is more real than what is here.”

“I've had too many experiences in my life of being the first woman in some damned occupation.”

“—so much more opportunity now." Her voice trails off."Hurrah for women's lib, eh?""The lib?" Impatiently she leans forward and tugs the serape straight. "Oh, that's doomed."The apocalyptic word jars my attention."What do you mean, doomed?"She glances at me as if I weren't hanging straight either and says vaguely, "Oh …""Come on, why doomed? Didn't they get that equal rights bill?"Long hesitation. When she speaks again her voice is different."Women have no rights, Don, except what men allow us. Men are more aggressive and powerful, and they run the world. When the next real crisis upsets them, our so-called rights will vanish like—like that smoke. We'll be back where we always were: property. And whatever has gone wrong will be blamed on our freedom, like the fall of Rome was. You'll see."Now all this is delivered in a gray tone of total conviction. The last time I heard that tone, the speaker was explaining why he had to keep his file drawers full of dead pigeons."Oh, come on. You and your friends are the backbone of the system; if you quit, the country would come to a screeching halt before lunch."No answering smile."That's fantasy." Her voice is still quiet. "Women don't work that way. We're a—a toothless world." She looks around as if she wanted to stop talking. "What women do is survive. We live by ones and twos in the chinks of your world-machine.""Sounds like a guerrilla operation." I'm not really joking, here in the 'gator den. In fact, I'm wondering if I spent too much thought on mahogany logs."Guerrillas have something to hope for." Suddenly she switches on a jolly smile. "Think of us as opossums, Don. Did you know there are opossums living all over? Even in New York City."I smile back with my neck prickling. I thought I was the paranoid one."Men and women aren't different species, Ruth. Women do everything men do.""Do they?" Our eyes meet, but she seems to be seeing ghosts between us in the rain. She mutters something that could be "My Lai" and looks away. "All the endless wars …" Her voice is a whisper. "All the huge authoritarian organizations for doing unreal things. Men live to struggle against each other; we're just part of the battlefield. It'll never change unless you change the whole world. I dream sometimes of—of going away—" She checks and abruptly changes voice. "Forgive me, Don, it's so stupid saying all this.""Men hate wars too, Ruth," I say as gently as I can."I know." She shrugs and climbs to her feet. "But that's your problem, isn't it?"End of communication. Mrs. Ruth Parsons isn't even living in the same world with me.”

“If I could describe "human being" I would be more than I am - and would probably be living in the future, because I think of human beings as something to be realized ahead....But clearly "human beings" have something to do with the luminous image you see in a bright child's eyes - the exploring, wondering eagerly grasping, undestructive quest for life. I see that undescribed spirit as central to us all.”

“And here is our girl, looking--If possible, worse than before. (You thought this was Cinderella transistorized?)”

“I see her first while the Mexicana 727 is barreling down to Cozumel Island. I come out of the can and lurch into her seat, saying "Sorry," at a double female blur. The near blur nods quietly. The younger one in the window seat goes on looking out. I continue down the aisle, registering nothing. Zero. I never would have looked at them or thought of them again. - 'The Women Men Don't See' (opening)”

“Bethesda … Would I be wrong in guessing you work for Uncle Sam?""Why, yes. You must be very familiar with Washington, Mr. Fenton. Does your work bring you there often?"Anywhere but on our sandbar the little ploy would have worked. My hunter's gene twitches."Which agency are you with?"She gives up gracefully. "Oh, just GSA records. I'm a librarian."Of course. I know her now, all the Mrs. Parsonses in records divisions, accounting sections, research branches, personnel and administration offices. Tell Mrs. Parsons we need a recap on the external service contracts for fiscal '73. - 'The Women Men Don't See”