John Brunner - The Whole Man

Howson followed his movement. Charma was lifting her newly filled glass to him. “Your doing?” she said. “Thanks! And gulped it thirstily. Small wonder, after all the shouting she had done.

“Rudi!” Jay said, displaying his wrist-watch. “Things ought to be waking up at Clara’s now. Think we could drop by ?”

“Good idea,” said Howson’s new friend. “Say, this guy here is a doctor. We ought to tell Brian and see how his face falls, no?”

“He’d never believe you,” Charma said. She drained her glass.

“And even if he did,” supplemented Jay, “he has more special exceptions than conforming cases in the scheme already.”

“We should prove it to him, then,” insisted Rudi. “Is he going to be at Clara’s this evening ?”

“When did you know that man miss a party?” countered Jay.

“Okay!” Rudi turned to Howson. “That is, if you’re not doing anything. I’m sorry — I seem to have made plans for you — uh—?”

“Gerry,” Howson supplied. “Well, as a matter of fact…”

As a matter of fact I’d love to go to this party. If I want to learn to face people, I’d like to start with people like these—iconoclastic, angry about prejudice, willing to accept me even if only because I’m out of the ordinary.

“Clara won’t mind an extra guest,” Rudi prompted, mistaking his hesitation. “We’ll take along a couple of packs of beer, and everything will be okay.”

“ In that case,” Howson said, rising,” I’ll surely come.”

On the threshold, waiting while Jay and Rudi manoeuvred the big packs of beer-cans through the narrow door, he suggested, Taking a cab ?”

Jay gave a hoot of laughter, elbowing back the door.

“Jay. you’re an unobservant bastard,” said Rudi severely. “Just because you’re long-legged and bursting with vitamins you think everyone shares your passion for sore feet. Now I, since I’m observant, happen to know that Gerry here has a wad of cash big enough to buy us a cab for the trip. Charma, get out in the gutter and pull up your skirt!”

Howson was in the grip of an excitement so violently contrasted with his earlier depression that he had to try and analyse his reactions for the sake of his own peace of mind.

Otherwise he would have lost much of his pleasure in subconscious worrying.

What was it that had hit him so hard ? He achieved a working explanation by the time the cab stopped.

First off, he’d missed this kind of people. Which was hardly to be wondered at. One of the first benefits of an improved standard of living, as he had already been superficially aware, is to postpone the age at which a person’s opinions congeal for life. Someone forced by poverty to avoid spending on enlarging his horizons the energy and time needed simply for staying alive adopted the attitudes, ready-made, of his environment. This was why students formed the backbone of so many revolutionary movements, for instance.

Improved standards of living hadn’t made much impact on his early life. When his mother died, fifteen years previously, the effects were still filtering down to his level.

But ten minutes with Rudi and his friends had informed him that this was something he wanted to catch up on, and he had a chance not to be missed.

When Rudi picked up Howson’s bag for him and gave him a hand out of the cab, he didn’t raise an objection. It wasn’t a reminder of his plight, somehow. Not this time, in this company.

As he scrambled up the narrow, ill-lit staircase of the apartment house they had come to, he found himself wondering whether people who hadn’t accepted the conventional attitudes towards cripples were also free of prejudice about telepathists But he didn’t feel inclined to find out directly. That was too delicate a subject; he’d best postpone it for a while.

Detachment returned to temper his wave of heady enthusiasm, however, when he had been at the party an hour or so. The premises were small — a bed-sitting-room, with minuscule kitchen adjacent and a shared lavatory on the landing—and there were a lot of people crammed into the place. Not apparently, including Brian, the man he was supposed to meet but including a great many other students from the university.

For the first few minutes he was shown around as a wrench to be tossed into Brian’s works. Then, though, after a rapid series of introductions, the three who had brought him became embroiled in conversation with older friends and left him to his own devices.

He was at two disadvantages then: his stature made it hard for other people to keep him in on an argument unless they were sitting and he was standing, and there was little room left to sit anywhere but on the floor; moreover, his voice was weak and hard to follow at the best of times, and here there was a tremendous amount of noise to combat — voices raised in violent disagreement, cups and glasses and bottles clattering, even before someone arrived with a concertina and began to play regardless of who cared to listen.

He was beginning to feel lost and out of place when he noticed that someone had vacated a few square inches of the edge of the divan bed, next to the wall. He sat down promptly before he missed the opportunity; someone came by and poured him a fresh drink, and after that no one paid him any attention for some while.

He occupied himself in eavesdropping telepathically on a number of the conversations — it was impolite, but it was too interesting to be forgone. It was obvious that the new branch of the university was a very good one, and the instruction must be of high quality. Even the well-adapted telepathists among the students he had associated with in Ulan Bator hadn’t displayed such keenness in the use of their intellect.

Of course, the comparison was hardly fair. All the student telepathists he had known well were outnumbered by the crowd in this one room.

Group A (he categorized them in the course of a brief survey): two girls in yellow, apparently sisters, and a man of twenty-five or so; subject under examination, religion as a necessity of human social evolution. Group B: Jay, whom he knew, a long-haired boy still in his teens, another with a slight stammer getting in the way of his arguments, and a plain girl with a fringe; subject, a revue for which Jay was being persuaded to do the decor. Group C: a beautiful girl of twenty and a man in a red sweater; subject, each other. Howson felt a stir of envy and firmly diverted his attention.

Group D: four men with very loud voices standing close to the concertina-player; subject, sparked off by the instrument, the influence of new musical devices on the work of contemporary composers. One of the group kept trying to talk about his own work, and the others kept forcibly steering him away from it. (Where was Rudi, anyway ? Oh yes, circling the room pouring drinks.)

Group E: two girls, one slightly drunk, and two men; subject, the drunker girl’s view on modern poetry. Group F: three men, two in open shirts and one in a sweater; subject, the impossibility of living up to one’s ideals in later life.

And so on. Howson was flirting dangerously with the idea of joining in one of these conversations (any of them bar Group C) by telepathic means, when he realized the suggestion probably came out of his latest drink and stopped himself with a sigh. Looking about him with his physical eyesight, he became aware that a girl had sat down next to him while he was distracted, and was now looking at him with an amused expression. She was young and rather attractive, despite wearing a blue cardigan which clashed horribly with the green of her eyes.

“Good evening,” she said with mocking formality. “Meet me. I’m your hostess.”