“You look very tired still,” I said. “If you’re not able to talk …”
“I can talk,” he said. “Have you forgotten how tough I am?”
I smiled and squeezed his hand. “Never.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. This wasn’t surprising. “Here’s the question. Marguerite explained that having your period isbecause of your body making a nest for the baby, then getting rid of the nest—sodisgusting—if there’s no baby, but if it’s true, why isn’t she pregnant too? Don’t you want a kid?”
Joe stared at her. “This is the topic you’re burning to discuss with your brother?”
“If nobody else has the guts to tell me.”
Joe looked at me.“Youdidn’t tell her?”
“Imagine how much your mother will dislike me if I do,” I said. “I’m afraid that in this matter, I am indeed ‘chicken.’”
Joe said, “OK, then. Plunging in.” He blew his nose—on a sort of handkerchief made of paper; these had been a revelation to me—and said, “You use birth control, that’s how. Some people think it’s wrong—Catholics, mostly?—”
“But Marguerite’s Catholic,” Sophie said.
“Yes,” I said, “but in this matter, I don’t believe the Church is correct. The priest will tell you that God wishes you to have as many babies as come your way, but having too many can be very difficult for one’s health.”
“And one’s wallet,” Joe said.
“OK,” Sophie said, “but how?”
“There are different ways,” Joe said. “One is a device that women wear, uh, inside, coated with a jelly that kills the sperm—that’s the man’s contribution—and keeps it from fertilizing the egg—the woman’s contribution. Only a fertilized egg develops into a baby.”
“And when it does,” I said, “and the process begins,thatis when one needs the nest. It’s similar in chickens, except that the egg is outside the chicken’s body and has a shell. If it isn’t fertilized by a rooster, there can be no chick. If itisfertilized, the hen sits on the eggs in a nest and keeps them warm, so the chicks can grow inside.” Joe hadn’t mentioned condoms, and this was fortunate. I couldn’t see how he could possibly describe them to his sister.
Which was when Sophie said, “OK, but how does the sperm get to the egg?”
“Uh …” Joe said, and looked at me. “Help.”
What had Mrs. Stark been thinking of, not to tell Sophie these things? This was surely a dangerous lack of knowledge. I threw all caution to the wind and said, “The rooster covers the hen and ejects a fluid containing his sperm into her opening, of which a chicken has only one. Thus the sperm can fertilize the egg as it forms—beforethe shell develops around it, of course.” There; we’d kept it at chickens. I was rather proud of myself for that.
“What do you mean, ‘a chicken has only one?’” Sophie asked.
“One opening,” I said, “from which she deposits her eggs, and also her … her excretions.”
“That’s disgusting,” Sophie said.
“Maybe,” I said, and decided to add, “Human females have three openings, which you will know, of course. This is perhaps less disgusting.”
“A part for every purpose,” Joe said.
“So the blood doesn’t come from …” Sophie said.
Honestly. EvenIhadn’t been this ignorant, but then, therehadbeenthe servants. And the perching. And the baboons. “No,” I said. “You may wish to feel down there with your hand during your next bleeding time. Three openings.”
“All very informative,” Sophie said, “except that you still haven’t explainedhow.”
Joe covered his face with his hand. No help there, so I took a breath and explained how. Sophie stared at me, stared at Joe, and said, “You’re kidding.”
“No,” I said. “It’s a very lovely thing, if oneisin love. If one is married. It’s a very great closeness.”
“Well,I’mnever doing it,” Sophie said.
“This is, of course, your choice,” I said.
