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nine. So seventeen kids is nominal.
Big family.”
    “It
must be nice. I’ve never seen much of line families, not many in Hong
Kong. Plenty of clans and groups and lots of polyandries but the line way never
took hold.”
    “Is
nice. Our marriage nearly a hundred years old. Dates back to Johnson City and
first transportees—twenty-one links, nine alive today, never a divorce.
Oh, it’s a madhouse when our descendants and inlaws and kinfolk get
together for birthday or wedding—more kids than seventeen, of course; we
don’t count ‘em after they marry or I’d have
‘children’ old enough to be my grandfather. Happy way to live,
never much pressure. Take me. Nobody woofs if I stay away a week and
don’t phone. Welcome when I show up. Line marriages rarely have divorces.
How could I do better?”
    “I
don’t think you could. Is it an alternation? And what’s the
spacing?”
    “Spacing
has no rule, just what suits us. Been alternation up to latest link, last year.
We married a girl when alternation called for boy. But was special.”
    “Special
how?”
    “My
youngest wife is a granddaughter of eldest husband and wife. At least
she’s granddaughter of Mum—senior is ‘Mum’ or sometimes
Mimi to her husbands—and she may be of Grandpaw—but not related to
other spouses. So no reason not to marry back in, not even consanguinuity okay
in other types of marriage. None, nit, zero. And Ludmilla grew up in our family
because her mother had her solo, then moved to Novylen and left her with us.
    “Milla
didn’t want to talk about marrying out when old enough for us to think
about it. She cried and asked us please to make an exception. So we did.
Grandpaw doesn’t figure in genetic angle—these days his interest in
women is more gallant than practical. As senior husband he spent our wedding
night with her—but consummation was only formal. Number-two husband,
Greg, took care of it later and everybody pretended. And everybody happy.
Ludmilla is a sweet little thing, just fifteen and pregnant first time.”
    “Your
baby?”
    “Greg’s,
I think. Oh, mine too, but in fact was in Novy Leningrad. Probably
Greg’s, unless Milla got outside help. But didn’t, she’s a
home girl. And a wonderful cook.”
    Lift
rang; took care of it, folded down table, opened chairs, paid bill and sent
lift up. “Throw it to pigs?”
    “I’m
coming! Mind if I don’t do my face?”
    “Come
in skin for all of me.”
    “For
two dimes I would, you much-married man.” She came out quickly, blond
again and hair slicked back and damp. Had not put on black outfit; again in
dress I bought. Red suited her. She sat down, lifted covers off food.
“Oh, boy! Mannie, would your family marry me? You’re a dinkum
provider.”
    “I’ll
ask. Must be unanimous.”
    “Don’t
crowd yourself.” She picked up sticks, got busy. About a thousand
calories later she said, “I told you I was a Free Woman. I wasn’t,
always.”
    I
waited. Women talk when they want to. Or don’t.
    “When
I was fifteen I married two brothers, twins twice my age and I was terribly
happy.”
    She
fiddled with what was on plate, then seemed to change subject. “Mannie,
that was just static about wanting to marry your family. You’re safe from
me. If I ever marry again—unlikely but I’m not opposed to
it—it would be just one man, a tight little marriage, earthworm style.
Oh, I don’t mean I would keep him dogged down. I don’t think it
matters where a man eats lunch as long as he comes home for dinner. I would try
to make him happy.”
    “Twins
didn’t get along?”
    “Oh,
not that at all. I got pregnant and we were all delighted … and I had it,
and it was a monster and had to be eliminated. They were good to me about it.
But I can read print. I announced a divorce, had myself sterilized, moved from
Novylen to Hong Kong, and started over as a Free Woman.”
    “Wasn’t
that drastic? Male parent oftener than female; men are exposed more.”
    “Not
in my