Mary was a misfit.
She didn't want to bebeautiful. And she wasted time doing madthings—like eating and sleeping.
The Beautiful People
By Charles Beaumont
MARY sat quietly and watchedthe handsome man's legsblown off; watched further as the great ship began to crumple andbreak into small pieces in the middleof the blazing night. She fidgetedslightly as the men and the partsof the men came floating dreamilythrough the wreckage out into theawful silence. And when the meteoriteshower came upon the men,gouging holes through everything,tearing flesh and ripping bones,Mary closed her eyes.
"Mother."
Mrs. Cuberle glanced up fromher magazine.
"Hmm?"
"Do we have to wait much longer?"
"I don't think so. Why?"
Mary said nothing but looked atthe moving wall.
"Oh, that." Mrs. Cuberle laughed[6]and shook her head. "That tiredold thing. Read a magazine, Mary,like I'm doing. We've all seen thata million times."
"Does it have to be on, Mother?"
"Well, nobody seems to be watching.I don't think the doctor wouldmind if I switched it off."
Mrs. Cuberle rose from the couchand walked to the wall. She depresseda little button and the lifewent from the wall, flickering andglowing.
Mary opened her eyes.
"Honestly," Mrs. Cuberle said toa woman sitting beside her, "you'dthink they'd try to get somethingelse. We might as well go to themuseum and watch the first landingon Mars. The Mayoraka Disaster—really!"
The woman replied without distractingher eyes from the magazinepage. "It's the doctor's idea.Psychological."
Mrs. Cuberle opened her mouthand moved her head up and downknowingly.
"Ohhh. I should have knownthere was some reason. Still, whowatches it?"
"The children do. Makes themthink, makes them grateful or something."
"Ohhh."
"Psychological."
Mary picked up a magazine andleafed through the pages. All photographs,of women and men. Womenlike Mother and like the others inthe room; slender, tanned, shapely,beautiful women; and men withlarge muscles and shiny hair. Womenand men, all looking alike, allperfect and beautiful. She foldedthe magazine and wondered howto answer the questions that wouldbe asked.
"Mother—"
"Gracious, what is it now! Can'tyou sit still for a minute?"
"But we've been here threehours."
Mrs. Cuberle sniffed.
"Do—do I really have to?"
"Now don't be silly, Mary. Afterthose terrible things you told me, ofcourse you do."
An olive-skinned woman in atransparent white uniform cameinto the reception room.
"Cuberle. Mrs. Zena Cuberle?"
"Yes."
"Doctor will see you now."
Mrs. Cuberle took Mary's handand they walked behind the nursedown a long corridor.
A man who seemed in his middletwenties looked up from a desk. Hesmiled and gestured toward two adjoiningchairs.
"Well—well."
"Doctor Hortel, I—"