ze that
she is a challenge too great for me to overcome. I ask him why, if I
subconsciously hate Aunt Mattie, why I would care about how much
affection she gives to her flora collection. He says, ahah! We are
making progress.

He says he can't cure me--of what, I'm never clear--until I find the
means to cut down and destroy my Aunt Mattie.

This is all patent nonsense because Aunt Mattie is the rock, the firm
foundation in a universe of shifting values. Even her cliches are
precious to me because they are unchanging. On her, I can depend.

He tells Aunt Mattie his diagnoses and conclusions, too. Unethical?
Well now! Between a mere psychiatrist and my Aunt Mattie is there any
doubt about who shall say what is ethical?

After one of their long conferences about me she calls me into her
study, looks at me wordlessly, sadly, shakes her head, sighs--then
squares her shoulders until the shelf of her broad, although maiden,
bosom becomes huge enough to carry any burden, even the burden of my
alleged hate. This she bears bravely, even gratefully. I might resent
this needless pain the psychiatrist gives her, except that it really
seems to make her happier in some obscure way.

Perhaps she has some kind of guilt complex, and I am her deserved
punishment? Aunt Mattie with a guilt complex? Never! Aunt Mattie knows
she is right, and goes ahead.

So all his nonsense is completely ridiculous. I love my Aunt Mattie. I
adore my Aunt Mattie. I would never do anything to hurt my Aunt
Mattie.

Or, well, I didn't mean to hurt her, anyway. All I did was wink. I
only meant....

* * * * *

We were met at the space port of Capella IV by the planet
administrator, himself, one John J. McCabe.

It was no particular coincidence that I knew him. My school was
progressive. It admitted not only the scions of the established
families but those of the ambitious families as well. Its graduates,
naturally, went into the significant careers. Johnny McCabe was one of
the ambitious ones. We hadn't been anything like bosom pals at school;
but he'd been tolerant of me, and I'd admired him, and fitfully told
myself I should be more like him. Perhaps this was the reason Aunt
Mattie had insisted on this particular school, the hope that some of
the ambition would rub off on me.

Capella IV wasn't much of a post, not even for the early stages in a
young man's career, although, socially, it was perhaps the best
beginnin