15
FOR LIFE
When David had left, I asked Joe, “Would you like to take a walk?” I wanted to go back to bed with him, but I’d heard a door open and close upstairs, and it was fifteen minutes to seven. He seemed scraped raw to me, and surely, when one felt like that, quiet and fresh air were best.
“Sure,” he said. No more than that, but it was enough for me.
We walked to the top of the hill, then turned to the right and walked some more. Joe seemed to be headed somewhere specific, and I held his hand and let him lead, for this was his journey. He didn’t talk, and neither did I. I looked at the beautiful houses instead—many were in another style here, possibly Georgian? and built of stone. The sidewalks were neat, and a few other people walked along them, but not many. Germans would have been out walking on such a fine morning, for although it was chilly, the sun was shining and the wind blowing agreeably. Particularly on a Sunday, the day of rest, one would wish to take a stroll and visit one’s friends. Here, walking was perhaps not so common; the visiting, I assumed, would more likely be undertaken by auto. I sawmore walkers in Palo Alto, but that was because we were surrounded by students, who didn’t yet own cars and walked or rode bicycles instead.
I thought about that and not about Joe, because one thing I knew from my life to date: very little is solved by worrying about it. I’d done my best for him, and I’d keep doing it. And one cannot, after all, force another person to think in a different way, no matter how much love is in his heart.
Joe glanced down at me, then, and asked, “Still OK if we walk up through Lafayette Park?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m very strong, you know, from all the bicycling.”
“You’re very strong in every way,” he said, which was pleasant to hear.
The park was lovely, although not as formal as it would have been in Germany, for it had no statues and fountains at all. What it did have were views. Views of the city, with its undulating coastline and the traffic of ships, all laid out below like a picture postcard. Views of the hills opposite, in all directions but one, for to the west, there would be only the sea, stretching all the way to … Japan, maybe? What a thing it was to live at the edge of a vast continent! What an offering for the imagination! And views, most of all, of the bay. The water was rougher today, but I could see a few white sails in the distance; pleasure boaters even in the middle of December!
Joe said, “Let’s sit,” and we did, after he first brushed off the bench for me with his hand.
I said, once I’d sat and tucked my coat up around me, when we were both looking out at a vista of blue sky and bluer water, “You’re a most considerate husband. You should know this.”
“I wouldn’t say I’d done too well here lately.” Joe still hadmy hand, but he wasn’t looking at me, but instead frowning out to sea.
“This is very stupid,” I said. “Very wrong. It is a waste to treat love so, perhaps even a sin.” As you see, I’d already forgotten my own wise thoughts about not being able to force a man to change his mind.
He was at least looking at me now. “What?”
I said, “We have this thing between us, like Rilke, although Rilke, you know, was not as good at staying faithfully in love as he was at writing beautiful poems about it. But we, we two,aregood at it. How many trials have we come through already, and only felt our love grow stronger? It must be a sin not to … to appreciate that. To attempt to put that away, to say, ‘No, this is not good enough, for I am not perfect.’ Why should we want perfection? Why should we think we can achieve it? Surely that is only for God.”
Joe was smiling for the first time, and the line between his brows was gone. “Marguerite,” he said, “I think you are exceptionally good for me.”
“But of course I am,” I said. “I’m your wife, and I love you. What else could I do that is more important than that? So let’s have no more talk of failure, please. You say you’re worried about your studies. Isn’t that perfectly natural, when it matters a great deal that you do your best? How else would you …” I stopped. “There are so many English words I don’t know yet. I would wish to tell you in German, but I fear we’d be shot as spies. Also, I must learnthe words.Wie sagt man ‘motivieren’?”
“Motivate,” Joe said. “How else would I motivate myself to all that hard work, without a healthy dose of fear?”
“Not fear, I think, precisely,” I said. “A sense of great importance. You must tell me what I can do to help you study. Make cocoa for you, perhaps, in the evening, and possibly sweet biscuits? I don’t know how to do this, but Susie willteach me. Read the books along with you, if they’re difficult, and discuss them? Or not, if you’d rather not, though I’d like to learn the things you’re learning, especially things about America. A citizen should be informed. But if you need to spend more time in the library instead, you must do that, and not worry about me.”
“And what will you be doing,” Joe said, “when I’m spending those extra hours in the library? I’m supposed to ignore you, am I?”
“I’ll be getting a job, of course. It’s only sensible.”
“Now, wait just a minute,” Joe said.
I held up a hand. “I admit that I’m not yet very efficient with my housekeeping, but the carpet-sweeper does make the work go faster, and I’ve found a new powder for cleaning that is wonderful. I saw it in an advertisement inThe Ladies’ Home Journal.This is a housekeeping magazine and contains a great deal of useful information, although the fiction stories in it are rather silly, all tales of love and so forth, not witty or edifying as Dr. Müller’s books are. But for cleaning, the magazine is useful. The powder is called ‘Ajax,’ after the Greek warrior, you know, who was so strong. All one need do is sprinkle it in the bathtub or toilet and then scrub a bit, and there is no more ring. There’s a new polish for furniture also, so one doesn’t have to make it oneself, as in Germany. Which is fortunate, because I don’t know how to make it. So you see, the housework is really very little.”
Joe’s frown was back. “When you’ve been here barely three weeks? I wanted you to have some time to settle in. I knew I shouldn’t have said that, about the money. That’s not yours to worry about. It’s mine.”
“Nonsense. Of course it’s mine also. Or do you think me too brainless and helpless to be your … the Bible says ‘helpmeet.’ Is this a word one uses?”
“Not much,” Joe said, but he was starting to smile. “Partner, maybe?”
“That sounds like a business arrangement,” I said, “but marriageisa business arrangement, or at least a practical one. For a royal, though, most definitely it is a business arrangement.”
“So a guy marries a princess,” Joe said, “and immediately makes her a drudge? What, a reverse Cinderella story?” He was laughing a little inside, though, I thought.“Thatstory’s never going to be inThe Ladies’ Home Journal.”
“And what was I when I met you?” I asked. “A baker who was happy to have work to do, because I could care not only for myself but also for those I loved. I love you ten times more, so surely I should want to work ten times harder to care for you, as you’ve always done for me.”
