Joe had his hands up now in surrender. “OK, OK. I give. For somebody who’s telling me she’s here to serve and help me, you’re sure an opinionated woman.”
“I have a strong will,” I said demurely. “I have this from my father.”
“I’ll bet,” Joe said, and now, we were both laughing. “But you’re not working as hard as you did in Germany. Not from three-thirty in the morning until four in the afternoon, you’re not. We just need alittlemore. And as for the carpet-sweeper and the feather-duster and all, I can use those as well as you can. As long as we don’t tell Mom.”
“That’s a very good idea,” I said. “We will have flexible minds, no?We’re living in the modern world, after all. You must give me the account book also. What do you call this?”
“The check register,” he said, “and the savings passbook.”
“Yes. These you must give to me. I’ll make our payments, and also make a notebook like my mother’s, in which I will draw lines with a ruler and be very systematic. I’ll tot up all our purchases in it, and we can look it over together. Perhapson a certain day of the week? Sunday, I think, which means I must buy a notebook very soon to be ready for next week. Then we’ll both know exactly how much money there is, and where we may be going wrong, too, so we can decide together whether you need a new hat, and whether I do. We’ll borrow books from the library to read—such a beautiful library there is in Palo Alto, and free for all to use! And play cards and listen to music on the radio and take our bicycles out with a picnic lunch once the weather is warmer. These are all free things to do, and very pleasant. And I’ll make more dishes of hamburger and invite your friends to join us, for one must entertain, and being gay is important after one has fought in war and suffered. But we will not, I think, offer cocktails. Beer, perhaps.”
Joe stretched his feet out before him, clasped his hands behind his neck, and sighed. I said, “What?”
He turned a laughing gaze on me. “I’m feeling light as a feather, that’s all, now that my tiny little wife has taken over the entire burden of our lives.”
“Not theentireburden,” I said. “Merely half. ‘Geteiltes Leid ist halbes Leid,’after all.”
“A problem shared is a problem halved,” he said.
“Exactly. Because this too is marriage, I think.”
“Was your mother like this?” he asked.
“Like what?” I was startled.
“This determined? This sure of herself?”
I had to think about that. “She certainly expressed herself less forcefully than I do.”
“You don’t say.” Joe was grinning now.
“But you see,” I said, “she was a queen. And a queen, you know, has a great deal of responsibility. If you prefer this other kind of wife, as inThe Ladies’ Home Journal,I’m afraid you’ve made the wrong choice, and no, I willnotgo to Nevada, no matter who asks me. I am like a swan. I mate forlife. And now we must walk back to your parents’ house again, for your mother will be making breakfast, and I wish to understand how to cook the things you like. Also, she’ll want to discover more things that are wrong with me.”
Joe laughed, got to his feet, and put out a hand to help me up. “I guess this is what happens,” he said, “when a guy marries a princess.”
“And,” I said, tucking my hand through his arm as we headed back down the path, “you must not be stupid about the lovemaking, either. You must remember that I love you, and that many things you do in our bed give me pleasure, not only thatonething. What is it to me whether we do one thing or another, when you’ve made my body sing like this?” I snapped my fingers. “I carethatfor such concerns. You must also teach me better ways to please you, because I think perhaps you feel too much responsibility in this way as well. One cannot make love alone, so why should you alone be accountable?”
Joe laughed again and squeezed my hand with his arm. “OK, Mrs. Stark. I think you’ve just about convinced me. We’ll go home and put it to the test, you think?”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I think we must. Because I do love you very much, you know. I love the way Rilkesayshe loves, but for me, a love like this must be for life. As for a swan.”
16
SIEG HEIL
“You’re late for breakfast,” Sophie informed us as we came through the front door. “Mom isnotgoing to be happy.” She was sitting on the landing of the stairs reading a book. An odd place to sit, perhaps, in a house furnished so comfortably, or perhaps not. It was a perch, and people who enjoy observing also enjoy perches. Particularly if they can overhear interesting things from such a position. I may have perched a time or two myself as a child, for the servants always had such fascinating things to say.
Joe said, “Well, good morning to you, too,” but in such a cheerful tone. I smiled at him, and he smiled back, helped me off with my coat, and hung it on a rack with his own.
Sophie said, “Maybe hurry it up a little, if you don’t want to be in trouble.”
Joe said, “Nope,” and waited while I removed my gloves and unpinned my hat. Then he led the way to the kitchen, where he said, “Hi, Mom,” and kissed her cheek.
Mrs. Stark was at the stove, flipping golden-brown slices of bread in two skillets. She cuffed Joe affectionately on the ear and said, “Such trouble you’ve given today. We thoughtyou and Marguerite had been kidnapped by bandits.” She was attempting to scowl, but when Joe took her shoulders and kissed her cheek again, she waved him away, laughing.
Joe said, “We’ve made everybody wait for their breakfast, huh? Guess we’ll have to do the dishes after all to make up for it. You didn’t let me show off my skills last night. I thought a mother was supposed to be proud of her son. I peel a pretty mean potato, too.”
Mr. Stark, who’d been sitting at the kitchen table with David, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee and appearing most contented, looked up, an expression on his face that I couldn’t quite read. Satisfaction, I thought, for he smiled before going back to his paper.
