“Justmy wife?” He stared at me. “How have I treated you as anythingbutmy partner? Tell me. How?”
“You’re angry,” I said.
“Well, of course I’m angry! You’re telling me I can’t provide for you. That I’mnotproviding for you.” He took a breath, and I could see him fighting for control. “I’ll get a job on the weekends. I should’ve done it already. I should’ve realized you were too pressed.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Joe stared at me, incredulous, and I took his hand and said, “Joe. I’m not too pressed. I have my best job yet, the work at the bookstore, and I enjoy it. I enjoy the schoolwork, too, and even learning to cook isn’t so bad, except when I make something you can’t even pretend to like. The tuna casserole with the canned vegetables and the can of cheese soup, for example, before I learned that canned soups are not good sauces, or the timethe recipe said two teaspoons of salt and I used two tablespoons—this was my worst, I believe. What a lot of water you drank that night! Or the canned chipped beef on toast last week. This last I don’t understand, for it was something I would have eaten with great gratitude in Germany. It was beef, after all.”
“It has a name in the mess halls,” Joe said, “that dish. We got it plenty in the Army.”
“Oh?” I asked. “What is this name?”
He grinned. “SOS. Shit on Shingles.” And when I still looked uncomprehending, “Shingles, like shingles on a roof. Toast. And shit, well …”
“But what is this?” I said.
“Scheisse,”he said. “Sorry. Once heard, you know … well, it’s hard to forget that image. Your digestive system does tend to get put through the wringer in those foxholes.”
I laughed very much, and so did he. “Oh, dear,” I said. “But you see? We’re both rather imperfect, but we’re kind to each other and work to solve our problems together, and these things are very important in a marriage.”
“Well, except for you telling me I’m being very stupid,” Joe said, but he was still smiling.
“Yes,” I said. “That was perhaps not the best way to express myself. I should say ‘foolish,’ do you think?”
“Still not great. How about saying, ‘Consider it this way’?”
“Hmm.” I thought about that. “It’s perhaps less direct. But more polite. Yes, I see that would have been better. So, Joe, consider it this way. How can you possibly provide for me when you’re still attending university, even with the very generous GI Bill, and the money you’ve saved by being frugal when you were in the Army? Shall I tell you what I think?”
“What else have you been doing?” Joe said. He didn’t sound angry anymore, though, and he was holding my hand.
“I think,” I said, “that if things had been different, if youhadn’t gone to war, you would have attended the university, for which your parents would have paid?—”
“Well, I would have worked, too.”
“Yes,” I said. “Your parents would have paid,andyou would have worked, and when you’d finished with this schooling and had your diploma in law,thenyou would have married. And bought your wife a house and an automatic washing machine and a very powerful vacuum cleaner and perhaps a roaster-broiler, and of course many necklaces of your own choosing. Is this correct?”
“Well, yes,” Joe said. “That’s more or less how it goes. What’s a roaster-broiler?”
I waved a hand. “A very silly thing to buy if one has an oven. Shall I tell you what I think of this plan?”
“I doubt I have much choice,” Joe said, but he was still grinning.
“First,” I said, “youdidgo to war, for which I am most grateful, for not only did you help free my country and many others from a madman, you also married me. Although I’m not grateful about the bombs. This I still feel was wrong.”
“And I’d have to agree with you,” Joe said, “to a point.”
“And also,” I said, “this life would have been very dull for me, I think. Of course, in this story, I would have been able to have healthy children very easily, so perhaps then …” I considered, then shook my head. “I can’t say. This is too much imagining. Perhaps one can’t truly imagine another type of life. No, I can only see this life, where we’ve both married very young—younger than our parents would have chosen—and must work out all these things together, by ourselves. That means I must stop being sorry that I can’t give you all the children you would wish for, and you must stop being sorry that you can’t pay all our bills by yourself.”
“You’re an extremely rational woman, Mrs. Stark,” Joe said. “Has anyone ever won an argument with you?”
“I don’t wish to win,” I said. “I wish to discuss most thoroughly, so we can find our way to the correct answer. Like Socrates.”
“Uh-huh.” Joe was laughing now. “I hate to mention it, but whatever you think, the princess is definitely emerging. So tell me more about this idea of yours.”
I stared at him. “You’ve changed your mind?”
“Not quite,” he said. “Oddly, I don’t think I’m as much of a risk-taker as you. What I’ve done is reminded myself that it’s your necklace, not mine, and if you really want to let it go, who am I to stand in your way? And that you’re brilliant. So … let’s discuss it.”
25
