“Terry,” I asked, “who’s Mr. Tarkington?”
“He was the most unforgettable character I’ve met last August,” she answered.
“Please,” I said. “Please. Will you come here?”
“This is my wedding night,” she said, talking very fast. “A girl’s got a right to sweet talk on her wedding night. That’s the night she’s most in love with her husband. Don’t you understand about love, Trevitt? It’s the most important thing in the world. I was in love once, and it was the greatest thing ever happened to me. With a steelworker from Gary, Indiana, when I was sixteen years old.” She stopped.
“What happened?” I asked.
“He got me impregnated.”
“He got you pregnant.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, Terry. You said he got you impregnated. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It made plenty of sense to me at the time.”
“I meant grammatically.”
“Grammatically, crap,” Terry said.
“Please. I asked you once already not to talk that way.”
“Listen here,” she cut in. “If this is how you’re gonna act, we can call the whole thing off right now.”
“Terry,” I said. “Are you scared?”
“Fat chance,” she answered.
“You are, aren’t you?”
She waited a long time, and when she finally did talk, I could hardly hear her. “So what if I am,” she whispered. “A bride’s got a right to be scared on her wedding night. Mrs. Tarkington was so—”
“Only one way to get over that,” I said, standing.
“Stay away from me, Trevitt.”
“Naturally,” I said and with that I picked her up and carried her to the bed, setting her down gently, starting to undress her.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Trevitt.”
“Please what, baby?”
“Go easy.”
“I’m not going any place at all,” I answered, putting my arms around her, pulling her close. With that she kissed me, one time, high on the cheek. We lay there next to each other, holding hands under the blankets, her head resting on my shoulder.
We were still like that when we dropped off to sleep...
All of which took place on a Saturday night, making the next morning Sunday. I woke pretty early, but not as early as I’d planned. I shook Terry. She didn’t budge. “Terry,” I said, shaking her again. “Rise and shine.”
“Mumble,” she said.
“Time to get up,” I said, pulling the blankets off her.
Again she came with the “mumble, mumble, mumble.” I shook her harder, talking all the time. After a while, she opened her eyes. “Hi, Trevitt,” she said, still half asleep.
“Hi, baby,” I answered. “Come on. Snap to.”
“What time is it?” she whispered, stretching.
“Almost eleven,” I told her. “And we’re late.”
“Late for what?”
“Church.”
She smiled at me, stretching lazily, nodding her head. Then she sat straight up. “Church!” she bellowed. “Church! Are you crazy?”
“No,” I said. “It’s Sunday and we’re late.”
“Nobody goes to church,” she said. “Me either.” And she pulled the sheet over her head.
I ripped it away. “You’ve got to,” I said. “You’re my wife and if I go, you go.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No sir,” I said. “I’m very devout. I haven’t missed church in years. Fifty-two Sundays a year. Rain or shine. It’s an important thing in my life. God is love, you know. So come on.”
“O.K.,” she said, getting up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun, Trevitt. I didn’t know.”
“I forgive you,” I said. “Now let’s get dressed.”
Ten minutes later, we took off down the stairs.
“Where’s your mother?” she asked me, half out of breath.
“She went early.”
“What religion are you anyway?”
I thought awhile. “Presbyterian,” I answered.
“I didn’t know you come from a religious family, Trevitt.”
“Oh yes,” I said. “My mother and father were pillars of the church and I’m carrying on the tradition.”
Terry stopped. “Y’know,” she said. “I admire you for that.”
“Thanks,” I answered and I pulled her along. We got to Patriot’s Square and shagged a left, heading for the big church in the middle of the block.
“Here we are,” I said, going up the steps.
Terry didn’t follow. Instead, she just pointed to the big sign out in front. “I thought you was Presbyterian?”
“Correct,” I said.
“Well, this here is the Methodist church.”
I read the sign. She was right. “Damn,” I said. “I’m not awake yet. The Presbyterian’s a little farther down.”
We walked a few hundred yards. Terry stopped again, pointing. “That it?” she asked.
“It sure is,” I answered. “That’s the good old Athens Presbyterian Church.”
“In your hat,” Terry said. “It’s a synagogue.”
“Synagogue,” I said, forcing a laugh. “Synagogue. I don’t get it. Here you go to a church all your life and then one day it disappears on you.”
Terry stuffed her hands in her pockets and walked on ahead. “It’s goddam amazing, that’s what it is,” she mumbled.
We finally got to the Presbyterian church. It took a lot of walking, but we finally got there. Arriving just as the service was breaking up and all the people were streaming out. I stood on the sidewalk, shaking my head.
“I guess you sort of ruined your attendance record,” Terry began.
“It’s O.K.,” I told her.
“No, it’s not. It’s a shame. A devout Presbyterian like you.”
I shrugged, took her by the hand, and made the turn toward home. Getting only about two steps before somebody called my name.
“That’s a church, Euripides,” Harriet said, running up, giggling.
“Very funny,” I told her.
“Don’t you feel well? It’s not even noon and you’re up. You must be sick. Here,” and she put her hand on my forehead, still giggling away.
“Terry,” I said. “This here is Harriet. Harriet. Meet my wife.”
Harriet stopped giggling. She looked at my face a long time, studying it. Then she turned to Terry, gave a quick smile, and walked off.
“Hey,” I called, starting after her, but she didn’t stop. I went back to Terry.
“Who’s that?” Terry asked.
“A friend of mine,” I answered.
“I’d hate to meet your enemies,” she said.
My mother was waiting for us when we got there, along with Adrian, sitting in the living-room, chatting, both in their Sunday best.
“Raymond,” Adrian said, standing, “your mother informs me that you’re married.”
“Hi,” Terry said, going over and sitting next to him. “You want to kiss the bride?”
Adrian coughed, looked at my mother, then touched his lips to Terry’s forehead.
“Y’know,” she told him, “you’re really cute.”
“Thank you,” Adrian said.
“I mean it,” Terry went on. “No kidding. Maybe a little tall, but you know about women and tall men. Mr. Tarkington was—”
“I hate to interrupt,” my mother interrupted, “but where in the world have you been?”
“Church,” Terry answered.
“Church!” my mother exclaimed, smiling. “How wonderful. But I didn’t see you there.”
“Oh, we hit ’em all this morning,” Terry went on.
“How wonderful,” my mother said again. “Terry, I just know you’re going to be a wonderful influence on Raymond.”
“She sure is,” I said. “But maybe you didn’t know she was interested in social work.”
My mother beamed.
Terry didn’t.
“Yes,” I finished. “And she wanted me to ask you if there wasn’t something she could do. Can you find anything for her?”
“Of course I can,” my mother said. “We need you at the Red Cross right away. Tomorrow afternoon. Answering the phone. Helping the girls here and there. Is that the sort of thing you wanted?”
“It’s perfect,” I said.
“Yeah,” Terry echoed. “Perfect.”
My mother clasped her hands in front of her. “I had no idea you liked social work. I find it fulfilling, of course, but so many don’t.” And with that she was off, talking about the Red Cross, the work they did, how Terry could help, the people she’d meet, the committees she could join. She talked on and on, smiling, gesturing, happy as a mother hen. “You’ll never know how pleased this makes me,” she said. “It’s so wonderful having you here, Terry. Won’t you stay for dinner? There’s plenty.”
“Mother,” I broke in, “Terry lives here.”
At which my mother blushed. “Of course,” she said. “I keep forgetting.” She stood. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me. I have a few things to do in the kitchen. Raymond. Set the table.”
I nodded. We went out and as I put the plates down I could hear my mother puttering around on one side of me, Terry and Adrian laughing on the other. My mother came into the dining-room.
“Terry is all right,” she said. “All it takes is getting to know her.”
I yelled that dinner was ready. They walked in a minute later, both of them laughing. “I just heard the most delightful joke,” Adrian began. “It seems that there was this rabbit farmer—”
“Perhaps we ought to start,” my mother said.
“Certainly,” Adrian answered, pulling out the chair for Terry. Then he did the same for my mother. “You know, Katherine,” he said, bending over her, “you should be a very happy woman. Twice blessed. Because you haven’t lost a daughter, you’ve gained a son.”
“That’s backward,” Terry said.
We sat down to eat...
The next morning I let Terry sleep, getting dressed as quietly as I could. My mother was in the kitchen when I got there. “How do I look?” I asked her.
She turned, facing me. “Where are you going, Raymond?”
“Out,” I answered. “How do I look?”
“I can hardly believe it,” my mother said, smiling. “Terry working at the Red Cross this afternoon. You up early. Wearing a necktie.”
“I’m a new man,” I told her, gulping down some orange juice, starting for the door. “In a while, you probably won’t even know me.”
“Where are you going?” she asked again.
“Big surprise,” I said, and I left her there.
It was a beautiful day, just like the one before, and the minute I hit the street I just knew sure as God made green apples that it was going to work, that everything was going to turn out the way I wanted. So, singing out loud, I headed for Patriot’s Square.
Returning home a little after twelve. Letting the front door bang shut, I stood in the foyer, shouting for Terry.
“In here,” she answered from the dining-room. She was finishing her lunch, munching away on some toast. I came up behind her, kissed her on the neck.
“Get away,” she muttered. “It’s bad to interrupt the digestive processes while eating. Dr. Spock said so last April.”
“Terry,” I said, kneeling down by her chair. “I’ve got some news.”
“Tell me,” she said.
I told her.
“A schoolboy!” she bellowed, after I’d said two sentences. “My husband’s gonna be a schoolboy?”
“That’s right,” I went on, laughing. “I just snowed President Atkins. I told him how I’d changed, how much more mature I am and all. He’s letting me back into school. Probably as a sophomore. And he said—”
“Did he say how you’re gonna support me? I’m your wife, y’know. A wife needs support.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “The Government’s taking good care of me. I got the G.I. Bill. I got Disability. I got—”
“A hole in the head’s what you got,” Terry interrupted. “A common, everyday schoolboy. How’m I gonna hold my head up?”
“With your neck,” I answered, putting my arms around her, holding her tight. “Now say you’re glad.”
“I dunno,” Terry sighed. “I got no one to blame but myself. That’s an awful position to be in.”
I looked at my watch. “Come on,” I told her. “The Red Cross is calling.”
“I ain’t going,” Terry said.
“You just think you’re not going,” I answered, picking her up from the chair, carrying her into the foyer. She kicked and hollered but I didn’t stop until we were outside.
“Trevitt,” she whispered then. “Please. Lemme alone. I don’t wanna work for the Red Cross and the Red Cross don’t want me working for it. Why not let things be?”
“You’ll knock ’em dead,” I told her and I took her by the hand and led her downtown. She grumbled all the way, but when we were almost to the office, she quieted.
“Please,” she said. “I promise to be good but don’t make me go in there. They’ll make fun of me and I don’t wanna do it. Please. I’ll talk nice and I won’t swear any more but please don’t make me go in there.”
“I’m doing you a favor,” I answered, pulling at her. “You’ll see.”
We got to the office. My mother was sitting at a big desk, talking on the phone. She waved. “Take good care of her, Mother,” I said, and I kissed her good-by.
When I hit the street I turned toward the college, going as fast as I could, heading for the dorms.
Arriving at Harriet’s a few minutes later. I had somebody buzz her room and she buzzed back and I waited at the bottom of the stairs. She appeared. I nodded.
“What is it?” she snapped.
“Let’s have a talk.”
“Busy,” she said, and disappeared.
I had the bell girl buzz again but this time there wasn’t any answer. So I put my thumb against the buzzer and pushed, holding it there, whistling away. A couple minutes later she came skipping down the stairs. I smiled at her. She zipped right past me, out the door, without so much as a look.
I banged through the door after her. She was already on the sidewalk heading toward Patriot’s Square. I almost caught up to her but then stopped, walking about two paces behind as she hurried along.
“Don’t look now,” I said, when we were inside the Square. “But I think you’re being followed.”
She whirled around. “Will you stop it?” she said. “Will you please stop it and leave me alone?”
“Sure thing,” I answered, but as soon as she started walking, I did too. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I want to stop. My brain says yes, but my feet have a mind of their own.”
She whirled again, tears in her eyes, almost yelling at me. “Dammit, Euripides. There’s nothing to say. And I’m busy. Now will you please stop it?”
“I’ve got to talk to you, Harriet,” I said.
“You’ve got a wife now,” she answered. “Go talk to her.”
At which point I lunged up and grabbed her, lifting her, walking over to a tree, setting her down. “This is my afternoon for picking up girls,” I said. She didn’t answer. “That’s a pun, Harriet. I thought you liked them.” I sat down beside her.
She still didn’t say anything.
“What’s the matter with you, Harriet?”
“What’s the matter with you?” she said.
“Me!” And I laughed. “Nothing’s the matter with me. I’ve never been better. You’ve got to believe that. I’m a new man, Harriet. I’m even going back to school. Only this time, I’m going to knock them dead. You’ll see. And right this second, Terry’s down working at the Red Cross.”
“By her own request, I’m sure.”
“No,” I said. “As a matter of fact I made her. But it’s the best th
ing for her. And she’ll like it, once she gets to know her way around.”
Harriet quieted then, relaxing some, taking a twig, holding it gently in her hands, as if it was alive. She stared at it a long time, then finally she put it down and looked at me. “Euripides,” she said. “Euripides. Why did you do it?”
“I had to get married, Harriet. I just had to.”
“But why to her? Why in the world to her?”
“Terry’s a good girl,” I said. “You’ll like her. She’s really a nice girl. Everyone likes Terry when they get to know her.”
“Why to her?” Harriet said again. “Why not me? Or somebody else? Anybody else?”
“Don’t you understand, Harriet? Don’t you? I thought sure you’d be the one to understand. Hell, there’s no point in marrying you. You’re there, Harriet. There’d be no point. But somebody like Terry. That makes sense. To make it with someone like her. That’s something.” I took her hands, held them, waiting for her to look at me. “It’s going to be something, Harriet,” I said then. “Don’t you see?”
She broke loose, threw her arms around me, holding me just as tight as she could. “I see, Euripides,” she whispered. “I think I do. I think I do.” We stayed that way awhile.
Finally, I stood up. “Do me a favor, Harriet,” I said then. “Will you give me a tour of the lit magazine?”
“The Athenian?” she asked. “What for?”
I laughed. “Because I’m going to be editor next year. That’s what for.”
She smiled at me, quickly. “I’m on my way there now,” she said. “To see the advisor.”
“What’s he?” I said, as we started walking.
“He’s in charge,” Harriet said. “He has the final say-so on everything.”
“I guess I better get to know him then.”
Harriet stopped, pointing to a little barnlike building, wooden and rotting, across the street.” That’s the office,” she told me. “And if you think it looks bad from here, wait until you see the inside.” We left the Square and approached the building. “Gets worse as you get closer, doesn’t it, Euripides?”
I ignored her. “Let me get this straight,” I said. “Is the advisor the guy who made you editor this year?”
“Yup.”
“Who is it?” I asked, opening the door to the building for her.
The Novels of William Goldman Page 137