It was pitch black, the night of a new moon.  It wasn’t planned to be this way, but it was a perfect cover. Frank Moran remembered times of joy when he had effortlessly picked her up and twirled her around in the air.  However, the weight of death made carrying her corpse from the trunk of his car to the boundary of his back yard a ponderous task.  He laid her on the lawn and sat next to her body catching his breath.  Frank thought about the torment and deceit he had suffered and how it had brought him to this point.  As his rage began to rise once more, he jumped up and grabbed the shovel.  His biceps pushed against his shirtsleeves as he stabbed at the earth with the shovel and tore it apart until he stood in the 1½ by 5 by 4 foot deep hole.  He mused silently at making the hole that size.  He nodded his head.  “No one will ever know.” 

            Exhausted, he pushed against the shovel for support as he leaned against the cool earthen wall.  Three and a half hours had past since he had started his attack on the unforgiving soil.  He gasped for air, his eyes burned from the sweat that ran into them.  His body was covered in mud created from a mixture of dirt and sweat, the reward for his abhorrent deed. 

While his anger tore away at the earth in the black void that surrounded him, he had thought of it as digging his way to hell.  He didn’t realize it, but he hoped to bury his guilt along with the corpse of his fiancée.  Why did she call? he thought bitterly.  If only I had refused to see her; none of this would have happened.  It was his child, not mine.  I always reached out to help her and in return she always stabbed me in the heart.  Tears streamed down his cheeks cutting tracks through his mud-streaked face.  “Not this time,” he grunted, while jamming the shovel hard into the ground.  “This time I’m taking care of Frank.”  He steadied himself with one hand by grasping the shovel handle, and summoning the strength required; he leaped up in the air with an enormous grunt, reaching out for her ankle, jerking her body into the grave.  The thud of her body hitting the bottom of the hole jarred his subconscious to the forefront.  Overcome with guilt and fear, Frank collapsed vomiting on the victim he saw as transgressor.  Sobbing and shaking, he patted her soothingly, nodding his head empathetically before climbing out of her grave. This time he was crying for her. He dared not speak.  It would break him, and he would go to prison.

Dawn was hinting at a new day by the time Frank had finished showering and cleaning up all traces of his night’s work.  He looked out at the shadowy figures that were the three Wintergreen Barberry bushes he had just planted.  They were in a perfect line with the other two he had planted just before she called.  He was pleased with the results.  He would sleep until noon then he would plant the rest of the natural border for his yard.

Frank fell asleep immediately under the weight of exhaustion.  He tossed around and his body jerked involuntarily.  His fiancée was clawing her way out of the earth.  Then, she stood in the room before him.  She tore open her dress exposing the round protrusion housing her dead fetus.  Frank woke to the sounds of his screams.  He lay there in the fetal position, covered in sweat and clinging the sheet to his chest.  Someone was banging on the door and ringing the bell.

“Police!  Open up, Mr. Moran!”  The door crashed open.

Frank stumbled to his feet pulling the sheet with him to wipe the sweat from his body.  His mind was numb.  He knew they would come to question him, but not like this, not just waking from a nightmare and unprepared.  The police were already in the living room with their guns drawn searching for a target.  He remembered his plan of action.  He would keep it simple and say nothing without a lawyer.

“Frank Moran?” The Detective asked, while two uniformed officers searched the house.

 “Yes?”  Wide-eyed and shaking, he tried to sound authoritative.  “What in the hell?”

“I’m Detective Phellan.  This is my partner Detective Daniel Ebson.  Who was doing all the screaming, Mr. Moran?” 

“Me.  I was having a nightmare.  Did the neighbors call?  It was just a nightmare, nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“When was the last time you saw Janice Ross, your fiancée, Mr. Moran?”

“Ex-fiancée,” Frank corrected.  “Two weeks ago.” 

Detective Ebson looked curiously at his suspect, then turned and walked to the patio doors which led out to the back yard.  “Doing a little gardening?” Ebson asked.

Frank smiled, though his eyes looked haunted. “Yes, I’m putting in a hedgerow for privacy.  Barberry bushes.  They grow tall and thick with colorful flowers and long thick thorns.  Keeps out stray dogs and burglars, while remaining pleasing to the eye.”

“Take a look at his handy work, Mike,” Detective Daniel Ebson said to his partner.

Frank followed Detective Phellan to where his partner stood.  Phellan looked at the hedgerow, then took hold of Frank’s right hand.  “They’re some nasty blister’s you’ve got there.  Fresh blisters.  You must have been working on this project, oh I’d say within the last several hours.  Your hands must be too sore to do more digging.  Mind if we do a little digging?”

“What?”

“I couldn’t ask you to dig them up, not with those hands.”

Phellan put one hand on Frank’s shoulder and pointed with the other at the barberry bushes.  “You see those first two?  Now that’s to how I would’ve planted them.  Just the way you did.”  He took his hand off Frank’s shoulder to complete his gestures.  I’d dig a round hole big enough to accommodate the plant, then I’d dig another one and so on.  Just like you did, Mr. Moran.  Now, take a look at what you did with the next three bushes.  You dug a goddarn trench.   If digging holes to plant bushes isn’t more work than a man out to do, well, then I don’t know what is.  Why dig more than you have to by digging up all the ground in between the plants?”

Detective Ebson had stepped around behind the perpetrator.  Frank and Detective Phellan stared into each other’s eyes.  Phellan’s eyes were hard, though humor traced around the edges.  Frank’s eyes were filled with terror.  His lips moved but no sound came out, then he cried, “She won’t leave me alone.”

Detective Daniel Ebson was holding his handcuffs in his hand, smiling and waiting for Phellan to make his little joke.

“Book him Dano.”

2.)                                                               I’m Dead

              Marvin Litzmire paced up and down the French Provincial living room of his Manhattan condo.  The

luxurious furnishings, and silk lounging pajamas he wore, testified to his success as a divorce lawyer.  His wife

Marie, with mirth adorning her usually severe countenance, said it was a testament to the state of marital bliss in

Manhattan.

His pacing was rhythmic, in time with Ottmar Liebert’s “Bed of Nails” on the stereo.   He awaited the arrival of his friend and neighbor, George Levy.  His pajamas were of a cloud-like print in varying shades of blue.   Had the combination of colors been shades of green, he would have looked like a military commander wearing camouflage, awaiting word from the front.  Instead he looked as though a satellite view of the latest weather disturbance was being “fast forwarded” and  “reversed” by a mischievous weather forecaster.  A full two minutes had passed since he had called his friend, two minutes that seemed like an eternity in his mind. 

Marvin had determined the course of action necessary to save himself before he had ever dialed George’s number.  With  George’s help he would work out the details of the plan.  George was Marvin’s best friend, but he could be a cynic and quite judgmental at times.  Marvin new he would have to acquiesce to his friend’s judicious overtures.  He would forever be in George’s debt.  He weighed this against his present circumstance and chose the lessor of the two evils. 

Finally, the long-awaited sound of the doorbell announced the arrival of his friend, and hopefully, his savior.  Marvin jerked the door open to see George, barefoot, wearing khakis and a T-shirt.  He was relieved to see the concerned look on George’s face.  “Thanks for coming right over, George.”

            “Marvin, you said it was ‘an emergency.’ George exclaimed, stepping past Marvin and into the room.  “You paint a different picture.”

            “I have to be wearing a hospital gown and listening to the theme from E.R. for it to be an emergency?  Ottmar Liebert helps to calm me.  That’s his Opium album.”

            “Sorry, Marvin.”   George studied Marvin’s face.  “Marvin, you’re not involved with drug dealers, are you?” he finally asked.

            “What are you talking about?  We grew up together, for Pete’s sake!  You were my best man when Marie and I got married.  Have I ever once known a criminal?”

            “You’re a lawyer, you called me, a clothing manufacturer, to help you.  I can’t help but think that you must be in the worst situation of your life.”  George looked questioningly about, then headed for the family room.  Marvin followed close on his heels.

            “Can’t I have an emergency without you thinking the worst?  Drug dealers, sheesh!” Marvin shook his head.

            George walked over to the entertainment center and shut off the music.  He noticed a half-empty bottle of wine and two wineglasses on the coffee table.  Then he saw a woman’s coat draped over a chair and a blouse and a brassiere on the floor next to a pair of high heels.  Marvin and another woman? Impossible! he thought.  Something horrible must have happened, he concluded.  He decided to let Marvin tell him about it in his own way.  Aloud he said, “Okay, Marvin, so what is this emergency?”

            Marvin swallowed and pointed his finger.  “In the bedroom...” he managed to whisper.

            “What’s in the bedroom, Marvin?  Who is in the bedroom?  Did she OD?” George asked, firing off questions in rapid succession.

            “There you go again!”  Why drugs?  Why does she have to be dead?  I’m sorry I called you, George.”

            “You’re sorry!  Look at me, I’m shaking, and I don’t even know what’s going on!  How did she die?”

            Marvin looked startled.  “She’s dead?  How do you know she’s dead?”

            “I didn’t say she was dead!”  George was becoming frustrated.  “You’re the one who said, ‘Why does she have to be dead!’”

            “I never said she was dead!  I said, ‘Why does she have to be dead?’ You’re the one who said that she was dead!” Marvin shouted defensively.

            “Is there a dead person in your bedroom, Marvin?”  George yelled back defiantly.

            Marvin looked at the floor, “ I don’t think she’s breathing...”

            It seemed to George as though Marvin was purposefully holding back, not wanting to tell him everything that had transpired.  George was becoming impatient with his friend and suspicious of his motives.  “Okay, you’ve just confirmed that  it is a ‘she.’

“Of course it’s a ‘she’!” Marvin interjected.

“So what happened?  Suicide?  She committed suicide, didn’t she?” George stated Conclusively.

            A look of horror and disgust replaced Marvin’s anger and frustration.   “Suicide?  Oh my God, are you sure?  How do you know?” 

“I don’t know!  I’m asking!  What happened, Marvin?”

            “I don’t know, she just collapsed...Go see for yourself,” Marvin urged.

            George stood looking at Marvin while in his peripheral vision he could see the bedroom door in one direction and the entryway, his escape route, in the other direction.  “I don’t want to ‘see for myself.’”  He turned toward the living room, determined to let Marvin fend for himself.

            Marvin grabbed his arm.  “I—I need your help, George.  Please, just go take a look.  Then you’ll know how desperate I am.  Just take a look, for me, for your best friend.”  Marvin wiped the perspiration that was trickling down from his forehead with his pajama sleeve.

            “What in God’s name did you do to her, Marvin?”  George beseeched, wishing Marvin would let go of his sleeve.

            “I didn’t do anything to her!  Not in the way you mean, at least.  I’m innocent, dammit!   I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen...don’t you see?”  Marvin pleaded. 

            “Is she tied up?”  George couldn’t help asking.

            “No, dammit!  Of course she isn’t ‘tied up’!  What’s the matter with you? I won’t even let Marie use the handcuffs.  I’m not comfortable with that kind of stuff,” Marvin confessed.

            George couldn’t hide the surprise he felt at the revelation of Marie’s handcuff fantasy.  His eyes widened at the revelation, and he wondered a bit about Marvin’s refusal to participate.  He decided that the subject was better off closed, for now.  “How old is she?” he asked.  “Could she have had a heart attack?”

            “How old?  I’m not dating your mother, George.  What kind of a crack is that?”

            George yanked his arm out of Marvin’s clutches and stepped back.   “What kind of crack is that?”  He exclaimed aghast.   “You called me over here to help you.  I came immediately, without reservation, without even the slightest inkling of the kind of trouble you were in.  I rushed over here to help you, Marvin.  And now, what do you do?  You stand there and defile my mother!”

            Marvin wrung his hands as if he was a character from an early American melodrama or the Pantalone in a Shakespearean play.  His body was bent, his face pleading, his eyes questioning, as he begged for help.  “I’m sorry.  Forgive what I said about your mother, George.  This has been a very stressful evening.  Can’t you just go take a look at her?”

            George dropped down onto Marvin’s couch as if he had suddenly gained eighty pounds.  He was beginning to wish he had never become involved in all of this.  As he continued talking to Marvin, he sought an avenue of escape from the growing predicament in which he had unwittingly found himself.   “What am I going to see, Marvin?”  George thrust the palms of his hands toward Marvin. “Look, I don’t want to do this.  Why don’t you ask your brother, Benny, to help you?

            “If I call Benny, Mom will find out.”

            “You’ve got a dead, naked girl in your bed and you’re biggest worry is your Mom’s reaction?”

            “Who said she was naked?” Marvin asked defensively.

            George looked pointedly in the direction of the brassiere on the floor.

 “Okay, so she’s naked!” Marvin admitted.  “But nothing happened, I swear.”  He looked down at the carpet, carefully phrasing his next statement.  He then looked George carefully in the eyes as he spoke, almost in a whisper.  “Listen George, no one knows I’m seeing her.  No one knows she’s her.  Why does anyone have to find out?  Do you see what I’m saying?”

            George rose slowly to his feet.  He moved behind the couch, towards the living room, keeping his eyes fixed on Marvin.  When the barrier of the couch was safely between them, he turned and calmly walked toward the entrance as he made his exit speech.  “You’re saying, ‘Come on over, George.  And, by the way, bring a rug, one that’s big enough to wrap a body in.’  I’m leaving now.  Goodbye.”  He paused and turned to face Marvin.  “Do you see what I’m saying?”

            “Whoa wait a minute mister, I rushed right over, no reservations, no holds barred.  Are you telling me you’re backing out?”  Marvin exclaimed admonishingly, and with a hint of a dare.

             “Technically, I was never ‘in,’ so technically, I’m not backing ‘out.’  And no, you can’t borrow my rug.”  George again turned to leave.

            “I don’t want to borrow your rug!  People see two guys carrying a rug, and right away they’re going to think there’s a body in it!”   Marvin reproved, as though he were stating the obvious. 

            “That’s ridiculous!”  George fumed, feeling the victim of one-upmanship.  “Why would anyone assume that because two guys are carrying a rug, there must be a body in it?”

            “For the same reason that you thought of it as a solution,” Marvin stated patently.

            George took a step forward, shaken his head.  “Well, then what’s your idea, Marvin, a trunk?”  He stated, in a sarcastic tone.

            “A trunk!” Marvin said incredulously.  “That’s as stereotypical as a rug.  My idea is a stroke of genius!”  Marvin hurried on excitedly.  “Bring up one of your garment racks from your shop.  One empty garment bag, and some of^____”

            “What!  You want to hang her up like a suit on my rack?”  George was appalled.

            “Exactly!” Marvin beamed.  “Bring up a bunch of last year’s stock and a garment bag.”  He teetered excitedly on the balls of his feet.

            George couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “You’re going to hang the poor creature up in a garment bag?  Are you demented?  How long have you been planning this?”

            “What planning?   The idea came to me while I was waiting for you to arrive.”  Marvin responded defensively.

            “I’m right next door.  You want me to believe you came up with this scheme in less than two minutes?”  George retorted skeptically.

            “You have a clothing factory. You have clothing.  You have clothing racks.  You have a delivery van.  It was a stroke of genius George.  It didn’t take but two seconds.”

            “My van?  What’s my van got to do with all this?”  George walked back to his side of the couch keeping the barrier between them.

            “We can’t set the rack out in front of the building and have a clothing sale for crying out loud!”  Marvin exclaimed sarcastically.

            “Yes, you’re right.  Sure I could move some of last years stock, but if anyone bought the garment bag...”  George bit back.

            “Very funny!  We’ll  put Miss Garment Bag in your van, and no one will be the wiser.”

            “Miss Garment Bag?  We’re talking about a human being!  We can’t just toss away a human being!  This is crazy!  I can’t do this.”  George moved toward the living room once again.  “Can’t just toss somebody away like...” he was muttering under his breath.

            “George, look at me!  Marvin pleaded.

George stopped and hung his head, shaking it.  It was a cry for help from his closes friend.  He stuck his hands into the pockets of his khakis and turned to face Marvin.  With his head still bent he raised his eyes to meet Marvin’s plea.   

“I can’t just toss away more than twenty years of marriage!  I desperately need your help!”

            “Tossing your married cookies around obviously wasn’t a problem.” He replied, still holding his pose.  “What really happened, Marvin?  What happened in there?” His eyes shifting towards the bedroom.

            “It was her orgasm!  She was making a low, moaning sound that got louder and louder and developed into a huge scream.  All of a sudden, she collapsed.  I looked up and she wasn’t moving!  I screamed at her and shook her.  She jiggled, but she didn’t move.  I couldn’t believe it!  Her eyes were rolled back in her head!  I didn’t know what to do!  I ran in here and I called you!”

            “It’s too unbelievable to be a lie,” George thought aloud.

            “Why would I lie about something so, so...something like this?  Just go in there and see for yourself.  For God’s sake, can’t you just go in there and look!”

            George haltingly stepped toward the bedroom, his eyes fixed on the foreboding doorknob.  As he neared the door, he stretched out a trembling hand toward the knob, then suddenly snatched it back.  He spun around and with long strides, circled back to his safe position behind the couch.  “Now I get it!” he exclaimed with a grin, his eyes wide.  “Tell a lie, make it big, and old George will believe!  The wife, Marie, is out of town, and Marvin and the boys are going to have a little fun at George’s expense. You almost had me there, buddy!”

            “Fun?  I’m having fun?  This is fun?  George, what are you talking about?”

            “I’m, talking about, you getting me ready to crap in my pants!  I’m talking about me going in there and Benny, Otto and Vernon finishing the job!”  George was gloating at having made this revelation.  Shaking a finger at Marvin,  “You almost got me!   Forget it, guys, it’s all over!”  After a very pregnant pause, “You might as well come on out of there!”

            “Am I laughing, George?  Look at me.  You know me.”

            “That’s right, I know you.  It was the ‘orgasm’ that blew it for you.  You got some gal so hot that she blew a fuse?  Marie has testified to the contrary, my friend.”  George folded his hands across his chest, grinning broadly.  “Oh, you’re good all right.  The bra, the wine, two glasses...nice touches, nice touches.”

            Marvin crossed the room and flung the bedroom door wide.  The frustration and defiance that was written on his face exploded in his voice, “Since you know me so damned well, why don’t you stroll on in there and call my bluff!”

            He slowly crossed the room to his favorite armchair, and fell into it.   Suddenly drained of energy he sat there looking away from George.  George came to sit on the couch facing him.  He put a hand on Marvin’s arm, and Marvin looked at him tiredly.  “You aren’t bluffing, are you?”  Marvin shook his head .  George’s throat went dry as he contemplated the answer to his next question.  “Who is she?”

            “Who she is isn’t important,” Marvin answered dully.

            George sat up straight bristling.  “You tell me that you diddled a girl to death, and who she is isn’t important?”  The fear he had felt when he realized that this was no joke was replaced by indignation at what he perceived to be a lack of trust in him on Marvin’s part.           

            Marvin turned in his chair so that he was facing George.  “I didn’t ‘diddle’ her to death!  I mean, . . . we didn’t get to the diddling part”

            “What, now your bragging? 

            “What do you mean, ‘bragging’?  I’m being honest!”

            “Being honest would involve things like telling me who she is,” George countered.

            “I just figured that the less you know the less involvement you have.”

            George threw himself back on the couch.  “Oh, this is great!  You don’t want to ‘involve’ me!  You call me over here at two in the morning and ask me to help you carry a dead woman’s body out of your apartment in one of my garment bags, on one of my garment racks, in my van, but you don’t want to ‘involve’ me too much!”

            “What more involvement do you want, George?”

            “I want you to tell me who she is.  How did you meet her?”

            “She’s my secretary’s niece.  Now are you happy?  I killed my secretary’s niece!  I ended the life of the poor, sweet, young thing!”  Marvin buried his face in his hands.  “How can I look my secretary of fifteen years in the eye?” he moaned.

            “Her niece!  Marvin, are you telling me you have a dead, naked, underage girl in there?”  George looked at him with disgust.

            “No!” Marvin cried.  “She’s twenty-three.  I’m not some kind of pervert, for crying out loud!”

            “Wow!  No kidding?  Why would a twenty-three-year-old girl want to get it on with you?” George pondered, seeking an answer more from within himself than from Marvin.

            Marvin jumped up.  “Are you trying to insult me now?” he yelled.

            “No, I’m just trying to find out what’s going on here.”

            “I just told you what’s been going on.  What is this problem you’re having?”

            “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.  I mean, we all fantasize, but you...wow, Marvin!”

            “Yeah, let’s not talk about it anymore, okay, George?”

            “Okay, Marvin...Look, Marvin, I don’t think I can just dump this poor girl in an alley somewhere.”

            Marvin looked incredulously at George.  “What do you mean, ‘dump her in an alley’?  She’s my secretary’s niece, for Pete’s sake!”

            “Okay, so where do you want to dump her?”

            “Why do you have to be so callous?  Why do we have to ‘dump’ her anywhere?  Can’t we just politely take her somewhere?”

            George was becoming frustrated again.  “So what do you want to do, ‘politely take her’ home in a garment bag?”

            “Yes, that’s it—her home!  She should be found in her own apartment!”

            “Oh, that’s rich!  We’ll just stroll into her apartment building with a garment bag at two in the morning!”

            “No, but definitely in the morning, about nine.  When do you think she’ll be found?”

            “How should I know?  How should she be found?” George queried.

            “She should be found alive!”  Marvin  shrank in despair, as guilt crept over him.  “Oh, I don’t want this to be happening!”

            “Get hold of yourself!  We have to work together to pull this off.”

            “If I had ‘gotten hold’ of myself like most husbands do when their wives are out of town, none of this would have happened!”

            “It’s not always that easy, take it from a bachelor.  Look, what happened, happened.  Now, it’s time to deal with the reality of the situation.  You’re going to have to help me with this, Marvin.  Tell me, do you think she should be dressed?”

            “Why would she be dressed if she was in her bed?” Marvin asked sarcastically.

            “Okay, we’ll put her in her bed.”

            “Of course we’ll put her in her bed; it fits the time and the position of her body when she died.” Marvin continued in the same tone of voice.

            “Since when did you become an expert in forensics?” George exclaimed irritably.

            “I’m a lawyer, I see these things all the time.”

            “You’re a divorce lawyer.  You see people before it gets to this stage of the relationship!” George rebuked.

            “I’m a divorce lawyer who sees a lot of crime drama on TV, okay?” Marvin said, in a tired, half-apologetic tone.  “You’ll have to put her panties on her.”

            “NO! You put her panties on, I don’t even know her!”

            “I can’t touch her, not after...She was a very friendly girl.  She wouldn’t mind.”

            “Maybe she sleeps in the nude,” George suggested hopefully.

            “No, I doubt it.  Not in the nude,” Marvin said with assurance.

            “She’s ‘very friendly’ but too modest to sleep in the nude?”

            “She has a roommate, so she must be used to nightwear.”

            George bolted from of his chair.  “She has a roommate!” he yelled to no one in particular.  He looked toward the exit.  “No one knows she’s seeing you!  No one knows she’s here, but she has a roommate! 

            “Her roommate doesn’t know about us.  She told me so earlier this evening,” Marvin reassured his friend.

            “And for how long has this roommate ‘not known’ about her friend’s affair with you?”

            “This was our first time.  Nobody knows, except you.”

            “You don’t think her roommate will have cause to be suspicious?”  George asked derisively.

            “Oh!” Marvin exclaimed.  “I didn’t think about her roommate being the one to find her body!  That poor girl...”

            “I suppose ‘that poor girl’ will just welcome us into the apartment!  She’ll say, ‘Hi fellas, just put her body over there in that corner!  I’ll take care of it later!  Say, aren’t those last year’s clothes on that rack?  You poor man, they didn’t sell, did they?’”

            “George, George, take it easy!  Her roommate isn’t going to be there, that’s what maked it so perfect!  Marie won’t be home until two this afternoon, and her roommate won’t be back from her trip for another week!”

            “Between you’re involving me in this mess and last year’s losses, I’m really having a hard time keeping it together.”  George swallowed.  He was afraid he had opened another door.  He was afraid he had reminded Marvin of something other than friendship, as a vehicle to hold sway over him.

            “Last year wasn’t so bad.  You sold a lot of stock.  Marie bought three of your outfits.”  Marvin soothed.

            “Yes, and your secretary bought the other two.  I appreciate your not holding the loan over my head.  You’re a good man, Marvin.”    George said, bringing the vehicle out into the light.

            “Not so good, I was saving that leverage for last.”

            “I’ll get her dressed,” George said, feeling beaten.

            “Just her panties.  They should be on the bed somewhere.”

            “Don’t talk about it!  This is hard enough.”

            George went into the bedroom and shut the door.  Marvin paced the floor, looking at his watch every fifteen seconds.  “How could I have been so stupid, so gullible, so naïve?” he berated himself.  “How could I have done this to myself, to Marie?  If that little vixen hadn’t taunted me with her beauty, her voluptuous endowments—how could I resist?  I’ll never, ever do anything like this again!  May God strike me dead right where I stand if I ever so much as even think about another woman!”

            The bedroom door burst open.   George stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.  “Marvin!” he said gleefully, “She said ‘Sometimes it’s like that’!” 

            “Who said, ‘Sometimes it’s like that’?” Marvin was afraid to believe his ears—could it be possible?

            “Sometimes there’s more pleasure than she can physically and emotionally handle, so her body shuts down—kind of a catatonic state.  Marvin, you dog!  You got her there!  Hell, she wants to move in with you!”

            “She’s alive?”   George, you are telling me she’s okay, aren’t you?”

            “Okay, hell, didn’t you hear me?  She thinks you’re a stud, stud.  Looks to me like you have some unfinished business to attend to,” George said as he sauntered toward the entryway and stopped at the entertainment center.  He gave Marvin a devilish grin.  “Marvin, take it easy this time, okay?  Ya know, I never did find those panties!”  He hit the play button and Ottmar Liebert’s “Bed of Nails” filled the room.  As he went out the door, he stuck his head back into the room and exclaimed, “You dog!”

            Marvin laughed and danced around the room before heading to the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine.  On his way back to the bedroom he picked up the half empty bottle and the glasses.  “I didn’t kill her!  She’s alive! And I’m more alive than I’ve ever been!” he blithely sang out to the empty room.  “I have the wine, I have the time, and you’re all mine!”  Marvin called out in the direction of the bedroom.  “Hey, in two weeks’ time there’s a lawyer’s convention in Houston.  The hotel room will be furnished with a king-sized bed and lots of champagne.  What do you say?”

            Marvin didn’t hear the front door open and close as he reveled about the room before opening the bedroom door.  As he was crossing the threshold into the bedroom, he heard a voice come from somewhere behind him.  He knew that voice.  It was the voice of death.  He had known that voice for more than twenty-two years.

            “What are you doing up at almost three in the morning, Marvin?  I caught an early flight. Marvin, what’s going on?  Marvin...” 

3.)                                                                              INFINITE SPACE

 Time and distance appeared to be playing a cruel game with Catiana Rhodes.  It was as though they were stretching themselves out, fighting Catiana’s fervid attempt to overcome them.  Her strong slender legs no longer seemed to have the ability to propel her with sufficient speed.  She was running diagonally across the street to Rameón Velar’s home, just three houses away.

As she burst through the door she yelled, “Dr. Velar!  Please, you must come quickly!”

            Dr. Velar started to jump up from his armchair where he had been reading.  He caught himself, half rising, and settled back in his chair.  “The excitement of youth,” he thought, smiling to himself.  It was his favorite place in his house.  He could catch the afternoon light from the front window, and occasionally glance out the window to watch the children playing in the street.  “Now calm down child and tell me what has gotten you so overwrought. I thought you would be at the movie with Elna by now,” he said, glancing at his watch.

            “Please!” Catiana said in a tone that sounded more like an admonishment.  “There is something wrong with her!  You have to come and see what you can do!  She doesn’t move!  She doesn’t respond when I talk to her!”

“Oh dear, she is probably in a convalescent trance,” Dr. Velar said reassuringly.  “Nothing to be^­­__”

            “No, it isn’t like that!  She looks . . . something is seriously wrong.”  Her voice started to tremble.  “I stopped by this morning with some Hollenberry muffins I had made.  She didn’t answer her door, so I returned home.  I stopped by again a few minutes ago.  She still didn’t answer her door.  I went around back to see if she was in her garden.  She wasn’t there, but her back door was open, so I called out to her.  When she didn’t answer I went inside.  I found her sitting in her glider. . . Dr. Velar, there is something unnatural about her.”  Catiana’s eyes grew larger, pleading.

            “Okay, we will give Elna a call,” Rameón Velar, announced confidently.  “She probably whacked off a big toe or something and set herself to healing.  You know how haphazard she can be in the garden.” 

            He picked up his diagnostic case and gave Catiana a reassuring smile as they walked over to Elna Clensi’s house.

He opened the front door and called out, “Elna, it’s me, Rameón.”  He walked over to her and his greeting smile faded as he studied her countenance.  Dr. Velar raised his head and stated empirically, “Utilities, lights, cordial room, full illumination,” then continued to examine Elna Clensi.  Her skin had a strange grayish pallor.  He quickly pulled his synaptic analyzer from its  case and scanned her body.

            Catiana was still standing by the door.  She was holding onto the door frame, as though she were supporting the structure until Dr. Velar could retrieve her friend from harm’s way.  “What is it?  What is wrong with her?”  She was shaking again.  She could tell by Dr. Velar’s manner, there was something seriously wrong.

            He pulled out his transceiver and called the Science Institute.  Then he turned to Catiana and said, “All I can tell you at this point is, there isn’t a trace of energy patterns  anywhere in her body.  Don’t worry, in five minutes they will be here to take Elna to the Science Institute.  They will have her out in her garden within a couple of days, I’m sure.”

            Catiana was still clinging to the door frame, staring at Elna.  Dr. Velar firmly, but gently took her by the shoulders and guided her away from Elna’s house.  “Come on,” he said, “I’ll make you a nice cup of Rozen Herb tea.  It will relax you while we wait for the Institute’s report on Elna’s condition.”

            Two hours had past since Dr. Velar had called the Institute. They were chatting complaisantly.  The Rozen Herb had taken effect.  Rameón was chiding Catiana because of her interest in Alem Norman, when he heard the thrum of his transceiver.  “Yes, this is Dr. Velar.  What?  I don’t understand.  How?  That can’t happen.  Have you ever heard of such a thing?  What could have caused it?  Okay.  I’ll be right there.  Thank you.”

            Catiana sat up straight in her chair.  “What is it Dr. Velar?  Won’t Elna be coming home this evening?”

            “I’m afraid not child.  Total degeneration.  It had started while she . . . was still alive. Her life force has disappeared.  It seems her body organs had been degenerating for over a week and finally reached a point where they could no longer function.  Her body is decomposing!  I have to get to the Institute!”  Rameón was talking to himself, more than to Catiana.  She stood there in shock, unable to move, her mind unable to comprehend the meaning of what she had heard.  She never noticed Dr. Velar’s departure. 

“Did he say Elna no longer exists?  Decomposing!  This is not possible,” she thought.  She wanted to laugh.  “Boy, they really blew it this time.”  Everyone in the Pryderian Galaxy knew such a thing was not possible.  Catiana paced about the room talking aloud to herself.  “Sure, if more than two main organs were destroyed your life would end.  But let’s say only your liver and a lung were destroyed, well, they grow back!  Your body goes into a paralytic trance and heals itself.  During the first two hundred years your body matures and your physical abilities reach their peak.  Then, in the second stage, the stage of stability that lasts for another one hundred-eighty to two hundred years, your body reaches a state of metamorphic transition, and evolves into a state of pure energy.  Elna was in this stage.  She was only three hundred and sixty.  She could have gone on for at least another forty years before reaching the state of metamorphic transition and evolving into a state of pure energy.  It is what we strive for, the purity of being!  We then join our friends and ancestors who have gone before us.  Our life forces race across the stars to the Correnian Belt.  There we continue for infinity in purity, beauty, and eternal love.  No living thing decomposes!  We would never reach our full potential.  Our meager life force would be trapped here, or dissipate amongst the stars.

Poor Elna!  She will never rejoin her family.  They will never again see their beloved Elna.” 

Catiana sat in Dr. Velar’s armchair, clutching a pillow.  She looked out the window at the Correnian Belt.   The Belt filled her view with its multitude of stars.  A wide ban of brightly twinkling lights, setting above the other stars constituting the Pryderian Galaxy.  “We have conquered the infinite space, vanquished alien forces from other solar systems.  We are the omnipotent rulers of the universe,” she thought.  “How can someone just die without anyone knowing why or what to do about it?”  Catiana drank the last of the Rozen Herb tea and thought about the warm friendship she had enjoyed with her friend Elna, and her own one hundred twenty-two years.  She fell asleep there, thinking of the reassurance and comfort she would receive from Dr. Velar when he returned.

When she awoke it was morning and Dr. Velar had not returned home.  She wrote the doctor a note asking him to call her and went home to shower and change clothes. 

After showering and dressing, Catiana realized she was famished and grabbed something to eat while she listened to the news.  Immediately her stomach was tied in a knot.  She felt sick and broke out in a cold sweat.  She now knew what had happened toElna.  She also realized she had been in close contact with her. 

The commentator reported the developing situation in a deliberate, professional manner.  The severity of the epidemic could be sensed through the nervous undertones in his voice.   “People all over the city are in a state of living death.  The Science Institute believes we are under the attack of a virus, a virus of a completely foreign structure.  The closer a victim is to the state of metamorphosis, the sooner death arrives, often without any noticeable outward signs.   For those who are unfortunately further from reaching metamorphoses, the victims’ flesh is deteriorating on their bodies.  They are literally decomposing from the inside out.  As shown here, there are people in various stages of decomposition.  People with sagging skin, breasts, eyes, and major muscle groups.  The Science Institute said it is caused by the decomposition of the muscle system.  Most victims have small crevices, a wrinkling effect on their exterior surfaces.  This is caused by the deterioration of fat in the epidermal layer.  All suffer a loss of strength, many suffer in various degrees, a loss of vision.  There are reports of bladder control failures, stiffening of the joints and in some cases, a deterioration of mental stability.  Another horror of this virus is discolored blotches on the skin’s surface, this along with the wrinkling effect, make the victims look grotesque.  The only relief from this disease . . . is death, and thousands have died.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been handed a report from the Science Institute.  The city is under quarantine.  The disease seems to be limited to this area.  Dr. Velar, a noted member of the Science Institute, has joined a team of experts who are visiting outlying areas to determine the actual extent and source of the outbreak.”

Catiana ran to her full length mirror, ripping off her clothes.  There were no signs of sagging, spotting or anything else.  She threw on her clothes and ran out of the house.  She had to see Alem.

When Catiana reached Alem’s house she threw open his door.  “Alem, Alem are you all right!”  Alem ran in from the kitchen and took her in his arms.  His tall marbled features were unchanged.  She could feel the strength in his arms.  “You’re all right!” she cried. 

“I was so worried!” he exclaimed.  “I tried to reach you by transceiver.  What is happening?  Half the city has become walking corpses!  Where were you last night?” 

“I’m sorry, Alem.  Do you remember me telling you Elna and I were going to the movies?  I thought she had fallen asleep, I shook her but she didn’t awake.  She felt so cold and clammy!  Her color . . . it was horrible!”

“You touched her?”  Alem sounded nervous as he backed away from her.  He was now in the kitchen doorway.

“You’re afraid of me?  Don’t do this to me.  Alem.  I ^___”

Alem had turned away from her.  “Please, don’t make it any harder than it is!  I don’t want to die.  I want to evolve, to join my ancestors in the Correnian Belt.  You have to go.  You understand, don’t you?”  Alem walked off, leaving her alone in the room.

Catiana sank into the chair behind her.  She sat there feeling hurt and stunned.  She felt small and alone, as though she had fallen into a great void.  Her goal was to not think, not feel, to keep the pain away.  Catiana had no idea how long she sat there.  She wanted the solace of her own home.   She forced herself out of the chair and went out the door.  It was all ready late afternoon. 

She saw people running around in the streets.  They were shouting and pointing.  There were houses burning everywhere.  Panic had become the norm.  The afflicted, with their wrinkled and blotched skin, were screaming in horror as they watched their homes going up in flames.  Some were lying on the ground, their loose flesh shaking as they sobbed uncontrollably.  Others refused to leave their homes, while some ran back into these flame engulfed tombs.  No one challenged their decisions.

There were vehicles with loudspeakers, as well as broadcasts by the media, telling all the victims to go to the east end of the city, for their safety.  This was the old business district.  An area of deteriorating factory buildings covering three square blocks. 

Over the next three months the virus engulfed most of the planet.  Elders were no longer celebrated joyously as they reached full stasis and evolved into a pure energy state.  Instead they became carcasses presenting a health problem.  Every person over the age of three hundred fifty-five wore a cloak of mourning.  At this age, with few exceptions, the signs of death were present.  There were rare cases of infection in people as young as two hundred eighty-five years old.  The virus could not gain a foothold on a maturing entity.  Once the entity had reached its peak, once it was stable, the virus attacked the genetic mechanism that allowed cells to recreate themselves.  All living organisms over the age of stability, could no longer recreate cells to replace damaged cells.  The longevity of all living organisms was now limited by the strength of their weakest cells. 

Catiana walked down the street thinking of all those she had been close to and had either lost or was in the process of losing because of the virus.  Dr. Velar had never returned from his life saving mission.  Almost all of the Science Institute’s prestigious members had been destroyed by the virus.  Her parents lived in another city.  Because of the quarantine Catiana never had a chance to see them again.

She wondered about her future, and the future of her Galaxy.  “Why,” she thought, “would anyone want to get into a relationship that was certain to have a tragic end?  Did relationships end?  Was it possible to reach the Correnian Belt without attaining full stasis?  Are my parents spirits trapped here forever?” 

She found herself standing before the charred remains of Elna’s house.  The remnants of two adjoining walls tinged in hues of gray, their upper edges seared black in the chaotic design of the fires wrath.  Catiana stood amongst the charred debris littering the once immaculate floor. She said aloud.  “Are you still here Elna?  Are we doomed to this soil?  Can we still reach the Correnian Belt?  Help me to understand what has happened to us.”

A cold wind creating a whirlwind swept across the debris scattering it, and exposing a compartment in the floor. Catiana recalled Elna mentioning it.  Catiana opened the compartment talking excitedly to herself.  “Her ‘safe place,’ she had called it. Now I remember.  It was about four months ago.  Elna had started to tell me about the meteor that disintegrated as it burst through the trees in a great shower of sparks.  She said she had found what must have been a piece of it buried in her garden the next morning.  She knew it was a great discovery.  She wanted to have time to decide what to do about it before announcing her find.”  Catiana opened the compartment.  “Yes!  This is the answer, isn’t it Elna?” 

Her hands trembled as she removed a cylindrical object.  It was completely smooth, except for the knurled band at one end.  It was too large for her to grasp with one hand.  She held it tight with her legs and turned the knurled end until it opened.  Inside the cylinder were diagrams that seemed to be celestial maps embossed on a dense, shiny material.  There were disc shaped objects that were thin and lustrous.  There were pictures of landscapes and buildings different from anything she had ever known.  Modes of transportation and various types of machinery were displayed.  There was an enormous statue of a woman.  She wore a crown shaped in a circular pattern of rays.  In one hand she held a torch and in the other hand she held a book.  “Possibly their God,” Catiana thought.  There was a planet, a blue and white sphere, viewed from outer space.  The most interesting items were pictures of alien entities, similar in form to Pryderian’s, but somewhat coarser in appearance.  The texture of their skin was rough.  Their faces were angular.  They reminded Catiana of the unfinished work of a sculptor.  Upon closer study, she realized they were dying of the same virus afflicting her world.

A shudder went through her slender frame:  She knew she had found the source of the virus.  The color drained from her face.  With hands cold as ice, and fighting the nausea which is often the friend of fear, Catiana quickly  resealed the contents inside the capsule.

Was this an alien cry for help, a desperate plea to a yet unknown savior?  Another thought was growing in the back of Catiana’s mind, turning her fear into anger.  As the images she had seen in the capsule played repeatedly in her mind, her eyes grew wide and she let out a sound that was half moan, half scream.  “Preposterous,” she thought.  “Nature would not allow anything so ludicrous to occur.  I will not allow myself to contemplate something so diabolically evil.  Could it be?”  She replayed the images again in her mind.  She was sure of it.  Every one of them was so proud, so confident.  Every one of them was so happy.

“They didn’t seem to know or care that they were doomed,” she thought aloud.  “Is this all they have ever known?  Is it conceivable?  Could their life force have been created in some miasmic swamp?  Was the fountain from which all life had sprung for these creatures contaminated at its conception?”  Catiana began laughing; a deep, cruel laugh.  It became more shrill as the tears rolled down her cheeks.  “Could this underdeveloped, this antiquated species, have done this?  A species, whose  greatest legacy is the ability to rot away into non-existence.  Could they, in their archaic struggle for knowledge, unwittingly set in motion the destruction of the Pryderians; the omnipotent rulers of the universe?”

4.)                                                                            An Affair of Honor

            “Have you ever been ice skating in the summer?”  Peter asked.

“No, not even in the winter.  When I was a child in San Luis Potosí, in Southern Mexico, I would see a movie where people were skiing; I thought the snow was like sand.  That is the closest thing that I had to relate to snow.  And ice skating?  Ice was something that they had in the larger cities where people with money could keep things cold in their houses.  Before coming here, where I lived in Mexico, 65º was a cold day.”  Margarita exclaimed.

“We have an indoor skating rink here in town.  If you can get away, we can go this afternoon.”

“I would love to.”  Margarita said, trying not to fall into his eyes.

They were outside of Margarita’s house, a Ranch style with a white picket fence that surrounded the house, and a well-maintained lawn.  In front, a double gate gave one the impression that many were welcome to enter.  The fact that it stood a foot higher than the rest of the fence, also gave one the impression that not all were welcome.  At each corner of the fence, there were large azalea bushes. Between the corners and the gate, rose bushes were growing outside the fence.  The flowers, overwhelming in their beauty, have only thorns that grow along their slender stems to protect them.  Margarita had her father. 

Señora Carmela Ramales Zabaleta, Margarita’s aunt, dressed in her gardening clothes, was tending to the roses. 

Peter and Margarita continued talking to each other across the fence.  Their relationship became obvious to anyone taking a moment to watch them.  They were holding hands, then she touched his face, and he caressed her hair.  The world around them had ceased to exist as they gaze into each other’s eyes.

When Señora Carmela Ramales Zabaleta came to America with her, hermano, her brother, Paco, and her niece, Margarita, she met people from different countries. She was surprised to discover the mountain of similarities that existed between peoples.  The differences are what?  She thought.  A few learned cultural traits, or some worthless and harmful prejudices.  Not even enough to make a decent molehill.  While watching her niece Margarita with Peter, these thoughts returned.  There are some differences in our two cultures, but these two don’t seem to know that.  If only mi hermano, my brother Paco, could let go of the past.

It was 1950.  Chance and circumstance had placed Paco Ramales, his daughter Margarita Ramales and her Tia, or aunt, Carmela, in this small, Middle-American community.  Margarita was eighteen years old.  Her long black hair fell down to the small of her back.  Her five-foot-six-inch slender frame boasted proudly in terms of her maturity.  At times Margarita felt like a child when she was with Peter, and at the same time, she felt self-conscious about her womanhood while in his presence.  She felt helpless when she looked into his blue eyes.  She had all she could do to keep her knees from buckling when she ran her hands through his blond hair, or down his six foot, muscular frame.  Albeit, not looking into his eyes, or keeping her hands to herself were not powers that she could summon.

Peter had finished college that spring.  He was the first in his family with a four-year degree.  The first twenty-two year old Reservoir Engineer to be hired by the local hydroelectric company.  He had intended to join a large engineering firm and move out west.  That was before he came home to spend a month or two with his family.  On his second day home, he saw Margarita.  From that moment on he knew he would not be leaving his hometown, at least not right away, and not alone.  He had taken a course in public speaking while in college and had leading roles in plays at the University.  When he first saw Margarita all he could do was smile, His lips moved, but no words came out.  Over the last three months they had met many times, and in many places, always careful not to let Paco, Margarita’s father, catch them together, though sometimes he did.  Peter never confronted Paco, at Margarita’s pleading.

Paco was a proud man.  The only life he new in Mexico was farming.  Now he worked for a nursery.  He worked hard at learning English, not just for his daughter’s sake, but also to gain his co-workers’ respect.  Respect was most important to Paco Ramales.

Margarita and Peter looked up startled when they heard the front door slam open against the side of the house.  Paco came charging down the walk to the gate. “Boy!” He roared.  “What did I tell you about sniffing around here?  Get in the house, Margarita!  Can’t I even trust you in our own yard?”

Margarita put her head down, and without a word, kissed the back of her father’s hand and ran into the house.  This sign of respect, a custom of their country, soothed Paco somewhat.  He watched her go in before following after her.

“But Mr. Ramales we were only talking,” Peter said in explanation. “I love your daughter Mr. Ramales,” he added in a louder voice, as emphatically as he could.

Paco continued toward the house never acknowledging Peter.  “Keeping her in the house won’t change anything!”  Peter shouted defiantly.  Paco slammed the door closed, the only sign of recognition he would allow himself to give to Peter.  Peter stood there looking at the house trying to understand Paco’s hatred for him.

Señora Zabaleta, Margarita’s aunt, stood there witnessing the scene.  She was afraid that her brother Paco would harm Peter, or worse yet, in retaliation Peter would harm Paco, leaving Margarita in a position to have to choose sides.  She knew that Paco was wrong, but she also believed, as was a part of their culture, that the family must come first.  She was glad that the confrontation ended the way it did.

Peter turned to Margarita’s aunt.  “Tia Carmela, why does Margarita’s father hate me?” 

“He doesn’t hate you Peter.  In Mexico, when a young man wants to date a young lady he goes to the home of the lady and asks her parents’ permission.”

“Tia, can you see me asking Señor Ramales for permission, and surviving?”

Carmela chuckled.  “No, I suppose not.  The point I’m trying to make is that, even though we have been in this country for four years, we have our own customs.  They are customs that have been past down through the generations.  We have to learn each other’s ways, that’s all.  Paco is still suffering from culture shock.  He is afraid of what will happen.”

“What do you mean, Tia Carmela?”  

“Margarita may have talked to you about her cousins, Teresa and Juan.”

“Your two children, yes.  She misses them.”

Carmela sat her flower basket down on the ground, and leaned against the fence.  She rested her arm on top of the support that ran along the inside of fence.  “She probably also told you that my husband Luis,” she made the sigh of the cross, “God rest his soul, and Paco, had adjoining farms when we lived in Mexico.” 

Peter nodded his head, anxious for her to get to the point, but he could tell from her posture that he would have to be patient.  He adjusted his position so that Señora Zabaleta wouldn’t have to squint into the sun while talking to him.  He stood there looking at her with his arms folded and his right leg slightly forward, letting her know that she had his full attention. 

“Well, my late husband, Señor Luis Maria Zabaleta would say, I have worked this soil and I have seen the miracle of life spring up from it, as my father and his father, and his father before him had.  I will teach all I know to Juan, so that he too can be part of the miracle.  He in turn will teach these things to his children, and so on.  This is what we do, this is who we are.” 

“He spoke of how our daughter would marry a man of property, and how she would make him feel proud to have such a wife.  A wife who would teach their children the proper things, and would entertain their friends and their families, when necessary.  Unfortunately, for all of us Luis died during the yellow fever outbreak, as did Margarita’s mother Juanita.  The children were so young.  Life seemed so hard, so cruel.  The thing is, in our culture, the men determine not just what the family will do, they also make plans for future generations.  They want to ensure the stability and success of their family line.  When the government broke up our property by running the railroad through it during the expansion process, and confiscated still more of it for the government copper mines, everything we knew, everything we were, came to an end.  Juan is working in a factory in San Luis Potosí now, and Teresa is studying to become a nurse at the University of Mexico.  Margarita’s father had lost almost everything that was important to him.  All he has left is his little girl.  She is a delicate thread, the only connection he has to the world he once knew.” Carmela’s eyes half closed and she nodded her headed slowly.

“But I don’t want to take her away from him.  I want to become a part of his family and make him a part of mine.”  Peter responded.

Carmela smiled in understanding.  “He can’t see that just yet.  He is still blinded by the pain of all he has lost.”

“Thank you for telling me all of this, Tia Carmela.  Maybe now I can find some way to get him to accept me.” 

“Well, until that time comes you had better make yourself scarce, or he might shoot your butt off.”

Peter turned to leave.  “Gracias Aunty!  Adios!”  Peter exclaimed, turning back toward Tia Carmela, laughing.

“Peter, what time do you plan on taking Margarita to do this skating?”

“Two o’clock this afternoon, I had hoped anyway.”  Peter said, in a disgruntled tone.

“I will tell her.” Carmela said, assuredly.

“Thank you, Tia Carmela.  I would really be lost without you.”  Peter started at a trot, down the street.  He twisted his upper torso back towards Señora Zabaleta and waved goodbye, smiling at her.

About four o’clock in the afternoon, Carmela came around from the back of the house and saw Paco in the front yard.  He was kneeling with a small hand spade, in front of a dandelion that had invaded his lawn.

Carmela decided to confront him about Margarita and Peter.  She tried to choose her words carefully, so that he wouldn’t shut her out.

Paco looked up as she approached.  “When the world ends, there will still be cockroaches and dandelions.”  Paco stated emphatically.

“Mi Dios, I believe you are right.  I’m done weeding the garden.  It looks good Paco.  It’s too hot to do more anyway, don’t you think?

“Paco threw down his garden tool.  That girl is so lazy.  I don’t think it was such a good idea to come this country,”  Paco stated in an agitated voice.

“What are you talking about Paco?”  Carmela asked, slightly alarmed.

“We took a siesta at two o’clock.  It is now four o’clock and she hasn’t shown herself.  In Mexico she would have been out there helping you in the garden.”

“Ah, I see.  She is eighteen, Paco.  You must learn to treat her like a young adult.”  Carmela responded quietly.

“A young adult acts responsibly.  A young adult has respect for her elders.”  Paco added with a slight edge to his voice.

“In San Luis Potosí a garden was a necessity.  Here a garden is a pleasure to maintain and a convenience to have.”  Carmela stated in a matter of fact tone of voice.  She struggled to find a way to change the subject, and approach it from a different perspective.

“It isn’t just the garden, Mi hermana,” Paco said, setting himself on the ground.  A cloud of contention covered his face, foreshadowing his affirmations.  “It is everything.  Nothing is the same here.  Back home there would be a dozen or more aspirantes after her hand.  She would have married by now.”

Carmela knew there was no escaping it.  She had to meet the subject head on.  “It is you, mi hermano, who keeps the young men away.”

“What are you talking about?  I invite them to pay her a visit.  I urge her to be more, how do you say, more open-minded.  She won’t even look at José or Miguel.  This barrio isn’t exactly overrun with our people.”

Margarita and Peter were coming down the sidewalk, holding hands.  “My father is in the yard! Quick, behind the bush!”  She whispered.  From their vantage point, the young lovers couldn’t help overhearing the rest of the conversation.

“She loves Pedro, but you always chase him away.”  Carmela exclaimed.

“Chase him away?  I don’t know any Pedro.”  Paco retorted.

“He was here this morning.”

“You mean that local boy?  The one that was bothering her this morning?”  Paco said incredulously.

“They love each other.”  Carmela stated.

Paco jumped to his feet.  No!  I swore on my poor wife’s grave that our daughter would marry one of our own!  I promised my Juanita that I would not let our family fall apart in America.  We will not separate like grains of sand in the wind.”  Paco stood there with both feet firmly planted, while looking his sister hard in the eyes.

Carmela straightened her posture, making herself as tall as her five foot four inch frame would allow.  Looking up at him, she returned the hard glare that Paco was giving her.  “That is foolish talk.  Marrying an American doesn’t mean separation, it means a bigger family.  It means making your daughter a very happy woman.  That is what Juanita would have wanted.”

Paco started in a low even voice that rose as he continued, ending in a shout.  “It means loosing ourselves as a people.  It means we loose our way of life, our values, our beliefs, and our sense of pride in being Mexican.  Our values go down the toilet.  I’m going inside!”  He charged off towards the front door.

“That is nonsense!”  Carmela yelled after him.  “Let me tell you something.

“You have nothing to say!”  Paco yelled without turning, as he entered the house, slamming the door behind him.

Margarita, smiled wanly at Peter, “Give me a kiss to strengthen my resolve.  It is time that I had a serious talk with my father.”  They kissed, at first softly, then firmly and passionately.

Peter could see something dangerous in Margarita’s eyes.  He couldn’t quite define it, but it gave him reason to worry.  “Listen Margarita, after talking to your Aunt Carmela, I know what is bothering your father.  If I talk to him first, give him some food for thought, it might soften him a little.”

Margarita grinned discerningly at Peter.  “You may know what is bothering my Papá, but I guarantee that you don’t know my Papá.  I assure you, you don’t want to talk to him now.”

            “This is something that concerns the both of us, and I am at the center of the problem.  It is I who needs to be accepted by your family.”  Peter protested.

            “I appreciate what you are trying do, but only I can approach him at this time.”  Pointing towards the picket fence and house in general, while giving Peter a reassuring smile, Margarita continued.  “Trust me my love, your presence inside the walls of this hacienda, at this time, would be unwise and short-lived.  I will call you after dinner, and I will see you tomorrow.”  Margarita gave Peter a peck on the lips and came out from behind the azalea bush.

Peter, with a great dramatic flourish, and a broad smile quoted:

“With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,

For stony limits cannot hold love out,

And what love can do, that dares love attempt,

Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.”

            Margarita, smiling back at him responded, “If he doth see thee, Romeo, he will fill thy butt with a 12 gauge load of rocksalt!  I will call you after dinner.  Now go!”  She stood there with her hands on her hips, smiling but looking resolute.

            Peter finally acquiesced.  He gave a long low bow, his left leg stretched back, and the sweeping flourish of his right hand almost touching the ground.  As he walked off toward home he continued to quote:          

“Good night, good night!

Parting is such sweet sorrow,

                                    That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

His voice was trailing off as he continued on his way, unsure what tomorrow would bring.  Peter wanted to wait there to discover the outcome of Margarita’s confrontation with her father.  He new he had to respect Margarita’s judgment and wishes.  He went home and waited anxiously for her to call.

            Margarita approached her aunt who was smiling at the spectacle presented by her young niece’s lover.  “Tia, I think I should have a talk with father, alone.  Could you direct his attention out here?”  She asked in a serious tone of voice.

            The smile faded from Carmela’s face.  “Sí, be careful mi querido.  This is not one of his better moments.”  Carmela turned to leave, honoring her niece’s request.

            “Gracias, Tia Carmela.  It will be all right.”

            Margarita went into the yard, and stood there at the gate, looking out toward the street. 

After telling Paco of his daughter’s request, Carmela stood in the doorway watching them.  Margarita didn’t turn to face her father until she had answered his question.  Having overheard the exchange Carmela thought, “She has her mother’s wisdom and her father’s strength.  I don’t think I have reason to worry about her. Everything will work out for the best.”  Then she left the doorway allowing them their privacy.

“Where have you been hija?”  Paco asked.

“Just now I was with Mamá.  I remember her telling me a beautiful story.  What in this country they call a true romance.”  Margarita replied.

“She was good with stories,” Paco responded softly, thinking of the only woman he had ever loved.  He smiled.  “The way her eyes would light up, and her face would glow!”

Margarita smiled and looked deep into her father’s eyes.  “She told me about a young man and a woman, a girl practically.  They were so in love.  They couldn’t stand to be apart.  It was such a torment, not to see each other.  It tortured their souls, she would say.  She said that the young woman’s father forbade her to see her lover.  He didn’t think the young man was good enough for his daughter.  But, the young Cabellero would sneak inside the walls of the hacienda and hold her hand and sing to her through her bedroom window.  Twice, her father caught them, and shot at the young man.  But that didn’t stop them.”

“Sí, and he always aimed low.  If they had not made guns so poorly in those days you would not have been born,” Paco said whimsically, remembering his days of courtship.

“Grandfather Vasques thinks very highly of you now.”  Margarita commented.

Looking back at his past, Paco said, “Yes it took time, but I proved to him that I was a good enough man for his Juanita.  Your mother was a very special prize to win.  I don’t blame your grandfather for being so careful.”

“Grandfather told me he wanted to shoot your skinny butt off.”  Margarita said smiling.

“That was a long time ago.  Things are different now.  I had to prove myself to Don Felipe.  He is a man of good breeding.  I was only a country boy,” Paco said decidedly.

“So you and Mamá were from two different worlds,” Margarita pointed out.

Paco stepped forward, taking hold of the top of the gate with both hands.  He looked up at the early evening sky, then he said, “This boy that interests you, is not of our blood.  He doesn’t understand our ways.  His interests are in his own way of life, his own beliefs, not ours.”   

“What of it Papá?  Should it not be so?  Margarita queried.

Paco turned to Margarita.  He studied her face for a moment before responding.  “I was not fortunate enough to have a son.  When I die, my family name dies with me.  You are the only vestige of our family that can carry us into the future.  With the mixing of two different worlds, you bring all that we are, all that we were, to an end.  Do you see my concern my daughter, mi hija?”

“I see your concern Papá,” Margarita consented.  “At one time we were of a noble Indian Tribe.  Then we conquered or were conquered by another tribe.  Our blood was no longer pure.  The Spanish came and conquered us and mixed with us.”

“You are a very clever girl, but that is not the point,” Paco said, becoming agitated.

“Tell me Papá, does being conquered by an enemy hold more value than being conquered by love when it comes to the mixing of cultures?”

Paco, fighting to control his temper and make Margarita understand, took her by the shoulders.  “We have traditions, a certain way of life, values that aren’t important to Americans.  What right can one girl have to selfishly throw it all away like it was garbage?”

Margarita, pulled herself up straight, and with her head held high, looked her father in the eyes.  A bitter smile curled one corner of her mouth.  “Will it be preserved by my marrying José, a Costa Rican?  Will my marrying Miguel a Panamanian, preserve our Mexican culture?”

Paco took his hands off her shoulders and put them in his pockets, for fear of hitting her.  “I didn’t raise you like this.  You did not learn such insolence from your family.  You^____”

“Who appointed you to anoint me as the keeper of Mexican culture?”  She exclaimed in a barbed tone.  “I have my^____”

“You have nothing more to say!  You will go into the house and stay in the quiet of your room so that you can contemplate your sins against your father!”

Margarita turned toward the house taking a few of steps in that direction.  She stopped and turned back to face her father.  “I am sorry for speaking so disrespectfully to you Papá.  But I tell you now, I will marry Peter Vanderwaller, and no one else.”

Paco had wrestled with the problem of how to find the proper husband for his daughter, for some time.  In his mind there was only one solution, and it was clear to him that he must act upon it now.  “I am sending you back to Mexico.  You will stay with your grandparents.  There, you will find a husband.”

Margarita turned again toward the house.  She walked slowly, with her head held high.  “You are right.  There is nothing more to say.”

Margarita walked into the house, called a cab and packed her bags.  She called Peter from their favorite café.  She wasn’t sure where she would stay, but she wasn’t going back to Mexico to be treated as ‘breeding stock,’ as she put it.  Peter assured her that she would be welcome in his parents home.  If she became uncomfortable there, they would get their own place. 

When Peter’s family first learned of his interest in a ‘Mexican girl’, eyebrows were raised.  His parents tried delicately to suggest that he could easily find a nice girl of his ‘own kind’. 

“Not that there was anything wrong with her,” his mother said. “I’m sure she is a very nice girl and everything, but I don’t want to see you do anything foolish.” 

Peter, not wanting to hurt his family, but unwilling to be less than honorable to himself, decided it would be best for all concerned if they knew where he stood.  This way they could all act within the boundaries of their own consciences.  “The subject of prejudice has never come up in our family.  I never knew there was any.  I intend on marrying Margarita, if she will have me.  If anyone is offended in anyway, we will move away from here and not put anyone in an uncomfortable position.”

“Oh, no, no, that isn’t what I mean.”  His mother professed.  “I just want to be sure that you have thought this out.  I don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.  I mean, sometimes, there is trouble ahead that we don’t see.  Whomever you choose to marry is perfectly all right with us.” she assured him, turning to her husband. “Isn’t that right dear?” 

Mr. Vanderwaller was looking off wistfully into the past.  “When I was in the Merchant Marines, during the War, we would go to some of the Islands off the Southern coast.”  He shook his head.  “There was this lovely native girl.”  He stopped abruptly, realizing the presents of his wife.  “You follow your heart son, but let your head be in the lead, that way there won’t be any trouble that you aren’t prepared for.” 

Margarita had eaten dinner at the Vanderwaller’s a couple of times since then, at Mrs. Vanderwaller’s insistence.  She felt comfortable there.  She had told Peter that she thought his father was very sweet, and very funny.  Peter thought his father was a little corny, but he was glad that they got along so well.

Three months had passed since Margarita moved into Peter’s home.  His parents let her stay in the spare room where in the past, Mrs. Vanderwaller would sew, or work on her crafts for that season, or holiday.  It was the guest room when the occasion arose.  They were in the process of turning it into an office for Peter when he announced that Margarita would be staying with them.

Carmela was relieved when she found out where her niece was staying.  It comforted her to know that the Vanderwaller’s were more open minded than her brother.  She was afraid of what might have happened if the young lovers had no choice but to set up housekeeping without the blessing of either family, and possibly without the sacred bond of matrimony.  There would have been no repairing the rift between Margarita and her father.  It would have meant that Peter’s parents were also against their union.  With both families against them, Carmela believed that the bond of love between Peter and Margarita would be corrupted by their resentment for their families’ prejudices.  The smallest of problems would be amplified by the ill feelings that they harbored.

Carmela was outside of the fence, snipping off the dying rose blooms so that the few remaining would have a chance to mature.  The season was almost over.  A life cycle was coming to an end.  Paco has been miserable, She thought.  I don’t think that Margarita has been that happy either.  But, mi hermano, my poor stubborn brother, because of his pride, won’t allow himself to go to her.  I have said little to Paco, until now.  Perhaps he has endured his pain long enough and he will be willing to listen to a resolution to this problem.  I’m afraid that if this goes on much longer, he will harden his heart to protect himself against the pain.  Ah, her he comes now from the backyard.  She waited for him to approach.  He could tell that she was serious and wanted to talk.  He walked up to the gate and rested his hand on the post. 

“Paco, I can see my pain and sorrow reflected in your face, as you can see yours reflected in mine.  Isn’t half a culture better than no daughter?  She looks like her mother, but her temperament is yours. . . You know that she loves you as much as you love her.  You know that she wants to come home.”  Carmela reasoned.

“I didn’t send her away, Carmela.  She can come home anytime she pleases.  I only ask what any father would ask, that she honor and respect the wishes of her family.  I would gladly welcome her home with open arms if she would only do this one thing.”

“An open heart and an open mind is what will bring her home, mi hermano.”

“What else can I” . . . Paco stopped mid sentence, not knowing how to respond as Peter walked up to the gate.  Bending low, he kissed the back of Paco’s hand.  Carmela’s heart was in her throat, not knowing how Paco would respond.

“Señor Rameles, I need your help.”  Peter stated in a solemn voice.

“Is there something wrong with my Margarita?”  Paco asked, his throat tightening.

“I want you to take her back.”  Peter said, as though that was all that needed to be said.

Paco reached across the fence, grabbing at Peter, who stepped back just out of his grasp.  “You defile my child, and then you want to throw her out!”  Paco yelled, his face red with anger.

“No.  She hasn’t been defiled.  She has been miserable,” he said in a calm, steady voice.  Then, his voice breaking a little, he continued.  “I can’t bear to see her so unhappy.  She tries to act as if it doesn’t bother her, but I can see her pain.  I don’t want to see her turn her pain into hatred.”

“She has talked about hating me?”  Paco looked startled, and a bit confused, trying to understand what Peter was saying.

“No, of course not.  She loves you.  She doesn’t want to lose her family.  She only has you and her aunt, here in America.”

“I tried to teach her the importance of her culture, of being proud of her heritage.  She is turning her back on her own people,” Paco said defensively.

“No.  She misses her country.  All of her childhood memories are there.  Most of her life is there,” Peter explained.

“Then she is doing this out of spite,” Paco said conclusively.

“I would say that she has your temperament, your stubbornness.  She is doing this because she believes she is right.  But I’m afraid that this fight between the two of you will destroy her.”

“You think she will grow to hate me.”

“I know her, Señor Ramales.  She will grow to hate herself.  When you hate yourself you can’t accept someone else’s love, because you don’t think you deserve it.  You see, I have no choice.  I have to return her to her family,” Peter sounded defeated.

“Are you hoping that I will allow you to see her after that?”

“This is a chance to correct the errors that both of you have made.  Yes, I want to be a part of this family, but I would rather lose her to a family that loves her, than to see her destroy herself.”

“If what you say is true, how will you make her come home?”

“I will tell her that it isn’t working between us.  I will tell her that I don’t want to marry her.  I will tell her that I was wrong to profess my love for her, because I now know that spending the rest of my life with her is too high a price, one that I am not willing to pay.”

“If she truly loves you, won’t this too destroy her.?”  Paco asked with great concern.

“With the love of her family she will heal.”

“And you are willing to do this?  You believe, like I do, that her family should come first?” 

“We are the products of what we have inherited, and what we have learned from our families.  This together with our individual qualities makes us a whole person.  I can’t allow her to cut herself in half.  I believe that Margarita should come first, not you, not I, not her family.  The torment that she is experiencing by losing her family is a greater price than she should have to pay in exchange for loving me.  I don’t want her to know the pain and suffering that is experienced when you lose someone you love.  But if she must know that pain, let me share that loss.  Let me bear that pain with her.”

“I see.”  Paco said, looking within himself.

“First I have to know that you will welcome her into your arms.  It will be your responsibility to help her through the pain that she will have to bear.”

“And if I deny her your love in return, she will never forgive me,” Paco said more to himself than to Peter.

“You love her very much, and you want to protect her.  She understands that.”

“You are very wise for such a young man.  You remind me of myself when I was young.  You love her very much, don’t you, hijo?”  Paco said, with heartfelt sincerity.

“More than I love myself,” Peter responded.

Carmela, who had been watching the confrontation gradually turn into mutual respect, gasped, when Paco called Peter, hijo, ‘my son.’  Her eyes filled with tears.

Paco, his face as stolid as he could manage, so as not to lose his composure, stood there looking Peter in the eyes.  Finally, when he thought it safe to speak, he said to Peter.  “Ask our Margarita if she would like to bring you to dinner tonight.  Teneré que tragarse mis palabras, or as they say here in America, her father will be ‘eating crow’.  Go!  What are you waiting for?”

Peter was still standing there.  “Yes Sir.”

“Vaya!  Rápidamente!”  Paco yelled smiling.  Go! Quickly!

“I will sir, I mean, thank you sir.  Gracias Señor!  Gracias Tia Carmela!”  Peter said, again kissing the back of Paco’s hand and of Carmela’s hand, before hurrying toward home.

“So why the tears?”   Paco asked Carmela in an agitated voice.

Wiping her eyes she said, “I better get busy.  I will make Margarita’s favorites, Paco you will have to go to the store for me.”

“Sí.  ¿Qué quieres, mi hermana?  What are you crying for?  Just tell me what you need and I will get it.  What is it with women?  Why do they have to become so emotional over things?”  Paco went into the house talking to himself.  “No entiendo a las mujeres de la manera piensa. . . , I don’t understand how women think . . . .”

Carmela stood there smiling through her tears, and thinking to herself.  “You see, once we open our minds, we broaden our vision and we can see beyond the little worlds that we create.  That is when we become members of the human race, and molehills remain molehills.”

5.)                                                                         MIXED COUPLES

            The bedroom door was open.  Edgar and Vivian were yelling back and forth to each other to compensate for the distance and lack of visual contact. 

“I do want to enjoy this cruise, Edgar.  I hope you won’t subject me and the others to your derisive sense of humor.”  Vivian remarked in a weary tone, for having made the request too often.

“What do you mean by that?  Just because I have a quick wit, and you lack spontaneity.”  Edgar retorted in a dry tone, letting the phrase stand on its own.

“I have spontaneity, as you call it, with everyone but you.  No one else derides me.”

“Why must you be so inflexible?  Learn to laugh at yourself.  What the heck, everyone else does.”  He sat there smiling into his drink.  Edgar always enjoyed his humor, especially when it was directed at his wife of twelve years.

It was December 31.  Vivian and Edgar Priapist are getting ready to go out to celebrate the New Year with their friends.  Vivian, was wearing a peignoir, to protect her evening gown that was underneath.  She was setting at her vanity with curling iron in hand.  This routine had become a part of her preparation ritual.  Edgar, with his tie in his pocket, sat at the wet bar preparing a drink, a part of his preparation ritual. 

Edgar owned an advertising agency.  Though it is a modest sized enterprise, it had been very lucrative.  He had been handling Daniel Nobles, accounting firm’s, advertising program for three years now.  They seemed to hit it off from the start.  They both belonged to the same country club, and business over lunch grew into dinners out with their wives.

“Do you know what your problem is, Edgar?  You have too much nit, in your wit.”  She yelled back at him.

“Daniel enjoys my humor.”  He responded, grinning through his teeth, while shaking his head, as though she could see him through the bedroom wall.

Looking off towards the bedroom door, Vivian sneered at him.  “Despite, his encouraging your weakness for degradation, I am glad that Daniel and Marlene have agreed to join us on our cruise.”

“Yes, I think we were getting in a bit of a rut.  We did everything exclusively with Fred and Sylvia.  Fred is becoming something of a prig, if you know want I mean.”

“Yes, you mean he doesn’t laugh at your inane jokes”  She retorted smiling, believing that she had just scored one.

“I mean he needs a suppository.”  Edgar rejoined, still smiling.

Vivian shot him the finger while inspecting her eyeliner in her vanity, mirror.

“Where is his old resplendent nature?”  Edgar added glibly.

“Buried under your cloud of asininity.”  Vivian returned, while marking one more for her side with her finger on her imaginary tally board.

“Must you be so reproachful on the eve of our vacation?”  Edgar said reproachfully.  He felt that she had scored one on him.  “At least I know I can count on Daniel for some fun, and Marlene is witty and clever once she loosens up.”

“Fred and Sylvia DeSiré are our oldest friends.  I think they have earned our respect.”  Vivian said admonishing Edgar.  She wanted Edgar to feel guilty, increasing her victory over him.

“You think I have a problem with Fred and Sylvia?  Sylvia will always be dear to me, and Fred has always been there.  Where is the problem?”  Edgar stated in a matter of fact tone of voice.

Giving up on a try for another win, Vivian said, “I think Dan and Marlene are having problems.  This cruise may be just what they need.  I think it all stems from her hitting that little boy that ran out in front of her car.”

“Yes, Daniel and Marlene do seem a little cool towards each other.  Marlene was something of a party animal until she had that accident.”

While looking shrewdly into her mirror, hoping to catch Edgar in denial, Vivian said accusingly,  “Dan still has a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and I’ll bet you can’t wait to see Miss party animal in a bikini.” 

“Of course!  Do you think that, that sanctions your prurient interest in her husband?”  Edgar responded with a gotcha expression on his face.

“Oh my, the pretentious beast is jealous!”  Vivian responded, changing tact.

“Jealous!  Daniel is a business associate, Fred is our doctor, they are all our friends, even if his rejection of you didn’t become known, his embarrassment alone could harm all of our relationships.”  Edgar punctuated his statement with an uppercut, while grinning through clenched teeth.

Vivian, pointed at the mirror, looking herself in the eyes, while imagining Edgar in front of her.  She asserted, coolly and assuredly, “You have stated two absurdities in a row: One, a real man wouldn’t turn me down.  And most importantly, I am secure in my present relationship, and I have no desire for anyone else.”  Vivian had left her place at the vanity, and went far enough into the den to see Edgar.  “I suspect that someday this will become obvious to you, but for now, I have to finish getting ready.”  She turned and went back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

“That is hitting below the belt”  Edgar told himself.  Then he called out to Vivian, “How long are you going to be in there darling?  The Nobles will be here soon.”

“I have to finish doing my make-up.  I am sure you can entertain them with your witty non-pluses.”  She yelled back at him.

Edgar dialed the phone, while taking out his cigarette case and lit up a cigarette, using the attached lighter.  “Hello, Sylvia my love.  I just wanted to hear your sweet voice.  No, they haven’t arrived yet.  Fred and Marlene?  You must be joking!”  He poured himself another drink.  “Our rendezvous will be less of a problem with Marlene keeping Fred Busy. . . . Ah, yes, but Vivian is so unassuming.  The Nobles will be running interference for us.  Ha, ha!  Boy will they!  Are you sure it is Marlene? . . . .  Fred’s scarf huh.  She really looked guilty.  I would never have thought ^­­­­____”  The doorbell rang.  “That must be them at the door.  Okay, sweetheart.  I’ll  see you on the boat.  Bye Sylvia, dearest.”

Edgar crossed the room and joyfully bounded up the two steps, into the living room to open the door for his guests.  “Hi Dan, Marlene.  You do look ravishing, even bundled up in that winter garb!”

“It must be my new hair style”  Dan replied offering his hand, then pulling it away.  They all laughed as Edgar waited to take their coats while saying, “Come in, come in.  Can I get you anything?  I just poured myself a Bristol Cream.”  He placed their coats on the sofa, and ushered them into the den.

“Do you have any iced tea?  Non toxic, of course.”  Marlene asked, sitting herself on the Sofa. 

Daniel followed Edgar to the bar, but stood at the other end.  “She has sworn off alcohol.  She hasn’t touched it sense that awful traffic incident.  I’ll join you in having a Harvey’s.”

“She must be one hot blooded woman, drinking iced tea at this time of the year.”  Edgar chided, indicating Marlene.

“Some can testify to that.  Others can only wish.”  Dan replied, his eyes focused on the glass of iced tea.

            Edgar thought he had detected an edge in Dan’s voice, but he wasn’t sure.

“Where is Vivian, last minute packing?”  Marlene asked, wanting to change the subject.

“In a manner of speaking.  She is putting on her face.”  Edgar answered, grinning.

Daniel, now grinning added, “Darling, why don’t you see if she needs any help?”

Marlene, arose from the sofa, taking the tea that her husband offered.  “Yes, this conversation is becoming predictable.  It will be a pleasure to take my leave.”  She knocked on the bedroom door.  “Vivian, it’s Marlene.”

“Oh, Come in!  I’m just about ready!”

“I am really looking forward to this cruise.”  Edgar said, enthusiastically.  “I think it will be full of expected and unexpected pleasures.”  He added

Daniel had a pained expression on his face.  “You don’t seem so enthusiastic, Dan.  Is there a problem?”  Edgar asked.

“We really appreciate you and the DeSiré’s, inviting us to accompany you, but . . . I hate to impose on you, and I don’t want to dampen your high spirits or spoil everyone’s vacation.”

“What are you talking about, Dan?”

“I know that you have been friends with Fred and Sylvia, much longer than you have with us, . . . But, I’m asking for your help. . . I don’t know what else to do.”

“Certainly Dan.  Trust me.  I will do what ever I can.  What seems to be the problem?”

“Well, . . . I think Marlene is having an affair, and her lover will be aboard the ship.”

“Do you have any idea who is cuckolding you?”

“Edgar, I think she is having an affair with Fred.”

“Oh my!”  Edgar exclaimed, looking shocked.

“I don’t have anything definite, but with the relaxed atmosphere of a cruise ship, and well, it shouldn’t be hard to keep an eye on them.  I just ask that you not take sides, let the chips fall were they may.  Okay?”

“Wow Dan!  This is a shock!  I never would have thought.  Well sure, and If I see or hear anything, I’ll let you know.  Don’t worry.  You have my support.  But why do you suspect an affair between the two of them?”

“There has been this distance between the two of us ever since the accident.  We always seemed to communicate until then, but it is different know.  She is distant.  Then I discovered something that explained her behavior.”

“What did you discover Dan?”

“The scarf that I had seen worn around his cheating neck, tucked away in her lingerie drawer.”  Dan said, swallowing, fighting off the emotion that was building up inside him.

Marlene and Vivian came out of the bedroom.  They were speaking a little loud, but appropriate for the holiday mood.

“Well I don’t think we should take a chance.”  Marlene was saying to Vivian.  “Would you boys mind trotting downstairs to the Pharmacy?  She said, turning to the men.  We need Dramamine.”

“Really Marlene, they will have a sufficient supply aboard the ship.”  Dan replied.

“Well it should be taken a couple of hours before sailing, and I intend to get all the pleasure I can out of this vacation.”  Marlene explained.

“I agree, and we will honor your request.  Won’t we Dan?”  Edgar said, reassuringly.

“Yes, fine.  There is something that I want to get from the car anyway.”  Dan responded, heading for his coat.

Edgar went to the closet to get his coat.  “If they aren’t closed, they will be soon.  We better hurry.”  He added.

“What in the world do you want to get from the car, Dan?”  Marlene asked.

“The topic of discussion, when I return, dear.”  Dan added mysteriously.

Vivian went to the bar and prepared herself a fuzzy navel while talking to Marlene.  “It’s too bad the DeSiré’s couldn’t join us tonight, but the benefit they are hosting is for a worthy cause, and we will see them tomorrow.  This is going to be a wonderful voyage!  Marlene, I am so excited!”

“Yes, I would have preferred that they join us tonight.  The last celebration before the two week celebration begins!”  Marlene exclaimed, stretching her arms high and wide above her head, smiling brightly.

Vivian sensed something wrong.  She had caught a hint of it in the bedroom.  Just now, for some reason, she did not believe that Marlene was as enthusiastic as her animation suggested.   “They really are wonderful people.  Fred is so charming.  Don’t you think?  Sylvia is such a beautiful ^____”

“I’m sure we will enjoy them all we want to, starting tomorrow.  Perhaps some, more than they should. . . The bastard!”

“Marlene, what is going on!?”

“I’m sorry.”  Marlene went to the sofa and collapsed into it.  She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it against her stomach.  “Vivian I want this to be a wonderful experience for everyone, but ^__”

“What is this all about, Marlene?  What are you trying to say?”

“Dan is having an affair with Sylvia!  He has been seeing her for some time!”

“Oh my!”  Vivian raised an eyebrow, and wondered if this complication would make it difficult for her.

“Oh Vivian, this is going to be the worst vacation of my life!  I don’t want to ruin it for you and Edgar, or for Fred for that matter.  But this is my chance to catch them at it!”

Vivian quickly left the bar and sat next Marlene, on the sofa.  She put her hand on Marlene’s arm.  “This is a turn of events!  You poor dear!  How do you know?  How long has this been going on?”

“I’m not sure.  I think since the Brockman’s party six months ago.  Remember, Dan had to drive her home, because Fred was called to the hospital.?”

“Yes, vaguely.  I had to leave early also, because of a splitting headache.  I hope you are wrong.”

“I wish I were, but I’m quite sure of it.”

“If it is true, you have my full support, darling.  If you like, I will keep a eye and an ear open.”  Vivian assured her.

“Thank you.  I knew you would understand.  I appreciate your friendship, Vivian.”

“The Brockman’s?  Yes, that was the night of your accident wasn’t it?  Fred was, and still is, I suppose, your physician?”

“Yes, and Dan and I haven’t been the same since.  You see, I can’t help feeling guilty, and Dan can’t understand what I’m going through.  It seems that I seek out things and people to make me feel happy.  At least that is what Dan tells me.  But he, he radiates happiness and generates it within others. . . The bastard!”  She added in a painful voice.

“I still don’t understand.  How do you know that he is having an affair with Sylvia?”

“Well, since the accident we haven’t been, you know, romantic.”  Marlene acknowledged.  “I know that a lot of it is my fault, but . . . . I found her scarf in his car.”

“Couldn’t there have been a reasonable explanation?”

“Well, that has been precluded by what happened.  You see, my car was in the shop, so I used Dan’s, to go shopping with Sylvia.  While I was taking the packages out of the back, I saw Sylvia’s scarf sticking out from under the back of the front passenger seat.”

“Are you sure it is hers?”  Vivian asked.

“I had seen the same scarf draped over a chair in Sylvia’s bedroom, just a week earlier.  All I could think about was, what scenario caused it to wind up under the seat!  Well I am going to take him to the cleaners, Vivian!  He is going to pay, and pay big!  And I know that ^____”

“Easy honey, easy!  I know how upsetting this is,  but the men will be back any minute now, and you don’t want them to see you like this.”  Vivian cautioned.  “I’m not saying you’re wrong.  But just so that you’re sure, couldn’t you have seen a similar scarf at Sylvia’s?”

“No, the scarf was to expensive and too distinctive, probably a designer scarf.”

“I take it that Sylvia didn’t see the scarf in the car.”  Vivian said, trying to get all the facts.

“Well, that was the proof!  We stopped at my house for coffee before taking her home.  I tried to hide it from her, to give myself time to figure things out.  The look on her face, she must have seen it.  And she didn’t say a word!”

“She must have said something to Dan by now.”

“Yes, she must have; but the cheating bastard hasn’t said anything either!  He hasn’t tried to be intimate with me either!  Not that I would even let him close to me! . . . If you don’t mind I think I will go and freshen up a little before they get back.”  Marlene said, wiping at the tears that ran down her cheeks.

“Of course.  Take your time honey.  You can use my vanity if you like.  Go ahead.”

Marlene walked off toward the bedroom.  Her gate and posture suggested that a burdened had been lessened.  “Thanks Vivian, you’re so sweet.  I really appreciate having you for a friend.”

As the bedroom door closed, Vivian rushed to the phone, hitting  speed dialing.  “Hello, Sylvia, are you ready to go?  Yes, me too, I can hardly wait.  I guess you two are about to walk out the door.  I was wondering, probably foolishly, if there is a substitute for Dramamine.  I have never been out to sea and just in case, you know me and my allergies, I want to cover all the basis.  With Fred being a doctor . . . Could I, thank you dear.  Hi Fred.  Don’t look surprised when I tell you this; Sylvia is having an affair with, of all people. Daniel Noble!  Isn’t that something.  Is Sylvia still there?  She did, good.  Well, Marlene is out to catch them at it.  . . . She found one of Sylvia’s  designer scarves in Dan’s car. . . . What!  Why didn’t you tell me?”  Her face had grown pale through her makeup.  “If Edgar finds out!”  Vivian heard the men talking rather loudly outside the door.  She uttered in a hurried voice,  “Edgar and Dan are coming.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  We’ll think of something.” She hung up quickly, and went to the bar.  She poured herself a shot of bourbon and tossed it down.

Daniel entered first with Edgar pulling him back by the arm, unsuccessfully trying to whisper into his ear.  Edgar finally gave up on trying to be discrete and yelled,  “No!  Listen to me damn it!  This isn’t the time or place!”

Daniel pulled away from him.  “I can’t wait!  I can’t stand it any longer!”  Marlene came out of the bedroom to see what is going on.  Daniel pulled the scarf out of the bag that he was holding, and shook it accusingly at her.  “How did Fred’s scarf get into your lingerie drawer, Marlene!  How long has this been going on!”

Edgar and Vivian both gasped.  They stood their glaring at each other.

“Fred’s scarf!”  Marlene yelled incredulously.  I found that scarf in your car!  In your back seat!  How did Sylvia’s scarf get there?  You, you, you, louse!”

“Oh come now!  I saw Fred wearing it, just two days prior to finding it in your drawer!  I took him to lunch and . . . oh!  As the realization of their mutual errors and suspicions filled their faces, they stepped toward each other.  “Can you ever forgive me!”  They begged in unison, hugging each other.

“It is all my fault!  I should have trusted you!  The way I have been acting lately, how could I have blamed you?”  Marlene exclaimed.

Daniel, shook his head no, putting his finger to her lips, then upon hers.  “I should have given you more support.  I know that now.  I didn’t realize the full emotional impact that the accident had on you.”  How could I blame you?  I was practically forcing you to ^____”

“Isn’t that the scarf that I gave you, my darling?  Edgar said, speaking coyly, to Vivian.  You said you lost it on the subway.  How did it wind up around Fred’s neck?”

Vivian stood there looking at him.  He could see her mind racing, trying to find a suitable answer.  It was the first time that he had seen her speechless.  Edgar spread his legs a little, positioning his weight evenly, relaxing.  A curt grin cut the right corner of his mouth as he took out his cigarette case and slowly prepared and lit a cigarette.

“Oh!  This is, a turn of events.”  Marlene said.  “I only saw it once before.  I am positive, however, that, that is the same cigarette case that I saw Sylvia buying, when we were out Christmas shopping!  When I asked her about it she said, ‘Why it’s for my Olympian lover, of course!”

Vivian’s face lit up, but her eyes were dark.  “So!  It was a gift from your staff, was it!”  Vivian turned to Marlene.  Are you sure she didn’t say, oh, it’s for my limp lover!”  She marched off toward the bedroom with Edgar on her heals.  “I cannot wait to hear what you gave Sylvia!”

“Then I’ll tell you!  I gave her a pearl necklace!  I Should have given you, a length of course rope!”  Edgar retorted.

“If I had known about the lighter, I would have complemented it with a monk's robe and a can of gasoline!” 

Edgar slammed the bedroom door behind him.  The muffled sounds of screaming,  shouting, and objects being thrown could be heard through door.

Marlene and Daniel were still standing in the same spot.  Their arms had fallen to their sides and their mouths had fallen open.  The shock of what had just transpired, wore off, and the realization of what most assuredly would follow, began to take form in their minds.  Daniel slid his hands down along Marlene’s sides and moved them around to the small of her back.  He then glided his hands over her firm buttocks and pulled the lower portion of her anatomy against his.  “I Think we will be traveling alone this time.”

Marlene put her arms around Dan’s neck and slowly nestled her ample breast against his chest.  While bringing her forehead to meet his, and nuzzling her nose against his, she said,  “I think this is going to be a very, very, romantic cruise.

“Now that is certainly something to celebrate,” Daniel said.

  What do you say we go home and celebrate”  She murmured, as they tilted their heads slightly to accommodate their lips.

6.)                                                                     MUD-BALLS

            Joe floated leisurely down the stream.  A light breeze carried the scent of magnolia blossoms and honeysuckle; together they slightly dominated over the odor of decaying fish.  By the age of fifty-eight his dedication to his work had amassed a small fortune, created an unfaithful wife and spawned three children who professed they hated him.  The guilt he suffered over drowning Bernie weighed upon him the most.  Even though he knew it wouldn’t be long before he was free from his family’s indifference and contempt, and free from guilt, he didn’t want to rush it along.  He wanted to enjoy this last day, this last fantasy, the purity of a childhood adventure.  The slow-moving current lazily drifted him down the stream.  His thoughts drifted to when he, Willie, and Bernard would float past this very spot.  It was as though nothing had changed.  This is where his anguish would end – in the same place where it had started.

          The three boys watched the balding figure float towards them with his arms and legs defenselessly spread over the sides of the inner tube.  The tube was nearly submerged by his massive torso, his rotund midsection ballooning above the water.  They couldn’t resist that enormous white orb.  They started making mud balls.  They were rapidly forming their projectiles, mixing the right consistency of soupy and more solid mud.  They were experts.  As they built their arsenal, they watched his progression down the stream.  They were calculating the number of shots they could get off, before he was out of range.

          The three boys playing along the bank spurred more memories of Joe’s childhood.  Oh, the trouble we got into when we returned home.  He laughed to himself.  We would be covered with mud from head to toe.  If our parents had known some of the mischief, we three shared.  His smile was replaced by anguish.  A tear tricked down his cheek.  He cleared his throat and said aloud, “enough of that, I’m almost there.” 

          Suddenly, the barrage of mud balls slapped the water around him and splattered on his massive belly, all to the explosion of cheers and screams from the shore.  Joe let out an enormous howl as he rolled out of the inner tube and into the cool creek water as mud balls continued to splatter around him.  He swam for the shore where the boys were now scrambling to make their escape. “Wait! Wait! It’s okay!  You don’t have to run!” he laughed.  The boys disappeared into the bushes, as Joe felt for the bottom and waded the rest of the way.  The mud oozed between his toes as the silt that layered the creek’s bottom turned into mud near the shore.  The only sound was the water slowly rippling around his legs as he called out to his mischievous assailants.   “My friends and I used to do the same thing when we were your age.  We made the best mud balls in the county, almost as good as yours.  Unfortunately, some of ours would separate in mid-air; what is your secret to making the perfect mud ball?”

          “Two-thirds bank mud and one third submerged mud,” came a reply from the bushes.  “I still have two left if you’ve got any funny ideas.”

          Joe smiled and turned toward the creek to watch his inner tube float out of sight.  “I love this spot.  This is where Willie, Bernie, and I spent a good part of our summer.”  He could hear the boy coming toward him through the bushes.

          “Where are those guys now?” the boy asked.

          “Oh, Willie, he became an engineer and moved to Denver, last I heard. Bernard, Bernie. . .”  He turned a sad face toward the boy.  “I’m just an old man trying to regain something of my youth.”  He stretched his hand toward the boy.  “Let me see one of those mud balls.”  The boy placed one in Joe’s hand, but remained behind him.  Joe hefted it, rolled it around in his hands, squeezed it, and smoothed it round again.  “Mind if I try?”

          “Go for it,” the boy said, taking a couple of steps back, readying his throwing arm.

          Joe found a fair sized piece of wood and

tossed it as far as he could upstream.  He closed one eye, drew back, and let his mud ball fly.  “Yes!” he yelled as the projectile struck the piece of wood almost dead center.  Tom stepped forward and heaved his mud ball as well, just missing the target.  The other boys were starting to gather around the shore.  Joe smiled at them, “The best mud ball I have ever thrown.  I was telling, what’s your name?”

          “Tom.”

          He grinned at the boys.  “I was telling Tom, when I was your age this was my favorite place in the whole county.  And mud ball fights were my favorite pastime during the summer.  My name is Joe.”  He stuck out his muddy hand.  Tom smiled and shook Joe’s hand and the other boys followed his lead.

          “I’m Mark,” the redheaded boy said.

          “I’m Chris,” said the third boy.

          “You live here?” Tom asked.

          “Not now, I moved away after college.”

          “Hey, when you were a kid did you ever walk across the creek?”

          Joe’s mouth sagged open as he stared at the boy, then fear and anger exploded in his face and his jaw clenched as he fought to regain control of his senses.  “Don’t you ever!”  He fought the urge to grab the boy and shake him; instead, he raised his hands in protest.  “What do you mean, walk across the creek?”

          Tom had taken a step backwards.  “What is your problem, Mr?”

          “He’s whacked, let’s get out of here,” Mark said.

          “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . I probably misunderstood.  How do you walk across the creek?”

          “You grab hold of one of those—two if the current is up,” Chris said, pointing towards the cinder blocks hidden in the bushes.

          Joe’s jaw clenched again.  “Damn, stupid, don’t they teach you anything these days?”

          “Hey grandpa, we didn’t invite you here so you can leave if you don’t like the company.  Because we don’t need your crap,” Mark threw at him.

          “Yes, maybe you’re right.” Joe walked toward the creek, stopped at the shore, and contemplated how to get on with his plan.

          “It’s a tradition,” Tom stated.

          “Yeah, it’s been going on for generations,” Chris said.

          “My dad use to do it when he was a kid,” Mark added.

          Joe stared at the muddy bank.

          “Man, you don’t look too good,” Tom said.

          “Has anyone . . . been hurt?”

          “A long time ago, there was a kid that didn’t make it to the opposite shore.  They say he floated to the surface a few miles down stream.”

          Joe shook his head in acknowledgement.  “Bernie, Bernard Canter, he was my friend.  You are looking at the originator of creek walking.”  Joe slumped down onto a log that was half resting in the water.  “Bernie never liked it.  He only did it because Willie and I did it.  Bernie was always afraid.  Each time we had to taunt him.  No, I taunted him.  I made him go with us.”  Joe closed his eyes tight, squeezing out a tear.  “I killed him.”

          “Nobody’s died since.  It was just a dumb accident, things happen yah know,” Tom reasoned.

          “Besides, Mr. Bladchet says he invented creek walking,” Mark added.

          “Bill Bladchet?  That blowhard?” Joe blurted.  “He couldn’t even swim, but boy was he a great one for making up stories!”

          The three boys burst into laughter.  “He’s our Mayor,” Tom explained.

          “I’m not surprised.  He’s the kind of man who would glorify something as dangerous as walking across a stream holding onto a weight to keep you on the bottom.  Damn fool, he certainly hasn’t changed!”

          “Aw come on, It’s only forty feet across the dang creek,” Chris said.

          “Yeah, and only twenty feet of it is over your head, and then it’s only six or seven feet deep,” Mark added.

          “Can’t you find something better to do with your time than to try and kill yourselves at the bottom of a muddy creek?”

          “Not much,” Chris said.  “They bulldozed the old ball courts and replaced them with a housing project.”

          “Yeah,” Mark confirmed, “and the Bijou Theater closed down four years ago.”

          “If it wasn’t for the creek and watching the two stoplights change color there wouldn’t be anything to do in this Burg,” Tom quipped.

          “Yes, it sounds like Bladchet is Mayor,” Joe smiled.

          “So, what do you do, Joe?” Tom asked

          Joe looked within himself and shrugged, “Nothing worth mentioning, this was my last . . . I wanted to be here . . . I’ll tell you what.  Is Eddie’s Diner still here?”

          “Sure,” Tom said.  “It’s kind of the local hangout.”

          “I’m going to go to the landing and get my clothes, then; I’ll meet you men at the diner and treat you to lunch.  After which you will be indebted to me and will have to reacquaint me with the town.  Is it a deal?”

          “Okay. Yeah. Sure.”  They agreed.

          After the tour, Joe took out a notepad and pen.  “Let’s see,” Joe mumbled, “we need a recreation center, a ballpark, basketball courts, soccer fields, and tennis courts, oh and re-open the movie theatre.”

          “What are you writing?” Chris asked.

          “Reasons to live.” Joe breathed.

7.)                                                                   The Brass Ring

          Harper was numbed by the initial shock. Then his stomach began to coil into a knot as a cold pall shrouded him.  Harper tried to make sense of what had happened.  Jenny Lee was still talking, and her tone was one of resentment and wounded pride.  He had to get out of there now, while he had control of his actions.

Jenny Lee held tightly to Harper’s hand trying to pull him closer to the display counter.  She couldn’t tear her eyes from the spheres of gold.  “Now that says we’re married.  Those two rings say we love each other.  They say to everybody, hey look, we’re married and proud to be!”

          He pulled his hand free and bolted out the door.  Head down, he went straight towards Becker’s woods, crossing streets and alleys, parking lots and backyards.   He didn’t stop or look up until he was deep within the forest.  It was the sound of leaves and twigs beneath his feet and the familiarity with his surroundings that allowed him to feel.  The muscles that had tensed throughout his body relaxed.  The only sign of his internal rage was a small twitch near his left temple.  This is the closest he had ever come to tears.  He was twenty-seven.  Harper saw things differently than most.  He always figured that people got it wrong when they said, “they were too close to the forest to see the trees.”  To him, it was when he was close to the forest that he could see the trees.  The forest was something you view from a distance.  That’s what he figured he had done.  He had considered everything he liked about Jenny Lee like it was all one thing.  He never took time to look at the individual trees­­— the things that make his wife who she is.  Deer Valley was only a mile or so from here.  He would soon be home.  He would have to think on it.

          Danny Rosewood and Jenny Lee had attended the same school in Rutler’s Gap, North Carolina.  There weren’t any other options.  In 1943, when they started school in first grade, it was a one-room schoolhouse.  By the time they reached high school there were fourteen rooms, one for each grade, plus kindergarten.  Danny came from one of the affluent families, and went on to college.  Once he earned his bachelor degree, he returned home to become a junior partner in the family business.  He had been infatuated with Jenny Lee ever since the first day of school.  He thought about Jenny Lee after graduation as he returned home to Rutler’s Gap.  He had hoped he could develop her interest in him beyond the friendship they shared.

Jenny Lee never knew her father.  He worked in a mill forty miles from Rutler’s Gap.  It was an hour and a half drive each way on the converted mountain trail.   It was first widened by wagon, then by the county with a layer of pea gravel and tar oil.  His first three years at the mill cost him four hours a day travel time.  He had to travel by horse back until he could afford a car.  He had driven back and forth for twenty years, six days a week, working a twelve-hour shift.  When he had to work a Sunday, he would stay over at a coworker’s house for the weekend.  It saved him the twelve hours he would have spent on the road.  Without the needed rest provided by those twelve hours, he probably would have died long ago.  His heart gave out on the morning of Jenny’s high school graduation.

From the time Jenny Lee was old enough to walk, she had to help with the chores.  At age five she was responsible for feeding the chickens, gathering the eggs, and slopping the hogs.  By the time she graduated high school the town had doubled in size.  There were twelve hundred people registered as residents of Rutler’s Gap.  She landed a job as a waitress at the Rutler’s Gap Café.  She was the first waitress with a high school diploma in Rutler’s Gap, but she still had the responsibility of taking care of the chickens and hogs.  After taking care of the animals she had to get her two younger siblings ready for school.  Their responsibilities included taking care of the goats and family cow.  Now that she was working, she could help with the bills. 

          When her mother wasn’t mending a fence, shoveling manure, or planting the garden, she took on sewing to earn extra money, and she wrote letters for those who couldn’t write at no charge.  When she received her first paycheck, Jenny Lee vowed that once her brother, Albert, graduated high school and took over the responsibilities she would never again slop the hogs or clean the chicken coop.  She would live in town and never again be looked down on by the uppity-ups of Rutler’s Gap.

Mr. Printer, the owner of Rutler’s Gap Café, told her if the town kept growing the way it was, he would need a manager, plus he would like to semi-retire some day.  “I’ll teach you to cook, how to keep the books, order and keep inventory.  You’ll have something here, Jenny.”  He beamed at her, relishing in the fact that he was in a position to make such an offer.

          “Thank you, Mr. Printer,” Jenny said, speaking in a serious tone.  “But as soon as Albert graduates, I’m out of this one horse excuse for civilization.  I’m going to make something of myself, and that ain’t something that can happen in this little mud patch.” 

          Mr. Printer was taken aback.  “Jenny Lee, I don’t know what you think is out there, being only seventeen and all, but I can tell you what is here.  You have friends and family here.  You have memories and family responsibilities here.  And Jenny, you have an opportunity being handed to you, an opportunity to grow with the times, an opportunity to grow amongst your friends and family.  You want to take careful consideration of what you’re being offered, and you just might want to reflect on what your home really means to you.”

          Jenny looked off in the distance, beyond the walls of the café.  “Down in Pear Creek, they got a stop light where River Cross Road runs into Main Street.  On Saturdays, the boys I’m told, sit around in front of Wilma’s Diner and watch the light change, ‘cause their ain’t enough traffic in town to occupy their simple minds.  We ain’t even got a stop light, Mr. Printer.  I’m going to Durham.  I’m going to work in one of them big office buildings.            Mr. Printer, don’t you know that the high society of this one horse town are just regular people in a  place like Durham?  Shop owners, bankers, and the like, not that we even have a bank.  Why, I’ll be near the top of this hill just by becoming an everyday working girl in Durham.”

          It was on the following morning when she first set eyes on Harper Grayson.  He stood six foot two in his boots.  He was lean in the waist and broad shouldered.  His bright blue eyes smiled at her, matching his grin.  His pearl white teeth that set above his wide dimpled jaw, flashed as he ran his hand through his wavy jet black hair.  “Hi, I’m Harper Grayson,” he greeted.  “The  Old Hill pass has been plum washed out by the rains so I had to come this way.”

          Jenny felt light headed, and her knees started to buckle as a warm glow spread over her.  She stared at him, her mouth open and leaned against the counter for support.  She wanted to run into the kitchen, but her legs wouldn’t support her, and she couldn’t pull her eyes away from his.

“Are you all right?” Harper asked.

          “I. . . I’m trying to figure out what you want.  I mean this is a restaurant.  It sounds like you need the county offices or something.”  She gestured with her left hand, her right hand still held fast to the counter.  I mean roads washed out and all.  Do you know where you are?”

Harper looked embarrassed.  “Oh, I see.  I’m sorry.  I was so taken by your beauty I felt the need to explain why I haven’t seen you before.  There I’ve said it.  Although, I am here for the purpose of having breakfast.”  He walked past her and sat on a stool at the counter.

          Harper’s father was a trapper and a hunting guide.  He had been teaching Harper the ways of a mountain man from the time Harper had taken his first step.  Harper had never seen a town until he was twelve.  His father thought it was time for him to start learning the ways of the world.  He took Harper along when he went to trade his furs for provisions.  The towns were too busy, too noisy, and too smelly for Harper.  He was always glad when they returned home.  He had met other people before accompanying his father to town.  Ben and Alice Bowman and their three children lived on the ridge just two miles east of the Graysons.  Jacob and Becky George and their two children lived three miles further up the mountain from the Graysons.  Unless prevented by acts of nature or unusual family hardships, about every three months the three families would get together at one of their homes for a social.  After enjoying a fine spread prepared by the women the men would play music and all would sing and dance. 

          Then there were the men who came from the cities to go hunting or fishing, with Mr. Grayson as their guide.  Some years he would make half again as much as he made on a full season’s furs.  When they would come to the Grayson’s cabin, Harper would always start grinning before he ever saw them.  It was their cologne.  “They sure do like to smell purty,” his father would say.  After going to town with his father, Harper figured they were all perfumed up to drown out the smell of the city.  

          His father taught him numbers, so he could deal with the city slickers when he became his own man.  His mother taught him to read from the Bible and from the yellowed,  torn pages of the Civil County Home Study Course book set, which his father picked up on one of his visits to town.

          When Harper was fifteen, his father fell through the ice during an early thaw.  No one ever knew what had happened to him.  He just never came home.  Harper took over the fur trade and guided the city folk on their hunting and fishing treks.  His mother died of pneumonia three years later.

          Harper had come back to the café that evening.  It was near closing time.  He had wandered about until the sun was right and headed for the café.  He didn’t want to interrupt her work, or be interrupted by customers.  Normally, he would leave town as soon as he finished his business.   Tonight, he planned on staying over and leaving the next morning.   He had turned twenty-two this past month.  He was looking for a wife, but was unsuccessful at meeting women.  Women were attracted to him all right, but none of them were the marrying kind.

“So you always went West to sell your furs and post your guide service notices.  Why not East?” Jenny asked. 

“I know my way around the towns west of here.  The market has always been good.  I didn’t see no need to change.”

“There’s a picture show in Parson’s Holler,” Jenny said.  Her face flushed at her audacity.

“I ain’t never been to one, except once, a year ago.”  Harper said.

“Me too.  I saw a powerful movin’ story, ‘Shane,’ it was called.

Harper rose up in his seat.  “Me too!  I tell yah, if that were a book I’d be readin’ it over and over.” 

He was enthralled.  He glowed.  Jenny thought he looked like a god.

Harper spent eight days in Rutler’s Gap. 

They went to a picture show and a carnival as well as to the church social.  He told Jenny that he had to go home to take care of things but when he came back the following month, he was going to ask her to marry him.  She didn’t respond, but he could tell by the way she held her breath that things looked favorable.  Now he couldn’t wait to leave, so that he could hurry up and get back.

          Harper wanted to do something special for the woman he loved.  He made his mark every day.  The way he trapped, the quality of his pelts, the fair and honest way he treated others.  His honest and principled way of life left his mark at every turn.  He wanted to leave his mark on something special.  He wanted to leave his mark on something that was only meant for his bride to be.  

          He had traded for a brass lamp.  There wasn’t electricity at his cabin, but with a little modification he had a beautiful candle holder.  He went to his work shed and found the two heavy knurled brass nuts that held the electrical apparatus onto the lamp’s body.  With a couple of files, small chisel, some emery cloth, and a small hammer, the two brass nuts became rings. Skillfully he engraved them with a rope design on their outer side.  He smoothed and polished a flat surface in place of the threads that had once held the lamp together.  The larger one that had adorned the top of the lamp in an ornamental fashion, for him, and the smaller one that had attached at the base, for Jenny.  They were polished to perfection.

          Harper went to Jenny’s mother and properly asked for her hand in marriage.  After a delightful dinner prepared by a grateful mother, because of the aspect of having a man about, the two lovers went to sit under the great oak tree in front of Jenny’s house.  Harper took Jenny’s hand in his.  “Jenny, I can’t afford no diamond.  You know that, I’m sure.  But I can afford to love you and provide for you better than you might think.  If you stay at the café for the first year, I’ll get you that diamond come market time when I sell the furs.  If that pleases you, that’s what I plan on doing.”

“That will please me for sure, Harper Grayson, as long as you put a gold ring on my finger come our wedding day.”  She smiled broadly, letting it quickly fade as she veiled her eyes, leaning toward him, her moist lips parting slightly.  The taste of her lips always made him feel soft and warm inside.  He wanted to possess her right then at that moment.  It happened with every kiss.

          “My sweet and precious darling, I wanted to create a common link that binds us more than what store bought gold could symbolize.”  He deftly produced a polish cloth from his pocket, and with the delicate care of a father, unfolded its layers to expose the rings.  “I can’t afford no store bought gold, but each simple movement of my hand in the creation of these rings spoke of my love for you, and what it means to me to be honored by having you for my wife.  This is a part of me, and I want to share it with you, for the rest of our lives.”  He placed the rings in the palm of her hand. 

“My god, they are so heavy!  They must be pure gold!  If you can do this . . . darling, don’t you see?  You don’t have to slave away in the woods.  You can get a job at Rosewood’s Jewelry Store.”  Jenny looked up at him.  “What’s wrong?  Why are you looking at me like that?  Your craftsmanship is superb.  Oh sweetheart, you don’t expect me to live in the mountains, do you?”

Harper arose, and took a couple of steps forward, looking off towards the hills.  “I didn’t think about it.  I guess I naturally assumed you would live with me.  I never thought about living elsewhere.  My life . . . I never gave thought to changing it.  I guess it would be just as unfair to ask you to change . . . to give up your life.”

          Jenny Lee went up behind him.  She laid her head against his back and stroked the back of his shoulders.  “I was planning on us moving to Durham.  Don’t you see darling?  We are nowhere as long as we are in this place.  I want to be somewhere.  I want to be somebody.  In places like Durham, anything and everything is possible.”  She stepped in front of him and held up the rings, clenched in her hand.  These were made with love, but the same care, the same skill can make anything you want to make.  You can do this anywhere in the world.”

          “For you, I’ll try most anything,” Harper promised.  “I’ll try it here in Rutler’s Gap first.  I won’t leave my home first off.  I’ll work my trap lines and take care of my guide business commitments for the first year.  We’ll live here for the most part, but there’ll be weeks when I’ll need to stay in Deer Valley to take care of things.  I expect you will stay in town, cause you work here daily.  I won’t mind so much knowing I’ll have you to come back to.”

Jenny reached up to him with pouting lips, “And Durham? She asked, kissing him.

“Let me deal with Rutler’s Gap first.  Let’s leave Durham down the road for a time, okay?”

“Okay,” Jenny said brightly, “tomorrow we’ll go talk to Danny Rosewood about your incredible skill, okay?”

“That working in a store is going to take some getting use to,” Harper said, shaking his head.  “Let me settle in with part time city livin’ first.  We’ll see about all else as it comes along.”

“All right Harper, but your word is your bond, and I’m holding you to it.”  She kissed him again, letting her tongue caress his. 

“City living might not be so intolerable,” he thought.

          The Bowman’s and the George’s came to their wedding.  They brought their fiddles and a guitar and two jugs of homemade brew.  A more festive wedding couldn’t be remembered by anyone in attendance.  Jenny had never been to Harper’s cabin.  So for their honeymoon, they went to the picture show in Parson’s Creek and spent the rest of week in Deer Valley.

“You’ve been here for most of a week, Jenny, what do you think?” Harper asked.

“I’ll tell you honest, sweetheart,” Jenny smiled.  “You are the only attraction here.”  Harper’s shoulders slumped.  “Oh don’t take it so.  I mean, if it had indoor plumbing and a toilet and electricity, it could be our summer camp.  But we can still use it as our private retreat.”

“Well, I guess you need to get back to work come Monday, so we best get started for Rutler’s Gap,” Harper said resignedly. 

          “Come two in the afternoon on Monday, after the lunch crowd, you and I are going to see Danny Rosewood.  It’s about time the world found out just how gifted you are.”  She ran and jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him passionately.  As he lay her on the bear skin rug, she said, “You know what I like best about being here?  We can be ourselves.”

Jenny took off her ring and handed it to Danny, while holding up her husbands hand to show his ring as well.  “Danny, Harper made these rings with his god given talent.  Have you ever seen such workmanship?”

          Danny Rosewood examined Jenny’s ring carefully, then took a hold of Harper’s hand and quickly looked it over.  “I see what you mean, Mrs. Grayson.”  Then looking at Harper, “Your craftsmanship is extraordinary.  I could use your talent here in the store.  Have you ever worked with gold or silver?”

“Well, what in the heck do you think this is, Danny?”  Jenny said indignantly, pointing at her ring.

“Brass,” Harper and Danny said in unison.

Jenny’s face turned bright red, her lips moved, then her whole mouth, but there was no sound.  Finally she blurted out, “You told me it was gold!  How could you?  I showed this damned thing to everyone!  Do you know what everyone must be saying?  ‘There goes Harper’s little fool!  Jenny Lee caught the brass ring, isn’t she lucky!  Harper gets a free ride!”

“Jenny, it isn’t like that, what you’re saying isn’t so,” Harper pleaded.

          “You catch the brass ring!” Jenny said, snatching it from Danny’s hand and throwing it at Harper.  Harper stood there and let the ring bounce off his face.           “You have to catch a brass ring to get another free ride.  I guess it just isn’t your day!”  Jenny said caustically.

Harper’s body was stiff, his face cold, void of emotion.  He wouldn’t let himself feel.  If he did, he would have said things for which he would have been sorry.  He needed time to think, time to understand.  “What do you want me to do?” he asked, in a flat voice.

“When you showed me the rings, why didn’t you tell me?  Why did you let me believe they were made of gold, pure gold?”  She demanded.

“I didn’t, I mean now that you say it, I remember.”  Harper took her by the hand.  “But you said so many things in a rush.  You talked about changing my life completely; you talked about the great changes you wanted to make for me.  I . . . it was lost in the flood of things, I guess.  It wasn’t important to me.”

“Our wedding rings weren’t important to you?” She said aghast.

“The metal wasn’t important.  The rings, probably not that important, but what they meant, that is what I was offering you.  Don’t you see?”  He tried to explain.

“I see that you have embarrassed me in front of this whole town.  If you really love me you will put that ring on my finger before we leave this store!” she said pointing at the first set of gold bands that caught her eye.

          There was an eternity of silence after the door closed behind Harper.  Finally, Danny spoke.  “Jenny Lee, I’ve had a thing for you ever since I can remember, and I wouldn’t hesitate a second to steal you away from that Harper Grayson fellow.  That is up till now.  I guess I never really knew you, not the person inside, not the real you.  What you did to that man leaves me cold.  A man that loves you as deeply as he must, and you treat him like that over a few specks of gold?  You don’t deserve him.  And you know what?  Nobody sure as hell deserves you.”  He stood there staring at her.

          Jenny looked up at him.  She felt as though she were looking up at him from a crack in the floor.  She wanted to disappear into that crack.  “I’m really that bad, aren’t I?”

“Maybe not.  Not if you realize it.”

“I’ve lost him, haven’t I? 

He looked at her, but didn’t say anything.  She bent down and picked up her ring from where it lay on the floor, and slowly walked out of the store.

The following morning Harper was still sitting in the chair where he had spent the night.

When Jenny walked into the cabin he looked at her but didn’t speak.  She swallowed, looked up towards the rafters of the cabin and took a deep breath.  She didn’t want to break.  If she was going to leave, she was going to do it with dignity.  “I didn’t love you any less because of it.  I hope you know that.  It was this stupid prideful . . . I’m going to Durham, and that’s for sure,” she said

“When?”

          “Come next summer, maybe fall”.  Her eyes were starting to glisten with tears.  “See, I figure you’ve got to season your traps, or what ever it is you do to them to get them set for this coming season.  Then you’ve got to dry and cure the hides, not to mention the guide contracts that will be renewed.  Anyway, I figure it will be that long, maybe longer, before you find it in your heart to forgive me.  I mean I wouldn’t want you going to Durham all the time thinking about ringing my neck and you’re gonna need help here in the mean time.  I mean when you come in from laying traps you’re gonna want some^___

Harper leapt out of the chair.  “There, you’re doing it again!”

“What?” Jenny asked, taking a step back. “What am I doing?”

“You’re rushing it all together, not giving me a chance to express my feelings on your ideas.  Ideas that you haven’t even consulted me on,” Harper complained.

          “I’m sorry, I just, I wanted to, maybe it was a bad idea for me to come I guess I didn’t stop to think, I should’ve^___” she rushed on.

“DANGIT!  Can’t you just hush?”

Jenny looked perplexed. “I. . .  What?  Okay, I’ll be quiet.”  A tear trickled down her cheek.

“I’m ‘bout half starved.”  He said.

Jenny picked up the canvas bag with her left hand, showing off the ring on her finger.  The bag was dirty and holes had worn through the canvas showing some of the content.  She had dragged it across the ground for the last mile of her trek.  “I brought canned goods.  I figured you might not have eaten, considering everything, and all.”

He took the bag from her and dropped it on the floor, then he swooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bearskin rug.  “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” she said touching his face.

          “You said when you were here last, you said you could be yourself in this place.  Be yourself in Durham or never leave Deer Valley.”

“That’s a promise,” she replied, tasting his mouth.

“Are you as starved as I am?” he asked, in a husky voice.

“I’ll never get my fill, and that’s a God given fact, Harper Grayson.”

8.)                                                               The Ceremony

                Howard Plumb took a short deep breath and let it escape.  “Here we are,” he announced, taking a quick glance at his fiancée.  He exited the car, went around to the curbside, and opened the door for his bride-to-be. Francine looked up at him smiling nervously.  She sat there a good second longer than necessary, confirming the nervousness displayed in her smile.  Taking Howard’s hand, she alighted from the vehicle, and Howard guided her off the curb to the front of the vehicle.  They could feel their hearts pounding, not so terribly fast, but hard and steady.  They looked up at the little white house with pale blue shutters that set on top of the hill across the street.  Two sets of steps with a short landing in-between that led up to the dwelling.  Flowers bloomed along the sides of the steps.  Next to the landing, there was a sign that read, JUSTICE OF THE PEACE, on the top line, and the word NOTARY, just below.

            Francine Quill swallowed, and wet her lips.  As they faced each other, they could feel their anxieties melt within, while watching it melt away in their lover's eyes.  They were both twenty-four and had known each other for the most passionate nine months of their lives.  Their eyes radiated love, caring and desire.  They new they had to immediately find a bed or a minister, and the Justice of the peace was just twenty-eight steps up the hill, across the street.

            They nodded simultaneously to each other and stepped out into the street.  With their first step, came the heart stopping, stomach wrenching, scream of an air horn.  In that same instant they had caught a glimpse of something very large and red, as the eighteen-wheeler tore pass them.  The enormous vehicle disgorged its massive wall of air and shoved them backwards only an instant before it would have crushed them.

            With the look of terror still in their faces, they looked quickly in both directions and ran across the street not stopping until they had defeated the mountain of steps. When Howard felt that he could breathe well enough to speak, he rang the doorbell.  Francine reached out an instant too late to stop him.

            Wet with the sweat of fear that had been washed down along their torsos by the perspiration of physical activity, they stood there looking at each other, their clothes sticking uncomfortably to their skin.  Howard pulled out his handkerchief and blotted Francine’s upper

lip and neckline.  He then wiped his forehead and the back of his neck.  “If you think that ^____” Howard began, but the door had opened and an elderly woman was addressing them.  “Hello my dears.  You must be Howard and Francine.”  Her voice was as sweet as her smile.  “I’m Emily Hobbson, the wife and assistant of Jonathan Hobbson, the Justice of Peace.  Please call me Emily.”

            Emily stood about five foot four, and slightly rounded in figure.  She had a very pleasant, round grandma face, haloed by a full head of silver permed hair.

            Mrs. Santa Claus, Howard and Francine thought, when Emily had first opened the door. Emily moved with the grace of a ballerina, as she paraded the young couple through the house.  “It is such a lovely day, if you prefer, we can hold the ceremony outside.  We have such a lovely garden.  Many couples love to have the nuptials performed in nature's womb, as it were.  Come I’ll show you.”

            Once inside the couple glanced around the room.  This was obviously the Hobbson’s living room.  The furniture and carpet were worn by the years of comfort that they had provided.  One part of the living room, about a quarter of its space, was decorated to resemble a chapel.  There was just the right mixture of silken and linen tapestry and furnishings with mahogany veneer and gold trimmed, to give one the sense of being in a nondenominational but authoritative setting.  A small dome had been painted on the ceiling.  The only decor that seemed out of place was the door that set in the middle of the nuptial arena’s main wall.  The door carried many coats of white enamel plus a sign that read, OFFICE.  A rather old-fashion tape player sat on a white pedestal stand, next to the door.

            Howard and Francine followed Emily into the family room.  There were bookshelves that extended almost to the ceiling and covered an entire wall. At the other end of the room there were chairs and an entertainment center.  A love seat dominated the center position at this end of the room.  Emily led them to the French doors that opened onto the backyard.  The entire yard was a flower garden, with three flagstone paths that started at the small patio in front of the French doors and weaved their way through the garden.

            The couple let out spontaneous sounds of delight upon viewing the garden’s splendor.

            Emily pointed off to the left.  “There under the grape arbor, with the trellis of climbing roses in the background is where many in love want to hold their memories of the most important decision of their lives.”

            “I can understand why,” Francine said.

            “Yes, definitely,” chimed in Howard.

            “It will only cost another seventy-five dollars and what ever else you would like to donate,” Emily explained.

            The couple looked at each other, trying to mask their surprise at having to pay extra for using the garden.  Francine, staring at Howard, sucked in her cheeks, and tilted her head from side to side, waiting for a cue from Howard.  She made her eyes big, as though she were waiting for permission to start breathing again.  Howard didn’t want to disappoint his bride, nor did he want to pay the additional money.  He was afraid he would find out later, and in much regrettable detail, that Francine didn’t want to pay it either.  He was looking for the right words.  He needed help.  Francine stopped the side-to-side movement, and pushed her head forward.

            Emily saved him.  “I personally think that there isn’t one answer that fits all.  The prospect of a life-long commitment is stressful enough.  The inward beauty that you must feel and the sheer splendor of so awesome an occasion should be enough to satisfy the memories of those who are rightfully joined in marriage.”   Her voice was as sweet and warm as fresh baked cherry pie.  “Let’s go to the office and take care of the paper work,” she added brightly.

            Emily opened the office door and ushered in the couple.  The office was cluttered, and about the size of a large closet.  Howard unconsciously folded his arms in toward his body, trying to make room for the four of them.  “Jonathan, this lovely couple is Francine . . .” she looked at Francine for help.

            “Quill,” Francine said.

            “And this is Howard Plum^____”

            “Plumb,” Howard said, feeling embarrassed by his needless interruption.

            Jonathan Hobbson was a tall slender man dressed in a black suit, crowned by very sparse shoulder-length white hair.  He smiled and greeted the couple in a voice one would equate with a funeral director’s.  “How do you do,” he said, through large yellow teeth.

            “We have been given the responsibility of setting their future on its proper course,” Emily said.  “They wish to consummate their obligations in the chapel.  I will go and find Albert while you tend to the other details.”   Then she addressed Howard and Francine, “My brother Albert will act as witness and best man.  I of course will take on the role of the other witness and bridesmaid.  So if you will excuse me.”

            As she exited, Jonathan addressed the couple.  “I hope you remembered everything that we discussed on the phone.”  They both nodded their heads.  “You have met your premarital obligations, as well?  Premarital counseling?”   They give each other a quick glance.  Jonathan continued, “You have registered at City Hall?”

            “Yes,” they responded in unison.

            “And you have your license that the witnesses and I will sign after the ceremony?”

            “Yes,” they again responded in unison.  Once more, Howard and Francine felt anxiety creeping over them.

            “If I could see the license?”  Jonathan asked, extending his long bony hand.

            “Oh, yes, of course,” Howard said apologetically, searching his pockets.  “Here it is.”  He smiled brightly, pulling it out of his inside suit-coat pocket.  Jonathan gave the document a cursory examination.  He glanced up to see Albert standing in the office doorway, and tossed the license onto his desk.

            “Good evening Jonathan.”  He was a short stocky man with a fleshy, pockmarked, red bulbous nose.  He topped his sister by only an inch in his elevator shoes. He wore a somewhat gold brown colored shirt.  Perhaps because the shirt needed ironing, it looked as though it wasn’t very clean.  His dark blue, pinstriped pants, held in place by suspenders were a little too big for him in the waist.  Anyone who viewed him for the first time immediately was under the impression that he must have a drinking problem.  The short, wide tie that was decades out of style did not help his image.

            Jonathan smiled, and gave Albert a wink.  “Afternoon, Albert.  Howard and Francine have put their future into our hands.”

            “So Emily tells me,” Albert said grinning, teetering back and forth on the balls of his feet.            “Of course as I explained on the phone, the nominal fee of fifty dollars is required before we start the ceremony.”  Jonathan reminded, giving them a large yellow-toothed grin.

            “Oh, yes, certainly,” Howard said, fumbling for his wallet.  He handed Jonathan the money, and as he was putting his wallet away, Albert picked up the marriage license from the desk and handed it to him.  Howard stuffed it into a pocket.

            Jonathan again presented his yellow-toothed grin, motioning for all to exit with a sweeping gesture of his arm.   “Shall we?”  They all filed out into the nuptial setting, as Emily stepped into the office, closing the door behind her.

            Jonathan positioned the couple under the dome painting, and himself towards the corner of the chapel area.  He nodded to Albert, who reached to turn on the tape player, but stopped short.  “Just a moment,” Albert said, “the rings?”

            “Huh?  Oh yeah, the ring,” Howard said, swallowing.  He reached into his right jacket pocket and took out the small box.  Holding it in one trembling hand, supported by the other, as though it were a bomb, he handed it over to Albert.

            He took the ring out of its case and whistled, “I’ll bet you picked it out, didn’t you Miss?”  Albert slipped the ring onto the end of his pinkie finger.

            “Yes,” Francine smiled, flashing the matching engagement ring at Albert and Jonathan.

            Jonathan, with his elbows at his sides raised his hands as if to conduct an orchestra, and nodded at Albert.  Albert again reached toward the tape player and stopped short of turning it on.  He smiled and pointed towards a door that was a bathroom.  “Excuse me for a moment, nature, you know,” he said, blinking both eyes at once at the couple, before exiting to relieve himself.

            Jonathan folded his hands at his waist.  He stood there wearing his practiced smile, not speaking.  Howard and Francine looked at each other.  Francine sucked in her cheeks, looking at Howard.  Howard shrugged.  The silence was finally broken by Albert’s return.   “Now where were we?”  Albert said, raising his eyebrows. “Ah, yes.”  He took his position near the office door.  Jonathan assumed his conductor’s pose and nodded to Albert.  Albert, smiling, pushed the play button on the recorder and the wedding music began.

            Jonathan spread his arms as to encompass all.  A large resonating voice flowed out of the soft-spoken man.  “We are gathered here in the sight of God as witnesses to the joining of Francine and Howard ^____”

            Emily came out of the office and shut off the music.  “We must have the marriage license before proceeding Jonathan.”

            Jonathan turned to the groom.  “I thought we all ready did that?  Didn’t you provide us with your marriage license, Howard?”

            “Yes of course.  I gave it to you in your office.”

            “I thought so.  Let’s proceed.  We are gather ^____”

            “I haven’t seen it,” Emily said in an aggravated tone.  “I looked for it.  I didn’t see it on your desk.”

            “Emily, I saw it.  I know it is there.  That is all that matters.”  Jonathan raised his arms and boomed out for all to hear once more, “We are gath^____”

            “I’m sorry Jonathan, but that is not all that matters.  I am the official recorder and I must see it, ad hoc de jure, or the ceremony cannot take place,” Emily stated with finality.

            “Emily, I’m en medias res, the ceremony is in progress.  It is only a technicality.  It can wait,”

            “I’m sure that this wonderful couple would like to know that their wedding is legal and incontestable.  We owe it to them to follow the proper procedure,” Emily said.

            “If it is your goal to embarrass me in front of strangers, then you have succeeded.” Jonathan responded, in a tone that made it sound as though he had said, “You are an embarrassment.”

            “That is so ridiculous.  I just want to do things right.  You both want to receive an incontestable union, don’t you?  Of course you do.”  Emily responded, matter-of-factly.

            Francine turned to Howard.  “This is a bad omen Howard.  I think we should leave now.”

            Howard was searching his pockets.

            “Howard?”

            “Here it is!  I must have inadvertently picked it back up,” he said, feeling embarrassed, and handing it over to Emily.

            “Are you listening Howard?  I think we should leave,” Francine said.

            “I’m sorry Mrs. Hobbson.  I must have inadvertently picked it up,” Howard reiterated.  Sweat had broken out on his forehead.

            “So you’ve said.  It’s just nerves you know.  Men are weak in that respect,” Emily informed him.

            Francine was almost in tears.  “How can you ignore me on our wedding day?”

            Howard looked at Francine, trying to figure out what he had missed.  “What is it darling?”

            “We are in the middle of our wedding ceremony and you are oblivious to what I’m saying.”

            “I’m sorry, Francine, it’s just nerves.”  Howard quickly turned to Jonathan and in a high-pitched tone yelled, “I do.”

            “We haven’t gotten that far.”  Jonathan informed him.

            “Oh my.  What did I miss darling?”  Howard asked.

            “The boat!  You missed the boat!  I’m sailing through the most important day of my life without anyone at the helm!”  Francine said, wiping away a tear, and replacing it with anger.

            With arms slightly bowed and extended forward, palms up, Jonathan began consoling the couple.  “Please.  Howard.  Francine.  Please.”  He turned his palms downward, making quelling motions with his hands.  “It is okay.  These things happen.  We can start over.  Everything is just fine now, just fine.”  Then, looking for support he extended an arm towards Emily palm up and asked in his funeral director’s voice, “We can start now, can’t we Emily?”

            “This wouldn’t have happened if you had waited for me.  I am a witness as well.”

            “Oh for God’s sake, Emily!”  Jonathan begged, and admonished, in the same breath.

            “Yes, everything is for God’s sake and for Jonathan’s.  I am never considered,” Emily replied.

            “I’m leaving.  Are you coming with me Howard?”

            “Couldn’t we continue with the ceremony, Francine?”  Howard begged.  “Couldn’t the two of you discuss this later?”  He beseeched Jonathan and Emily.

            Francine, seeing that Howard wasn’t moving, and not wanting to be the one who walked out, continued less aggressively, “This is a bad sign Howard.  We should leave.”

            “Yes, let’s continue.”  Jonathan said, smiling.

            “This is not how a marriage should start.”  Francine coaxed.

            “From the beginning,” Howard stated.

            Jonathan again raised his arms, and the powerful voice once again poured forth.  “We are gathered here in the sight of God to join Francine and Howard in the bonds of matrimony.”

            Francine gave Howard a shove.  “Goodbye Howard!”  As she marched toward the door, but was stopped by an outburst from Albert.

            “The ring!  Where is the ring?”  Spittle flew everywhere as he turned his head to address everyone.

            “I gave you the ring!”  Howard yelled, sure of something for the first time.

            “I can’t find the ring!”  Albert exclaimed.

            “What did you do with the ring?”  Jonathan asked accusingly.

            “I know I gave you the ring!”  Howard shrilled.

            Albert cleared his throat, and addressed everyone in a matter of fact voice.  “I put it on my finger.”

            “It isn’t on your finger now!”  Howard shrilled once more.

            “Don’t tell me you lost the ring.”  Jonathan yelled at him.

            “She has very small fingers.  I could hardly get it past my fingernail.”  Albert stated defensively.

            Francine stomped up to Howard, with her head bent forward, eyes glaring.  “I don’t believe this.  You let him lose my ring?”

            Jonathan’s voice boomed, vibrating through the hysteria.  “Where did you go Albert? Think! What did you do?”

            “Albert raised an index finger to his nose and looked introspectively.  “I went to the bathroom.  I had to take a . . . I’ll be right back.”

            Francine grabbed Howard by the lapels.  “Look at me.  We are leaving right now.”

            “Are you crazy?  That ring is the reason we aren’t going to Hawaii for our honeymoon.  I am not going anywhere until I get that ring back.”

            Emily stepped forward.  “Please, please, do let us calm down.  He must have laid it on the sink while he washed his hands.  He will be right back with it,” Emily assured in her most compassionate voice.

            “Your brother doesn’t wash his hands.  If the ring is anywhere, I assure you it isn’t on the sink,” Jonathan announced.

            “There is no call for you to speak that way about my family,” Emily said.

            “My father said that no good would come of this marriage.  I should have listened to my father.”  Francine said, crying.

            “Your father doesn’t wash his hands after going either,” Howard said, sarcastically.

            “Don’t you dare attack my father!”  Francine threatened.

            “Albert could be your uncle.”  Howard added.

            “Do you want to compare families?”  Francine cautioned.

            “Do you see what you have done?”  Emily chastised Jonathan.

            “What I’ve done.”  Jonathan responded.   “It was your miss-pity-me routine, and your drunken brother’s I’m-too-stupid to-hold-two-things-in-one-hand routine, that ruined everything.”

            “You still aren’t satisfied?”  Emily said.  “You have to continue this degrading attack on my family?”

            Jonathan stepped toward Howard, stretching his arm out as though he were going to put it around him, but stopped short of embracing him.  “Howard understands.  He has witnessed similar inanities in his fiancée’s family.  He probably feels at home.”

            “I guess it is a male thing.  It isn’t just your stupidity, it is a male trait,” Emily said emphatically.

            “What are you talking about?”  Jonathan asked.

            “Ignorance!”  Emily yelled. “You, Howard, the male species.  You ignore me, the same way Howard ignores Francine.  You slander my family, the same way that Howard slanders Francine’s family.”

            Albert came back from the bathroom smiling.  He carried a bent coat hanger, from which dangled, the wedding ring and a soggy piece of toilet paper.  “Here it is.  I’ve got it.  It was lying right there, in plain sight,” Albert said proudly.

            “That is another thing about your brother, he doesn’t flush!”  Jonathan yelled.

            Howard grabbed Francine’s hands.  “Francine, don’t you see?  Darling, it isn’t us, it’s them!”

            Francine placed a hand on Howard’s cheek.  “I’m sorry for taking it all out on you darling.”

            Howard took out his handkerchief, and gently dabbed at her cheeks and her eyes.  “I didn’t mean everything that I said about your family.  Do you forgive me, precious?”

            “Yes, let’s not let these horrible people ruin the most important day of our lives.”

            Howard turned to Jonathan.  “May I borrow your handkerchief?”

            “Certainly my boy.”  Jonathan said, smiling his toothy smile.

            Howard took the handkerchief, and used it to retrieve the ring from the hanger.  He wiped the ring with Jonathan’s handkerchief, and then folded the ring into his own handkerchief.  He placed the ring in his pocket.  While Howard was performing the retrieval, Emily, though addressing Jonathan, was looking at the young couple.  “Jonathan, did you tell Francine and Howard about the free three days and two nights lodging in the honeymoon suite at the Extravaganza Hotel?  It also comes with this service.”

            “Free lodging?  Oh yes, yes, of course.  And it comes with the free champagne breakfast.”  Jonathan added.

            Howard looked at Francine, who was looking at him with her eyebrows raised and her cheeks sucked in, while tilting her head from side to side.   Howard started with,   “I don’t think ^____”

                “Gee whiz!  Albert added, looking at Jonathan and Emily.  “You forgot to tell them about the dinner for two at the Grand Gourmet.”  Then he turned to Howard and Francine.  “That is also part of the package.  One hundred dollar limit of course.”

            “Albert!”  Jonathan and Emily yelled in unison.

            “We’ll take it!”  Howard and Francine yelled in unison.

            ”Yes, of course.”  Jonathan said, looking a little flustered.  “Our pleasure.  Now children if you will stand here.”  He took his place in the corner, as the couple took theirs, under the painted dome.  Jonathan assumed his conductor’s pose.  “Emily my dear, the music.”

            Emily turned on the tape player, and Jonathan began.

            “We are gathered here in the sight of God as witnesses to the joining of Howard Plumb and Francine Quill in the bonds of Matrimony.  If there is anyone with reason to believe that this union should not be made, let such person so declare.  Francine and Howard have written their own vows.”

            Emily reached out her hand with a pointed finger and shut off the music.  “If I may.  Howard, you said that you spent the cost of a honeymoon in Hawaii on that wedding ring.”

            Francine stomped her foot on the floor.  “I don’t believe this!”

            Howard threw his hands up into the air. “So what?”

            “I’m sorry, I just thought some reflection would be good,” Emily said in her sweet voice.

            Howard motioned a finger at Jonathan.  “Please continue.”

            “We are gathered here ^____”

            “No!”  Francine yelled.  “Start where you left off.  We were about to recite our vows.”

            “That is the other thing.  Your own vows?”  Emily piped in.

            “What are you going on about Emily?”  Jonathan asked in a tired voice.

            “Howard, the price you had to pay for a yes from Francine, was it worth it?” Emily asked.

            “Well, of all the nerve!”  Francine exclaimed.

            Emily continued.  “I mean the two of you could have the pleasure and memories of Hawaii to treasure for the rest of your lives.”

            “Even if you broke up at some point in the future, you would still have those wonderful memories,” Albert contributed.

            Emily, spoke to Howard, but looked at Francine.

            “Would she have said yes, to a piece of costume jewelry?”

            Francine’s mouth dropped open.  “Of course not!  That’s ridiculous!”

            “I do see what you mean, dearie.” Jonathan remarked.  “True love, commitment, yes.  Quality, not cost.”

            “The ring would become a point of regret for one, and a tool of revenge for the other,” Emily said.

            “I know that she loves me,” Howard said defensively.

            “I’ll bet there is no mention of for better or for worse in those vows,” Albert declared.

            “Keep out of this you bumbling fool,” Howard returned, in an annoyed tone.

            “He resents you because you remind him of her family,” Jonathan explained.

            “I can avoid those members of her family,” Howard retorted.

            “Just to whom are you referring?”  Francine asked.

            “Let’s not get into that,” Howard commanded.

             “Yes let’s.  Why do you want to stoop to marrying someone from my family?  I mean, considering the intellectual superiority of your family.  Someone who has a mother that thinks Picasso is a painting by Dali must have been able to do better.”

            “Look,” Howard said.  “Just because my mother doesn’t know any more about art than your father knows about table etiquette is no reason for us to get into an argument.”

            “Please children, don’t carry on this way.”  Emily directed.  “All I wanted to do was point out that serious consideration was given to the wording of the traditional vows.  You wouldn’t be arguing with Howard if you swore your oath to him as required in the proper marriage vows.  You know, to love, to honor, and to obey.”

            “Swear an oath to him?  Any woman that would swear an oath to live her life as a slave to a fool is a bigger fool than he.”  Francine declared.

            “Now I’m a fool?”  Howard cried.

            “If you have to ask.  You did want the traditional.”

            “I’m a romanticist.  I believe in traditional values.  Is that bad?”

            “Not for you.  To obey?  For better or for worse?  Richer or for poorer?  You can sink to whatever level you want, and you would still have your little slave woman?  Get real.”

            “You want reality?”  Howard said, “Your family doesn’t know red wine from white vinegar.  A catered affair to your family is a pizza delivery.  You live in a house where everyone laughs when the dog farts.  What have you got to lose?”

            “Yes, that’s right.  You come from a higher social order don’t you.  I am not the one who has an uncle who is a felon, or a father who spends more time with his secretary than with his wife, and you’ve always loved the damn pizza!”  Francine cried.

            “I pretended to love the pizza.  I pretended because I thought you were worth it.  My mistake!”

            Francine looked at all three antagonists with tear-filled eyes and a bitter smile on her lips.  “I cannot thank you poor hapless fools enough for turning on the light.  Goodbye Howard.”  As she headed for the door, she said,  “My father was right.  Richard Trombley is more of a man than you could ever be!”  She slammed the door behind her.

            “Richard Trombley?  She likes Richy?  A sanitation specialist, who aspires to becoming a proctologist?  What did I almost do?”

            Albert smiled broadly.  “He sounds like a man who believes in getting to the source of things.”

            Howard glared at Albert as he rushed passed him, slamming the door on his exit.

            Albert, still grinning went into the den.