Blood Relatives (15 page)

In bed tonight, I was reading the Bible. Patricia asked me how come I was suddenly interested in religion. I told her I was only interested in the stories, there were some interesting stories in the Bible. What I was looking for was proof that what Andy and I are doing is wrong. I
know
it’s wrong, but I can’t find anything in the Bible that says so. Even so, I know that if
I’d have been pregnant that time, we could have had idiot children, I know that for a fact. There
has
to be something wrong with it, otherwise you’d see plenty of cousins married to each other, brothers married to sisters even. But a society protects itself by making laws against that sort of thing—though I don’t know if there’s a
real
law against it. I’m sure there’s a religious law, though.

Carella looked up at this point, puzzled, and then opened the top drawer of his desk. From it he took a paperbound edition of the state’s criminal law, and thumbed through the index at the rear till he found the word INCEST and a referral to page 151. On that page, he found:

Incest

—

PL 255.25

—

Class E Felony

and alongside that, under the word “Elements,”

Marrying or engaging in sexual intercourse with a person whom one knows to be related to him, either legitimately or
illegitimately, as an ancestor, descendant, brother or sister of either the whole or the half blood, uncle, aunt, nephew, or niece.

No mention of cousins. Whatever the
Bible
had to say about matters incestuous, the Penal Law was clear. If you were kissing cousins, that was quite all right with the state. Carella couldn’t quite understand the niceties that made it okay for a boy to marry his cousin whereas that boy’s father, who would be the girl’s uncle, could
not
marry her unless he wished to be charged with a Class E felony and sent to jail for a maximum of four years. In the eyes of the law, however, Muriel and Andrew hadn’t had a thing to worry about. Carella turned back to the entry for August 27.

But a society protects itself by making laws against that sort of thing—though I don’t know if there’s a
real
law against it. I’m sure there’s a religious law, though. That much I’m sure of.

As I write this now, Patricia is watching me from her own bed across the room. She interrupted me not a minute ago to ask what I can possibly find to write about each night. I told her that a million things happen every day, and I just try to put them down so I won’t lose track of them. She told me that all the things that happen to her are just boring, and it would bore her all over again to write them down.

Well, she’s really very young. I love her a lot, but she’s only fifteen. There’s a difference.

Thursday, August 28

Jack took me to lunch again today.

He’s really a very mature and level-headed person, different from Andy in so many ways. I can’t imagine Jack, for example, taking a fit about a little old diary. This morning I happened to
mention to Andy that Patricia had asked about the diary, and he immediately wanted to know if I’d written anything about us in it. I said, Yes, I’d written a lot about us. He said I mean about
us,
you know. I said, Yes, about
us,
you know. I was smiling when I said this, and imitating his voice a little, and he suddenly slapped me, we were sitting in the kitchen having coffee, he slapped me and the cup of coffee fell on the floor, and Aunt Lillian called from her bedroom, wanting to know what was going on. The walls in that apartment are paper-thin, you can hear everything all over the house. Andy said there’d been an accident, cup of coffee fell off the table, and Aunt Lillian said to be sure to wipe up the linoleum, and Andy said he would.

Then, while he was wiping the floor, he looked up at me and said there was nothing funny about any of this, he couldn’t understand why I’d begun taking it so lightly. I said I didn’t think it was funny at all. In fact,
I
was the one who kept saying it was wrong whereas all
he
wanted to do was get into my goddamn
pants
all the time! He told me to shut up, the whole house would hear me, but I really didn’t give a damn by then who heard me, I
mean
it. That slap had really hurt. He had no right slapping me that way. I finally told him the diary was none of his damn business, and when he asked me if he could read it, I said absolutely
not.

The point I’m making is that Jack never would’ve reacted that way, I’m sure he wouldn’t. He’s very big on privacy, Jack is, which is one of the reasons his wife drives him up the wall. She can’t stand him doing anything without her. He sits down to read a book, his wife comes over, asks him what he’s doing. He’s sitting there reading a book, right? So she asks him what he’s doing. What he usually says is he’s riding a camel across the Sahara or he’s building an ark for when the rains come—ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer. But she does that all the time, whenever he’s trying to read or listen to some music, or even when he’s down in
the basement working on something, she’ll come over and pester him—What are you doing, Jack? He said it’s because she’s really quite an empty person inside—vacuous was the word he used, if that’s the way you spell it—and whereas he still loved her, there were times when he wished she was more self-sufficient. He told me this in all honesty, and said it wasn’t just a “My Wife Doesn’t Understand Me” pitch. He hoped I realized he wasn’t coming on with me, he just found me very interesting to talk to, and besides, he liked looking at me because I was so damn lovely. Those were his exact words—”so damn lovely.” He covered my hand with his when he said this. He put down his fork and covered my hand. I didn’t mind it at all. I thought I’d feel embarrassed, his being married and all. Instead, it made me feel good. He’s a very nice person, and I’m sorry he’s having trouble at home. If some people could just understand that a person doesn’t want to be
owned.
Well, I guess it’s very hard for some people to understand that.

Friday, August 29

I had to lie to Andy today.

It was such a beautiful afternoon that around 3:30, 4:00, Jack said it might be a good idea if we took a drive into the next state at the end of the day, he knew a nice little place over there where we could go for a drink. Andy usually picks me up outside the bank at a little after 5:00, which is quitting time. The bank closes at 3:00, of course, but we stay on till 5:00. I told Jack I didn’t know whether or not I could make it because my cousin would be coming down to get me, and he grinned and said he was beginning to wonder about this
cousin
of mine, was I sure this guy was a
cousin?
I said, Oh, sure, he’s a cousin, all right, and he’s supposed to pick me up. So if I can’t get him on the phone, well then, we’d have to forget about it, or I’d have to take a rain check for some other time. I also told Jack that a person had to be twenty-one to
drink in
this
state, and they were always asking me for my ID, but he said I didn’t have to worry because it was eighteen over the bridge there, and I certainly looked eighteen and he didn’t think anybody would bother me. Well, I called Andy and told him I had to work late, there was $104 we couldn’t account for, and we were all going crazy trying to track it down. I told him I’d catch the train home, and he said, Okay, he’d see me later. He also said he had some good news for me.

The place Jack took me to was about twelve miles over the Hamilton Bridge, a very nice little cocktail lounge attached to a motel. He was right about nobody asking me for my ID, though the man who served us
did
look me over very carefully. When I mentioned this to Jack, he said that’s because I was so beautiful. He said if a man
didn’t
look me over carefully, he had to be crazy. I really get kind of fluttery when he says things like that, I don’t know what it is. He told me again today how devoted he is to his wife, though she’s been pestering him about taking a vacation before the summer ends. Leave the kid with her mother, go away just the two of them. He told her he didn’t think he could get away right now, and suggested that she go alone—but of course she doesn’t understand or need privacy. He said he was sort of wishing she’d go. He’s a very nice person, I’m really sorry about the situation with his wife.

When I got home, Andy was waiting for me downstairs. He told me he’d gone to see a priest, and he’d asked the priest whether the Catholic Church objected to marriage between first cousins. The priest said the church would permit the marriage of persons related to the third degree of kindred, which meant that we would have to be
third
cousins in order to get married with the church’s blessing. So I asked Andy why he considered that
good
news, and he said the priest had told him special dispensations were sometimes granted, and that it was possible one might be
granted for us. I told Andy it seemed like a lot of trouble to go through, just to get married, and he looked at me very strangely and said he thought the news was going to please me. Then we went upstairs, where supper was waiting, and neither of us said a word all through supper. Aunt Lillian wanted to know if anything was wrong. I told her, No, nothing was wrong.

Saturday, August 30

Andy came into my room at 10:00 this morning. I thought he was crazy at first, but he told me everybody was out of the house. He was wearing only pajama bottoms. I told him he should get out of there before someone came home, and he said he didn’t care if they all found out about us, he loved me and wanted to marry me. I told him the priest had said first cousins couldn’t get married, and he got very angry and said I hadn’t listened to him at all when he’d told me about the special dispensation that was possible. I told him I had listened very carefully, but I was sure dispensations weren’t just handed out every day of the week, that it was probably very rare that the church allowed first cousins to get married. He admitted that the priest had told him as much yesterday, and had also added something about it being bad to mix the blood. But he said he honestly didn’t give a damn
what
the church thought—who said we had to get married by the church? We could go right downtown and get married at City Hall, what the hell was so special about getting the church’s blessing? I said, Andy, if it isn’t so special to get the church’s blessing, then why did you go to see a priest yesterday? Andy, I think it
is
important to you, and it’s also important to me. And if the church is so against it, there must be a reason, and we ought to reconsider, maybe we ought to think about it for a while instead of rushing off and doing something we’ll
regret for the rest of our lives. He was in bed with me by then, and he was on top of me and trying to get my nightgown off. I told him to please stop, I didn’t feel like it right then. He said I used to feel like it all the time, but now I
never
seemed to feel like it, and I said, That’s right. With you harping at me all the time about getting married, that’s
right,
Andy. You’re killing any desire I might be feeling, that’s absolutely right. He got out of bed and went out of the room, and I heard him getting dressed next door, banging closet doors and dresser drawers, and then I heard him storming out of the house. I didn’t see him all day today.

Sunday, August 31

In church this morning, I prayed that God would help me to break off with Andy.

I can’t bear it any longer.

I have to be free of him.

He didn’t say a word to me all day. At supper tonight, he looked sullen and angry, and finally Uncle Frank told him to please leave the table if he didn’t know how to behave with human beings. Andy got up and went straight to his room. I’m sure they’re all going to know what’s going on if he doesn’t quit acting this way. He must think they’re all fools.

Monday, September 1

Today is Labor Day, which means the bank is closed and I won’t get to see Jack. All this weekend I’ve been longing to talk to him. I just can’t go on this way, I’ve got to have someone to talk to about this situation. I’ve been thinking of running away from here, but I know that would hurt Aunt Lillian, and she’s a dear sweet woman who I love a lot. If only I hadn’t started with Andy. If only I’d been stronger. I have to tell somebody about this.

Tuesday, September 2

The first thing I did when I got to work was call Jack’s office. His secretary asked who this was, and I said it was me, and said I thought I’d found a bookkeeping error. When she put Jack on the line, I explained that I needed desperately to talk to him. We agreed on a place to meet for lunch, and at about a quarter to 1:00 I began telling him the whole story.

He was shocked.

He said the first thing I had to do was get out of that house. I told him I couldn’t do that immediately, I would first have to find a place to stay. He said he’d help me do that, and he warned me that meanwhile I must not have anything to do with my cousin, that the situation could only deteriorate. From what I had told him about the various times Andy had become violent with me, Jack was frankly fearful for my safety. I told him I didn’t think there was anything to worry about in that respect, and he said I certainly hope so, Muriel, because if anything should happen to you—and then suddenly he got very quiet, and he looked down at his plate. Finally I said, Yes, Jack, what
if
something should happen to me? He said he was sorry he’d said that. He was a married man, and I was only a seventeen-year-old girl, and he had no right to express any interest in me other than what a good and concerned friend might express. So I said, Don’t you consider yourself something
more
than a good and concerned friend, Jack? And he said, All I know is I’m worried about you, Muriel. I want you to get out of that house before your cousin takes it into his head to harm you.

I assured him that Andy wasn’t the type who’d
really
hurt me. Even though he’d slapped me that one time, and grabbed my arm a couple of times, I told Jack I didn’t think he was really the violent type. Jack said he was worried, anyway, and he suggested that I take a room in a hotel downtown until I could find a place of my
own, but I told him my Uncle Frank would never permit that. In fact, I was going to have a hard-enough time of it just moving out. I was only seventeen, after all, and my Uncle Frank and my Aunt Lillian were my guardians. And Jack said, If they’re your guardians, they should have made certain their goddamned son kept his filthy hands off you.