The Marriage Bed (19 page)

“Maid meaning maiden?” I asked, unable to control myself. “Well, I doubt very much if my friend Bonnie would pass any test, but –”

She drew up her bosom in a warning sort of way, but went on blandly, “Perhaps, then, you know some … 
nice
little girl, just to hold your flowers while the rings are exchanged.”

By processes like these our wedding rapidly shaped into a clan gathering, a ritual in which Ross and I would be at once the most prominent and the least active figures, like those saints in effigy carried in religious processions.

“It’s ridiculous,” fretted Billie. “I hate churches, they’re as bad as hospitals. When you aren’t bored to tears in them, you’re scared to death or horribly depressed. I don’t know why the two of you don’t just elope.” Quietly but firmly she left all the arrangements to Edwina, who adored her double role as martyr and impresario. When I repeated Billie’s suggestion about elopement, she only said, “Quite a … 
sense of humour
your mother has,” and went on to debate whether champagne or a sparkling rosé would be better for the breakfast. “And we must call Hugh tonight and ask if he’ll propose the toast. He’s a busy man, but I’m sure he’ll make the effort.” After a pause she added, “I do hope, though, he’ll … 
control
 … his sense of humour.”

Ross’s head snapped up. “Good old Uncle Hugh,” he said. “Will you ever forget that joke he told at Barbara’s –”

“Quite,” his mother said crisply. “I’ll just have a quiet word beforehand with your Aunt Jean. Then there’s Catriona. I’m afraid she’ll expect to be asked to sing.”

“Look,” said Ross earnestly. “In no circumstances will I let that cow sing ‘O Perfect Love’ anywhere
near
me, do you understand?”

“Well,” she conceded with an unwilling little smile, “I must say I’ve always wondered why they’re so proud she never had a lesson in her life.”

This kind of thing was highly diverting; but the time soon came when I couldn’t avoid noticing that Ross was growing day by day more silent and withdrawn. He tried to conceal it from me, but his sleep was thin and restless, his food disagreed with him, and when he thought no one was looking, he would put his head in his hands and sigh.

One morning at first light I woke to hear him pacing to and fro in the next room, and at last I faced the truth. We’d been like a couple of kids dressed up in their parents’ shoes, playing a silly game that would have to stop at once. Hastily I pulled on some clothes and opened the door. Ross stood at the window and did not turn when I spoke.

“Listen,” I said desperately. “I know how you feel.”

His back went very still. He was listening with acute attention for something he wanted badly to hear.

“Ross, it’s insane for us to get married, isn’t it.”

There was a silence. Then he said almost inaudibly, “It’s nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

“No, I know that. But it’s not just all this chat about ushers that’s getting you down, either.”

“No.”

It had to be said, and because I knew myself to be the tougher of us two by far, I was the one who had to say it.

“Well, then, for God’s sake don’t let’s
do
it. We’ve been crazy to let ourselves get pushed this far. But nobody can make us go through with it.”

“Yes, but all these goddam
arrangements
 –”

“We cancel them. That’s all.”

“Yes, but Anne, there’s this – there’s your –”

“All right. That’s strictly my problem, not yours. It’s maybe not too late for me to do some thinking again about that, too. It could just be that everybody’s right and I’m wrong about … Anyhow, that’s my responsibility. Nothing to do with you, basically.”

Ross turned away again. His shoulder bones stood out in two sharp blades.

“The thing is,” he said in a low voice, “you and I are too … I mean it just wouldn’t work. We both know it wouldn’t. I’m cross in the morning when you’re bursting with energy. I’m neat and you’re sloppy. I’m a worrier, always analysing and hairsplitting; you just live by some kind of primitive radar. And without being bossy, you’re so … anyhow, you know we’d started to fight even before we knew about your …” Another miserable pause. Then he burst out, “No, I just can’t go through with it, that’s all. What’s the point, when it will all just end in some lousy divorce?”

“Right. Then it’s finally settled. No wedding.” All of a sudden I felt a crazy sort of relief; my voice sounded almost gay. But his was soft, sad, and final.

“It’s no good; you see, I’m just not ready for it. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

“Don’t apologize. I know we’re not compatible. It would be lunacy for us to go through with the whole thing just for a lot of relatives. You’d better tell your mother right away. I’ll cope with my parents. The caterers and all that jazz – they’ll be too busy cancelling everything to work up a big scene.”

“My mother will be plenty upset. I’d better go home for the weekend.”

“Yes, do that. But she’ll soon get used to the idea. The thought of you married to me appalled her anyhow, deep down.”

“That is not
fair,
Anne. She’s behaved damn well, and you know it.”

A light shock of delicious anger tingled through me. “Of course she has. That’s her speciality. But let’s not kid ourselves; your mother
loathes
me.”

“Please Anne, don’t let’s –”

“Why not?” I shouted. “What’s wrong with a good loud row? What’s there to lose now? You’re out of it, whack, and so am I. We can afford a good brawl – maybe we even owe it to each other.”

But Ross had darted into the other room, where he snatched up a few clothes and stuffed them into his briefcase. He was white in the face with anger and other kinds of distress.

“I’m off,” he said in a breathless voice. “I can’t take any more. I’m sorry, if that’s any use to you. Sorry, but this is it. I’ll be in touch some time later.” And he crowded himself through the door without dignity and fumbled it shut between us.

Once he was gone, a superb sort of calm spread through me. Everything now seemed perfectly clear and simple. Some kind of pressure or constriction – maybe it was the bonds of holy matrimony – had dropped away, leaving me light and free. Free to do anything. There was no possibility any more it was impossible to confront. Dr. Miller’s offer to schedule me for a hospital abortion was no doubt still open. This procedure no longer seemed like an unthinkable atrocity, but simply a matter of common sense. The alternative was twenty-odd years of single-parent responsibility for a being still just a cluster of cells. Almost light-headed with relief, I dialled Miller’s answering service and was promised a call from his secretary at noon.

In the interval, I set about a fanatic clean-up of the apartment’s two and a quarter rooms. Ross’s drawers in the bureau we shared were models of neatness; mine were a snake’s nest of belts, bras, Aspirin, deodorant spray, keys, cologne bottles, pantyhose, ballpoint pens, loose change; even, inexplicably, a tennis shoe. I reduced all this to impeccable order before going on to vacuum
under the bed, excavating in the process an air-letter, an apple core, and two overdue library books … all on my side. He was right about my sloppiness. And about everything else, too. We were socially, psychologically, every way incompatible. What a pity that in spite of this we’d become so horribly intertwined that his toothache made my molar stab; my thoughts printed out in his mind; there were no definable boundaries anywhere between us.

Fiercely I scoured the tiny kitchen and bathroom, it being a matter of pride to leave the entire place in a state of inhuman neatness. Finally I packed a small case to take with me to Don Mills, and filled cartons with all the rest of my clothes and books. By the time Miller’s nurse called, I was breathless with all this activity and glad to sit down.

“You called, Miss Forrest?”

“Yes. I need an appointment with Dr. Miller right away.”

“Is it an emergency?” she wanted to know.

“Yes, you could call it that.”

There must have been something convincing in my voice, because after a short pause she said, “Right. Why don’t you come in a bit before two, and I’ll sneak you in before he sees anyone else.”

“Thanks very much.”

That gave me time to make up the bed with clean linen, leaving that arena also perfectly, primly pure. After a last look around to make sure no litter remained, I locked the door behind me and set out.

On Yonge Street the tall city towers were paralysed in a thick heat-haze. Car exhaust, dust, and hot-tar fumes hung in the heavy air. The sun was like a brass gong overhead. On the subway platform it was a little cooler, but the invading gusts of hot, gritty air reeked of scorched metal. “A perfect day for this trip,” I thought grimly. “Couldn’t be better.” On the bench waiting was an old woman with an orthopaedic collar and swollen legs. Looking at
her kept my desperation in mint condition. Life wasn’t such a glittering prize, after all. Who was I to force it on anybody else?

At last a train came rumbling out of the tiled tube, bringing its own gush of hot air to boil around the platform. I walked back to the last car, which was not crowded like the rest. Inside, though it was stiflingly hot, my hands felt cold.

I flopped down on the nearest empty seat. The two benches running lengthwise down the car close to me each contained the recumbent figure of a teen-aged girl. Their bare and filthy feet confronted me at disagreeably close range. The girl on my right might have been thirteen. Her greasy hair hung to the floor in long strands. She had something in her hands which she silently held up to show me. With an involuntary little start, I saw that it was a large black-and-white rat. Before I could check the gesture, one of my hands jerked open instinctively to cover my belly. The girl smiled at me.

“You like rats?” she asked.

“Not all that much.”

“Well, but this one is special. He’s specially trained. I give him the signal and he goes straight for your throat. You don’t believe it?”

“Frankly, no.” The train at this point slowed to a crawl. It swayed and creaked by inches through an apparently endless tunnel. Finally it stopped altogether with a discouraged hiss, and all the lights blinked out. I stood up with sweat pouring down my back. In the dark the girls giggled.

“Okay,” the one nearest me said. “Okay, George.
Get her.
”

The lights flicked on again to reveal George crouched on her knee, his pink and indecisive nose quivering as if in apology. I smiled weakly and moved over to stand at the doors. A woman across the aisle abruptly changed her seat for one at the other end of the car.

“Chi – i – cken!” both girls chanted in delight.

“Perhaps you know some
nice
little girl,” Edwina’s voice repeated fatuously. Poor fool, she hadn’t realized yet they were an extinct species. When would this infernal train get to a station – any station?

“Here,” the girl nearest me said to her friend as the train began to sway forward at last. “Catch!”

She tossed her rat across the aisle and the friend caught it, not very neatly. They threw the creature to and fro several times, eyeing me to enjoy the effect. The other passengers resolutely ignored the whole performance. I stood at the doors with one hand pressed over my belly. My heart was banging with fear, anger, life. I’d forgotten why I was making this trip. All I could contain was a keen and sweating anxiety to get myself and my own personal passenger out of this underworld.

When at last the train doors slid open, I crossed to the opposite platform and rode back to my starting-point, climbing the stairs minutes later with a euphoric sense of triumph. The blaze of heat rising from the sidewalk felt superb. My back hurt; my eyes dazzled – everything ached; thoughts, feelings, everything – the existence of evil was a real and frightening thing. But I was alive and so was my embryo; nothing else mattered. Later I would call and cancel my appointment with death. At the moment it seemed overwhelmingly important to get back to the apartment. I hurried toward it as if pursued by something dangerous.

As I groped for my keys in the dark lobby, I almost fell over something blocking the lowest step of our walk-up – a hunched-over man who was evidently half asleep – Ross.

“Forgot my key,” he mumbled. “Been here for ages. Well, an hour. Where were you?”

“Oh,” I said, “nowhere much.” We climbed the stairs, each with his bit of hand luggage, and on the landing swayed clumsily together. Drunkenly our faces and bodies blundered into contact,
and we clutched each other. The delicate knuckles of his spine felt sharp under my hand.

“I am going to cook you a truly enormous dinner,” I said.

“Give me the key so I can open up. What’s the suitcase for?”

“I forget.”

As we struggled in together, he said, “I mean, what’s wrong with City Hall? It’s just as legal. To hell with the veil and the ushers.”

“Yes, to hell with them.”

“
And
the maid of honour.”

“Right. Oh, Ross, look at how bloody neat everything is. Even the drawers. You won’t believe the drawers.”

“I’m a fussy old maid. You’ll just have to forgive.”

“Get your clothes off,” I advised him.

I went into the bathroom briefly to wash my face, which was richly flushed and slobbered with tears. My eyes met the judge’s eyes in the mirror without apology. I knew that if I really loved Ross, I would let him go, whatever the cost to myself. But I couldn’t afford this kind of generosity. My need was too big. I could keep him safe – but who would protect him from me? That was a question too hard to answer then, or perhaps ever.

“… on the other hand,” he was saying from the bedroom, “my Uncle Hugh is a real gas. This wedding might even turn out to be fun. After all, you could call it an experience, I guess, to hear Catriona belt out ‘O Perfect Love.’ ”

T
his time the phone rang for real, but by the time I struggled out of bed and picked it up, there was nothing at the other end but an empty, electronic hum. While I still stood there stupidly listening to it, the sound of a key in the front door made me jump. Was that Ross at last? Occasionally he used to drop in on his way to the office, and certainly there were things we had to settle very soon
about the week when I’d be in hospital. The arrangement was that he’d sleep here while Margaret coped in the daytime; but the details still had to be worked out. It wasn’t like Ross to neglect details, I thought gratefully … but the head that emerged into the hall below was wearing a Leafs hockey tuque. At once I waddled swiftly back to bed and pulled the blankets high around my head.