her? He didnât even know what he meant: living alone. Everyone was always living alone, if you wanted to get depressing about it. If he didnât live here alone, he would live somewhere else alone. If he lived with another man, as he allowed himself to imagine in the narrow crawl spaces that intersected rational thought, he would: (a) still be alone, because everyone was; (b) perhaps cease to exist, because he didnât know any men who lived in this way; and (c) be miserable, because theman he wanted to live with had just last week told Albert he didnât want to see him ever again.
Dear Bea, Iâm so sorry
Dear Bea, Iâm not sure exactly what Iâm writing to say
Dear Bea, Iâm not even sure that this will upset you, what I have to say, which makes it all the more confusingâto know how to say it, or even to know why I should bother saying it
Albert was hungry. This was another problem; he hadnât left the house all week and was very, very hungry. He rubbed his calf. He traced the ridges the table leg had left in his skin. He was asking for a divorce, he supposed. But the word was so dramatic, and final; it seemed to belong to another marriage than theirs. He could imagine Bea reading it and bursting into laughter.
He released his calf, winced, took up another piece of stationery, made for Beaâs confirmation ceremony fourteen years ago. Lillian had chosen the shade of pink, and the embossed initials:
BTH.
Beatrice Theodosia Haven, Theodosia for Feigel, who had been Lillianâs or Henryâs grandmother, Albert couldnât remember which. He also couldnât remember how theyâd gotten Theodosia out of Feigel (they had drawn the
T
from the Hebrew equivalent of Feigel, Tsipporah) but the distance between the words represented for him part of the problem. Bea was so attached, on the one hand, and so utterly unattached, on the other.
Even when they met, at Congregation Adath Israelâs Purim Ball, where Albert played one of Vashtiâs handmaidens with such gusto and so much chest hair that he found himself attacked afterward by a herd of young women, Bea was not among them. It wasnât until the party was winding down and Albert, having extracted himself, was walking toward the menâs room, that he felt a hand on his elbow and found himself being steered toward an out-of-the-way window by Beatrice Haven, who wasnât known to bat her eyelashes at a man, let alone touch him. She started tointroduce herself, but Albert smiled and said, âI know who you are. No Booze Beatrice. Iâm Albert Cohn, who likes to drink.â
Bea did not blink. âBut do you like women, Mr. Cohn?â
He unhooked himself from her arm. âExcuse me?â
âDo you prefer us?â
âThat depends on the context.â
âIn the context of marriage, Mr. Cohn.â
âI donât prefer to be married.â
âAnd what if the woman, hypothetically, didnât want to be married either?â
Albert, looking around the room, lowered his voice. âAnd why wouldnât this hypothetical woman want to be married?â
âLetâs say she was strange. Or lonely.â
âIf she were lonely, wouldnât she want to marry?â
âThat would depend on the nature of her loneliness.â
âI see.â Albert nodded, trying to look sober, but heâd drunk a lot of whiskey and the conversation was so far from anything heâd ever participated in. A kind of giddiness swept through him.
âForget loneliness,â Bea said. âLetâs say sheâd simply had enough of men.â
âSheâs a man hater.â
âIf we must call her that.â
âShe hates men. Except for a man like me.â
Bea didnât answer.
âBut her mother wants her to marry,â he said. âHer mother has wanted her to marry since she could walk.â
âHer mother must be like his mother,â she
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