trembled. “You’re never friendly to me any more.”
He cleared his throat while he tried to think how to answer, and then wondered if she’d mimic him to Otto later, if she’d clear her throat in exactly that way. “Have you talked about this to Otto?”
“A little.”
“And what does he say?”
“He says you’re just preoccupied, that’s all, I shouldn’t take it personally. He says it has nothing to do with me.”
“That’s not true,” he said, suddenly angry, the blood pounding in his ears.
“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m telling you this.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant … Never mind. Forgive me. I should let you get ready.”
“But I want to hear what you meant.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. Really.” Her face, clean of makeup, had a naked look; her expression was so sad and puzzled it was almost more than he could bear.
“You’re not a nuisance,” he said thickly, and then he took a step toward her. Somehow he had his arms around her, pink bag and all, and was kissing her. He had never known how heavy a weight he’d been carrying all his life until he felt the shock of her body against his own.
CHAPTER SEVEN
O tto, as was only fitting, served as their witness. Finally his luck too was changing; he had been offered a job in Baltimore, teaching German at a private school. They set the wedding date for his last day in New York. He not only bought Louisa a whole sheaf of roses but managed to borrow a fine German camera for the occasion, so he could take their picture on the steps of city hall. It was one of those glittering fall days in New York when the wind was up and the air seemed to give off sparks; trees and scarves and flags all fluttered rhythmically. In one of Otto’s snapshots, you can see not only the newlyweds but a young girl in a shiny coat, also with a bouquet, peering anxiously down the steps to the street, as though afraid that her intended might not show up.
Louisa, of course, looks very glamorous, in her cape with the velvet collar, her brown hat pulled down slightly over her face. There are flowers pinned to its brim, and she cradles the roses like a baby. But it is the groom, in his bulky overcoat and trilby, who seems almost deranged with happiness, his eyes gleaming crazily, his mouth cracked open in a smile of painful joy. The truth is, it does not suit him, this radiance; stripped of his dignity, he looks ordinary, even homely, his mouth too thin, his cheeks already going jowly. So perhaps it was for the best that his ecstasy would be so short-lived; soon enough he could resume his becoming gravity.
First, though, there was the trip to Havana, that incongruous fleshpot, where he was being sent on business by his firm, the first such trip ever. It allowed them the luxury of a honeymoon, like other couples. Louisa wore her wedding outfit on the flight, though she left the flowers behind. There was her old pigskin suitcase; there was a dressing case with her new initials on it, Rolf’s wedding gift to her, a pledge of all the trips they would take together some day. She did not mind that her husband worked ten hours a day on their honeymoon; she could hardly imagine him not working. In the mornings, she accompanied other married ladies, whose husbands were also there on business, on guided tours of the city arranged by the hotel. They drove past marble villas with filigree iron gates, to disembark at churches studded with glass rubies, with bright blue heavens painted on their ceilings. When the other women spoke of “my husband,” she did so too. She gave handfuls of pesos to the skinny children who surged around her on her way from the tour bus to the church; they grabbed the coins and ran away quickly, as though she might change her mind. In the afternoons, she swam in the hotel pool; she sat on the balcony and read the novels she had brought with her; she painted her toenails and let her hair dry in the sun.
She did not even mind that they
He cleared his throat while he tried to think how to answer, and then wondered if she’d mimic him to Otto later, if she’d clear her throat in exactly that way. “Have you talked about this to Otto?”
“A little.”
“And what does he say?”
“He says you’re just preoccupied, that’s all, I shouldn’t take it personally. He says it has nothing to do with me.”
“That’s not true,” he said, suddenly angry, the blood pounding in his ears.
“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m telling you this.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant … Never mind. Forgive me. I should let you get ready.”
“But I want to hear what you meant.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. Really.” Her face, clean of makeup, had a naked look; her expression was so sad and puzzled it was almost more than he could bear.
“You’re not a nuisance,” he said thickly, and then he took a step toward her. Somehow he had his arms around her, pink bag and all, and was kissing her. He had never known how heavy a weight he’d been carrying all his life until he felt the shock of her body against his own.
CHAPTER SEVEN
O tto, as was only fitting, served as their witness. Finally his luck too was changing; he had been offered a job in Baltimore, teaching German at a private school. They set the wedding date for his last day in New York. He not only bought Louisa a whole sheaf of roses but managed to borrow a fine German camera for the occasion, so he could take their picture on the steps of city hall. It was one of those glittering fall days in New York when the wind was up and the air seemed to give off sparks; trees and scarves and flags all fluttered rhythmically. In one of Otto’s snapshots, you can see not only the newlyweds but a young girl in a shiny coat, also with a bouquet, peering anxiously down the steps to the street, as though afraid that her intended might not show up.
Louisa, of course, looks very glamorous, in her cape with the velvet collar, her brown hat pulled down slightly over her face. There are flowers pinned to its brim, and she cradles the roses like a baby. But it is the groom, in his bulky overcoat and trilby, who seems almost deranged with happiness, his eyes gleaming crazily, his mouth cracked open in a smile of painful joy. The truth is, it does not suit him, this radiance; stripped of his dignity, he looks ordinary, even homely, his mouth too thin, his cheeks already going jowly. So perhaps it was for the best that his ecstasy would be so short-lived; soon enough he could resume his becoming gravity.
First, though, there was the trip to Havana, that incongruous fleshpot, where he was being sent on business by his firm, the first such trip ever. It allowed them the luxury of a honeymoon, like other couples. Louisa wore her wedding outfit on the flight, though she left the flowers behind. There was her old pigskin suitcase; there was a dressing case with her new initials on it, Rolf’s wedding gift to her, a pledge of all the trips they would take together some day. She did not mind that her husband worked ten hours a day on their honeymoon; she could hardly imagine him not working. In the mornings, she accompanied other married ladies, whose husbands were also there on business, on guided tours of the city arranged by the hotel. They drove past marble villas with filigree iron gates, to disembark at churches studded with glass rubies, with bright blue heavens painted on their ceilings. When the other women spoke of “my husband,” she did so too. She gave handfuls of pesos to the skinny children who surged around her on her way from the tour bus to the church; they grabbed the coins and ran away quickly, as though she might change her mind. In the afternoons, she swam in the hotel pool; she sat on the balcony and read the novels she had brought with her; she painted her toenails and let her hair dry in the sun.
She did not even mind that they
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