Letters

But to go back a bit. On Th 8/28 my Now Wife, who was then but my Woman, delivered herself of a Bombshell Letter, her term, to her former husband, Ambrose Mensch of your city. Though she did not elect to share its contents with me, she gave me to understand that it would “knock the bastard [Mr. M.] flat.” I Seized the Occasion of her glee to Propose to her what I had Long (since July) Been Contemplating: Wedlock. I had Just Left the P & A Room, a distressing session (ultimatum, deadline, Colt.45, etc.). Marsha was, I Ought to Add, and is, Pregnant. She laughed, I Cannot in truth Say warmly, and replied Why not? I here Confess that in all this I Had a Plan, but Declare & Protest it to have been my Wish, over & above & regardless of that plan, to Marry Marsha Mensch, for whom I Cared & Care.

Sunday last, 8/31, Eavesdropping & Espial Day, we Tied the Knot. It was my Hope, and part of my Plan, to Remobilize and Conclude Der Wiedertraum: to that end we were Wed exercycling, in late afternoon, upon the Exercycles central to much therapy here at the Farm, and which I had Requisitioned through August for our Reenactment of the Horseback-Riding Lessons Rennie Morgan kindly gave me 16 years before, while her husband labored at his (never completed) doctoral dissertation: Innocence & Energy, etc., I Forget. Witnesses were Joe himself, whose expression plainly suggested that he sensed What Was Up, and our Chief of Therapy, Tombo X, who let us know again, as he had done daily for some days already, that he had an Ace Up His Sleeve, which he would any day now play. One of our elder patients, a minister of the Universal Life Church who when mobile is the best in the 65-and-Over Class of the Farm’s Exercycle Tournament, mounted his machine to do the honors. Several rockers wept openly. My own eyes Watered when I Said I Do, to the point where I was Unable to Observe whether Marsha’s did likewise. She did, however, unambiguously say she Did, on the clear condition (to which I Assent) that her legal name remain, rather revert to, her maiden one, i.e., Blank. You can perhaps advise us on that. It was all nice.

We were Left Alone then to pedal through the Final Horseback Ride towards the E. & E. Scene aforementioned. Officially we were to Speak of Joe etc. (see above): in fact and understandably we Discussed our Honeymoon Plans, at least Began to: my own Inclination was to Revisit the Iroquois Motel, off Exit 58 (Irving/Angola) of the Thomas E. Dewey Thruway, which has certain sentimental associations for us; Marsha’s was, as best I could Determine, to travel to your city for the purpose of savoring the effects of her Bombshell Letter and to display to her first husband, who did not initiate it, her current pregnancy. The prospect (of so considerable an expedition) dizzied me; but I could not in any case Think Past the morrow’s Deadline P & A Session. More Immediately Alarming, moreover, was my bride’s condition: it became Every Moment More Apparent that she had put by, for this happy occasion, one last dose of that unidentified but remarkable narcotic she calls Honey Dust, acquired two weeks earlier from Mr. Bray at Comalot Farm and (so I had Believed) exhausted a day or two since. By sundown she was off her Exercycle and calmly burbling in the grass. It was All I Could Do to Haul her over to the appropriate window of the farmhouse for E. & E. The light was on; we were A Bit Late; I Peeked In and Saw Joe smoking his pipe and perusing our script, that novelized etc. aforecited. I Rapped on the pane for him to commence his performance, and Made to Make Sure “Rennie” was set to Espy.

She was asleep, my Wife, and snoring. Joe strolled over, raised the sash, leaned out, took a look, and said: Christ, Horner. But at my Entreaty he came out; we Fetched Her In; Marsha was stirring already, must have been a minor dose of Dust; I Knew From Past Experience she would be Cross As a Bear when she was Herself again, especially if that really was the End of the Ride, ha. I Hurried to Make my Pitch.

This is, I Said in effect to Joe, my Wife. That I Care For. Nevertheless, and Against my Inclination—deeply Against etc. — but by way of Partial Recompense for, let’s Say, 8/31/53 & thereafter, I here Offer you, Joe, on my and her Very Wedding Night, her.

Joe tapped out his pipe and without surprise responded: Horner, you Disgust me. She too.

Her too, too, here put in Marsha, whom I had Not Supposed all that awake yet, and who not for nothing was the ex-secretarial Bride of a Former Grammar Teacher: Me he Disgusts, too, she sort of repeated. Hold on, I Protested, not a little Taken Aback to Find her both awake and disgusted. Let me Explain. Explain my ass, my Wife expostulated [excuse the expression, Mr. Andrews]. Explain my ass, she repeated [the exact wording is important, sir]: It’s our G.D.M.F.‘ing Wedding Night, Jacob!