He had picked up that phrase, “let’s face it,” from my sister. It’s interesting how one person’s vocabulary affects another person. Everyone who ever had anything to do with her winds up saying that, and also, “in my entire life.” And, “my good god.” Not to mention the really foul language.
“I just don’t want to leave this house,” I repeated. And then, suddenly, I remembered something that I had forgotten. And it was something that Nat did not know. Or if he did, he did not accept.
The world was coming to an end in a month. So it didn’t matter what happened after that. I only had to stay here a month, not forever. Then there would be no house.
I told Nat that I couldn’t decide, that I still had to think it over. He went back home, and I sat by myself in the living room, for most of the night, considering.
At last, about four in the morning, I came to a decision. I got into the bed in the study and slept, sleep being something I badly needed. Then, the next morning, I got up at eight o’clock, took a bath and shaved, dressed, ate some Post’s 40% Bran Flakes and toast and jam –which wasn’t very much to take– and then set out along the road toward the Inverness Wye. There was one job-possibility that I had overlooked that I wanted to try. At the Wye was a vet’s, not one that worked merely with sick dogs and cats, as the ones in town did, but with sheep and cattle and horses as well as smaller livestock. Since at one time I had worked for a vet’s, it seemed to me that I might have a chance, here.
However, after I had talked to the vet, I discovered that it was a family-run affair, the doctor and his wife and ten year old son and father. The ten year old boy did the feeding and sweeping that I had in mind, so I started back toward Drake’s Landing.
At least I had explored every possibility.
Approximately at twelve-thirty in the afternoon I got back to the house. I right away telephoned Nat Anteil’s number.
It was Fay who answered. Evidently Nat was either at work or doing his homework.
“I’ve come to a decision,” I told my sister.
“My goodness,” she said.
I said, “I’ll sell you my half of the house for the thousand dollars down and the rest in payments, if you’ll let me live in the house for the next month. And I have to be able to use the furniture and food and everything, so I can really live there.”
“It’s a deal,” Fay said. “You horse’s ass. You better not eat any of those steaks in the freezer. None of the t-bone or sirloin or New York cut. There’s forty dollars worth of steaks in there.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “The steaks don’t count. But I can eat any other food I find. And I want the money right away. Within the next day or two, no longer. And I don’t have to pay any of the utility bills for the month.”
“There’s things we need,” Fay said. “All the children’s things. Their clothes — good god, my clothes, a million things. I don’t want to move all those things out and then move them back in again. Why do you have to have it for a month? Can’t you go back and stay with those nuts the Hambros?”
So even though she had agreed she was trying to get me out. I felt the futility of trying to make any rational agreement with her. “Tell Nat that I agree,” I said, “if I can stay a month. I’ll work it out with him. You’re too unscientific.”
After a few more exchanges she said good-bye, and we both hung up. Anyhow, I considered that I had agreed, even if it wasn’t in writing. The house would be mine until the end of April — or, more accurately and realistically, until April twenty-third.
( nineteen )
At nine in the morning, Nathan Anteil met his lawyer in the corridor outside department three of the San Rafael Courthouse. His witness was with him, a plump, scholarly man who had known both him and Gwen for a number of years.
The three of them left the courthouse and went across the street to a coffee shop. In a booth they sat discussing what the lawyer would want done and how. Neither Nat nor his witness had ever been inside a court of law before.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” the lawyer said. “You go up on the stand and then I ask you a lot of questions that you answer by saying yes; for instance, I ask you, isn’t it true that you were originally married October 10, 1958, and you answer yes; then I ask you, isn’t it true that you’ve been a resident of Marin County for a period in excess of three months, and so forth. I ask you isn’t it true that your wife treated you in a manner involving cruel and unaffectionate behavior that caused you acute humiliation in public and before friends, and that her treatment had the result that you suffered mental and physical privation, resulting in inability to perform your job and that the result of this was that you could not carry on your life and meet your obligations in a way satisfactory to you.” The lawyer droned on, gesturing with rapid, sharp flutters of his right hand. Nat noticed that the man’s hands were unusually white and small, that his wrist had no hair on it. The nails were perfectly manicured, and it occurred to him that this was almost like a woman’s hands. Evidently the lawyer did no physical work of any sort.
“What do I do?” the witness asked.
“Well, you get up on the stand after Mr. Anteil; they’ll ask you to swear the same oath, at the same time as he. Then I’ll ask you, isn’t it true that you’ve lived in the County of Alameda for three months and in the state of California for over a year; you say yes. Then I ask you, isn’t it true that in your presence you saw the defendant, Mrs. Anteil, behave toward Mr. Anteil in a manner that caused him acute humiliation, and that because of this you saw him become mentally distressed and suffer both physical and mental privation that resulted in him having to consult a physician, and that there was a noticeable change in him that caused you to remark that he didn’t seem –” The lawyer gestured. “That he no longer seemed to be in the same good health and that he was visibly suffering as a result of Mrs. Anteil’s behavior toward him.” To both of them, he said, “See, we have to establish the result of Mrs. Anteil’s behavior. It isn’t sufficient to declare that she treated you badly –for instance, that she slept around or boozed or something– but that you actually suffered a noticeable change as a result.”
“A change for the worst,” the witness said.
“Yes,” the lawyer said. “A change for the worst.” To Nat he said, “I’m going to ask you isn’t it true that to the best of your ability you tried to preserve this marriage, but that your wife showed in clear and tangible fashion that she had no interest in your health and happiness, that she stayed away from the home for prolonged periods of time, showed obvious reluctance to inform you of her whereabouts during these prolonged intervals, and in general did not behave in the manner that a dutiful spouse would be expected to.”
Sipping his coffee, Nat thought to himself that this was going to be a terrible ordeal; he did not know if he could do it, when the time came.
“Don’t worry,” the lawyer said, touching him on the shoulder. “This is just a ritual; you get up there and chant the proper formula and then you get the thing you want — a divorce decree. You won’t have to say anything but yes; you just answer yes to the questions! ask you, and we’ll be out of there in twenty minutes.” He looked at his watch. “We should be getting back there. I don’t know about this judge, but they usually like to get started right at nine-thirty.” He was from Alameda County, and Nat had gotten him because once he had represented him and Gwen in a property dispute with some neighbors. Both he and she liked him. He had arranged the property settlement for both of them.
They returned to the courthouse. As they went up the steps, the witness discussed some trivial matters with the lawyer, having to do with the economic factor behind the decisions of courts. Nat did not listen. He watched an elderly man who sat on a bench with his cane in his lap, and a group of shoppers walking along the street.