“No.” This time I said it.
“Oh, come, now!” the clerk said to me. “Think of the little lady. If she sticks by what she just swore to—and I’m not saying she won’t—she’ll never have another chance. Every girl is entitled to a formal wedding. Honest—I don’t get much of a commission out of it.”
I said, “See here, you can marry us, can’t you? Go ahead. Get it over with!”
He looked surprised and said, “Didn’t you know? In this state you marry yourself. You’ve been married, ever since you thumb-printed the license.”
I said, “Oh—” Mary didn’t say anything. We left.
I hired a duo at the landing flat north of town; the heap was ten years old and smelled of it but it had full-automatic and that was all that really mattered. I looped around the city, cut across Manhattan Crater, and set the controls. We didn’t talk much; there didn’t seem to be much to say just yet. I was happy but terribly nervous—and then Mary put her arms around me and after a bit I wasn’t nervous any longer but happier than ever. After a long time that seemed short I heard the BEEEEP! beep-beep BEEEEP! of the beacon at my shack in the mountains, whereupon I unwound myself, took over manual, and landed. Mary said sleepily, “Where are we?”
“At my cabin in the mountains,” I told her.
“I didn’t know you had a cabin in the mountains. I thought you were headed for my apartment.”
“What, and risk those bear traps? Anyhow, it’s not mine; it’s ours.”
She kissed me again and I loused up the landing. She slid out ahead of me while I was securing the board, then I followed and found her staring at my shack. “Sweetheart, it’s beautiful!”
“You can’t beat the Adirondacks,” I agreed. There was a slight haze with the sun low in the west, giving that wonderful, depth upon depth, stereo look that you never get anywhere else. “I picked this place for the view.”
She glanced at it and said, “Yes, yes—but I didn’t mean that. I meant your—our cabin. Let’s go inside, right now.”
“Suits,” I agreed, “but it’s really just a simple shack.” Which it was—not even an indoor pool. I had kept it that way on purpose; when I came up here I didn’t want to feel that I had brought the city with me. The shell was conventional steel-and-fiberglass construction but I had had it veneered in duroslabs which could not be told from real logs unless you took a knife to them. The inside was just as simple—a big living room with a real, wood-burning fireplace, deep plain-colored rugs, and plenty of low chairs. The services were all in a Kompacto special, the shell of which was buried under the foundation—air-conditioner, power pack, cleansing system, sound equipment, plumbing, radiation alarm, servos—everything but the deep-freeze and the other kitchen equipment, out of sight and out of mind. Even the stereo screens were covered up and would not be noticed unless in use. It was about as near as a man could get to a real log cabin and still have inside plumbing.
“I think it’s just lovely,” Mary said seriously. “I wouldn’t want to have an ostentatious place.”
“You and me both.” I worked the combo and the front door dilated; Mary was inside at once. “Hey! Come back here!” I yelled.
She did so. “What’s the matter, Sam? Did I do something wrong?”
“You sure did.” I dragged her back to me, then swung her up in my arms and carried her across the threshold. I kissed her as I put her down. “There. Now you are in your own house, properly.”
The lights had come on as we entered the house. She looked around her, then turned and threw her arms around my neck. “Oh, darling, darling! I can’t see—my eyes are all blurry.”
Mine were blurry, too, so we took time out for mutual treatment. Then she started wandering around, touching things. “Sam, if I had planned it all myself, it would have been just this way.”
“It hasn’t but one bathroom,” I apologized. “We’ll have to rough it a bit.”