Anci blinked in mute surprise; at least I think it was mute surprise. I tried to smile as benignly as possible and waited for her to sit. The finer points of courtesy between the sexes are lost on her.
"May I get you something, Sir?" Poor dim thing; she couldn't stretch to imagine why I was there. She could think of only two things I could possibly want: refreshment or her delectable behind. I reckon she was hoping it was the one and not the other.
"No, Anci, please sit." Ever obedient, she perched on the edge of the chair. I continued.
"I came to tell you that I heard your good news."
She looked very blank.
"The good news about Darius and you."
"Oh!"
I had forgotten how difficult conversation with Anci could be. No wonder I hardly
bothered with it.
"You must be very—happy." I decided against 'excited' so as not to confuse her with other associations.
Anci nodded gaily.
"Would you like to let your mother know you're getting married? I can write a letter to her if you like," I offered.
"Mama can't read either."
"Surely someone could read it to her."
"Darius is going to teach me how to read," Anci smiled. She looked rather bridal, I guessed.
"That's wonderful, Anci, I'm sure you'll do fine." Riii-ght. Well, Darius is an obnoxiously patient so-and-so; he is welcome to her.
"I have to be able to read bedtime stories to our babies," she explained.
"Of course." I heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. Everything about this exchange between Anci and me told me that we were so undeniably over. Excepting that her body was as lush and inviting as ever, it was difficult to remember that there had even been a 'we' in the first place. I couldn't wait to tell Christine.
I cornered my Persian friend before dinner and suggested we might look for a bigger home.
"I like it here," he whined.
"Well that's all good and fine, Reza, but you're the only one who's not growing. When Anci moves in we'll be double what we were. Christine doesn't want to leave you, but Masson won't be sleeping in his crib much longer, and you know that Darius will do his duty. We've gone from three bachelors in a brownstone to a nursery. We need more space."
Silence.
"Just think on it, will you? You know me; I can take Christine and Masson and live in a sewer. But for some reason, she and I both feel loath to leave you behind," I admitted grudgingly.
"I love you too, Erik," he smiled.
"Right; so you say, but have you married me yet? No."
"And Christine is really agreeable to living under the same roof with Anci? Remarkable."
"Not so remarkable when you hear what she threatened me with should I, ah, sin."
"Who knew when you penned your opera that you really are a Don Juan, my friend," Reza chuckled.
"Please," I grimaced.
"Well, Erik, you must admit, you do have that indefinable something…"
"It's not indefinable; it's defined as repulsive, you dolt."
"I am referring to your charm and magnetism, you dolt."
"Quick, come kiss me before Christine sees."
Christine wanted to shop and for some reason felt more would be accomplished if she left Masson behind; imagine that. It was rainy; we couldn't torment the geese, so we wound up in my room. Masson considered it a wonderland.
We pounded the piano and sang. When that wore off, we dug out pastels. Masson worked tirelessly on something blue, and when he was finished, pronounced it a portrait of his mother. He put a black stick alongside—that was me; and interestingly, he saw himself as a roundish orange shape. I was able to guess that it was him by the placement of the orange blob—emphatically between the lovely blue lady and the black stick.
Next it was time for a boat ride. Masson was the ferryman; I had to sit twisted like a pretzel at the top end of the coffin. Masson was about to push us off from shore when he realized he needed his official ferryman's outfit. He plopped my mask on top of his head and swaddled himself in my cape: now we were ready to go. My straight-edge was conscripted as an oar and off we went.
We landed at the first island and disembarked to explore. We encountered a strange native engaged in a bizarre tea-making ritual and managed to abscond with several shortbread biscuits. The native was clearly deaf as well as blind, as our escape was accompanied by much squealing and giggling.
After our meal, we paddled off to the next island. It was a curious land with trees that looked like book shelves. We crept up on the native who was dozing over a sacred text and tickled his ear. He was not an especially fierce native; we actually befriended him. We told him about our harrowing experience with the kitchen native. He assured us we were fortunate to have escaped with our lives.
These adventures left us quite drowsy, so we got a fresh nappy and settled into the boat for a nap. When we awoke, the rain had stopped and the sun was out, so we set out in search of puddles. We found a few excellent ones. When Christine arrived home, we were enjoying our fruit ice on the front steps. We greeted her warmly, but she took one look at our muddy selves and ordered us into the tub immediately. She collected our clothing and grumbled that she had no idea how they'd ever come clean; likely they were ruined.
It really made no sense for Christine to be so grumpy after she'd been out spending money all day, but I decided to worry about it later. We were having too much fun splashing in the tub. At least we did, until Mama put the kibosh on that too.
"What a grumpy Mama," I whispered to Masson.
"GUMP Mama!" he echoed. Will I never learn? Christine flounced off in high dudgeon.
"Son, we must always be kind and considerate to ladies. When they get upset, generally we're to blame somehow," I opened.
"Huh," Masson grunted as I scooped him from the tub.
"But, sometimes ladies get grumpy for no apparent reason," I explained.
"No 'paren' weasel."
"That's right, and we must tread lightly until they're sweet again."
"Swee' shok-lit."
"That too, but not now; after dinner or Mama will beat Papa."
"Mama beat Papa! Mama beat Papa!"
This was our chant all the way to the dinner table, at which we arrived freshly combed and squeaky clean, if I say so myself. Christine scowled at the chant, but Reza immediately grasped the import of my accomplishment.
"Erik, did you really manage to dress yourself and Masson?"
"Indeed, and bathed too." I admit I was fairly bursting with pride.
"Ye gods, we'll make a civilized man of you yet."
I assumed that I would find out what I'd done to incur Christine's wrath after Masson was down for the night; it couldn't just be the muddy clothing. My assumption turned out to be faulty, however; she was singularly disinterested in conversation. As soon as Masson was sleeping peacefully, she had her way with me shamelessly. Believing peace in the home to be of paramount importance, I offered no resistance.