16

ANITA SEEMINGLY MISTOOK Paul’s quite excitement for daydreams of happy hours to come at the Meadows, which were less than two weeks away.

She didn’t know that he was learning to be a farmer and laying the groundwork for teaching her to be a farmer’s wife.

It was a hot Saturday, and on the pretext of buying himself a fielder’s mitt, Paul went to his farm—to his and Mr. Haycox’s farm. There Mr. Haycox condescendingly and impatiently imparted half-truths about running the place, and gave Paul a vague confidence that he could get the hang of it after a while.

That evening at suppertime, Paul, satisfyingly pooped after having trailed Mr. Haycox for hours, asked his wife if she knew what day the coming Wednesday was.

She looked up from a list of things she was to pack for her trip to the Mainland and, more important, for Paul’s trip to the Meadows. “Can’t imagine. Have you got nice-looking tennis shoes for the trip?”

“They’ll do. For your information, next Wednesday is—”

“Shepherd is taking twelve pairs of socks—all green. He’s a captain, too, you know.”

“I know.”

“What do you make of that? It’s kind of a surprise: the first time you get to be captain, he does, too.”

“Maybe he sent a coupon to the Rosicrucians. How on earth do you know how many pairs of socks he’s taking?”

“Well, he hasn’t got a wife to help him plan, so he came over this afternoon to get my help. So I made a list of things he ought to take. Men are so helpless.”

“They muddle through. Did he have anything interesting to say?”

She laid down the list and looked at him reproachfully. “Only about the police report about your pistol, and another one about the underworld people you were with that awful night in Homestead.” She wadded her napkin and threw it down petulantly. “Paul—why don’t you tell me these things? Why do I always have to find out from someone else?”

“Underworld!” snorted Paul. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

“Shepherd says Lasher and Finnerty are being watched as potential saboteurs.”

“Everybody’s being watched! Why do you listen to that old woman of a man!”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“Because those things were trivial. Because I was afraid you wouldn’t see them that way and get all upset—the way you’re getting upset. It’s all fixed. Kroner fixed it.”

“Shepherd said you could get ten years for the pistol business alone.”

“Next time he’s over, ask him if he has any idea how much time I’d get if I mashed up his long nose for him.”

Paul’s muscles were tight from the unaccustomed rigors of the afternoon, and animal smells had communicated to him a feel of primitive strength. The notion of pushing Shepherd’s face in—a bizarre sport in a lifetime of pacifistic notions—came as an unexpected complement to the day. “Well, to hell with the captain of the Green Team, I say. Again I’ll ask, what day is the coming Wednesday?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Our engagement anniversary.”

It was an anniversary with disquieting connotations for both of them—an anniversary that neither had ever mentioned in their years of marriage. It was the date on which Anita had announced to Paul that she was with child, his child, and on which he had responded by offering her his name, etc. Now, with the event softened by years of more or less adequate marriage, Paul thought that they might sentimentally make it something that it was not. The anniversary, more to the point, fell at an ideal time for the beginning of his re-education program for Anita.

“And I have a special evening planned,” he said; “not like any evening we’ve ever had together, darling.”

“Funny, I’d forgotten the date completely. Really? Next Wednesday?” She gave him an odd, rebuking smile, as though the story of their engagement had got twisted in her mind—as though she thought he had brought about the event by a now insignificant deception. “Well, that’s sweet,” she said. “Kind of cute of you to remember. But, with the Meadows so close—” She was of such a methodical nature that when something of importance was in the offing, other aspects of life could have no importance at all. To her it seemed almost indecent to give attention to anything but the crucial matter of the Meadows.

“To hell with the Meadows.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I mean we’re still going out next Wednesday.”

“Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. You’re the captain.”

“I’m the captain.”