The Rebellion of Yale Marratt (72 page)

 

 

"Yale, come up for air," Anne interrupted. She dug in the claw of her
lobster. "Neither Cindar nor I want that kind of life. I don't know about
Cindar, but thirty or forty thousand dollars a year sounds fabulous in
itself. I grew up in a family where a man who made five or six thousand
a year was considered well off."

 

 

Cynthia murmured her assent. Her face suddenly had a startled look.
Yale turned and followed her glance. Dr. Amos Tangle was approaching their
booth with a broad smile on his face. His almost completely bald head and
imposing height drew the attention of the other diners like a magnet.

 

 

"It's Yale Marratt," he boomed, thrusting out his hand. Yale half arose
and shook hands awkwardly. "Sit down, sit down, Yale. I've been meaning
to call your father. I understand he came back from Florida sooner than
expected. Is everything all right?"

 

 

Yale told him that he hadn't seen Pat. Doctor Tangle was looking at Anne
and Cynthia. "I've seen you before young lady. Don't tell me!" He bent
over the booth. "You're Cynthia Carnell," he said triumphantly. "I knew it!
How's that for memory? You married Mat Chilling." Doctor Tangle looked sad.
Evidently he remembered that Mat was dead. "I was sorry to hear about Mat.
A brilliant man. Erratic, but no doubt about it a man with a mind."

 

 

"You're not quite up to date," Yale interjected coolly. "She's Cynthia
Marratt, now. My wife."

 

 

Doctor Tangle made no attempt to conceal his surprise. Yale could see
in his quick flicker of astonishment the question . . . what did Patrick
Marratt think of this? A Jew in the family . . . despite everything Pat
had done to discourage Yale.

 

 

"Well, congratulations are in order. Very nice . . ." Dr. Tangle seemed
at a loss for words. As if to change the subject he paused and smiled at
Anne who had been following the conversation with a twinkle in her eyes.
"This is a lovely young lady, Yale." He stared at Anne. "I'm still not
too old to appreciate female beauty. Introduce me."

 

 

"I'll introduce myself," Anne said, smiling prettily. "I believe you
must be none other than the prexy of Midhaven College. Yale and Mat
mentioned your name several times when we were in India."

 

 

"Really?" Doctor Tangle beamed, showing his interest.

 

 

"Yes. You remember, Yale," Anne went on, "we were discussing religion.
Either you or Mat mentioned that Doctor Tangle was like so many other
religious leaders, strong, upright, conscientious, able to inspire their
congregations. . . ." Anne accented each word, leading the smiling and
appreciative Doctor Tangle. Then she sprung the trap. ". . . but so puffed
up, pompous and inflated with their own belief in their spirtuality that
they hadn't had a sincerely religious thought in years."

 

 

It took Doctor Tangle a couple of seconds to shift the gears of his
thinking from being flattered to this outright attack. Before he had
accomplished it, Anne said, "I'm awfully pleased to know you. I'm Yale's
other wife, Anne Marratt."

 

 

Yale, who was sipping his drink, started to laugh. He swallowed wrong
and began to choke, helpless with his laughter. Even Cynthia who was
at first horrified had to smile. Doctor Tangle's face turned a scarlet
red. He stalked away muttering something about the vulgarity of today's
youngsters.

 

 

"Anne, do you know what you've done!" Cynthia asked, shocked. "You've
insulted one of the leaders of Midhaven society. Wait until he spreads
this around."

 

 

"I don't give a damn," Anne said. "He's a pompous old ass, with his snide
references to Mat. . . . Just the way he said, 'Well, that's very nice,
Cynthia,' with that slippery accent on 'nice' that meant instead,
'Sister, you've had it.' He needs someone to deflate him."

 

 

Yale was delighted. Driving home, he kept reviewing the conversation,
"I'm Yale's other wife . . . wonderful. The way you led him on . . ."

 

 

"Don't worry, Cindar," Anne said, breaking into Cynthia's silence.
"He was so flustered he didn't even hear me say that about being Yale's
other wife."

 

 

Cynthia sighed. "It isn't that I'm afraid of what we are doing. It's just
that I don't think we'll get away with it."

 

 

Yale refused to be concerned. "Just what can Doctor Tangle or anyone
do to us, honey? Unless either you or Anne decide that I am an evil
bigamist, I fail to see how it can concern society or any particular
individual. In fact it should be an article in the Challenge Creed that
any action of man is acceptable so long as it does not result in harm
to another human being."

 

 

Cynthia felt argumentative. She wanted to contend that Pat Marratt's
idea of what "harmed" Pat might be something quite different from
Yale's ideas. To Pat, a son living flagrantly with two wives might be
"harmful." But it was no time to argue. They were on the long driveway
to the farm. Cynthia's thoughts went forward to the coming night. She
decided that the problem immediately ahead shouldn't be approached while
they were arguing a philosophic point.

 

 

Ralph Weeks greeted them in the kitchen. He staggered a little when he
got out of the rocking chair he had placed near the hearth of the huge
fireplace. They couldn't tell whether his face was flushed from the heat
of the fire or from whiskey. The odor of liquor that enveloped him was
like a warm autumn smell of rotting apples.

 

 

His welcome was effusive. "Yale, it's good to have you back. House as
big as this with two wenches, needs a master." He watched Anne and Yale
checking the baby. "Youngster's fine, Mrs. Anne. Woke up about an hour
ago and slopped up that milk faster than old Weeks could drink a glass
of whiskey. Speaking of drinking, I want you to taste a recipe that goes
with this house." Weeks pointed to a huge old tankard that was sitting
near the edge of the fire. "Tonight in honor of your homecoming we will
have my special rum flip."

 

 

They watched in awe as Weeks poured from one tankard to another a quart
of boiling ale with a mixture that he claimed combined three eggs, sugar,
nutmeg, and black rum. He poured the mixtures back and forth until they
were creamy.

 

 

"Do we dare drink this?" Yale asked, looking warily at the mixture.

 

 

"Ain't finished yet," Weeks said, pushing him away. He took a glowing
iron from the fireplace and plunged it into the tankard. It flared like
a devil's brew. Grinning, he poured them each a glass.

 

 

"It's wonderful," Cynthia said, delighted. She felt the warmth spread
to her toes. She finished hers first. "Pour me another."

 

 

In a few minutes they were all talking excitedly.

 

 

"First project for Challenge should be to bottle this stuff." Anne kicked
off her shoes and started to dance to some imaginary music.

 

 

"First project for tonight is to take a bath," Cynthia said, slumping
on an old brass bed that Weeks had put in the kitchen for them.

 

 

"You got yourself two of the cleanest women I've ever seen, Weeks said.
He shook his head and started to put on an old mackinaw.

 

 

"Where are you going?" Yale demanded.

 

 

"Well," Weeks yawned. He looked like a subdued Falstaff. "That one,"
he pointed to Anne, "is a fresh one. She told me that she and that one
. . ." he pointed to Cynthia, "was always to be addressed as Mrs. Anne
or Mrs. Cynthia and I wasn't to get any ideas that I had any oats left
to sow. She said that when they took a bath I could be a Peeping Tom,
but I'd better do it so they didn't suspect." Weeks grinned. "Oh, she's
a fresh one, I'll tell you. I might mention," he bowed toward Anne,
"that I'm plenty old enough to be your father. Fact is I've got a daughter
a good ten years older than you are. However, since there's no disputing
with one woman, let alone two, I'm leavin'. I'll be out in the barn if
you want me."

 

 

"Boy, you tamed him." Yale laughed when Weeks had gone.

 

 

"He's an old goat," Anne said. "If I hadn't clamped down on him, he'd be
goosing Cindar and me every time we turned our backs on him. He told me
I probably needed my bare bottom tanned."

 

 

Cynthia started to pump water at the old sink, "You should have heard how
he rolled the word 'bare' around on his tongue. He was actually feeling
Anne's bottom when he said it. Come on, Yale, you carry this water and
put it on the stove. We have to heat gallons of it. If we don't start
soon we will be all night."

 

 

Following Cynthia's and Anne's instructions, Yale pumped water into pails
and big tin cans. He placed them on top of the old iron stove which was
glowing red and gave off a stifling heat.

 

 

Anne dragged a large tin tub near the fireplace. Yale looked at it
admiringly. "Just think, the bare bottoms of some of the founders of
Connecticut probably sat in this tub."

 

 

"Pour in three pails of cold water," Cynthia commanded. "Then you add
the boiling water when you're ready. You better get undressed."

 

 

"Not me," Yale protested. "I took a shower in the hotel, just before
I left."

 

 

"Good," Anne said, "that means that you're the cleanest. You can go first.
We'll use your water."

 

 

It took an hour to bring the water on the stove to a boil. By that time
they had finished a pitcher full of Weeks' rum flips. Sitting naked in the
tub, feeling wonderfully tipsy, with Anne and Cynthia kneeling alongside
the tub, occasionally grabbing at him through the soapy water, Yale sang:
"I'm the greatest man in Siam. Yes, I am." Every time he repeated,
"Yes, I am," Anne and Cynthia chorused, "Oh, no, you ain't."

 

 

As he sang Yale wondered should they he more serious? Over and above
their hilarity was the inevitable moral question: was this right or
wrong? Could it degenerate into an orgy? Could they hold onto the
essential wonder and dignity of their love for each other?

 

 

He got out of the tub. "Come on, it's your turn."

 

 

Embarrassed to undress in front of Yale, Anne deferred to Cynthia.

 

 

Yale dropped his towel. He stood on the hearth, feeling the heat from
the fireplace on his back. He demanded that they look at him.

 

 

"Look, we are adults, I've seen you both naked. You've both seen me.
Now I'm going to see you naked together. Is that bad?"

 

 

He watched them as they slowly took off their clothes. Under her dress,
Anne was wearing a brassiere and a garter belt. Cynthia simply wore a bra
and anklet stockings. From the hearth Yale examined them appreciatively.
Blushing, Anne unhooked her garters. She took off her stockings. Cynthia
undid her bra.

 

 

"Oh, I'm so horrible looking," Cynthia said disgustedly. She touched her
belly timidly. "Honestly, Yale, undressing this way makes me feel cheap
and shoddy, somehow. I look so ugly . . . when a woman looks like this
she shouldn't be seen naked." She turned away from Yale's frankly curious
stare. "Please stop looking at me like that. You make me feel ashamed."

 

 

Yale took her by the shoulders. He guided her to the rocking chair at
the edge of the hearth. He touched her swollen belly gently. "Is it
kicking?" Cynthia shook her head. She tried to hold back the tears in
her eyes.

 

 

Anne had poured more hot water in the tub. She tested it with her toes.
In contrast to Cynthia with her blooming body, Anne was lithe and
boyish. Sitting in the tub, her face glowing from the firelight, she
started to sing her own version of the "Yum-Yum, Peep-bo and Pitti-Sing's
Song."

 

 

"Two little maids from school are we. Pert as schoolgirls well can be.
Filled to brim with girlish glee."

 

 

"Come on, Cindar, you can sing this too."

 

 

Catching desperately at Anne's gaiety, Cynthia sang, "Two little maids
from school! Everything is a source of fun."

 

 

They both stared at Yale, enjoying his sudden embarrassment.

 

 

Together they sang: "Two little maids who all unwary. Come from a ladies'
seminary. Freed from its genius tutelary." Then, enjoying the innuendo
in the song, they sang it again. They stopped in a gale of laughter.

 

 

Yale was delighted. Both Anne and Cindar seemed to have discovered a way
of recovering themselves when they approached the brink of possible tears
or misunderstanding. If all three of them could develop this ability, they
would achieve a greater maturity and understanding than any of them had
known before. Wasn't this a part of the challenge? For each individual
to learn to reach out with his mind to the minds around him; to learn
to convey, even with the weakness of words, true emotions and feelings.

 

 

"You know, Cindar, you look very lovely to me." Yale sat down on the
hearth, feeling the stones cool and hard against his buttocks. "I mean it,
honey. You're the first woman I've ever seen pregnant." He grinned.
"I mean who wasn't wearing clothes."

 

 

"The female animal isn't very beautiful when it's carrying its litter,"
Cynthia said. She felt very naked and ugly. "Most psychologists think
that a man and woman should be very careful about revealing themselves
naked to each other. It destroys the mystery and illusion."

 

 

"It hasn't been destroyed for Yale, yet," Anne laughed as she soaped
herself. "Stand up, Yale. I dare you!"