Читать книгу We Who Survived - Sterling Noel - Страница 17

THERE WAS LITTLE SLEEP for any of us that Friday night. It was the first night that the members of the Harrow Group (with the exception of the Lawrences) spent together and it was a night charged with much feeling of many different hues and intensities. I think that all of us were vitally interested in what would happen at 2:13 A.M., according to Dr. Harrow’s prediction. If the snow and the winds did not resume, then we would know, or suspect, that these hypotheses were in error, or at least that the observations were not accurate.

A buffet dinner was served at 7:30, with all fresh food, for the Harrows maintained a freezing unit in their basement coldroom that held a ton of meats and vegetables. Steve came from upstairs and fixed a plate for his mother and himself. He was greeted pleasantly enough, even by Dr. Howard, and he talked to everyone with relaxed charm. But when he had carried his plates up above, there was a general discussion of him and his mother. Florence Donner and Martha Wernecke, Bill’s wife, put the question almost simultaneously to different knots: “Is Cora being sick just because she wants to stay with the Harrow Group?”

I think that we all agreed this was the case, and that no matter what we thought of Steve and his mother, we were going to have to put up with them, unless Gabe’s prediction for 2:13 A.M. went sour.

“They won’t be any burden on us, so we shouldn’t regard this eventuality with such distaste,” said Rufe Howard. “Actually, Steve is a competent and trustworthy member of society and Cora is just as able and efficient as any woman I’ve ever known, so long as she doesn’t feel she has to have the vapors to get her own way.”

After dinner the group disposed of itself about the farmhouse, some to read, some to talk, some to look and listen to VM or VK or the short-wave programs from Europe East, but all of us to wait. Bob and Libby Jordan, Marge, Elaine and I gathered around the old-fashioned fireplace in the living room where logs were burning. We talked personalities—mostly Steve and Cora—for half an hour. Then Elaine asked, “When are you and Marge going to make it legal? Gabe tells me you’ve got your trial-period certificate.”

“We can do that any time,” said Marge.

“There’s a DW-three in the library if you want to do it now,” said Elaine. “How about it, Vic?”

“It’s up to Marge,” I said.

Marge gave me an odd look, then shrugged.

Libby Jordan turned on me angrily, “If you were my fiance, I’d drown you in the river! What’s the matter with you, Vic?”

“Matter with me!” I exclaimed. “Nothing. What am I supposed to be doing that I’m not?”

“You’re supposed to act just a little bit like a guy in love,” said Libby. “That’s what!”

I got up. I said, “All right, Marge. You’ve stalled long enough. We get married right away.”

She sat in her chair and shook her head. “Not yet,” she said.

“Yes, now,” I said. “Come on.” I took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “Now.”

“No,” she said. “I—well, no.”

Libby said, “Listen, you ape, tell her you love her. For God’s sake, haven’t you any sense at all?”

Then it dawned on me—not until then. These women! They had to be told that you loved them!

I took Marge in my arms and I told her. I kissed her a couple of times and I told her some more. Finally she sighed deeply and she said yes, we could go in now and stand before the DW-three.

Marge and I walked into the library arm in arm and Libby and Elaine went to rouse the rest of the house and get them all there as witnesses. There was a lot of noise and confusion about it and finally all were assembled, even Steve and Cora, who actually looked sick by this time, and the two Arabs.

Marge and I went through the proscribed formula, and in less than two minutes we were man and wife. The men kissed Marge and the women kissed me and then we adjourned to the living room where champagne and cakes were brought out. Marge practically glowed with happiness, and I couldn’t get rid of the silly grin on my face. I didn’t know why I felt the way I did. I guess I really loved her. I guess I began to realize it for the first time. Then I suddenly knew, as I thought about this, that I had no more doubts—that Marge was the girl for me once and for always. . . . I was awfully late to become aware of these feelings and this knowledge, I concede.

The party lasted until five minutes after two. Cora had gone back up to bed, but Steve remained with us. All the rest were gathered in the big living room and it was a gala affair, with music coming from the amplifiers and the wine flowing freely. Our spirits were all up and there were laughter and happy voices all about us. Marge and I stood close together in a corner, drinking our champagne out of the same glass and telling each other many small intimate confidences.

Then at 2:05 A.M. Bob Jordan announced the time. Suddenly there was a pall over the room.