Lowell hadnât had much practice with his wifeâs mind and he could never figure out what was afoot until affairs were well advanced, often in the direction of catastrophe. He was simply not prepared to give serious thought to the matter of pulling up his life like a bush and moving it a couple of thousand miles in a strange direction. âUs pioneers think nothing of moving around,â he said with a smile. âWe fought the Indians and crossed the plains.â
âYou wouldnât like it there,â said his wife. âItâs a big dirty place, and going back there is not the reason I came out here. I suppose I could stand it for a while if I had to, provided we didnât have to live in a public-housing project or some slum. Iâd rather go to Berkeley. I thought you always wanted to go to Nevada. Let me tell you, New York is no Nevada.â
âI never thought New York was like Nevada,â said Lowell. âI know better than that.â
âYou donât know a thing about it. New York is like nothing youâve ever seen, take it from me.â
âOh, I donât know about that,â said Lowell righteously, flipping through his mind for a good example of something heâd seen that was like New York. All he came up with was mountains and dams. âAnyway,â he said crossly, âyouâre only trying to put me down because you burned your cake.â
âThatâs pretty typical of you,â said his wife. âThe underhanded blow. Youâre only trying to strike back because you feel inferior. You always do that. Well, it wonât work this time. I never wanted to make that silly cake in the first place. I was making it for you. I hate cake.â
âI never knew you hated cake,â said Lowell. âIâll bet thatâs not true. Iâll bet youâre just trying to get at me in a new way. Whatâs the matter, is it your period of something?â
âThat was uncalled for,â said his wife, making a thin line of her lips. âThat was really uncalled for. Just because you feel like a hick.â
âThatâs got nothing to do with it,â said Lowell.
âAha! See there, you do feel like a hick. I knew it all along, and you just admitted it.â
âNow, wait a minute,â said Lowell. He began to make a helpless gesture but stopped himself in time.
âBoy, would you ever hate it in New York. Itâs a good thing you donât have the nerve to go there. Take it from me, you would really hate it. Youâd hate it more than Iâm going to love Berkeley. You wouldnât even know how to ask people for directions.â
âHey, come on,â said Lowell. He never knew how to react to aggression. He was always kind of stunned by it.
âI hate it when you sit in a chair like that,â said his wife.
âWhatâs wrong with the way Iâm sitting?â
âItâs weak. Youâre sitting there in a weak way.â
Lowell looked down at himself, but he seemed to be sitting the same way he always did. Maybe that was what she meant. Through the kitchen door he could see the ant poison in its dish on the counter. It looked like mint jelly and it had never done a thing to stop the ants. He could see them at work now, a thin wavy line like a trail of pepper crossing the floor. A car went past in the street.
âI think maybe we really will go to New York,â he said quietly.
âI wish there were some doors in this stupid place so I could go and slam one behind me,â said his wife.
âThereâs the bathroom,â said Lowell, staring at the trail of ants.
âRight,â said his wife. âI hadnât thought of that. Boy, do I ever despise you.â She strode past him and locked herself in the bathroom.
She remained locked in the bathroom until it was time for Lowell to depart for his job at the library. After a while he stopped staring at
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