But Hugh never uses the Apostles' Creed and his prayers are so nonsectarian that he does not even end them "In Jesus' Name, Amen."
On a rare occasion when he and I spoke in private-waiting out a noon sight last week-I asked him where he stood on matters of faith? (It is important to me to know where my man stands even though he is not my man and can't be.)
"You could call me an Existentialist."
"You are not a Christian?"
"I didn't say that. I can't express it in the negative because it's affirmative. I shan't define it; it would only add to the confusion. You are wondering why I hold church since I refuse to assert a creed?"
"Well... yes."
"It's my duty. Services should be available to those who need them. If there is no good and no God, this ritual is harmless. If God is, it is appropriate-and still harmless. We are bleeding no peasants, offering no bloody sacrifices, raising no vanities to the skies in the name of religion. Or so I see it, Barbara."
That had better hold me; it's all I'll get out of him. In my past life religion was a nice, warm, comfy thing I did on Sundays; I can't say it agonized me. But Hugh's God-less offering to God has become important.
Sundays are important other ways. Hugh discourages work other than barbering and primping or hobby work, and encourages games, or any fun thing. Chess, bridge, Scrabble, modeling in clay, group sings, such like- Or just yakking. Games are important; they mark that we are not just animals trying to stay alive but humans enjoying life and savoring it. That nightly rubber of bridge we never skip. It proclaims that our lives are not just hoeing and digging ditches and butchering.
We keep up our bodies, too. I've become pretty good at cutting hair. Duke grew a beard at first but Hugh shaved every day and presently Duke did, too. I don't know what they will do when blades are no more. I've noticed Joe honing a Gem blade on an oil stone.
It's still Christmas and I'll cut back in when the rubber in progress is finished. Dinner was lavish; Grace and Karen spent two days on it-brook trout savory aux herbes, steamed freshwater prawns, steaks and broiled mushrooms, smoked tongue, bouillon Ursine, crackers (quite a treat), radishes, lettuce, green onions, baby beets a la Grace, and best of all, a pan of fudge, as condensed milk, chocolate, and sugar are irreplaceable. Nescafé and cigarettes, two cups and two cigarettes each.
Presents for everybody- All I saved besides clothes I had on was my purse. I was wearing nylons, took them off soon and haven't worn stockings since; I gave them to Karen. I had a lipstick; Grace got that. I had been plaiting a belt; Joe got that. In my purse was a fancy hanky; I washed it, ironed it by pressing it against smooth concrete-Duke got that.
It was this morning before I figured out anything for Hugh. For years I've carried in my purse a little memo book. It has my maiden name in gold and still has half of a filler. Hugh can use it-but it was my name on it that decided me.
I must run; Grace and I are due to attempt to clobber Hugh and Joe.
I've never had a happier Christmas.
Chapter 7
Karen and Barbara were washing themselves, the day's dishes, and the week's laundry. Above them, Joe kept watch. Bushes and then trees had been cut away around the stretch they used for bathing; a predator could not approach without Joe having a clear shot at it. His eyes swung constantly, checking approaches. He wasted no seconds on the Elysian tableau he guarded.
Karen said, "Barbie, this sheet won't stand another laundering. It's rags."
"We need rags."
"But what will we use for sheets? It's this soap." Karen scooped a handful from a bowl on the bank. It was soft and gray and harsh and looked like oatmeal mush. "The stuff eats holes."
"I'm not fretted about sheets but I dread the day when we are down to our last towel."
"Which will belong to Mother," Karen stated. "Our rationing officer will have some excellent reason."
"Nasty, nasty. Karen, Duke has done a wonderful job."
"I wasn't bitching. Duke can't help it. It's his friend Eddie."
"'Eddie?'"
"Edipus Rex, dear."
Barbara turned away and began rinsing a pair of ragged blue jeans.
Karen said, "You dig me?"
"We all have faults."
"Sure, everybody but me. Even Daddy has a shortcoming. His neck pains him."
Barbara looked up. "Is Hugh having trouble with his neck? Perhaps it would help if we massaged it."
Karen giggled. "Your weakness, sister mine, is that you wouldn't know a joke if it bit you. Daddy is still-necked and nothing will cure it. He doesn't have weaknesses and that's his weakness. Don't frown. I love Daddy. I admire him. But I'm glad I'm not like him. I'll take this load up to the thorn bushes. Damn it, why didn't Daddy stock clothespins? Those thorns are as bad as the soap."
"Clothespins we can do without. Hugh did an incredible job. Everything from an eight-day clock-"
"Which got busted, right off."
"-to tools and seeds and books and I don't know what. Karen! Don't climb out naked!"
Karen stopped, one foot on the bank. "Nonsense. Old Stone Face won't look. Humiliating, that's what it is. I think I'll yoo-hoo at him."
"You'll do no such thing. Joe is being a gentleman under trying circumstances. Don't make it harder. Let that load wait and we'll take it all up at once."
"Okay, okay. I can't help wondering if he's human."
"He is. I can vouch for it."
"Hmm- Barbie, don't tell me Saint Joseph made a pass at you?"
"Heavens, no! But he blushes if I squeeze past him in the house."
"How can you tell?"
"Sort of purple. Karen, Joe is sweet. I wish you had heard him explain about Doc."
"Explain what?"
"Well, Doc is beginning to accept me. I was holding Doc yesterday and noticed something and said, 'Joe, Doe is getting terribly fat. Or was he always?'
"That was a time when he blushed. But he answered with sweet seriousness, 'Barbara, Dr. Livingstone isn't as much of a boy cat as he thinks he is. Old Doe is more a girl-type cat. That isn't fat. Uh, you see- Doe is going to have babies.' He blurted it out. Seemed to think it would upset me. Didn't of course, but I was astonished."
"Barbara, you mean you didn't know that Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume is a female?"
"How would I know? Everybody calls him 'he' and he-she-has a male name."
"A doctor can be female. Can't you tell a tomcat?"
"I never thought about it. Doe is pretty fuzzy."
"Mmm, yes, with a Persian one might not be certain at first glance. But a tomcat's badges of authority are prominent."
"Had I noticed, I would have assumed that he had been altered."
Karen looked shocked. "Don't let Daddy hear that! He never allows a cat to be spayed or cut. Daddy thinks cats are citizens. However, you've surprised me. Kittens, huh?"
"So Joe says."
"And I didn't notice." Karen looked puzzled. "Come to think of it, I haven't picked him up lately. Just petted him and tried to keep him out of things. Lately it hasn't been safe to open a drawer; he's into it. Looking for a place to have kittens of course. I should have twigged."
"Karen, why do you keep saying 'he' and 'him'?"
"'Why?' Joe told you. Doe thinks he is a boy cat-and who am I to argue? He's always thought so, he was the feistiest kitten we ever had. 11mm- Kittens. Barbie, the first time Doe came into heat we arranged for Doe to meet a gentleman cat of exalted ancestry. But it wasn't Doe's métier and he beat the hell out of the tomcat. So we quit trying. Mmm- Calendar girl, how long have we been here?"