Or would he?
It was not the first time the question had occurred to him. To whom would the registrar address Mrs. Herz’s bills? But even if it was to himself, they had already figured out on a blank page at the back of Libby’s American Literature notebook that, what with summer jobs, fellowships, and part-time work, they would have enough to pay their bills, and maybe even some left over to buy an old car. They had worked out a budget in the library one idyllic night before the vacation, when the gorges and the trees were heavy with snow, and the moon was nearly full. Now on the empty subway, the overhead bulbs went black a moment, and he wondered if their estimates could have been right. They had figured up food, rent, tuition, laundry, amusements … He could think of no item they had overlooked; there was actually no reason he could think of not to marry tomorrow instead of in May. But it was with a distinct sensation of being torn apart that he agreed.
“Oh Paul …” She wept now in a different key.
“We’ll get a license tomorrow and the blood business, and then we’ll get married at City Hall. Only a few days.” He kissed her hand. “Cheer up,” he instructed them both.
But she didn’t cheer up. By the time they left the subway there was a scattering of Kleenex around her shoes; she gave an especially heartrending sob as they emerged into the raw, slushy night. He steered her across the street into a coffee shop, and not until she had drunk half a cup did he attempt conversation; he waited until her chest and throat noises had subsided, and only an occasional tear made an appearance beneath her murky eyes.
“What is it?” he asked. “What now?”
“Paul … I don’t think — this may sound silly … I don’t think I could survive City Hall.” She even amused herself by the sheer torpor of the remark. But her smile, curling around two fresh tears, lifted him little.
“It takes five minutes,” he said, closing his eyes.
“But I’m no orphan! I’m no culprit!” she said vehemently. “People get married at City Hall when they want to hide something. When they’re running somewhere. When girls are pregnant they get married at City Hall. I’m not pregnant — I was spared that particular tragedy — why must I act like I wasn’t! I’m not pregnant, damn it!” She dragged some grains of mascara across her nose with her Kleenex. Moral outrage was now sweeping hysteria away: she expelled a powerful breath, having thought probably of five more things she wasn’t and wouldn’t be compromised into being. “I’m not letting people—parents—force me to — to act as though I’m ashamed. To take away my dignity,” she said, his student — his own words. “I’m not, Paul. You know we shouldn’t allow them …”
He heard the conviction rush out of her like wind; she had looked up to see that he was holding his forehead in his hands.
“Paul? What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” He did not show her his eyes. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know …”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “I’ve run out of suggestions.”
“How about,” Libby said, after a moment, “what do you think — of a rabbi?”
“Why?”
“Oh Paul, wouldn’t he be more official, more everything we want? Wouldn’t it show them something if we decided to be married by a rabbi? I’m not being defiant, I just won’t cower in some corner when I get married! What kind of thing is that? You get married once. I think it should have some weight to it.”
When he looked up it was because he had regained his control. “It should have weight. We give it the weight. You’re not Jewish, Libby.”
“But you are!”
He said nothing.
She blew her nose. “But … but we are basically religious people. Our values — oh stop giving me that sour look!”
“Well stop talking like that. I’m not Jerry.”
“Why do you think I’m so stupid!”
“Libby, I don’t. Don’t cry, please. Lib, I’m sorry. It’s just”—he tried it slowly—“we’re not, honey, basically Jewish people.”
“Paul, they’re not going to make me into a nothing. I refuse to let them force me to be married in City Hall! I’ll go to a priest then. Anything!”
“I couldn’t go to a priest. I couldn’t be married by a priest, that’s all there is to it.”
“Because you are Jewish finally! Sweetie, just be a little Jewish, will you? Just till we’re married? After that — oh I don’t want to sound so silly. I only want this one thing—”
And then never my own way again.
He heard these last words like an echo. At nineteen she had already given him whatever she had; now she would promise him the rest forever. All she wanted satisfied was her sense of decency, which was what he had cared for and nurtured in her. She had a knowledge, this frail girl, of what her rights were in love, and for that too he was thankful and proud. They need not crawl along the ground because others wanted them to.
But they were married in Yonkers by a Justice of the Peace they found in the Yellow Pages. No rabbi would handle their case, which came as a surprise to both of them. Their astonishment did not, however, keep them above having dirty feelings about themselves for very long. In the study of the third rabbi they visited, Paul rose up out of his seat and cursed him.
“Isn’t there a hot rabbi who performs marriages on kitchen tables? In all of this city is there no man low enough to unite two people who want to be united?”
“Try City Hall,” the rabbi said, a heavy dark-jowled man who hadn’t liked him from the start. “Get united civilly.”
“We can try City Hall without your advice!”
“Paul,” Libby pleaded, stretching out a hand to him. But he didn’t even want to see her face. Was he to compromise himself forever, honoring this girl’s weaknesses? Attending to her wishes, did he not dissolve into a spineless ass! A hypocrite! A softie!
“I marry Jew and Jew,” scowled Lichtman, the rabbi. “That’s all.”
“We’re Jew and Gentile.”
“The ceremony doesn’t fit such occasions.”
“God damn you!” Paul shouted.
“Don’t raise your voice in this office! This isn’t the street! Next, you don’t know anything! A twenty-year-old snotnose! You should be as wise as you are loud, then come around here! If you believe, believe; if no, turn your back! Otherwise look other places! Go be religious your own way! Don’t run here to make it all right with Mama! I’m no moral out for you. I’m not here to be amiable. That’s a disgusting thought!”
“I’m not asking for my mama, Lichtman, I’m asking for my wife.”
“Some improvement! You should be ashamed! Are you Catholic?” he demanded of Libby, a kind of agony suddenly in his face.
“Yes.”
“So why not ask a priest? Why not ask him to unite you and this Jew? They have City Hall for mixtures like this.”
“You don’t have to be so nasty to her!”
“Shut up! You’re a secular, be secular! Don’t come tramping your muddy feet in my synagogue for sentimental reasons! I wouldn’t marry you if you were two Jews! Now get out! You’re stupid and you curse and you’re a coward! Get out!”