But this was April, and she was brimful of plans. She knew exactly what she hoped to accomplish during the summer. Kate was going off to Europe with Julia Regan, and arrangements had been made to send Bobby off to camp, and this meant that the house would be empty, blissfully, magnificently empty, and that she could spend all day, every day, at the piano until the suite was finished. In the first green rush of April, she made out a tentative schedule, a visual chart that outlined the exact amount of work she hoped to complete by the end of each day. Her chart told her how many new bars she would write, which sections of the work she would revise, where more complete scoring was necessary, when she would tape-record and play back the sections already finished. Her chart was a day-by-day plan of creativity, and she knew that before the summer was through — she had set Labor Day as her deadline — the work would be completed and ready to show to her old instructors at the university. After that, it was anyone’s guess, But at least she had a plan.
It was April, and at least she had a plan.
Matthew got the idea for the second honeymoon some time in April.
He got the idea sitting in his office and looking down at the street. The idea came to him full-blown. Sitting there with spring outside his window, he suddenly remembered that Kate would be going to Europe this summer, and Bobby would be going to camp, and he suddenly thought, It would be nice to go away somewhere with Amanda, a sort of second honeymoon.
That was exactly the way he thought of it. As a sort of second honeymoon.
And yet, though he labeled it that, he knew it was something more, knew it meant a great deal more to him. He could remember with painful clarity that day at the breakfast table with Kate last month, and the knowledge that something in him had changed, that he had become a different person than he once had been, a person unexciting and somehow dead. He longed to be alive again. The children would both be away for the entire summer, and he had a vision of the open road with Amanda beside him, both of them free of all responsibility, laughing, haphazardly crossing the face of America, sleeping when they were tired, making love when they chose to, getting drunk if they liked, doing whatever they wanted, whenever and wherever they felt like it, recklessly, foolishly, in complete abandon. It seemed absolutely essential that this spring of all springs, this spring when he had had a sudden and frightening glimpse of himself as some fossilizing organism, this spring he should plan for a summer that would be revitalizing and rejuvenating. He felt it was absolutely essential.
He went next door to see Sol Stang, the senior partner of the firm, and he said, “Sol, I want to take my vacation in July this year.”
“Okay,” Stang said, “so take it.”
“I want a full month.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“You’d have to prove that allegation with the testimony of either two psychiatrists, or a psychiatrist and a psychologist. I want a full month, Sol.”
“We’ll have a half-dozen cases coming to trial in July, Matt. We can’t spare you for a full month.”
“I know you can’t. But you can’t spare me for two weeks, either, when you get right down to it. But I take two weeks each summer and two weeks each winter, and somehow the firm seems to get along without me. So this summer, I want to take my wife on a second honeymoon. I want a month. That’s that.”
“Who the hell says that’s that?”
“I say it. I’m taking a month, Sol. My daughter leaves for Europe on July first, and my son leaves for camp on July third, and Amanda and I are leaving for parts unknown on July fourth. That’s that.”
“You know, Matthew,” Stang said, “I sometimes wonder why on earth we ever took you into this firm.”
“I’m a good lawyer,” Matthew said, and he grinned. “I just won a decision for a full month, didn’t I?”
“This isn’t law,” Stang said, “this is economics. And besides, you didn’t win any decision. It’s been a standing rule of this firm for as long as I can remember that no single partner would take more than two weeks at any one time.”
“It’s lucky I’m a married partner then.”
“You know what I mean, Matthew. It’s a rule. It’s the way we operate.”
“Rules are made to be broken,” Matthew said. “The same as laws.”
“What?” Stang stared at him, shocked. “What did you say?”
“I said,” Matthew repeated slowly, “that laws are made to be broken.” As he said the words, he felt again this necessity for rebellion, and wondered instantly whether he really believed what he was saying. And remembered again that day at the table with Kate, and realized anew the terrible need for getting away, and said with firmer conviction — still not knowing if he believed himself — “Laws are made to be broken.”
“That’s the goddamnedest thing I’ve ever heard any lawyer ever say.”
“I’m more honest than most lawyers,” Matthew said, smiling.
“What do you mean, laws are made to be broken?”
“Why else do they exist?”
“To protect society. Why do you think?”
“Nonsense,” Matthew said.
“Look, Matt, the law—”
“The law is a body of rules and regulations that are supposed to limit the activities of human beings, am I right? It is illegal to stab your mother, or drown your sister, or get drunk in church. All right, Sol, let’s assume our laws are perfect, which they’re not, and let’s assume our judicial system is functioning smoothly and effectively, which it’s not, and let’s assume that nobody ever breaks any of the laws we’ve invented. Can you visualize that?”
Why am I doing this? he wondered. I don’t even believe this. Why am I taking an impossible stand and trying to prove it? Why am I such a goddamn phony? A dull conformist who pretends to anarchy? Why?
“I don’t know what you’re driving at,” Stang said.
“I’m simply asking you to visualize a civilization with a rigid code of laws that no one breaks. No one speeds, no one spits on the sidewalk, no one commits assault, or burglary, or homicide. Everyone lives within the law. There are no crimes and no criminals. Can you visualize that?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Stang said, frowning.
“Why do we need the law?”
“What?”
“In a society devoid of lawbreakers, why is there a necessity for law?”
“Well, to... to protect the citizen.”
“From what? No one is committing any crime.”
“Well, to insure that no one does. To guarantee—”
“But you missed my original premise. No one, repeat, no one commits a crime in this ideal society. No one would even think of committing a crime. Years and years of respect for the existing law has made crime unthinkable. So why do we need the law?”
“I guess because...” Stang fell silent.
“If no one is going to break the law, there is no need for it. Therefore, it seems safe to conclude that laws are only made to be broken. The very existence of law presupposes a person or persons who will one day break it. No mice, no need for mousetraps. No lawbreakers, no need for law. It’s simple.” He shrugged. “Laws are made to be broken.”
He felt no pleasure watching the puzzlement on his partner’s face. He felt only an emptiness, a sorrow at whatever had pushed him into this meaningless rebellion.
“There’s something fishy...” Stang started.
“In summing up, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Matthew interrupted, “I can only observe that since laws are made to be broken, and since it is a standing rule, or a law, of this firm to limit each partner to an absence from the office of only two weeks, my full month’s leave during July of this year will constitute an action necessitated, yea, dictated, by the very existence of the nonsensical rule itself. Defense rests, Sol.”