I Will Fear No Evil

25

In the United Nations the Burmese delegation charged that the so-called Lunar Colonies were a cover-up for a con­spiracy by China and the United States to build military bases on the Moon. The Secretary of Conservation and Pollution Control denied a report that deer in Yosemite National Park were "dying in hordes from polluted water and emphysema." He stated that a healthy ecological rebalancing was taking place-no need for alarm—and the new herd would be stronger than ever.

The Reverend Dr. Montgomery Chang, D.D., Most Humble Supreme Leader of The Way, Inc., testified before the Subcommittee on Unwritten Law of the Senate Judiciary Committee in support of the pending bill to require Federal licensing of teachers of Zen Buddhism and related disciplines as "therapists de facto et de jure:" "These bootleg gurus are giving rational mysticism a bad name. A man should no more be allowed to teach meditation, asanas, or transcendental philosophy without strict control by a licensing board than he should be allowed to ski, or to surf, or to frame a picture without passing an examination. The idea that this bill would abridge the sacred guarantees of the First Amendment is the sheerest nonsense; it protects and frees them." Under questioning he stated that he would be humbly willing to serve as chairman of such a board if such sacrifice were asked of him. Survivors of Hurricane Hilda were still being rescued and the known death toll now stood at 1908.

The Department of Internal Defense placed a temporary exception on interstate transmittal of intelligence concerning public disorders involving more than three persons, then placed a second exception with strict penalties on the publicizing of the first censorship order. The Secretary reported to the President that news services and video nets were cooperating voluntarily in the interests of the general welfare. In re the matter of identity of Conglom Tycoon Johann S. B. Smith the Supreme Court, in a declaratory relief opinion made notable only by Mr. Justice Handy waking up in the middle of its reading, slapping the desk and roaring, "Divorce granted!" then going back to sleep, ruled seven to two to sustain a lower court in expanding and clarifying the principle originally set forth in Estate of Henry M. Parsons v. Rhode Island. Four of the majority and one dissenting justice ruled also that a legal sex change was involved in the matter; two justices thought otherwise; one justice (Mr. Handy) used twenty pages to prove that such a composite of sexes was contrary to public interest and to the laws of God and that both Johann Smith and Eunice Branca were legally dead and that the resultant monster had no legal existence of any sort; the ninth justice, in a one-sentence separate assent, opined that sex was irrelevant in the entire matter; one of the majority, in another separate assenting opinion, stated that the donor body should have been sterilized surgically in the public interest and that the Congress would do well to make such sterilization mandatory in any future similar situation. No mention was made by any justice of thirteen amici-curiae brief s and one petition filed with the Court. In an opinion issued the same day (Illinois v. Sam J. Roberts) conviction was set aside on the grounds that the householder (deceased) had not advised Roberts of his rights before attempting to place him under citizen's arrest.

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On the basis of evidence submitted by the Chinese delegation the U.N.A.E.C. eased the tolerance levels for strontium-90 for whole milk. The Reverend Thomas Barker of Long Beach, California, in an Equal-Time-for-God videosermonette declared that the World had ended at midnight December 31st 1999 PCI, and that all since that time was "illusion of the Devil, without forth, substance, or reality."

Miss Smith greeted O'Neil and asked him to have Dabrowski and Fred fetch upstairs with her two big flat packages, one so large that it had to be tilted to get it through the door of the lift. When packages, mobile guards, and she herself- were fitted inside, she locked -the door and pressed the "Hold" touchplate without signaling a floor, then dropped her cape. "Let me kiss you thank-you-good­bye, boys, but for Heaven's sake don't get paint on you or muss it. Better just hold my face in your hands—but no need to hurry."

Shortly thereafter she looked at herself in the lift's mirror, decided that makeup and hairdo had suffered only minor wear and tear, let Dabrowski lay her cape around her, then punched for her floor and fastened all the cape's frogs so that she was again fully covered. When the lift stopped she hooked up her veil.

"These go in your boudoir, Miss? Or your lounge?"

"First let's see if Mr. Salomon is receiving." They followed her down the long hail to the Green Suite. Joan noted that the please-don't-disturb ruby light was not burning over the door of Jake's lounge, so she touched the door signal.

The speaker above it bellowed, "Come in!" The door opened; she went in. "Put them inside and that will be all."

"Very good, Miss."

As they left and the door closed Jake came out of his bedroom, looking tousled. He stopped abruptly. "Well!'

Where the hell have you been?"

"Out."

"Hrrrmph! Five days. Five whole days!"

"So? Chickens fed? Hogs slopped? Cows milked?"

"That's not the point. I—"

"That is the point, Jake. Nothing has been neglected through my being away. You won't marry me, so I am not answerable to you when I come and go. Though as a courtesy I did leave a note with Cunningham telling you where I had gone. Did you receive it?

"Yes, but—"

"Then you knew 1 was safe—and in emergency could have sent me a message. Or joined me; you would have been welcome. You know Joe would have made you welcome—and Gigi is friendly as a puppy."

"‘Gigi'?"

"You know her. You've met her, I mean. Mrs. Joe Branca."

"What?"

"Why the Surprise, Jake? People do remarry—especially if an earlier marriage was happy. Joe's was, and now he has, and I'm happy for him—and certain that Eunice is happy for him, too." (Sure I am, Boss. But let's not be too ‘noble.' Being ‘noble' is a male prerogative. So they think.)

"I can't believe it."

"What's odd about a widower remarrying?"

"I can't imagine anyone who had been married to Eunice ever marrying some other woman." (My fan! Twin, we're going to be especially nice to Jake tonight.) (If he doesn't start being nice to me, he's going to sleep alone tonight! But 1 shan't. I wonder if Anton and Fred have left the house?)

(Calm down, Boss. And get Jake calmed down.) (Not yet, I won't! He's wrong and I'm right.) (Twin honey, how long is it going to take you to learn that being ‘right' has nothing to do with getting along with a man? Men aren't logical, their minds don't work that way. But it's ‘the only game in town,' so when a man is wrong and you are right, it's time to apologize. Tell him you're sorry—and mean it. Om Mani Padme Hum.)

(Om Mani Padme Hum—sometimes I find being a woman just too frimping difficult. If it weren't so darned much fun. Okay, sweetheart, watch me take him.) "Jake dearest, I'm sorry it upsets you that Joe has remarried—but why not wait before deciding that he has made a mistake? Joe needs a wife—even if she's not Eunice. And I'm terribly sorry that I worried you by not being here when you got home...and sorry on my own account; I expected to welcome you—with open arms and a happy smile. But I didn't expect you to be away less than a week and I had an impression that you expected it to take longer—possibly much longer."

"Well, yes, I did think I might have to sit it out quite a while. But I got in to see the Chief Justice the second day and he assured me that he would put it at the top of the calendar... and that he had seen—unofficially—an advance transcript of the record. And that was that."

"Hm! Campaign contributions are sometimes worthwhile."

"Joan Eunice, don't ever talk that way. Especially in reference to the Chief Justice of the United States. Yes, this is your house. Nevertheless it might be bugged."

"I'm sorry, Jake. It was a thoughtless remark. My appreciation really goes where it belongs. To you."

"To Mac more than to me, my dear; that boy has been on the ball. How he got an advance copy to, uh, the right man so quickly is something I don't want to inquire into."

"I appreciate Mac's efforts, I appreciate Alec's efforts—but mostly I appreciate my darling, always dependable, utterly wonderful Jake." (Is that too thick, Eunice?) (Boss, I keep telling you: it's impossible for a woman to lay it on too thick with a man. If you tell a man he's eight feet tall and say it often enough, with your eyes wide and a throb in your voice, he'll start stooping to go through seven-foot doors.)

Jake looked pleased, so Joan went on: "I suppose it will all be settled soon, then?"

"Little one, don't you ever listen to the news?"

"Not if I can avoid it."

"Well, you should. It is over. You've won, finally and completely."

"Really? I never doubted that we would win, Jake, the wonderful way you've handled everything. My surprise is solely that it has happened so fast. Yes, I suppose I should follow the news. But I haven't been able to, these last few days. Had this difficult job to do—Joe, I mean—and while you were away seemed the best time... so I gritted my teeth and tackled it."

"Joan Eunice, I told you never to go near Joe. I told you. If this new marriage of his ever stood a chance—yes, intellectually I know that a man should remarry—if it ever did stand a chance, you must have put a horrible strain on it. Too much strain, probably. Uh... how did he take it? Badly?"

"Jake, I stayed five days. If it had gone badly, would I have been there even one day? I accomplished the mission; everything is all right."

Jake looked surprised, then thoughtful. "Hmmm! That's a one-room studio... and if I follow your meaning, you stayed right there the whole five days. My dear, just how did you ‘accomplish your mission'? Or have I no right to ask?"

She looked up at him and spoke seriously. "Jake, I owe you so much that you will always have the right to ask me anything. Including my comings and goings and I should not have given you a snippy answer." (Didn't quite tell him he had a right to a truthful answer, did you, Boss honey? Devious little bitch.) (Eunice, I don't lie to Jake—) (Oh, what a whopper!) (—more than is necessary to his happiness.)

"Jake, I accomplished my mission—I set Joe's mind at rest about Eunice—through a ‘prayer meeting.' With Gigi's utterly necessary help, which is only part of why I feel sure that she's good for him. But if you mean I offered him a zombie—his dead wife's reanimated body—I knew that was not the way to do it. Joe hasn't touched me. Oh, he does touch me now, easily and without strain, the way he might touch his sister." (Any incest in Joe's family, twin? I've never been sure.) (Oh, shut up!) "He even kisses me the same way. But, Jake—"

"Eh? What, dear?"

"If Joe wanted this body I'm wearing, of course he could have it; I owe him anything I can give him. You see that, don't you? You agree? Or am I wrong?"

"Uh....es, I agree. But I think it's well that Joe does not want to. It could be disaster for him...and a terrible strain for you."

"I know it would be a strain for me. But I would do my best to smile and never let him guess. As it is, I am honored—and relieved—and deeply grateful that Joe has given me his loving friendship instead." (Okay, Eunice?) (Okay. Now get him off that subject.)

"I'm glad, Eunice."

"Jake, do we have to stand here, me still in street clothes? I have presents for you—welcome-home presents." She smiled her best happy-little-girl smile. "Want to see them?"

"Of course I want to see them! And where are my manners, letting you stand? Here, let me seat you and take your cloak. Sherry?"

"Later. Or champagne, to welcome you home. ‘To welcome us both home." She turned and let him take her cape. He turned to lay it aside and turned back just as she did so, too.

"Holy Cowl"

"Didn't know you were a Hindu, Jake." She posed, in graceful and calculated display.

"You wore that all the way across the city? Just paint?"

"Why not, dear? It's your first present—from Joe to you, sent with his love. I had my cape over it before I left Joe and Gigi's studio, and then kept it on when I got home—until you unwrapped your ‘present.' Didn't want my mobiles to see it, of course." (Oh, of course, twin—except that Joe let them watch every brush stroke, once Gigi was sure you didn't mind. Say, Joan, Gigi would go for a Texas Star with Anton and Fred, I feel certain. And Joe would go along; he likes them. What do you think? Easy way to keep your promise to them, huh?)

(Eunice, we've got this man on our hands now.) (Oh, poor you. Best way in the world to work up steam with one man is to let your mind rove about other men. You've still got some Puritan in you, girl.) (Which Puritan? When? And why didn't I notice? You can't mean Jake; he's Jewish. Speaking of Jake, has he noticed that slight omission in this getup? And why haven't we been raped?) (I doubt it, his eyeballs are spinning. As for the latter, I have-hopes.)

"Joan Eunice, do you.. realize that that is a reproduction—exact, I think—of a body-paint design Eunice once wore?"

"Of course I realize it; she wore it here...and I wasn't so near dead that I didn't stare. Could never make up my mind whether these were sea shells or paint. Now I know. Joe wanted to be sure that you had seen it that first time, when Eunice wore it. I told him that I was almost certain that you had been here that day."

"Well, yes, I was. Briefly. That's why I recognized it."

"So? It had seemed to me that I recalled that as one of the days you took Eunice home. Hmmm?"

"Joan, are you trying to be snoopy?"

"Yes."

"Woman, I will not satisfy your prurient curiosity."

"How do you feel about satisfying prurience itself? Mine, I mean."

"That's another matter."

"I was wondering. So far you haven't even kissed me. Shall I take a shower first? Or let me put it this way: Did Eunice take time to get the paint off first?"

"Let me put it this way: Shut up and keep quiet and pipe down and not another damn word out of you until I give permission."

"Yes, sir."

She obeyed in essence for a reasonable time.

"May I talk now?"

"Yes, as long as you limit yourself to polite words of endearment. Some of your spontaneous remarks were quite unladylike."

"That's because I'm quite unladylike, Jake my only darling. I'm a failure as a lady. But I'll go on doing my best to simulate one in public—be a credit to Eunice."

"Joan Eunice—"

"Sir?"

"That's the way Eunice herself did it. A perfect lady in public... utterly uninhibited in private. It was a major part of her-great charm. Some of her spontaneous expressions at such times were far more ‘unladylike' than any I've heard you use."

"Really, Jake? Did she know any that I don't? And do you like them?"

"Hmm, I don't think she knew any that you don't know; she was just easier about it once she trusted me. Yes, I do like them. Used spontaneously."

"Jake, I trust you without limit—and I'll try not to inhibit any future spontaneity. Haven't meant to. Still learning."

"Darling girl, you do just fine when you get your rest. I mean ‘my rest.' Now that I've got you helpless—and seeing that you trust me ‘without limit'—what did, happen at Joe's."

"Sir, the fact that I trust you—and I do!—does not mean that I'm going to satisfy your prurient curiosity." -

"Hmm— Neither did Eunice, ever."

"Instead, you tell me what happened to you—atJoe's."

"We seem to have reached a stalemate. Let's wash off this paint. I wish I had taken a photograph of our mermaid before I smeared it."

"No huhu, Jake my beloved; Joe took several and I have them in my purse. For you. And I have two of Eunice in the same getup—one for you, and one for me. And besides that Joe gave me a four-by-five Kodachrome of a most incredible trompe-l'oeil painting he did of Eunice as a mermaid diving... plus a smaller transparency which shows how he did it. Same getup minus sea shells."

"Would it surprise you to learn that I've seen them both? Just didn't have the crust to promote Joe for them."

"No, not surprised, I guess. But I did not pressure him, Jake; he said he had a present for me—and these photos turned out to be the present. I should refuse? God forbid. But I'm going to put snoops to work and trace down who bought that painting. I intend to own it. Price no-object."

"Your money won't help you, Miss Smith. Would it surprise you to know that I own that original Branca? It's at the Gib."

"I'll be—dipped! Jake, you're a dirty old holdout. I take back ten percent of any compliments I've handed you."

"That's okay; I didn't believe more than ninety percent. But if you're a good girl I'll give you that painting."

"I accept! But—well, it's hardly worthwhile opening those packages. They'll be disappointments."

"Would you like a spanking?"

"Yes."

"I'm too tired. Let's open packages."

"Well...we might open the smaller one. Let you see what Gigi looks like, if you don't remember. She's worth looking at."

"We'll open both of them."

"Scrub first?"

"I suppose we should."

"Well...let's give it a lick and promise, not turn it into a social event."

Joan Eunice insisted on opening ‘Bilitis Sings' first.

"Well, Jake?"

He gave a respectful wolf whistle. "The boy's a genius."

"Yes. I hadn't suspected. But you already knew it."

"Well, yes. His decision to use strong sunlight on your two contrasting skin colors was inspired."

"Especially as he had no sunlight—just smog-filtered north light, soft as old linen. Those highlights come from photographing us under floods the night before. Then he painted from us the next day. Changed the pose, though—and I don't know how he corrected the highlights. But I'm no genius."

"What's in the big package?"

"Open it."

It was ‘The Three Graces'—and all three were Joan Eunice. "Joe calls this a ‘cheat pic,' Jake—he photographed me three times—erase and correct—more nearly thirty-three times, against a neutral background, then combined three photos for his cartoon. Had Gigi pose with me each time to get arms-around-waist and so forth, then she would slither out like a snake without disturbing my pose. If be hadn't used ‘cheat' the painting would have taken far longer. Aren't those dimples in my behind cute?"

"Woman, you are conceited enough."

"I'm not conceited, Jake; I wasn't handsome even when I was young. I know whose beautiful bottom that is. Well dear? I had intended ‘Bilitis' for me and the ‘Graces' for you—but you can have your choice."

"What a choice to have to make!"

"The one you let me keep will be no farther away than down the hall. If you had married me when you so obviously should have, you lecherous old rapist, you wouldn't have to make a choice; both would be yours. Jake, what does it cost to buy a job lot of art critics?"

"Well, the present crop ought not to fetch more than ten cents a dozen but everything is higher these days. I take it you have Joe Branca in mind?"

"Of course. He's selling his paintings at ridiculously low prices and paying an outrageous commission—and sells so few that the kids hardly get enough to eat. While freaks and frauds and sign painters are all the rage. I thought—"

"You can stop thinking; I see the swindle. We'll get him agood agent, we'll buy up what he has on the market, using dummies—and keep them ourselves; they're a surefire investment... and we'll buy art critics here, then elsewhere as he becomes better known. The question is: How much of a success must he be? Do 1 have to get him into the Metropolitan?"

"Jake, I don't think Joe wants to be famous. And 1 don't want it to be so conspicuous that he might smell a rat. Or that Gigi might; she's a little more sophisticated. Not very, that is. I just want his pictures to sell regularly enough that Gigi can buy groceries without worrying and can have enough disposable sheets that she can change them every day if it suits her. The kid is trying to keep house on scraped icebox and boiled dishrag soup. I tried that in the Depression and it's not funny—and I see no reason why Gigi should have to do it when she's married to an honest-to-God artist who can paint—andworks at it. One who doesn't spend his time sopping up sauce or blowing weed, and talking about the painting he's going to do. Joe paints. He's a craftsman as well as an artist. Well, maybe I don't know what an artist is but I know what a craftsman is and I respect craftsmen. Too few of them in this decadent world."

"No argument. We'll do it. Even if we have to go as high as fifteen cents a dozen."

"Even two-bits. Let's finish getting paint off—I must send down for olive oil—and you could be a darling and get Winnie to fetch me a heavy robe or get it yourself, pretty please, if she isn't home—no, I can get back to my room in my street cape, no problem, and—"

"Hrrmph."

"Did I goof again?"

"My dear, I have an announcement. Dr. and Mrs. Roberto Carlos Garcia y Ibanez are on their honeymoon."

"What? Why, the dirty little rat! Didn't wait for big sister to hold her hand. Good for them! Jake, that's wonderful—Ithink I'll cry."

"Go ahead, you cry while I shower."

"Hell, no, I'll cry when Winnie is back. I'll take that shower with you and you can scrub me. My back, where I can't see the paint; not my front, I'm tired, too. When was it and do you know when they will be home? And, goodness, I must pick out a suite for them; Roberto won't want to be next to mine with a connecting door. And I need to think of a wedding present. I may give them the painting you don't pick; Roberto won't let me give them anything expensive, he's a stubborn man." (Boss, is there another sort?)

"I can't see why Bob wouldn't want to have a connecting door into your bedroom."

"I think that was meant to be an insult. Perhaps he would like it, dear—I would like it. But it would not look right to the servants." (Frimp the servants!) (All of them, Eunice? I'm kept busy as it is.)

"Eunice, I took the liberty of telling Cunningham to have the Gold Suite set up for the Garcias—"

"Perfect! I'll have a door cut from my lounge into theirs and there already is a lock-off that we can unlock between its foyer and the upstairs library we joined to your suite—and then we can quit this unseemly ducking back and forth through the hall."

"The newlyweds might prefer to be left alone."

"Hadn't thought of- that. Oh, well, ‘I have some friends of my own,' as the old gal said."

"In any case they'll be back too soon for carpentry. I have it from a usually dependable source that a reliably dishonest member of your staff agreed to phone Mrs. Garcia the instant you returned. I assume that the call was made. I assume that they will be back by, oh, nightfall."

"I wonder whom I should fire? That's a hell of a way to run a honeymoon."

"I understand the good Doctor was in on it—the idea being to keep you safe from harm, since between them they constitute your medical staff."

"What nonsense. I'm the Pioneer-Mother type. Rugged. If I had crossed with the prairie- schooners, they would have yoked me in with the oxen. But I'm glad they're coming home. I want to kiss them and cry on them."

"Johann, sometimes I can't make up my mind whether you are a silly young girl—or senile."

"The last time you called me ‘Johann' you acquired some scar tissue. Dear, has it occurred to you that I might be both? A senile silly young girl?"

"Interesting. A possible working hypothesis."

"If so, I'm a well-adjusted one—Jake, I'm as happy as a cat left alone with the Christmas turkey. With Joe squared away and the Supreme Court being sensible for a change my last fret is gone. Life is one long giddy delight. I'm not even morning sick."

"Can't see why you should be—huh?" (Boss, I thought you weren't going to tell him?) (Eunice, he was bound to know soon... and I couldn't just let him find out, can't do that to Jake. This is the perfect time—he's officially ‘first to know.')

"I said I wasn't bothered by morning sickness, Jake. I'm healthy as a horse and the only change I've noticed is that I'm hungry as a horse, too."

"You wish me to believe that you are pregnant?"

"Don't give me that stern-father look, Jake. I'm knocked up and happier than Happy Hooligan. I could have kept it to myself a while longer but I wanted to tell you before anyone else could notice. But be a dear and treat it as privileged—because the instant Winnie finds out she'll start mothering me and worrying. Which is not what a bride should be doing. With luck I can keep it from Winnie until she's pregnant, too." (Boss, what makes you think Winnie intends to get pregnant'?) (Use your head, Eunice—five to one she's got a Band-aid over the spot where that implant used to be this very minute.) (I don't have a head, Boss—just yours and it doesn't work too well.) (Complaints, huh? Talk that way and I won't marry you, either.) (We are married, Boss.) (I know it, beloved. Now be quiet; I've got to juggle eggs.)

"Eunice—are you sure?"

"Yes. Test positive."

"Did Bob make the test? Or some quack?"

"A patient's relations with a doctor are confo. But it was not a quack. Don't pursue this line of inquiry, Counselor."

"We'll get married at once."

"The hell we will!"

"Eunice, let's have no nonsense!"

"Sir, I asked you to marry me quite some time back. You emphatically refused. I asked you at a later time. Again I was turned down. I decided not to renew my request, and I do not do so now. I will not marry you. But I will be honored and delighted to continue as your mistress until I am benched by biology—and more than pleased to be allowed again to be your concubine when I am back in commission. I love you, sir. But I will not marry you."

"I ought to spank you."

"I don't think it would do me any damage, darling. But I don't think you could bring yourself to strike a pregnant woman." (Now kick him in the other shin, Boss. You little hellcat.) (Eunice, stay out of this row. I'm not only a woman scorned; I'm also old Johann Smith who never could be pushed too far. Jake can have us any time, sure. But I'm damned if I'll let him be ‘noble' about it when I'm knocked up.) (Boss, aren't we ever going to marry him? This is a mistake, dear; he needs us.) (And we need him, Eunice. Sure, we'll marry him—after we've whelped. After.) (Boss, you're making a big mistake.) (If so, I'm making it. I never make little mistakes—just big ones.)

"I didn't say I was going to spank you, Eunice—I said I ‘ought' to. What happened? I distinctly remember you telling me that you had taken care of contraception."

"Your memory is good, sir. The exact phrasing, as I phrased it most carefully. I have ‘taken care' of such matters in whatever fashion I wished. Every time. With you. With others. Each time I have taken such care as suited me—at that time and with that man."

"Hmmm! That's as unresponsive an answer as I've ever heard. Let me put it more plainly. Eunice, did I get you pregnant?"

"I won't answer. You know that at least one other man has slept with me—and I may have been the bride of the regiment. Jake, you would not marry me when I was a virgin; you still would not marry me when you made me your mistress. So where I got this child in me is not your business and you have no right to quiz me and—much as I love you!—I will not tolerate one more question along this line. Not now nor in the future! Whom I chose to father my child is my business. But you may be certain that I selected him with care, eyes open and wits about me. You've been acting as if you were a father dealing with a wayward daughter, or a Welfare Visitor trying to establish responsibility for an unlicensed pregnancy. You know that is not the situation. I am ninety-five years old—much older than you are—able to afford a dozen bastards if it suits me—and it may—and wealthy enough to tell the world to go pee up a rope. Jake, I was sharing happy news with you. You elect to treat it as bad news and take me to task about it. I won't accept that, sir. I made a mistake in telling you. Will you please treat the matter as privileged—and never mention it again?"

"Eunice."

"Yes, Jake?"

"I love you."

"I love you, Jake."

"Had I been twenty years younger—even ten years!—I would have married you long before now. Since you won't tell me—and since I have no right to quiz you; you are correct—will you forgive an old man's pride if I choose to believe that 1 am the man you picked? I promise that I will not discuss that belief with anyone."

"Jacob, if you choose to believe that, I am honored. But I ask no promises. If you chose to proclaim such a belief, I would never shame my oldest and closest and most beloved friend by denying it. I would smile proudly and let my manner confirm it. But, Jacob my beloved, to you I neither affirm nor deny it—and never will. I did this on my own. I alone am parent to this child." (Watch your words, Boss! You almost spelled it out.) (He'll take it as rhetoric. Or if he does suspect, investigation will prove that he's wrong. Hank Olsen knows which side of his bed is buttered. Mine, that is.) (And the dates are going to check out so that Jake will be certain it's his. Hmm—) (Still think I'm a fool, Eunice?) (No, Boss—just reckless. You scare the hell out of me at times.)

"Well, Eunice, from the restrictions you have put on me that seems to be all we can say about it."

"That was my intention, Jake."

"I understood. What would you like to do the rest of today—at least until our newlyweds return? Play cribbage?"

"If you wish, Jake, certainly."

"I have a better idea, if you want to join me in it. Could be fun, I think."

"Will be fun, lake. Anything is always fun shared with you. Even if it's just cribbage."

"This is a better two-handed game if it's played right. Let's phone Mac, ask him to have his clerk start the ball rolling—and get married. With luck we can be legal by twenty-one or -two—and still get in a couple of boards of cribbage before bedtime."

"Oh, Jake! ‘Cribbage'!"

"Answer me, woman. A simple ‘Yes' or ‘No'. I won't argue it... and I won't ask you again. And blow your nose and wipe your eyes—you're a mess."

"Damn you, Jake! Yes! Let me go and I'll blow my nose.

I think you've cracked my ribs, you big brute. That's a hell of a way to treat an expectant mother."

"I'll do worse than crack your ribs if I have any more nonsense out of you. Now to call Mac—I'll have to think up a plausible lie so that he'll be justified in authorizing the County Clerk to issue a special license."

"Why does it have to be fancy, Jacob? I thought you were going to tell Mac that you had knocked me up?"

"Eunice, is that what you want me to say?"

"Jacob, I'm going to marry you as quickly as possible, I don't care how. I hope Winnie and Roberto show up in time, but I'm not going to wait; you might come to your senses. I thought you preferred to claim that you had done me in and I know I agreed to confirm it. So tell Mac so. Tell anybody."

"Doesn't fret you?"

"Jake dearest, maybe that's the best way to handle it... because, presently, God and everybody is going to know about the Silent Witness. Jake? Do you recall my first day of freedom? The day after Mac conditionally confirmed my identity and discharged me as a ward of the court?"

"My dear, I am not likely to forget that day."

"Nor I. Count two hundred sixty-seven days. That is when the Silent Witness should show up."

"You're telling me that I am the father of your child."

"Not at all, sir. I was in heat and had slipped the leash and you may assume if you wish that I spent the day bouncing in and out of beds, going from one man to another." She smiled beatifically. (Boss, that's awfully close to the truth—but it sounds like a whopper.) (It is the truth, Eunice; I worded it most carefully. That is the second best way to tell a lie—tell the truth so that it sounds like a whopper.) (And I thought 1 knew how to lie.) (I've had years more practice, Beloved—and as a kid had more reason to lie than you ever had. Lying is a fine art; it is learned only through long practice.)

"Knock off the nonsense, Eunice, or I'll start married life by giving you a fat lip. Okay, we'll tell Mac that; the truth is often the simplest solution. But we have to have health certificates; Mac can get us out of the waiting time but not out of that requirement. My doctor will phony one for me without stopping to take a blood sample and make tests, but how about that quack you mentioned? Will he cooperate?"

"Jake, I don't recall mentioning a quack. If Roberto gets here in time, I think he would take a chance. Or Rosy would, I think. I don't think I'm harboring even a cold bug unless I picked up something from Joe and Gigi. Most unlikely. But how about you, darling? Washington, D.C., has the highest. V.D. rate in the country. Did you fetch anything home?"

"Oh, nothing but big and little casino."

"A nice girl like me can't be expected to understand such terms."

"You impudent little baggage, I slept alone in Washington. Can you make the same claim? For the past

five days?"

"Of course not, dear; I've never been interested in sleeping alone—and Gigi is very snuggly. I commend her to your attention—take a look at that painting."

"I'm sure she is. Just Gigi, eh? Not Joe?"

"Is Joe snuggly, Jake? Tell me more!"

"Woman, you may get that fat lip before I marry you."

"The groom's present to the bride? Sir, if you want to give me a fat lip, I'll hold still, smile happily, and take it. Oh, Jake darling, it's going to be such fun to be married to you!"

"I think so, too, you dizzy bitch. Mmm, my doctor will phony a certificate for you, too, if I explain the circumstances. But he'll need your blood type."

"Jake, the whole country knows that my blood type is AB-negative. Had you forgotten it?"

"Momentarily, yes. That's all I need. Except— Wedding here? Or in Mac's chambers?"

"Here, if possible. I want our servants for ‘family' if Winnie and Roberto don't show up. Jacob, do I dare send a car with a message and ask Joe and Gigi to allow themselves to be fetched here for this purpose? I do want them present. Gigi is no problem; she will do as Joe wishes—but I think you know Joe better than I do. I don't even know that he has clothes he would be willing to wear here—all I saw him wear were denim shorts so caked with paint they could stand alone."

"Mmm, I agree that Eunice's former husband is entitled to be invited to Joan Eunice's wedding, though there has never been a protocol established, that's certain. Dear, the clothes Joe wore in court would be okay for a home wedding. How about yourself, Eunice? Going to be married in white?"

"I think I've been insulted again. Wear white so that somebody can sneak a picture and sell it? ‘Ninety-Five­Year-Old Sex-Change Bride Wears White.' Dear, if I wear white, let's ask Life to send a photographer and cut out the middleman. Jake, I'll wear white if you tell me to. If you don't, I'll pick something but it won't be white. Something."

"‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.'

"Erase and correct, Jake. Here is the twenty-first century version:

"The bride is old,

"The license new,

"The body borrowed,

"The groom is blue."

"I am like hell blue, I simply need a shave. Get out now and let me be. Beat it. Go take a bath. Try to smell like a bride."

"Instead of payday at Tillie's? I can take a hint. But you take a bath, too."

"Who notices the groom?"

Cunningham had a busy six hours. But so did everyone in the ugly old mansion. To the old-tradition strains of Mendelssohn's "Processional" the bride walked slowly in hesitation-step through the rotunda. (Twin, ‘Here Comes the Bride' always sounds to me like a cat sneaking up on a bird. Pum... pum.... tee-pum! Appropriate, hmm?) (Eunice, behave!) (Oh, I'll behave. But I prefer ‘John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith—his name is my name, too!') (You can't know that one. It's eighty years old and long forgotten.) (Why wouldn't I know it when you were singing it in your head every second they were dressing us?)

She walked steadily down the center of a long white velvet carpet; through the arch and into the banquet hall, now transformed with flowers and candles and organ into a chapel. (Boss, there's Curt! I'm so glad he made it! That must be Mrs. Hedrick with him. Don't look at them, twin; I'll giggle.) (I'm not looking at them and you stop trying to—I must look straight ahead.) (You do that, Boss darling, and I'll count the house. There's Mrs. Mac—Norma—and Alec's Ruth, with Roberto. Where's Rosy? —oh, there he is beyond Mrs. Mac. My, isn't Della dressed fit to kill?—makes us look shabby.)

The bride wore a severely simple dress of powder blue, opaque, with high neck, matching veil, long sleeves, matching gloves, skirt hem brushing the velvet runner and long train sweeping behind. She carried a bouquet of white cattleya dyed blue to match. (Twin? Why that last-minute decision for panties? They make a line that shows.) (Not through this gown; it's not skin-tight. The ‘bride's knot,' Beloved—for symbolic defloration.) (Coo! Don't make me laugh, Boss.) (Eunice, if you louse up this wedding, I'll—I'll—I won't speak to you for three days!) (Joan twin, I won't spoil it—Jake wants symbols, he shall have them.) (And I want symbols, too!) (And so do I, twin, so do I. It's just that I have never been able to see life as anything but a vast complicated practical joke, and it's better to laugh than cry.)

(Yes, darling—but let's not do either right now. I'm having trouble with tears.) (I thought they were my tears.

Doesn't Thomas Cattus look handsome? I heard you order the ‘Lohengrin recessional'; that one is even funnier than the Mendelssohn—to an Iowa farm girl it sounds exactly like the triumphant cackle of a hen after she lays an egg. I'll laugh then, I know I will.)

(All right to laugh and cry both then, Eunice—and to hang on tight to Jacob's arm. Look, dearest, this is an old-fashioned wedding with all the clichés because Jake and I are old fossils and that's the way it should be.)

(Oh, I approve. Cunningham looks worried—can't see why; he's done a beautiful job. Boss, those panties struck me so darn funny because you ordered the ‘Billtis' and the ‘Graces' to be placed on easels in the drawing room where everyone at the reception can stare at them. Riddle me that.) (Eunice, there is no inconsistency. A bride is supposed to be covered; those paintings are meant to be looked at. With Joe and Gigi here I darn well want them to be looked at!) (They'll be looked at. Stared at. Some wives may look at them with intense interest. Maybe.) (Maybe. Eunice, you know I've never asked a husband not to tell his wife anything; it's not right to ask one member of a married couple to keep secrets from the other. Besides, he will or he won't, no matter what you ask—and he should; he knows her better than we do. But those pix are as harmless as the fruit punch we have for those who turn down the champagne. It's irrelevant that I posed for them, I simply want Joe's genius to be appreciated. Enjoyed.)

Joe Branca had used no small part of his genius in making up the bride. Starting with a bare, clean canvas—fresh out of her tub—he had worked long and hard to make up Joan Eunice from head to toe with such restraint that even close inspection could not detect any trace of his efforts. As in "The Three Graces" it was simply Eunice's own beauty, invisibly enhanced—strongly enhanced, better than life, more natural than nature. He turned down the use of a hair fall and simply fluffed her own hair (still far shorter than Eunice's hair had been) and sprayed it slightly to keep it unmussed under her veil.

The bride's matron of honor was made up with much less restraint. Having seen the miracle wrought on Joan Eunice, Winnie had timidly asked Joan if she thought it would be all right to ask Mr. Branca to improve her a little? Since she was part of the wedding party?—and Joan and Gigi had enthusiastically pushed the idea. Joe had studied Mrs. Garcia, then said, "Forty minutes, Joan Eunice—is time? Okay, Winnie, wash face." The result exploited Winifred's red hair, made visible her transparent eyebrows and lashes, livened her too-white skin—yet looked more natural than the stylized face Winnie usually wore.

The matron of honor wore pastel-green tabard and tights and carried a smaller bouquet of green and brown

cymbidia. She kept in step to the hesitation march thirty paces ahead of the bride, preceded her into the banquet hail toward the improvised altar.

Chief of Security O'Neil was the last one in, then posted himself in the archway at parade-rest and managed to watch events at the far end of the room while giving his attention to his rear. His features were serene but he was uneasy, alert. The big house was empty save for seventy-five to eighty people in this one room; all armor was up, every door, every real window was locked, hand-bolted, and dogged, and the night net of alarms switched on, and O'Neil had personally made sure of all this before releasing his guards to attend the wedding. But be trusted no gadgets and few people; he did not release himself from duty.

The bride approached the far end. Jake Salomon waited there, with Alec Train at his side. Facing down the aisle were the Reverend Hugo White and Judge McCampbell, matching in dignity. Shorty was wearing a black frock coat, white shirt, string tie, and carried his Book; the Judge was in judicial robes.

(Boss, doesn't Jake look beautiful? But what is that getup?) (It's a cutaway, dearest.) (It's a museum piece.) (I suppose so. Jake probably hasn't worn it in thirty, forty years—or perhaps rented it from a theatrical costumer. I feel certain Alec bad to rent his. Doesn't Father Hugo look grand!) (Must be his preachin' clothes, Boss. Joe ought to paint him in this, even, if he never gets the pix he wants.) (Good idea, Eunice; we'll plant it with Gigi—and one thing may lead to another. I have hopes that seeing ‘The Three Graces' will gentle him, too. As Hugo wants to pose... if he can convince himself that it's not sinful. Eunice, my knees are shaking. I'm not sure I can do it!) (Om Mani Padme Hum, baby sister. We had one hell of time getting him off the dime; don't go chicken now.) (Om Mani Padme Hum, Eunice—hold my hand, darling—don't let me faint.)

Joan Eunice stopped in front of judge and preacher, Winifred took her bouquet from her, stepped back to one side. Alec Train moved Jake into place beside Joan Eunice, placed himself to balance Winifred. The music stopped. Hugo lifted his eyes and said, "Let us pray." (Om Mani Padme Hum. You okay, twin?) (I'm all right now. Om Mani Padme Hum.)

When Hugo said, "Amen," Joe Branca slid in from the side, shot his first picture. Thereafter he moved around like a Chinese stagehand, disturbing no one and never moving at a crucial moment—but getting his shots.

Hugo opened his Book, did not look at it. "We read today from the Book of Psalms. It says here:

"‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

"‘He restoreth my soul;

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.

"‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil……..

He closed his Book. "Brothers and Sisters, the Lord saw that Adam was lonely in the Garden of Eden and He said it is not good for man to live alone. So He created Eve to live with Adam. And He said to Adam, My son, you take care of this woman, you hear Me? You treat her right all the time, just like I was watching you every minute. Because I am watching you, every minute and every second. You cherish her and protect her like I tell you and you'll be too busy to get into anything wrongful, and she'll be a comfort to you all the days of your life."

He turned to Salomon. "Jacob Moshe, are you going to do that?"

"I will!"

The Reverend looked at the bride. "And the Lord said to Eve, My daughter, you got to cook for this man and wash his clothes and bring up his babies and not go running around when you should be home, and love him even when he's tired and bad-tempered and not fit to speak to, because men are like that and you must take the bad with the good—you hear Me, Eve?

"Joan Eunice, are you going to do that?"

"Yes, Father Hugo."

"Judge—"

"Jacob Moshe, does there exist any impediment under our laws and customs to you marrying this woman?"

"None."

"Joan Eunice, is there any reason in law or in your heart why you cannot marry this man?"

"There is none, Your Honor."

McCampbell spoke more loudly. "If any witness knows of any cause which would forbid me to bind these two in marriage, I command him to speak." (Eunice, if anyone even clears his throat, I'll—I'll—) (You'll keep quiet, Boss darling; that's what you'll do. Nobody here but our loving friends. Om Mani Padme Hum.) (Om Mani Padme Hum…)

"Jacob Moshe, will you love, honor, and cherish her?"

"I will."

"Joan Eunice, will you love, honor, and cherish him?"

"I will love, honor and obey him." (Huh? Boss you demon, you haven't the slightest intention of obeying!)

Salomon said, "Wait a moment! Judge, she switched the words! I don't expect that and I won't let her promise—"

"Order. YOU keep quiet, Jake; I'm not addressing you. Joan Eunice, is that what you wish to promise?"

"Yes, Your Honor." (Eunice, stay out of this. I know what I'm doing.)

"I must advise you that such a promise is not legally binding under the civil marriage contract of this State but I must warn you, too, that it is not a promise which should be lightly made in these circumstances."

"I know it, Your Honor." (Boss, you're out of your mind!) (Quite possibly. But it's all right, sweetheart. Jake is going to give us exactly the orders we will be humbly pleased to obey. Haven't I been right so far?) (Yes, but you keep scaring me. Suppose he tells us to keep our legs crossed? I've never been any good at that.) (He never will. Instead he'll be magnanimously pleased to humor our little follies—since we've promised to obey him. Relax, sweetheart—this is precisely the way my darling Agnes handled me...when I was not anything like as wise and tolerant as Jake is.)

"Let me hear you state your intention again."

"I, Joan Eunice, do solemnly promise to love, honor, and obey Jacob Moshe—and I will, Your Honor, even if he backs out and won't marry me. He doesn't have to marry me. I'd be perfectly happy just to—"

"Quiet, Joan Eunice. That's enough. Reverend, this is getting out of hand; I'm going to wrap it up with the bare legalities and you can plaster them with anything else they need in your closing prayer. All right?"

"Yes, Judge. They don't need much prayer; they're ready."

"I hope you're right. Jake, you heard this stubborn little, uh, lady. Are you willing to marry her anyhow?"

"Yes."

"Jacob Moshe, do you take Joan Eunice to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do!"

"Joan Eunice, do you take Jacob Moshe to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"Uh, where's the ring? Alec. Jake, take her left hand in your left. Now."

"‘With this ring I thee wed.'"

"Under authority vested in me I pronounce you man and wife. Kiss her, Jake. Take it, Reverend." (And you told me not to louse it up!) (I got us there, didn't I? He's ours. I mean, we're his. Same thing.)

"Let us pray!"