Frances and Evelyn alone with their coffee.
“Another cup?” Frances asked.
“Thanks.”
“I am glad you’re a coffee drinker. Walt and Ann never take the time. It is nice to have company. Now tell me, have you everything you need? Did you see the lawyer?”
“Yes, I did. Everything seems to be in order. Oh, he did say I’d need a witness. …”
“Don’t worry about that,” Frances said. “I can do that.”
“Frances,” Evelyn began tentatively, “Frances, are all divorces here so simple?”
“Simple?”
“I mean, the lawyer asked me just a few questions. It didn’t seem to me that I gave him enough information to make a case. And he says I don’t have to see him again until the Friday before the hearing,”
“If it’s uncontested, it doesn’t take but a few minutes. I know. It doesn’t seem right somehow when you first realize, but the wedding ceremony isn’t all that much either, is it? Ann’s father used to say to me, ‘Frances, don’t prolong a thing just to make it seem important.’ He used to claim that nothing really important took longer than twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes?” Then Frances had known Ann’s father.
“That’s right. Conceiving, being born (we had our arguments about that), marrying, divorcing, dying.” Frances paused. “It didn’t take him even twenty minutes to die. …”
“But what a long time passes between events,” Evelyn said quietly.
“Ah … and that’s what a woman knows, time. Nothing takes us really by surprise, does it?”
“No,” Evelyn said, “I don’t suppose so, really,” but she was out of her depth now.
Whenever there were generalizations about women, Evelyn weighed herself against them and found herself insubstantial. And talking in the kind of generality that threatened to expose her private living did not appeal to her. Though her curiosity had been aroused about Ann’s father and the relationship that had existed between him and Frances Packer, Evelyn suppressed it. She chose, instead, to withdraw, reassured by Frances’ friendliness and therefore confident that she could spend the evening alone with her work.
The desert island game Evelyn played with herself that night was only an amusement. The four books she had brought with her were not the ones she would have chosen, but she could make them last, like pans of rain water in a drought, perhaps two weeks. The game stayed an amusement because she could go to the public library in the morning.
Both her amusement and confidence were shaken a little when she walked into the library. The single room, furnished with only a few tables and perhaps ten bookshelves, was empty except for Evelyn and a single attendant, a middle-aged woman who sat at a desk reading the want ads in the newspaper. The collection of books reminded Evelyn of college dormitory libraries, which depended on private and haphazard donations from students and on books the main library could find no use for. There was virtually no criticism, and she found only a few of the standard works she needed. But books of any kind delighted Evelyn, and she would have been tempted to spend an hour investigating and discovering the occasional hilarious or real treasure any library can produce if she had not been uncomfortably aware of the attendant, who had begun to watch Evelyn with frank suspicion. But, when Evelyn walked over to the desk with the six books she wanted, the attendant was suddenly absorbed in the card catalogue.
“Excuse me,” Evelyn said. The woman ignored her. “I’d like to take out these books.”
“Just a minute.” The attendant stopped to straighten some paperbacks on display and then walked around behind the desk. “Have you got a card?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Are you a permanent resident?”
“No.”
“That will be a dollar for the card, then, and three dollars for each book you want to take out.”
“Excuse me?”
“A dollar for the card, three dollars for each
“Another cup?” Frances asked.
“Thanks.”
“I am glad you’re a coffee drinker. Walt and Ann never take the time. It is nice to have company. Now tell me, have you everything you need? Did you see the lawyer?”
“Yes, I did. Everything seems to be in order. Oh, he did say I’d need a witness. …”
“Don’t worry about that,” Frances said. “I can do that.”
“Frances,” Evelyn began tentatively, “Frances, are all divorces here so simple?”
“Simple?”
“I mean, the lawyer asked me just a few questions. It didn’t seem to me that I gave him enough information to make a case. And he says I don’t have to see him again until the Friday before the hearing,”
“If it’s uncontested, it doesn’t take but a few minutes. I know. It doesn’t seem right somehow when you first realize, but the wedding ceremony isn’t all that much either, is it? Ann’s father used to say to me, ‘Frances, don’t prolong a thing just to make it seem important.’ He used to claim that nothing really important took longer than twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes?” Then Frances had known Ann’s father.
“That’s right. Conceiving, being born (we had our arguments about that), marrying, divorcing, dying.” Frances paused. “It didn’t take him even twenty minutes to die. …”
“But what a long time passes between events,” Evelyn said quietly.
“Ah … and that’s what a woman knows, time. Nothing takes us really by surprise, does it?”
“No,” Evelyn said, “I don’t suppose so, really,” but she was out of her depth now.
Whenever there were generalizations about women, Evelyn weighed herself against them and found herself insubstantial. And talking in the kind of generality that threatened to expose her private living did not appeal to her. Though her curiosity had been aroused about Ann’s father and the relationship that had existed between him and Frances Packer, Evelyn suppressed it. She chose, instead, to withdraw, reassured by Frances’ friendliness and therefore confident that she could spend the evening alone with her work.
The desert island game Evelyn played with herself that night was only an amusement. The four books she had brought with her were not the ones she would have chosen, but she could make them last, like pans of rain water in a drought, perhaps two weeks. The game stayed an amusement because she could go to the public library in the morning.
Both her amusement and confidence were shaken a little when she walked into the library. The single room, furnished with only a few tables and perhaps ten bookshelves, was empty except for Evelyn and a single attendant, a middle-aged woman who sat at a desk reading the want ads in the newspaper. The collection of books reminded Evelyn of college dormitory libraries, which depended on private and haphazard donations from students and on books the main library could find no use for. There was virtually no criticism, and she found only a few of the standard works she needed. But books of any kind delighted Evelyn, and she would have been tempted to spend an hour investigating and discovering the occasional hilarious or real treasure any library can produce if she had not been uncomfortably aware of the attendant, who had begun to watch Evelyn with frank suspicion. But, when Evelyn walked over to the desk with the six books she wanted, the attendant was suddenly absorbed in the card catalogue.
“Excuse me,” Evelyn said. The woman ignored her. “I’d like to take out these books.”
“Just a minute.” The attendant stopped to straighten some paperbacks on display and then walked around behind the desk. “Have you got a card?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Are you a permanent resident?”
“No.”
“That will be a dollar for the card, then, and three dollars for each book you want to take out.”
“Excuse me?”
“A dollar for the card, three dollars for each
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