The 158-Pound Marriage

'Go on,' Edith said. She wanted to be a writer, and what she did mattered more to her than how she lived, she thought. She never wanted to cook anything, but she loved to eat. This man was saying to her that his ambition was to be a wife! 'Please go on,' she told him.

'I'm afraid you've seen all of my father that's here,' Severin said. 'The rest is all privately owned. We could have lunch first.'

'I love to eat,' Edith said.

'We could have lunch at my place,' Severin said. 'I just happen to have cooked up a Gulaschsuppe, and I'm trying a new vinaigrette for asparagus.'

'And there's more Kurt Winter to see at your place,' Edith said helpfully.

'But some of those are not for sale,' Severin said.

'I thought everything was for sale.'

'Just the art,' said Severin. 'All the art is for sale.'

The pornographic drawings and paintings of Katrina Marek were not art, of course; they were his mother and his history; they were his basics - which perhaps Edith understood about him from the first. The ones of Katrina Marek were in the bedroom; art was in the living room.

'Look around,' Severin said as he heated the Gulaschsuppe. She found the real thing in his bedroom, of course: a circus of positions and erotic poses surrounded his neatly made bed. She might have been troubled if she hadn't known the model was his mother. But when she thought about it, she wondered if this shouldn't be more troubling. I think that Edith must have seen Katrina Marek as competition. She sat down on the bed. At its foot was a set of barbells which appeared as immovable as her memory of Frau Reiner's use of her tongue.

When he came into the bedroom to tell her the Gulaschsuppe was hot, he'd finally taken off his letter-jacket, and Edith knew, with alarm, that if he touched her, she would let him. He opened a window on the far side of the bed. Very enhancing, Edith thought. And now he'll--

'Perfect,' he said; from the window box outside he picked up a wooden salad bowl containing the asparagus. 'Keeps it cool,' he explained; 'I never have enough room in the refrigerator.' He dangled a limp asparagus spear in front of her; it glistened with vinegar and oil. 'Taste?' he asked. She opened her mouth and shut her eyes; he cupped her chin, tipped back her head and fed her the asparagus spear. It was delicious. When she opened her eyes, he was banging around back in the kitchen, calling, 'Wine or beer?'

Edith did not want to get up. In some of the poses Katrina Marek appeared to be masturbating; Edith realized she had never touched herself in some of the ways suggested by Severin's mother.

'Wine or beer?' Severin called again. She lay back on the bed, and when she heard him coming, she shut her eyes.

'Are you all right?' he asked.

'I've lied to you,' she told him. She waited for his weight on the bed beside her, but he remained standing. She kept her eyes shut. 'I have no official authority to buy any of your father's paintings, and even my mother is just about the most unofficial person at the Museum of Modern Art. I really don't know a single thing about the museum, except that no one there actually likes your father's painting. And these,' she said, her eyes still closed, waving her arm at the bedroom walls, 'my God, these are appalling.'

She felt him sit down beside her on the bed, but she kept her eyes closed. 'These aren't for sale,' he said quietly.

'They should never leave your bedroom,' she said.

'They never will leave my bedroom,' Severin said.

Edith opened her eyes. 'Aren't you angry with me?' she asked him. 'I'm sorry about the Modern.'

'I never believed it anyway,' he said, which made her a little angry. He just sat there, in profile to her, very properly not looking down at a woman lying on her back. 'But there's you and your mother,' he said. 'You said you might buy some.'

Edith sat up. She was convinced he would never touch her, even if she undressed. 'What would you do if you got a lot of money, anyway?' she asked.

'I don't want a lot,' he said. 'I just want enough to be able to take the paintings I can't sell with me.' He looked around and smiled; she loved his smile. 'That's a lot,' he said. 'And I want enough money to look around for a job in America without having to take a bad one. And,' he grinned, 'I'd like enough to be able to go to Greece before I do any of that. I'd like to leave right now,' he said, and he lay back on the bed and shut his eyes. 'I want to stay in clean little hotels; I want to be on the ocean. It's warm there now, but it's not the tourist season. Nothing lavish, but deny nothing! Eat well, drink well, take some good books along, read in the sun, swim. And when the tour

ists started coming, I'd come back here, pack up and go to America ...'

'Say goodbye to Frau Reiner?' Edith asked.

'And to Vaso and Zivan,' Severin said. 'Tell them I'll be back soon, which will mean,' he said, opening his eyes, 'that I'll be back before they die. But I probably won't.' He shut his eyes again. 'Greece is the first thing,' he said. 'That's where I want to go.'

'And how many paintings does someone have to buy so that you can go to Greece?' Edith asked. He opened his eyes. Edith liked his eyes when they were open, but she liked being able to stare at his mouth when his eyes were closed. 'Close your eyes and answer me,' said Edith. 'How many paintings?' He appeared to be thinking, and she slipped off the edge of the bed, went into the kitchen and turned off the flame under the Gulaschsuppe. She brought the wine and two glasses back to the bedroom with her. His eyes were still closed, and she slipped off her shoes; she poured them both some wine and edged on the bed beside him. She wanted to smoke, but he seemed too white in the teeth and too broad in the chest to possibly approve. He was so narrow in the hips, so small in the thighs.

'Maybe five of the big canvases,' he said. 'But of the five I'm thinking of, you haven't seen two.'

'I'll take your word for it,' she said, 'but I want my pick, for my mother and me.' He opened his eyes and she handed him some wine; he sipped; she took the glass from him and motioned him to lie back and shut his eyes again. He did as he was told. 'Two conditions,' she said when he was lying very still; he opened one eye but she brushed it shut with her hand. She almost kept her hand over his eyes but she thought better of it and rested her hand on the bed close to his face. She knew he could smell the perfume at her wrist; she could feel his slow breathing against her fingers. 'First condition,' she said, and paused, 'is that one of the five paintings be one of these - you don't need to look, you know what I mean. I promise it will never be a public painting; I will never sell it or loan it to any museum. Frankly, I want it for my bedroom.'

'Which one?' he asked.