The Second Part of Chapter 11: Spreading Ripples

James and Clarissa spent the evening discussing plans for Halloween.

“I’ve been wanting to go out as Groucho Marx for quite a while,”

“I’ve been looking for something suggestive; I saw quite a selection of dirty nurse costumes at the costume store,”

“What costume store was this? Do you mean Aren’t We Naughty? Well, I don’t have any problem with you dressing––if it can be called that––like that before, well, you know. For a Halloween party––”

“Oh, don’t worry about the Halloween party. Eunice said yesterday that she was going as a witch.”

“That’s not overtly sexual,”

“You didn’t see the costume. It was very tight; I didn’t see her wearing it, but it looked like that, given the size of the dress and the size of her body. It has fishnet stockings, and was ripped in all the right places.”

“You’re making my Groucho Marx idea sound boring,”

“If that’s the case, then let me make clear to you that I have no issue whatsoever with you dressing like Tarzan, or even more sparingly, if not for Halloween.”

“Like Tarzan? With my body?”

“I don’t care about the type of body you have; I married you for your personality,” she replied, kissing him. His hand caressed her back, and then travelled downwards, with her hand guiding his.

“If I dress like Tarzan, will you dress like Jane?” They had scenes like this quite often, thought James as he recalled their encounter in Margaret’s house, which had begun with a similar conversation about clothing that had ended quite well for the both of them. They were doing this almost nightly, despite the fact that the previous night, this had resulted in the destruction of a lamp, and Clarissa had had the misfortune to knock a cactus from its perch on the windowsill while she was wearing a blindfold.

“I hear that one of my friends simply puts on the mask of a different politician every year; I call him a geek for it. This year, he said he was going out as Bruce Meach, with tomato juice spattered all over himself, of course. He also said something about a crown,”

“I just thought: would you like me as a banshee?”

“I wouldn’t mind in the least,”

On Thursday, the scene was much different; James was eating a bag of chips when he found he could not finish them off. It was not just that, it was also that they were his favourite kind: sour cream and onion. For some reason, he found the chips too salty, and this had never occurred before. Perhaps it was a premonition of something, he thought. In an attempt to banish these thoughts from his mind, he turned to something much more reassuring, of which he felt much surer: his work. Maurice had a meeting with Jonathan, and was most impressed. It was true that they had lost some manufacturing businesses; a faucet company, Omega, had went under, a Bank in the States that had previously been expanding into Canada found it was too loaded with unredeemable debts, the car seat maker had gone in August, and just yesterday, a maker of industrial lasers had downsized and viewed economic consulting as a frivolity, among others, but there was still comfort in the large pile of work waiting for him on his desk tomorrow. He then considered the company’s books: he had passed them over since May, but surely, they must be doing all right, what with five new clients. He then heard Clarissa re-enter from her short trip to the convenience store for milk.

“Hi Clarie,”

“Hi Jimmy,”

Clarissa crossed over to the kitchen with two bags; one contained the milk, and the other contained an assortment of other stuff that he could not see; there seemed to be two grocery bags, one inside the other. It being a tiring day for James, he went to sleep at ten, which was early for him.


That same evening, Margaret was wondering when her daughter would phone; that speculation ended the next day. “Hi mom,” said Clarissa, sounding bright and chipper to Margaret over the phone.

“Hello dear, you sound very happy today. What’s the occasion?”

“I’m pregnant!”

“He got you pregnant?” the disdain in Margaret’s voice was evident. James seemed like such a cold fish to her, she thought. How is he going to raise a child? He also seems far too nice; she and Hyram didn’t raise Clarissa that way, she thought. Although there might be some room for joy, she did not communicate that to her daughter by way of the tone of her voice, which instead sent a message of disapproval.

“Mother! You’re making it sound like pregnancy in wedlock is disreputable,”

“Oh, sorry. But really? With him? When?”

“Two months ago. It happened about a week before the wedding,”

“Weren’t you at our place that weekend?”

“Yes, and what do you mean, ‘with him’? He’s my husband, and procreation is the most ancient and time-honoured purpose of marriage.”

“Don’t you think it’s rather early to be starting a family with this man?”

“I know you have your own opinions, but look: I have my income, he has his, and we shall have ample money to raise a child, and really, I don’t see any point in waiting; it’s inevitable in the end,”

“Well, I’m glad, I guess; it’s your decision, as you said. But please make sure you don’t drink anything, eat lots of good food, not that fatty stuff James likes that only masquerades as food, and get plenty of sleep at night. I want a healthy second grandchild!”

“When did you guess that about Jim’s eating habits? I don’t think I mentioned to you what he eats,”

“I have eyes, you know, and I saw several trays piled with deep-fried objects––I will not honour them with the label ‘food’––at the wedding, and James was grazing on them well into the night, do you remember?” She had actually heard this from Eunice.

“All right; thank you for impressing the point upon me,”

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