A Proposal of Marriage Read online



  A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE

  by

  Lea Tassie

  First published by Oddville Press, Volume 2, Issue 3, October, 2014

  Copyright 2016 Lea Tassie

  Cover photo copyright 2016 by David Wagar

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE

  We walked up the driveway beneath the dappled shade of golden locust trees, listening to the drowsy murmuring of bees and cicadas. My twin's high heels wobbled over the gravel as she struggled to keep her balance. Under my boots, the stones ground against one another, squeaking in protest.

  “I've made a decision, Cristobal,” Marietta said. “I shall marry Aubrey and embrace a tranquil life. He seems gentle and I love his garden. It reminds me of the old fairy tales our parents used to read to us when we were small.”

  “I thought you came here only to look at my new country. I've never known you to take an interest in tranquility.”

  “A girl can change her mind. I like Canada. I like the life Aubrey has here, the stillness he has around him.” Her gaze followed a green-gold leaf as it drifted down to the driveway. “But I will make him sweep up these messy leaves as they fall.”

  It's true that Aubrey's place feels like a haven. His house sits on a small rectangle of land at the end of a long, narrow driveway, surrounded by flower gardens and guarded on all sides by tall trees and shrubs. One cannot see the neighboring houses nor hear the noise of traffic on the main road. The lush gardens make even me imagine I might catch a glimpse of elves weaving garlands of flowers under the giant hosta leaves. Except, of course, I do not believe in elves.

  “Aubrey shows no signs of wanting a wife.”

  “How would you know what he wants?” Marietta demanded. “You never look at anything but the cards.”

  My sister does not like facts which are at odds with her desires. I met Aubrey soon after I immigrated and we understand each other well enough. I do not know his past history, only that he carries some tragic burden and that his aura of peace was not easily won. “I don’t need to look at him. I know Aubrey well now.”

  I know my sister, too. I spent too much of my life in our tormented country trying to help her reach impossible goals and paying more than I could afford in bribes to get her out of trouble. Finally, I fled across the equator and half a dozen borders, hoping to find serenity in this northern rain forest.

  Marietta gave me a disbelieving smile. “Suppose I commit an act of patriotism? If I assassinate the president, I’ll need a refuge. Aubrey is a kind man; he would feel sorry for me. Besides, I am still attractive. Both of us would benefit.”

  I suppressed a shudder. “He may not believe in assassination nor that it would be a benefit.”

  “Don’t quibble, Cristobal,” she said. “I will convince him it is the only thing to do. Besides, I dream about it every night.”

  “Does the dream tell you how it will happen? The man who commits such an act will most certainly have fifteen minutes of fame before he dies.”

  “A woman would have more than fifteen minutes,” Marietta said. “And she will not die if no one knows her real name.” She tossed her head. “I am truly tempted to do it.”

  I heard a rustle behind me and glanced over my shoulder, a habit I have not managed to shake, in spite of living in safety for the past two years. But it was only a foraging squirrel and the locust trees receded harmoniously into a gold-green tunnel behind us.

  When we emerged into the front garden, Aubrey was sitting at the wrought iron table. His friend, Prunella, came out of the house with two decks of cards, a score pad, pencils and a bottle of dandelion wine shining pale gold like the essence of sunlight.

  Marietta sat down opposite Aubrey. “Are we going to be partners?”

  Suits me,” he said, shoving his cowboy hat to the back of his head. “Saves cutting the cards.”

  “I wasn't thinking about bridge. I mean real partners. Like getting married.”

  The sun was shining in my eyes, but I could swear Aubrey went pale.

  “You'd have to wash my socks,” he said finally.

  At the corner of the house, beneath the wisteria’s drooping clusters of pale lilac blooms, bamboo wind chimes clacked with a faintly hollow sound and a small fountain, almost hidden by the giant hostas, whispered liquid music. Ranks of red impatiens and blue bachelor buttons nodded their heads.

  Marietta said sharply, “I don't do socks.”

  A slight movement among the hostas caught my attention. A black jaguar glared from the dim shade provided by a giant leaf. The cat emerged from the lush growth, padded through the impatiens and lay down on the gravel bordering the flowers. Its eyes were the pale yellow of the dandelion wine and the sleek fur glistened in the sunlight.

  Marietta glanced at the cat and spread a deck of cards across the table. We cut for deal and Prunella, my partner by default, won with the highest card. She dealt, glanced at her cards, shrugged and passed.

  “I'll be forced to ask for refugee status if you won't marry me,” Marietta said to Aubrey, her tone more conciliatory. “I intend to assassinate the president of my country.”

  “Well now, don't be too hasty,” Aubrey said, removing his hat to smooth back his thinning hair.

  “We'll work something out. Can you make beet pickles?”

  “I never learned how to cook,” Marietta said, with a demure smile. “I lived with a poet and we dined on iambic pentameter and moonlight.”

  She was going about this entirely the wrong way, as usual. She could easily have lied about the pickles. I glared at her until she said, “Oh, is it my turn to bid? One no trump.”

  I looked at my poor assortment of cards and passed.

  Aubrey stared at the jaguar, then his cards, and chewed his bottom lip. His forehead glistened. “Two no trump.”

  “I make beet pickles all the time,” Prunella said to Marietta.

  She passed. So did Marietta.

  I considered making a bid merely to interfere, but it was too risky. I led a card and Aubrey spread the dummy's hand on the table.

  “Go get some glasses,” Marietta said to Aubrey. “This wine is going to waste.”

  A growl so soft it was almost inaudible came from the jaguar.

  “Listen to that! She's ordering me around and we're not even married yet.”

  Marietta looked hopeful. “Does that mean you're considering it?”

  “Not if you won't wash my socks.” Aubrey ambled into the house and came back with two wine glasses.

  “Who's not drinking?” Prunella gave me a suspicious look. “Don't tell me you've got a mickey of scotch in your jeans.”

  “I promise I won't tell you that,” I said. “What I have in my jeans is my own business.”

  “I'm having a beer,” Aubrey said, pulling a tall bottle from his back pocket. “It's Brazilian beer, made by Germans, and bottled in Canada. Which makes me a Renaissance kind of guy.”

  “I don't drink,” Marietta said, handing me the glass of wine that Prunella had poured for her. “That's one of my saving graces. And I love it that you’re a Renaissance man, Aubrey. That is truly romantic.”

  He said. “I bet you don't do windows either.”

  “Windows? Don't you hire people to do windows?”

  “Not when I'm married,” Aubrey said. “When I'm married, my wife cleans the windows.”

  Marietta sighed. “You're making this really difficult. I'm seeking a refuge and ease for my soul, not a job.” She made
her contract of two no trump and picked up the other deck of cards while Prunella recorded the points scored.

  Prunella took a delicate sip of wine as she watched Marietta deal.

  I glanced toward the jaguar, but he was no longer lying in the sunshine. For a moment, I thought he had gone, but when my eyes adjusted, I saw that he had merely moved into the shade in order to drink from the fountain under the bamboo chimes. “I didn't know you had a cat,” I said to Aubrey.

  “I don’t. No one has a cat. Perhaps he has me.”

  I glanced back at the fountain but the jaguar had disappeared. Perhaps to his cool lair under the leaves.

  Marietta dealt. “Aubrey, I think we should discuss marriage in private. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Seven Tibetan monks will be here for dinner.”

  A yellow jacket landed on the rim of my wine glass, attracted by forbidden sweetness. I blew on him and he staggered to Prunella's side of the table. She swatted at him with the score pad and he came back to me.

  I went into the house and, though it took me so long I wondered if someone would notice