6
PARTISAN RET'/EW
My father thinks of my mother, of how lady-like she is, and of
the pride which will be his when he introduces her to his family. They
are not yet engaged and he is not yet sure that he loves my mother,
so that, once in a while, he becomes panicky about the bond already
established. But then he reassures himself by thinking of the big men
he admires who are married: William Randolph Hearst and William
Howard Taft, who has just become the President of the United States.
My fathers arrives at my mother's house. He has come too early
and so is suddenly embarrassed. My aunt, my mother's younger sister,
answers the loud bell with her napkin in her hand, for the fami.ly is
stilI at dinner. As my father enters, my grandfather rises from the
table and shakes hands with him. My mother has run upstairs to tidy
herself. My grandmother asks my father if he has had dinner and
tells him that my mother will be down soon. My grandfather opens
the conversation by remarking about the mild June weather. My
father sits uncomfortably near the table, holding his hat in his hand.
My grandmother tells my aunt to take my father's hat. My uncle,
twelve years old, runs into the house, his hair touseled. He shouts a
greeting to my father, who has often given him nickels, and then runs
upstairs, as my grandmother shouts after him. It is evident that the
respect in which my father is held in this house is tempered by a good
deal of mirth. He is impressive, but also very awkward.
II
Finally my mother comes downstairs and my father, being at
the moment engaged in conversation with my grandfather, is made
uneasy by her entrance, for he does not know whether to greet my
mother or to continue the conversation. He gets up from his chair
clumsily and says "Hello" gruffly. My grandfather watches this, ex-
amining their congruence, such as it is, with a critical eye, and mean-
while rubbing his bearded check roughly, as he always does when he
reasons. He is worried; he is afraid that my father will not make a
good husband for his oldest daughter. At this point something happens
to the film, just as my father says something funny to my mother: I
am awakened to myself and my unhappiness just as my interest has
become most intense. The audience begins to clap impatiently. Then
the trouble is attended to, but the film has been returned to a portion
just shown, and once more I see my grandfather rubbing his bearded
cheek, pondering my father's character. It is difficult to get back into
the picture once more and forget myself, but as my mother giggles
at my father's words, the darkness drowns me.
My father and mother depart from the house, my father shaking
hands with my grandfather once more, out of some unknown uneasi-
ness. I stir uneasily also, slouched in the hard chair of the theatre.
