438
PARTISAN REVIEW
"Take it easy, Jude," Hank called without lifting his head from
the baby who stared up hypnotized into his eyes; and with his head
still down, added, "Welcome, gentlemen."
We managed somehow to get through dinner, though Judith,
trembling still, broke a plate and a cup, barely missed Fenton with
some spilled gravy, apologized excessively for the food, kept losing sen–
tences in embarrassed pauses and making malapropisms at which Fenton
bellowed with great good humor. I said scarcely anything, not sure why
I was there, but watching Hank for a clue, though he in turn never
took his eyes from his wife, whom he followed with an inexplicable
air of humility, saying over and over like a charm, "Take it easy, Jude."
Once he managed to turn to me long enough to observe, "This is
important for Her." He referred to Judith with real capitals like a
queen. "She's always nervous over things like this."
But when I, nervous, too, and puzzled, had snapped, "What things?"
he cast his eyes down again without answering. The baby cried all
through the meal, impersonally but with considerable volume, and Hank
rose finally to tend it.
"I'm really sorry about the food," Judith said over the coffee.
"I'll bet your wives are both excellent cuisines-1 mean, cooks."
"Neither of mine," Fenton answered. "The first one was rich, so
we always had a cook. And with the second, I do the little cooking that
gets done. Mostly we drink our meals."
"But surely yours, Mr. Amsterdam?"
"Wonderful," I declared shamelessly. I had actually liked Eileen's
cooking at first, for its difference from my mother's; the most banal
non-kosher foods, tripe or pork sausages or head cheese, seeming to me
a kind of revolt, a rejection of my unloved past. I had never even had
a steak at home. But, really, Eileen was without imagination or enthus–
iasm in the kitchen as in bed, everywhere dull, dull, dull. "Let's not
talk about home," I interrupted myself shamelessly, "it makes me feel
too lonely-" As I gazed away out of the half-window that let in a
little of the last light, I felt an incredibly real nostalgia for my imaginary
household. "I even miss the noise!"
"She's a lucky woman," Judith sighed, and only Ed Fenton laughed,
too pleased with himself to challenge me.
He had brought along a bottle of whisky, which we all welcomed,
Judith especially throwing the first drink into herself with an exagger–
ated gesture of abandon.
"Our last magic!" I told her, and she giggled.
"Take it easy, Jude," Hank said, turning toward us over one
