Whatever the root cause of my remark—which nobody will ever know, and who cares?—the practical effect was, as Herb put it, “electrifying.” Just as we three couples had decided that we would marry—spontaneously, as a unit it seemed, back on the
Almost from the first day we landed on the beach, news had circulated of twosomes among the passengers and crew who were getting married. The shock of the Event and the uncertainty of the future seemed to bring couples together, instinctively seeking an affirmative link. Most of the ceremonies were brief verging on perfunctory, performed by Captain Nordstrom. We had clergy among us, but for the urgent, precipitate unions being ratified, the ship’s captain seemed the appropriate choice. Captain Nordstorm honored the yearnings of the young couples, but begrudged the demands on his time. It followed that the wedding parties were very small, and celebration, in the sense of music and dancing, was out of the question. After we made contact with the Inlanders, we learned that some of them also were rushing into marriage. Sarah speculated that the dwindling supplies of birth control materials had something to do with it.
However, until I made my remark about marrying and having children, the six of us in the Focus Group had not considered the planning of weddings. There seemed no need to rush. The “en gagements” to which we were pledged provided commitment enough. And the pressures of working for group survival made the idea of ceremony seem frivolous. But by the time of my outburst—I recall that the date was February 3—forty days had passed since the Event. Survival, at least in the short run, seemed assured. The first stage of planning for the long term had been concluded. And though the real work of building a sustainable community was only beginning, it was possible— indeed, only normal—to start arranging our personal futures.
When we gathered the evening after my impetuous outburst, the topic was foremost in everyone’s mind. We skirted around it with some nervous, idle chatter, until Tom suddenly spoke up.
“It’s still not the time to be talking about weddings,” he said. “I’m just too damned busy to think about such a happening, much less plan it. Unless,” he added, “we have a quick ceremony just to make our unions honorable. But I don’t think that Mary is interested in a Captain Nordstrom five-minute special.”
“You know it,” Mary said. “Not that I’m happy about living in sin, mind you. But as long as we’ve come this far, I want to do things right, with a priest, a pretty dress, and festivities with music.”
“I’ve always thought about having a flower-child wedding,” Roxy said. “A hippie ceremony at sunrise, celebrating beauty, and at the same time repudiating the values of an over-commercialized world. But with most of the world wiped out, there doesn’t seem to be much sense in making a statement of protest. So I’m game for just about anything that’s nice, as long as there’s plenty of dancing at the party.”
There appeared to be agreement that the three ceremonies would take place at the same time. Nobody said it in so many words, but as often seemed to be our way, consensus was in the air.
“I haven’t discussed it with Roxy,” Herb said, “but I’d like us to be married by a rabbi and stand under a huppah.”
“Under a what?” Roxy asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
“A canopy,” Herb said. “It symbolizes the home to be established by the newlyweds. We’ll have a flower- covered trellis, and I guarantee that you’ll love it.”
“Sounds nice,” I said. “Can we stand under it, too?”
“Absolutely,” Herb said. “We can have a huppah big enough for three couples. Why not? Unless,” he added, “Mary’s priest objects, or somebody’s parents, or who knows what? Once you start planning weddings, complications are sure to follow.”
Considering our many debates and discussions, the Focus Group had not spent much time discussing religion. Aside from Mary, a devout Roman Catholic, religious faith didn’t play a central role in our lives. Roxy, a one-time Southern Baptist, dabbled with Buddhism, but not in any coherent way. Sarah had grown up as a Presbyterian, Herb as a Jew, and I as an Episcopalian, but all in such secularized families that we were destined to wander from the fold. Tom claimed to be as close to an atheist as a thoughtful person can be, and I sometimes wondered how he and Mary hit it off so well. Love seemed to conquer all, and that, as far as I could tell, was that.
“I wouldn’t worry about such things,” Tom said. “With the world shot to hell, people aren’t going to stand on petty formalities.”
“Wrong,” Herb said. “How else are we going to prove that we’re still human, if we don’t show that we can still be petty?”
“All kidding aside,” Sarah said. “Are we going to make plans or aren’t we?”
“Let’s do it,” I said. “I might be the one who blurted out that remark about children, but obviously we’re all primed to think marriage. Yet,” I couldn’t help but add, “Tom’s right about the timing. If we want ceremony and partying, we have to wait until the situation is a bit less hectic, until living conditions are less primitive, until constructive work projects are more firmly established. We’re talking about a few months at least.”
“I always wanted to be a June bride,” Sarah said. “That’s four months away.”
“You know, June isn’t spring in these parts,” Tom said. “It’s the beginning of winter.”
“Yes, but the winters are fairly mild,” Herb said, “especially at these lower elevations near the sea. Assuming, of course, that nature doesn’t pull any more of her nasty tricks on us.”
“Let’s do it,” I said again. And we did. We set the date for the first Sunday in June. It seemed far in the future then, and today, a little more than six months after the day, it seems far in the past. But it was an occasion, needless to say, that will be ever fresh in my memory.
The planning did not turn out to be petty or quarrelsome as Herb had predicted, and as I had secretly feared. Tom, as one of the leaders of the R and D operation, was literally too busy to spare a moment from his work. He had a key assignment in planning for the future, and as the weeks went by and his talents were noted by his peers, the demands on his time were relentless. Although I was much lower on the scale of ability and importance, I also found myself working long hours.
As recording secretary to the various leadership groups, I was constantly on call. I thought after the first month or so of meetings (endless meetings!), with the basic plans established, the work of oversight and governance would abate. But I should have known better. Herb, as my sometime assistant, was also needed at many lengthy meetings. So, in a reversion to the conventions of previous generations, most of the wedding arrangements were handled by the women.
Not that “the little ladies,” as Herb sometimes had the nerve to call them, weren’t extremely busy as well. Mary, the civil engineer, was occupied with roads and pipelines. Roxy was a whirlwind in morale-building ventures —planning athletic events and other group activities, especially dancing. Sometimes she worked with the medical people. It turned out that she had done some nursing in her checkered career. Sarah, starting within a few days of her dramatic parade, became something of a commissioner of cultural affairs. She was perpetually busy with classes, concerts, theater, and other artistic pursuits. But somehow, along with Mary and Roxy, she arranged a grand wedding celebration, one that will be remembered in these parts for many a day.
Once the planning was underway, Herb started to refer to the wedding as “the catered affair.” We all picked up on the term. It was a pleasant connection to the good old days. As a catered affair, the first consideration, of course, was food and drink. Here Sarah made the very wise move of bringing Captain Nordstrom into the process. It was an open secret that the
Finally, the good captain, at a meeting of the Coordinating Committee, let slip a few remarks about the nuptials being planned. Inlanders on the committee—Stephen Healey, Peter Mavimbela, Lucas Moloko, and several others—made a few notes, and shortly before the appointed day, special shipments of meat and fresh produce came rolling into Engineering Village.
Attire for the bridal party presented a more daunting challenge. For one thing, members of the traveling seminar had been instructed not to bring along anything by way of formal dress. Even more serious, after a few months of fairly rugged living, most people’s clothes were beginning to show signs of wear and tear. The new clothes being made under the master technology enterprise were simple woolen homespuns, not exactly suitable
