“Could we have some tea?” he asks. She is in the kitchen. She really likes to make tea for him. It’s a comfort. It’s crazy, but it’s a fact. Such small comforts make life bearable. Perhaps Ezra is right and she is mad. Perhaps Ezra is wrong and she is still mad. Drop the whole thing. A lot of crazy talk. Receive him with a hot bath, breakfast, clean sheets; because she wants it, even if he doesn’t want it and has to reproach and quarrel, even if she has contempt for him; do it simply because she needs it for her sanity. He comes into the kitchen.
“Have you something to eat?” he asks, opening the icebox. “As usual, only food for the children.” It was always so. Her asceticism. She is so tired of the old complaints she is ready to cook a goose with dumplings. But it’s just too late. She wants him out. She really wants him out. He weeps into the teacup. “We will not survive this. I know I will not survive it.” So perhaps he has accepted. Weary and dumbfounded, she waits for him to finish weeping. In an hour the children will be home from school. She must get the papers for him to sign, however pointless everything seems at this moment. Yes, it’s too late for everything; too late to end the marriage. Still, it must be done.
“So,” he says, and takes her hand. “It is settled. Please may I hold your hand? You’ve taken off the ring, I see; but we are still married. We must both try. But Sophie! But why, Sophie!”
“Why?” She is up, clutching the back of the chair. “I told you in New York and in Ibiza, I told you in Genoa and in Paris, last year and again this summer; I’ve told you and told you and told you and I’m telling you for the last time: The marriage is over. It’s over. The marriage is over.” She screams.
“Please,” he protests, clutching his ears.
“I’m screaming so you’ll hear me, yes I’m screaming: The marriage is over.”
He rushes to the door muttering to himself; she follows him. “You’re not going to slither out.”
“I’m not. I just wanted to make sure the children...”
“The children are in school and I don’t care if the whole house hears me screaming. THE MARRIAGE IS OVER.”
“Please control yourself and let’s sit down and discuss this quietly in a civilized manner.” The reasonable man to his crazy wife. “It’s a life decision involving the lives of three children!”
“We have discussed this matter, Ezra, for seven years. We have discussed it and discussed it and discussed it. I have nothing more to say.”
“I am sorry,” he says with a perplexed air, “you must forgive me. I have a different sense of the situation. I remember we had such a nice dinner at the Coupole the last time with the old crowd.” Speech fails. “Perhaps I really don’t understand. Forgive me, but I must have a drink. This is really too much.” He sips the Scotch she has served him. “I want only to understand. I won’t stand in your way, hold you against your will—what would I have from that?” It’s the voice of the lover and friend. “You are a just and noble person. The woman I married. I know I have failed you—please allow me to speak—I am not asking you to forgive me. I am resigned. You will have your freedom, I promise I will not stand in your way, but I must understand why. Why now after all these years?”
“It’s seven years Ezra,” she says, staring out the window. “Seven years that I’ve been telling you.”
“Was it really so terrible with me?” he asks, smiling at her and pouring himself another drink. “Tell me, Sophie, I want to understand the woman I married—the woman I divorce. You can talk to me. We are friends.”
“No,” she says coldly.
“But why, Sophie?” He is offended. “If there is another man...Look, I don’t care who you screw around with, the marriage is sacred. We promised each other. It’s Nicholas, I know. But that’s neither here nor there. Maybe you suddenly don’t like my nose. You’re capable of any frivolity. No, I can’t give you a divorce unless you have someone else to marry you. I am responsible for you. You have no reason to want a divorce. You just want to break the marriage. Why? Are you evil? Are you bent on my destruction?”
“I don’t want to be married to you.”
“But you don’t see me. We live in different cities. I give you complete freedom. I visit every so often, we spend a few weeks of the year together for the sake of the children—Look, Sophie, it’s not easy for me with you, but a marriage is a marriage. You can live as you please and with whom you please. What more can you want? What do you gain from a divorce?”
“The thought of being married to you drives me insane.”
“Then see an analyst. I have no more time to waste on these discussions. We have more important things to talk about. When do the children come home?” He looks at his watch. He wants to spend the afternoon with
