Anne Tyler - Morgan's Passing

"You are?"

"Well, at least I have an interest in order. I mean, order has always intrigued me. When I was a child, I thought order might come when my voice changed. Then I thought, no, maybe when I'm educated. At one point I thought I would be orderly if I could just once sleep with a woman." He took a napkin from the dispenser and unfolded it and smoothed it across his knees.

Emily said, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Did sleeping with a woman make you orderly?"

"How can you ask?" he said. He sighed.

Their coffee arrived, and he seized the sugarbowl and started spooning out sugar. Four teaspoons, five… he stirred after each spoonful, and dripped coffee on the tabletop and into the howl. Caramel-colored beads grew up across the surface of the sugar. Emily looked at them and then at Morgan. Morgan bared his teeth at her encouragingly. She looked away again.

Why put up with him? He was really so strange that sometimes, out in public, she felt an urge to walk several paces ahead so that no one would guess they were acquainted. Or when the three of them, were together, she'd make a point of taking Leon's arm. But it was funny how he grew on a person. He added something; she couldn't say just what. He made things look more interesting than they really were. Sometimes he accompanied the Merediths when they went to put on a puppet show, and from the squirrel-like attention he gave to all they did she would understand, suddenly, how very exotic this occupation was-itinerant puppeteers! Well, not itinerant, exactly, but still… and she'd look at Leon and realize what a flair he had, with his deep, dark eyes and swift movements. She herself would feel not quite so colorless; she would notice that Gina, who sometimes struck her as a little blowzy, was just like one of those cherubic children on a nineteenth-century chocolate box.

"Leon's picture was in the paper," she told Morgan now.

"Eh?" She leaned forward. She saw that this must be why she'd agreed to stop for coffee. "There was an article," she said, "in the morning paper, all about our puppets."

"Oh, I missed it," he said. "I left the house too early."

"They had a picture of the three of us, but really it was Leon's article," she said.

Morgan lit a cigarette and tipped his chair back, studying her, "He talked about the puppets, how they're… oh, not improvised. How they're cut from a pattern," She folded her hands and examined her knuckles. "He meant something by that. It's hard to explain. If I tell you what it meant, you'll think I'm imagining things."

"You probably are," Morgan said.

"And last night, this play he went to try for… what he used to do in the old days was, he'd memorize a part for tryouts. He wouldn't just go and read it, like other people. He had this very quick memory. It always made an impression. So yesterday afternoon he started to learn the part he wanted, and it turned out he couldn't do it. He'd memorize one line and go on to the next, but when he put the two together he found he'd forgotten the first one and he'd have to begin all over again. It kept happening. It was eerie.7 knew the lines, finally, just from hearing them; but he still didn't. And he blamed me for it. He didn't say so outright, but he did. I know."

"You're imagining things," Morgan said.

"It's true that he's changed since he met me,' Emily said.

Morgan rocked on his chair legs, smoking and frowning. He said, "Did I ever tell you I was married once before?"

"What? No, I don't think so. And now he's so friendly with his parents. Well, of course he can say that's all my doing; I used to be the only one who spoke to them. But now it seems… well, truthfully, they visit a little too much. He gets on with them a little too well."

"I married during my senior year in college," Morgan said. "Her name was Letitia. We eloped and never told a soul. But as soon as we got married, we lost interest in each other. It was the funniest thing. We took up with different crowds; Letitia became involved in an antique-music group and went off to New York over Christmas vacation… we drifted apart, as they say. We went our separate ways." Emily couldn't see why he was telling her this. She made an effort and sat straighter in her chair. "Is that right?" she said. "So you got a divorce?"

"Well, no."

"What happened, then?"

"Nothing happened," Morgan said. "We just went our ways. No one knew about the elopement, after all." Emily thought back over what he'd told her. She said, "But then you'd be a bigamist."

"Technically speaking, I suppose I am," Morgan said cheerfully.

"But that's illegal!"

"Well, yes, I guess it is, in a way." She stared at him.

"But it's really very natural," he told her. "It's quite fitting, when you stop to consider. Aren't we all sitting on stacks of past events? And not every level is neatly finished off, right? Sometimes a lower level bleeds into an upper level. Isn't that so?"

"Honestly," Emily said. "What has this got to do with anything?" She reached for her purse and stood up. Morgan stood too and came lunging around to pull her chair back, but she was too quick for him. She didn't even wait for him to pay the cashier. She walked on out the door and left him at the register, and he had to run to catch up with her.

"Emily?" he said.

"I have to be getting home now."

"But I seem to have strayed from my point. All your talk of bigamy, legalities, you made me forget what I wanted to say."

"Half the time, Morgan," Emily said, "I believe you're telling out-and-out lies. I believe you just told me one. You did, didn't you? Did you? Or not?"

"See, Emily," Morgan said, "of course he's changed. Everybody does; everyone goes bobbing along, in and out of inlets, snagging on pilings, skating down rapids… Well, I mustn't get carried away. But, Emily, you're still close. You haven't parted directions. You're still very much alike."

"Alike!" said Emily. She stopped in front of a newsstand. "How can you say that? We're totally different. We come from totally different backgrounds. Even our religions are different."

"Really?" said Morgan. "What religion is Leon?"

"Oh, Presbyterian, Methodist…" She started walking again. "We're nothing at all alike."

"To me you are," Morgan said. "And you get along so well."

"Ha," said Emily bitterly.

"You have the happiest marriage I know of, Emily. I love your marriage!"

"Well, I can't think why," Emily said.

But she let herself fall into step with him.

They passed a woman painting her front door a bright green. "Apple green, my favorite color!" Morgan called, and the woman laughed and bowed like someone on a stage. They passed an open window where Fats Domino sang "I'm Walkin'," and Morgan spread his arms and started dancing. The fact that he had a cigarette clamped in his teeth made it look difficult and precarious; he reminded Emily of those Russians who dance with a glass of vodka on their heads. She stood to one side, awkwardly swinging her purse and smiling. Then Morgan stopped and took his cigarette from his mouth, "Why, look at that," he said. He was staring at something just behind her. She turned, but it was nothing-a car parked next to a mailbox.

"My car!" he said.

"Your what?"

"It's my car!"

"Are you sure?" But that was a silly question; even Emily was sure. (And why would he claim such a ruined object, otherwise?) Morgan rushed around it, breathing rapid puffs of smoke. "See?" he said. "There's Lizzie's tennis racket, my turban, my sailor suit that I was bringing home from… See that Nehi bottle? It's been rolling up and down the back window ledge for the past six months. Or," he said, pausing, "is it possible that someone else might have a car just like this?"

"Really, Morgan," Emily said. "Of course it's yours. Go call the police,"