Richard's wife, Marian, stayed in nearby San Juan Capistrano while Richard was at Camp Pendleton. When he shipped out, I invited her to move in with us, with her children - four, and one that was born shortly after she arrived. We could make room for them and it was actually easier for us mo women to take care of seven children than it had been for each of us to cope with our own unassisted. We worked things out so that one of us could assist at Letterman Army Hospital every afternoon, going to the Presidio by bus (no gasoline ration expended) and coming back with Brian. I was fond ‘of Marian; she was as dear to me as my own daughters.
So it came about that she was with us when she received that telegram: Richard had earned the Navy Cross on Iwo Jima - posthumously.
A little over five months later we destroyed Tokyo and Kobe. Then Emperor Akihito and his ministers shocked us all by ritually disembowelling themselves, first the ministers, then the Emperor, after the Emperor announced to them that his mind had been quieted by President Barkley's promise to spare Kyoto. It was especially shocking in that Emperor Akihito was just a boy, not yet twelve, younger than my son Patrick Henry.
We will never understand the Japanese. But the long war was over.
I am forced to wonder what would have happened if the Emperor's father, Emperor Hirohito, had not died in the ‘Star Festival' air strike on 7 July? He was reputed to be so westernised. The other pertinent histories, time lines three and six, give no firm answers. Hirohito seems to have been the captive of his ministers, reigning but not ruling.
Once Japan surrendered Brian asked for early separation, but was sent to Texas - Amarillo, then Dallas - to assist in contract terminations - the only time, I think, that he regretted having passed his bar examinations back in 1938.
But moving away from San Francisco at that time was a good idea - a change of background to a place where we knew no one - because on arrival in Texas Marian became ‘Maureen J. Smith' and I dyed my hair and became her widowed mother, Marian Hardy. None too soon; she was already showing - four months later she gave birth to Richard Brian. We kept it straight with the Foundation, of course, and registered Marian's new baby correctly: Marian Justin Hardy + Brian Smith, Senior.
What happened next is difficult for me to talk about, because there are three points of view and mine is only one of them. I am certain that the other two are each as fair-minded as I am, if not more so. ‘More so' I think I must concede, as Father had warned me, more than half a century earlier, that I was an amoral wretch who could reason only pragmatically, not morally.
I had not tried to keep my husband out of my daughter-inlaw's bed. Neither Briney nor I had ever tried to own each other; we both approved of sex for fun and we had established our rules for civilised adultery many years earlier. I was a bit surprised that Marian had apparently made no effort to keep from getting pregnant by Brian... but only in that she did not consult me ahead of time. (If she consulted Briney, he never mentioned it. But men do have this tendency to spray sperm around like a fire-hose while letting the females decide whether or not to make practical use of the juice.)
Nevertheless I was not angry, just mildly surprised. And I do recognise the normal biological reflex under which the first thing a freshly bereft widow does, if she can manage it, is to spread her legs and sob bitterly and use her womb to replace the dear departed. It is a survival mechanism, one not limited to wars but more prevalent in wartime, as statistical analysis demonstrates.
(I hear that there are men who watch the newspapers for funerals, then attend those of married men in order to meet new widows. This is shooting fish down a well and probably, merits castration. On the other hand, those widows might not thank us.)
So we moved to Dallas and everything was satisfactory for a while. Brian was simply a man with two wives, a situation not unknown among Howards - just pull the shades against the neighbours, like some Mormons.
A short time after the birth of Marian's new baby Brian came to me with something on his mind, something he had trouble articulating.
I finally said, ‘Look, dearest, I am not a mind reader. Whatever it is, just spill it.'
‘Marian wants a divorce.'
‘Huh? Briney, I'm confused. If she's not happy with us, all she needs to do is to move out; it doesn't take a divorce. In fact I don't see how she could get one. But I'm terribly sorry to hear it. I thought we had gone to considerable trouble to make things happy for her. And for Richard Brian and her other children. Do you want me to talk to her? Try to find out what the trouble is?'
‘Uh - Damn it, I didn't make myself clear. She wants you to get a divorce so that she can marry me.'
My jaw dropped, then I laughed. ‘Goodness, Briney, what in the world makes her think I would ever do that? I don't want to divorce you; you're the nicest husband a gal ever had. I don't mind sharing you - but, darling, I don't want to get rid of you. I'll tell her so. Where is she? I'll take her to bed and tell her so as sweetly as possible.' I reached up, took his shoulders and kissed him.
Then I continued to hold his shoulders and look up at him. ‘Hey, wait a minute. You want a divorce. Don't you?'
Briney didn't say anything; he just looked embarrassed.
I sighed. ‘Poor Briney. Us frails do make your life complicated, don't we? We follow you around, climb into your lap, breathe in your ear. Even your daughters seduce you, like - what was his name? Old Testament. And even your daughters-in-law. Stop looking glum, dear man; I don't have a ring in your nose, and never have had.'
‘You'll do it?' He looked relieved.
‘Me? Do what?'
‘Divorce me.'
‘No. Of course not'
‘But you said -‘
‘I said that I didn't have a ring in your nose. If you want to divorce me, I won't fight it. But I'm not the one who wants a divorce. If you like, you can simply do it to me Muslim sty1e. Tell me "I divorce you" three times, and I'll go pack my clothes:
Perhaps I should not have been stubborn about it but I do not see that I owed it to either of them to go through the fiddle-faddle - the trauma - of finding a lawyer and digging up witnesses and appearing in court. I would co-operate... but let them do the work.
Brian gave in once he saw that I meant it. Marian was vexed with me, stopped smiling, and avoided talking with me. Finally I stopped her when she was about to leave the living-room as I came in.
‘Marian!'
She stopped. ‘Yes, Mother?'
‘I want you to stop pretending to be aggrieved. I want to see you smile and hear you laugh, the way you used to. You have asked me to rum my husband over to you and I have agreed to co-operate. But you must co-operate, too. You are acting like a spoiled child. In fact, you are a spoiled child.'
‘Why, how utterly unfair!'
‘Girls, girls!'
I turned and looked at Brian. ‘I am not a girl. I am your wife of forty-seven years. While I am here, I will be treated with respect and with warmth. I don't expect gratitude from Marian; my father taught me years ago never to expect gratitude because there is no such thing. But Marian can simulate gratitude out of politeness. Or she can move out. At once. Right this minute. If you mo expect me not to fight this divorce, you can both show me some appreciation.'
I went to my room, got into bed, cried a little, then fell into a troubled sleep.
Half an hour later, or an hour, or longer, I was wakened by a tap on my door. ‘Yes?'
‘It's Marian, Mama. May I come in?'
‘Certainly; darling!'
She came in, closed the door behind her; looked at me, her chin quivering and tears starting. I sat up, put out my arms.
‘Come to me, dear.'