Review, Revision, Edit and UpdateAn aside, I recall in a previous review mentioning that two of my favourite characters are Samuel and Elizabeth. They are running neck and neck with James and Martha as two of my favourite characters. But then none of it is a race, is it.
Role Playing
No one noticed. Everyone was busy with their own lives. Very slowly, two little homes were emptied, ‘without much fuss or bother’ in Martha’s words. The couple walked through each of their homes together, choosing the pieces they would like to keep and those that were to be discarded. It hadn’t been easy for either of them. James had lived in his family home all his life. Martha had lived in her home since she purchased the duplex twenty years previously. One evening, having just finished supper at Martha’s home, they had unknowingly slipped into their work roles, discussing their new home as if it belonged to someone else. Martha picked up their plates and took them to the sink. James picked up the serving dishes and prepared to put the left over food away. He stood still, holding a half empty bowl of mashed potatoes in one hand and a little dish of pickles in the other. “Martha, where are your storage containers?” Busying herself getting pie from the refrigerator, dessert plates and ice cream, she gestured with a curt glance: “Just there, James, in the cupboard right in front of you.” The tone of their limited conversation was abrupt and stilted. A quiet meal after a long day, it was also fraught with tension. “Would you like some pie, James? It’s rhubarb. There’s ice cream if you’d like it.” Martha leaned in towards the counter, the rhubarb pie waiting to be cut. James reply was curt but polite. “Yes I would, please. With some ice cream.”
Martha, previously married, had learned a thing or two about being married: patience and tolerance. Neither of which she was very good at except at work. James, a very patient man, had never been married, although he had had past relationships. One of them had lasted at least two years. Martha was fuming. He cares nothing about how I feel. He just goes along without a care. Martha felt like throwing everything out. But that was childish. James was stubborn. Martha knew that. She’d worked with the man for longer than she’d lived in the duplex she shared with her daughter. This was different though. This stubbornness was different. It was personal.
Martha sighed. Her eyes felt wet. She plated each of them a generous slice of rhubarb pie with a small scoop of ice cream for her and a larger one for James. With another little sigh, she thought He does love his ice cream. Steeling herself, she picked up both plates, turned away from the cupboard and.....James was standing right behind her. He took both plates and set them on the table. Martha followed him silently, but when she was seated she just looked at her pie. Her mother's recipe. Martha took the plunge and said “James, this is just silly. The two of us hovering over our things like…..like……two children in a playground fighting over toys. I’m not interested in getting married to you or anyone that won’t have the decency to listen.” Abruptly leaving the table, her pie untouched, ice cream pooling around it, she returned to the sink. Martha’s voice was trembling, her eyes brimming with tears. At the sink, she turned the hot water on full and poured in a bigger dollop of soap than usual. Plunging the plates and cutlery into the scalding water, she almost burned her hands. Martha put her hands on the edge of the counter, leaned forward and hung her head. She heard the clink of a fork against china and the soft fold of a napkin. James voice was quiet. “Would you like me to leave? Thank you for supper, Martha. I’ll just get my sweater.”
In another burst of anger, Martha's thoughts flamed. There he goes again. Walking away. Not even trying to hear me. Martha had learned long ago to keep silent her ranting brain. Instead, her voice tight, she said “James, I do not want you to leave. I just want you to listen.” Martha turned towards him, wiping her eyes on the edge of her apron. “Would you please stop being a butler? Organizing and running everything, expecting me to just go along with you. Telling me to leave my pots and pans behind. Some of these were my mother’s. And my easy chair. I bought that after saving money for ten years….I could go on, but if I were just to bow down to your Lordship - I’m sorry James, that wasn’t fair - if I were to just let you decide for me, it would not be our home. It would be your home. I would only be living there as an invited guest. An invitation I won't accept.” Martha felt drained. She sat down again, and picking up her fork, broke the crust on her pie and took a small bite.
James, sitting at the end of the table, felt ashamed but didn’t know why he should feel ashamed. He thought he was only being logical. His cookware was newer. Martha’s easy chair was ….it was…not the right style? He wasn’t sure. “Martha, I don’t know what to do? I’m just trying to arrange things logically so that our home…. and it is to be our home ….. is comfortable for both of us.”
“But isn’t that it James?” Martha moved her chair closer to the corner of the table, took James’ hands in hers and looked at him tenderly. “You’ve been trying to arrange things. I said you were ‘being a butler’. Well, I have to confess that I was being a housekeeper, just as I have for these many years, James. Always following your lead for the good of Miss Emelina’s household. I’m sorry. This arranging is about the good of our home.”
~~~~~
For the rest of the evening, James and Martha listened to each other. The tension slowly melted away. It wasn't easy to change the comfortable habits of two lifetimes. To realize that they would be a couple every day, not just in momentary spells in the bump and grind of a workday. “James, do you know what my little grandson says when he sees me looking worried: “Chill, Grandma”. So, Martha did decide that keeping the newer cookware was wise, as James actually did more cooking than she did. Her daughter, Joanie, had always wanted her grandmother’s pots and pans. Martha did keep one small pot that was special to her. She made her first vanilla pudding in it. For James, his view of Martha's things was awkward. He did see how Martha's chair was a part of her - not just a piece of furniture that had to match. Once he did that he was able to see all of her things in that light. As they went through their homes, they each examined their things with much different vision. No longer was it as Butler and Housekeeper but as James and Martha.
“one should know what one’s role is.”
~ Aporva Kala, Alchemist of the East
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