I am a stew of uncertainty, a stone soup of doubts. I didn’t need those tattoos after all. The numbers are with me forever.
I know how to be a good husband but
He’d stopped there when I came in. I wondered how he would have finished that sentence . . . but I can’t because I am charred with guilt? . . . but my wife urged me to build something that killed hundreds of thousands of people?
Now that I had committed the crime of snooping, I went further—seeing what else was in the folder. Photos: Hiroshima after the bomb. A flattened Nagasaki. No buildings, no houses, no trees. Just rubble, a wheel but no wagon, the white spine of a horse. A picture captioned “Industrial Promotion Hall,” the building still standing, but one whole side torn away, its tower looking like a hollow silo. The most striking picture was from high above, showing a rough circle of charred land, surrounded by ash-white fields. I studied that one, trying to imagine what Charlie felt when he saw it. And this was what I had driven him to do.
“Sweetheart?”
I jumped. He stood in the kitchen doorway. “Darling. You’re home early.”
I didn’t bother to hide what he’d caught me doing. I just ran and threw myself against him. He held me, too, pressing us together till I felt his heart beating against mine. It was not sexual; it was like two people clinging to a lifeboat.
“Tell me,” I said. “What do you most want me to know?”
“I want to quit,” he whispered. “I can’t bear being Trigger anymore. I want to be rid of the whole business.”
I bent my neck so I could see the stove clock. I knew what to do, and if we hurried there was just enough time. “Then I want you to come with me.”
“I’m not in the mood for that right now.”
“I don’t mean it that way,” I said. “Let me get my purse and hat.”
On the bus we were quiet. He was tired, but my leg jiggled nonstop.
“What are you up to?” he asked eventually.
“I was wrong to tell you to be a man,” I said.
“That hardly matters now, Brenda.”
“That’s why I’m not going to push you today. You already are a man. I’m only going to give you an idea. Then it’s your own decision.”
Charlie took my hand and kissed the knuckles. “Whatever you say.”
I marched him from the bus stop to a place across the street from our destination. Then I turned Charlie so he could see for himself: the store sign, the trucks. “How about that?” I said. “Peale’s Organs.”
Charlie glared at me like I had three eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll spell it out. Two things.”
He turned his head. “Can we go home now?”
“Just two quick things,” I said. “Bear with me, please.”
In front of his face, he straightened two fingers.
“First thing.” I tapped one of them. “I love you, Charlie Fish.” The old surprised expression came back to his face, so familiar and kind, and I felt a flood of affection. “I admire you, I respect you, I love you.”
“Why, Brenda,” he said, “I just—”
“Second thing.” I tapped his other finger. “I don’t care what you do for a living, as long as you follow your conscience.”
That seemed to take the wind out of him. “What if I don’t know where to go?”
“I gave bad advice when I told you to be a man, then good advice when I made you propose to me, then bad advice when I said you should get a PhD. It’s time for good advice again.” I smiled. “Ready?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I genuinely don’t.”
Oh my sweet, brilliant, humble husband. So much doubt on his face, such a mountain of uncertainty. I was unsure, too, but I could taste the potential. Besides, I knew that this time I was not motivated by self-regard. I was guided by my heart.
“It’s time for you to leave Stanford,” I said.
“Before you begin your organ studies? I can’t do that.”
“Any life that doesn’t work for one of us isn’t working for both of us.”
He had no answer for that. I placed a hand on each of his shoulders, my palms probably right over his number tattoos. “Are you ready, my love?”
He looked up, eyes brimming. “All right, Brenda. What do I do now?”
I pointed. “Go on in there, right now. Walk into Peale’s Organs, and ask for a job.”
God bless that Charlie Fish: he did.
Epilogue
1986
Deep fog blanketed the Bay Area, but my flight still landed on time. When we left San Francisco, Charlie and I had just celebrated our anniversary. Now, forty-one years later, I returned alone.
The university said they would send a driver, but I had not expected a young woman. She stood with a sign at the arrival area: Mrs. Fish. Before I’d said hello, her face brightened with recognition. “Hi,” she piped. “I’m Gracie.”
She wheeled my bag to the waiting town car, hoisted it into the trunk, then opened the rear door for me.
“I’d rather ride in front with you.”
“We have another passenger back there.”
I climbed in, slow on my pins, but after all those years what did I expect? The curly-haired girl in back was adorable as a poodle puppy.
“Anna Carson,” she said, with a forthright handshake. “With the Stanford Daily.”
“Student run since 1892,” Gracie called from the front, starting the car.
Anna shook her head in apology, curls wiggling. “My publicist . . . and roommate. She’s a music major, so she wanted to meet you.”
“Well, I think you both are darling.”
Anna frowned. “Darling,” clearly, was not high on her list of desired compliments. “I was hoping to interview you.”
I folded my hands in my lap. “That would be fine.”
“Great.” She flipped open her notebook. “So when were you last on campus?”
“Well, I was never actually on campus. Charlie was.”
“Oh, right.” She nibbled on her pen. “Now you live on the East Coast?”
“Beverly, Massachusetts. We were near Charlie’s family, but the main reason is that he liked to hire boatbuilders, for their precision.”
“How many organs has the Fish Company built so far?”
“Today’s ceremony celebrates the debut of Opus 85.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
That question made me pause. Out the window, everything we drove past seemed to have doubled: cars, buildings, houses. The quiet town of Millbrae was unrecognizable.
“I always used to say the next one. Now I’m not sure. The company will continue to make excellent instruments. I’m still adjusting to that happening without Charlie.”
“I understand it will also be without you. Haven’t you basically run the place?”
I smiled at her. Young women now were all about who’s the boss. How could I explain the balance Charlie and I had found together? “Early on, I managed our travel. We were all over Europe, so he could study the great cathedral instruments, but we were also broke. It was a romantic education.”