Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler [142]
A grumpy Hughes-McNoughton was waiting for me at Dink’s. “What was so urgent?” he asked.
“I want a divorce.”
“Like tomorrow morning?”
“Yes.”
Quebec law is rooted in the Napoleonic Code, and in that Church-ridden province, back in 1960, divorce was possible only through a private member’s bill introduced in the House of Commons, and the grounds had to be adultery. “Deo volente,” said Hughes-McNoughton, “she’s having an affair, and you can prove it. What are you laughing at?”
“She’d never be unfaithful to me.”
“Well then, will she agree to sue you for divorce?”
“We haven’t discussed it yet.”
“If she were amenable, the usual procedure is I hire a hooker, and the two of you are discovered in flagrante delicto in a squalid motel in Kingston, or wherever, by an alert private detective of impeccable honour.”
“Let’s go.”
“Not so fast. She has to agree to the comedy first. And there is unfailingly a price tag. Lex talionis — the law of retribution. Her lawyer can take you for a mighty big chunk of your income now and forever-more. I speak from experience, my child.”
“It’s worth anything to me.”
“That’s what you say now. That’s what they all say now. But five years down the road you will feel differently, and you will blame me. Now, I don’t mean to pry. But I take it there is such urgency because you are smitten with somebody else, you rotter. Is she with child?”
“No. And I’m not smitten. I’m in love.”
“Which explains your stupid behaviour. Maybe if you talk to her first, and she is agreeable to subverting the law, then her lawyer and I can agree to a settlement in advance that will allow you to retain one chair and table, a bed, and a spare pair of socks.”
“She’s going to inherit scads of money.”
“My God, Barney, you shouldn’t be allowed out without a keeper. What’s that got to do with it?”
“Shit, what time is it?”
“Going on eight. Why?”
“I promised to be back at the cottage in time for dinner.”
“You can’t drive in your condition. Besides, I just ordered another round.”
I went to use the pay phone in back.
“I knew once you got there you’d start drinking,” she said. “Now what am I supposed to do? Entertain your guest? I hardly know him.”
“He won’t budge from his room in his condition. Honestly. Just bring a tray to his room. A couple of boiled eggs. Dry toast. A banana. Keep it simple.”
“Go to hell.”
“I’ll be back in time for lunch tomorrow.”
“Wait. Don’t you dare hang up. I’m going crazy here. We go through the morning like a couple of robots, as if nothing happened. It’s torture. I must know something. Are we going to try to make this marriage work, or not?”
“Of course we are, darling.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said, hanging up.
Hughes-McNoughton had settled the bill. “Shall we move on to Jumbo’s?” he asked.
“Why not?”
“Did you tell her you want a divorce?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Good riddance.”
“I’ve clocked our consultation at three hours and change so far. At a hundred and fifty an hour, you owe me four-fifty, and of course we are now moving into overtime.”
It was stifling, the first evening of a heat wave that would last for days, and Jumbo’s air-conditioning was on the blink. The bar was also jammed with singles, but we managed to find a quiet corner. “What happens if she won’t cooperate?” I asked.
“I thought you said —”
“But what happens if?”
“It could take ages and be considerably more expensive. Barney, whatever you do, you mustn’t admit you are in love with somebody else. Wives are surprisingly touchy about such things. Why, they can even be vengeful. The best strategy is for you to move out and let her think you are in no hurry for a divorce.”
From Jumbo’s we moved on to the Montreal Press Club, so it was later than three a.m. when I got home. But I wakened at six a.m. all the same. Depressed. Riding alternating waves of guilt and anxiety. Worried about Boogie. Convinced she would make me crawl before she agreed to sue me for divorce on harsh terms dictated by her mother and some cutthroat lawyer of their acquaintance. I shaved, showered,