The women put their arms around her and kissed her.

The men slapped me on the back, and began shaking my hands. They said they were sorry they’d misunderstood the situation; and doggone it, couldn’t a woman get a man in a heck of a lot of trouble without even halfway trying?

“Why, we might have had you strung up by the neck, Corey, if Miss Myra hadn’t set things straight! Now, wouldn’t that have been a fine state of affairs?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That would have been a good joke on me. But looky, fellas. About this marriage business—”

“A wonderful institution, Corey. And you’re getting a wonderful woman.”

“And I’m getting a wonderful man!” Myra jumped up and threw her arms around me. “We’re getting married right tonight, because Mr. Corey just can’t wait, and you’re all invited to the wedding!”

It just happened that there was a preacher right up in the next block, so that’s where we went—where everyone else went, I should say—and I got took. Myra dragged me along, with her arm hooked through mine; and those other folks brought up the rear, laughing and joking and slapping me on the back, and crowding on my heels so that I couldn’t slow down.

I tried to sort of hang back, and they thought that was funny as all-heck. They thought the expression on my face was funny, and they practically went into hysterics when I said something like what was the god-danged hurry, and maybe we ought to think this over for a while.

It reminded me of one of those ceremonies you read about in ancient histories. You know. There’s this big procession, with everyone laughing and carrying on and having themselves a heck of a time, and up at the head of it is this fella that’s going to get sacrificed to the gods. He knows he’ll get his ass carved up with a meat axe as soon as they stop throwing roses at him, so he sure ain’t in no hurry to get to the altar. He can’t get out of the deal, but neither can he put his heart into it. And the more he protests, the more people laugh at him.

So . . .

So that’s what it reminded me of. A fella getting sacrificed for something that just ain’t worth it.

But I guess a lot of marriages strike me the same way. Everything for show and nothing for real. Everything for public and nothing for private.

And that night, after me and Myra were in bed—I guess a lot of marriages turn out like that, too. Bawling and accusations and mean talk: the woman taking it out on the man because he was too stupid to get away from her.

Or maybe I’m just kind of sour . . .

13

I got my horse and buggy out of the livery stable, and drove back to the courthouse. Myra was jumping on me, wanting to know what had took me so long, almost as soon as I was inside the door. And I said I’d had quite a time getting things straightened out with Amy.