“WELL,” said Lorna when they had finished. “Well, well, well.” There was a twinkle in her eye, and she hopped up from the table with all of her old energy. On the sideboard was her old papier-mâché duck. She pried the duck apart, and from it she produced the very box that Mark and Margot and Martha had seen in Punta Cachazuda. Clearly enjoying herself very much, she said, “I kept it for you because I had a hunch that the marriage idea wasn’t going to work out. I don’t mean that I thought you would break up; I mean that I thought you’d get back together. Here.”
She handed the box to Mark.
“I hope you all — ” She paused and gave them a mischievous grin, and her cheeks colored. “ — enjoy it.”
Mark started to untie the ribbon, but Lorna stopped him. “Oh, no,” she said. “I’d be much too embarrassed. If Herb were here, it would be different, but I’d be much too embarrassed alone. Open it when you get home, when you’re alone, just the three of you.”
They were staying with Margot and Martha’s parents, as they usually did when they visited Babbington. The house was dark when they returned. They crept inside, fixed themselves drinks, and settled onto the living room sofa. Mark put the little box on the coffee table in front of them.
“All right,” said Martha. “I claim the right to open it, since I’m the youngest, and the youngest usually gets the short end of things.”
“Do you really feel that way?” Mark asked.
“Maaark,” said Margot, “she’s only kidding. Go ahead, Mar, I want to see it.”
It looked like a pocket watch. Martha opened the case. Inside was a bed, no larger than a commemorative stamp, carved from ivory, with rumpled sheets and, on the rumpled sheets, entangled, three ivory figures, two women and a man.
“Oh, my God,” said Margot. Her mouth dropped open and she covered it with her hand.
“I’m going to get Daddy’s magnifying glass,” said Martha.
With the aid of the glass, they could see that the women were good likenesses of Margot and Martha, though not so good that they could decide which was which.
“That’s deliberate,” said Martha with respect and admiration.
The man was just as certainly Mark. He said so.
“I’m not sure, Mark,” said Martha, giggling. “This guy is really, um, large.”
On the side of the case was a tiny knurled knob. Slowly, gently, Mark turned it.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” said Margot.
“That’s me,” said Martha. “I’m on top.”
“Look at that!” said Margot. “Mark’s actually — oops — now he’s out again.”
“Ooooh!” squealed Martha. “What a quick switch!”
“Will you look at that!” said Margot. “What workmanship!”
“Back it up, Mark,” said Martha. “Can you make it go backwards? I want to see how we did that, or how we’re supposed to do that.”
“No, let them keep going,” said Margot. “Oh, look! I knew it! I knew we could work something like that.”
“If I can just raise my hips that way — ” said Martha.
“Slide my left leg under — ” said Margot.
“Rhythm. Rhythm is important,” Mark said.
“Can your back take that, Mark?” asked Margot.
“I can build up to it,” Mark said, hoping he was right.
“If we miss a beat,” said Martha, “we’ll wind up permanently entangled.”
It was a long and sweaty night. They did not achieve the impossible, but they discovered a taste that they had been suppressing, one they have indulged ever since.
Issue Number 9 of The Babbington Review is now on Substack.
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🎧 403: “Well,” said Lorna ...