Thinking black; 22 years without a break in the long grass of Central ...

BLACK MAN = BLACK MANNERS 451
that she married him long ago when the world was
younger and he and she at the mating age. Then
came Mrs. No. 2
; a pause, then Mrs. No. 3 intrudes
on the friendship of Mesdames Nos. 1 and 2. Accord-
ing to this lady, it seems a mistake to say it takes
two to make a quarrel, for here you have a woman
arguing that two wives for one husband would be
passable. What she does declare to be deadly is this
terrible triangle, for just as it takes three straight lines
to enclose a space, so seemingly it takes three wrangling
wives to make a quarrel. At any rate, soon enough,
the husband's snappish retorts tell No. 1 the tale that
she has been superseded— yes—she who for so long
took hungrily the crumbs of affection that fell from
his table. The upshot of all this matrimonial muddle
seems to be that ideal wedlock is considered only a solid
bread-and-butter arrangement, and the best cook wins
the worst of husbands. No royal glance of love ever (?)
flashed from mate to mate, and the woman who ousts
another woman only does so in order to enslave herself.
Yet for centuries this has gone on, a concubine cook
exerting all her blandishments to win a man's stomach,
not his heart. Is this the reason why the word for
stomach (Munda) is the same as for "heart"? No
simple fireside virtues in demand here. Cook, only
cook, and soon enough they find that the love that
has ends, quickly has an end.
But there are more horrors here, and all suggestive
of this land of uncounted tears. Between me and my