The years wore on. Chuck's domestic affairs, never the soundest, spiraled downwards. Chuck decided at last that he wanted to be "moving along", but of course, neither he nor Maggie ever thought in terms of lawyers and divorce courts or anything like that. After all, the family that buries its Grandmas in the barn, and drives its cars unregistered along the borders of two states, that in its own planes, sort of "flies by night" if you like - hardly need resort to the likes of lawyers to settle internal disputes now does it?      

     What happened was this...

     One night Chuck and I had stopped in at a little bar way up around Ansonia or Derby I think it was - somewhere up there. We were on our way back from some trip or other on company business. At the bar, Chuck struck up a conversation (unusual for him, had I only thought more on it!) with some guy next to him. I didn't pay a whole lot of attention, but their conversation dragged on a bit. Chuck, after a few beers, got to confiding in this guy that he was "fed up with married life". His new-found friend, however, had an equally sad tale: he wanted to get married and was tired of the bachelor's life he had been living so long.

     He was, if I recall, a carpenter with his own business and doing fairly well - or so he said.

     We left.

     Some time after that, Chuck asked if I remembered the guy we had a drink with in the bar that time... I said sure - I remembered. What about it? Well, it seems Chuck had seen him again and in fact had even taken him home to dinner one night. Introduced him to Maggie (both of them) and the kids and all.

     That's nice, I said. And thought nothing more of it.

     Time went by. Then one day Chuck, looking kind of dishevelled, but rather relieved all at the same time, showed up late for work. Then, a most interesting tale emerged - monosyllable by monosyllable.

     "Lord-God, Bernie - Tom there - Old Tom, that big guy, remember? The carpenter guy from the bar. you know him - he threw me out last night".

     "Threw you out? Threw you out of where?" I asked.

     "Out of my house. Said not to come back anymore."

     (Long pause, then)

     "Suits me".

     Bit by bit, I got the story. Chuck, more by design than not I have no doubt, had introduced Tom to his wife. And Tom and old Maggie had hit it off just fine. Soon, Tom had moved in (Chuck's long absences were legion). Thus housekeeping never missed a beat, kids and dog accepted a fait acompli and that was that. Tom gave up bachelorhood... Maggie and the kids had another breadwinner about the place.

     Chuck went back one more time when Tom was absent and picked up his gear. And that was that.

     Divorce Arkansas-style - or something. Sure cheaper, and everyone happy all the way around.

     Not long after that Chuck met Shirley. Soon he had moved in with her. Shirley was a very successful, very attractive young Jewess with a very cushy job on some kind of "board" or something downtown in New York. She had an apartment on about the tenth floor of a complex right at the head of Mott Street (Chinatown). Sometimes Chuck talked about his new arrangements, sometimes he didn't. Of Shirley, he said,

      "Bernie, everyone ought to marry Jewish at least one time. I never ate so well."

     I really must excuse myself at this point on the grounds that anything I might say here could count as self-incrimination....!

     But Chuck had taken up sculpting and he wanted me to come down and see him. So I did. And I met Shirley. She had a small cantilevered balcony right out over Mott Street far below. It was on this balcony that Chuck - in beret no less - was pursuing his sculpting career. He had several large blocks of stone thereon and was busy reducing them (as far as I could see) to dust and chips - some chips being as big as your fist, I noted.

     He took me out on the porch to visit his studio al fresco. He grabbed a broom leaning nearby and began to vigorously sweep the balcony clean! Over the side - ten stories up - went a shower of marble chips and detritus - some as big as apples! I started! Chuck, unperturbed, looked dreamily over the railing at the street far below. "Pore Chinamen... pore little Chinamen. Hope no one gets hit..."

     A refrain from the past came to mind: "Pore little Turkey....."

     Human nature I guess never changes, they say.