THE TEN COW WIFE

           
             

  TheTen Cow Wife                                                  First for my husband,

   from memoir, A Dot In Time                                                   then for my granddaughters.                         

      by Marggie Rassler

         New Haven, Conn.  1963

                   She kneels by the window. Below, snow blankets the street. Not too far from her the family sleeps. The thirteen year old pulls the flannel gown up and wipes the tears. She stares at the figure on the mural painted on the church  across the street. The events of the day cling to her mind. 

                    "He likes You better than me."  The tears roll. "Not fair. You got enough."

                 She remembers the looks he gave her in class. The blue eyes that turned on the heat upon her face. "I thought ... he liked me."  She covers her mouth to muffle the sound of her cries. The boy's words in the school yard haunt her. "Amarilys, I'm going to be a priest."  

                  She glares at the figure across the street. "Ok. So send me someone else. Someone that will ... love me."

   Tampa, Florida, 1980's

                 The young woman stirs her coffee fast. There's a hill of crumpled tissues next to her pocketbook on the table. The restaurant is busy, but people eat their lunch inside the orbit of their own planets. I finish mine and focus once again on the young lady across from me.    

                  She drops her arm on the table, her bracelets bang. "But how can I leave him?"  She shakes her head. One long black curl covers her eye. Her hand, like a paddle, rows it away.

                  "He's all I got," she says.

                   I move my dish out of the way and pray for wisdom to know what to say. It's the third time I meet with this college student from our church. Someone gave her my number and she asked for my help. The first time she informed me, "I'm the daughter of a Marine. He met and married my mother in Nam. I'm a combo of both. Stubborn like my Mom, obstinate like my Dad. Good luck counseling me."  I had no trouble loving her right away. Her countenance often transforms into the mirror reflecting a well-known face from my past. I lean back against my seat.

                 "Maritza, you told me before he throws shoes at you when he's mad. And he's been unfaithful at least twice."

                  "But we're engaged."

                    "My grandmother often said to me, 'It's better to be alone than badly accompanied.' Last time you showed me bruises on your arm...."

                    She reached for more tissues and wiped her face. "Men are rotten. I hate them."

                    I reached her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Let me tell you a story someone told me."

                    She leaned back and crossed her arms.

                    "There was once a young woman that lived in, let's say, Viet Nam." I saw her grin.

                     "She was very shy and thought herself plain. Nobody in the village found her attractive, let alone asked for her in marriage. No one wanted to offer the dowry required. Cows. The custom followed by the village was that the more cows offered the prettier and more desirable the bride. Five to six cows were top. But, for this girl ... not even an offer of one. Then, one day, a handsome fellow came calling. He spoke to the girl's father. 'I want your daughter's hand in marriage, sir.' In shock, the father could hardly speak. Who would be so foolish as to want the homely girl. 'And, what would you offer for her young man? '" I kept my eyes on Maritza. She was biting her nails. I paused.

                    "Mrs. Rassler, don't stop."

                    "Ok, Maritza. The handsome fellow took the father outside and showed him his large caravan and a row of cows among it all. 'Ten cows, sir. For your daughter's hand, ten cows.'" Maritza's eyes sparkled. She reached for another tissue. "Mrs. Rassler please, finish the story." I took a sip of my water and continued.

                    "They married and went away to live in the young man's village. A year later the  fellow came back with his wife. The village gathered to greet them. Many gasped, some whispered words of unbelief. They saw a beautiful, striking woman aglow, with dancing eyes, decked in silk and covered in gold. The girl nobody wanted. Astounded, the father ran to ask his  daughter how she changed. And this was her reply. 'A man loved me and saw me as a ten cow wife and because of his love that's what I became.'"  

                    Maritza eyes stay fixed on mine. "Maritza, don't you want to wait for that kind of guy?"

                    "They don't exist Mrs. Rassler. I don't know ..."

                    "Yes, they do Maritza. It all can start with a prayer. A little girl once prayed a prayer a long time ago and it was heard."

                    "Who?"

                    "Me, Maritza. I'm a ten cow wife."