Every one knew that Ratty was unfaithful to his wife.
There’s the long story about how he was sent from Kaka to another country so that he’d find the Nice Jewish Girl, but instead came home with a Catholic from another place like Kaka.
We all assumed, yeah, that’s why Pharaoh and the rest of his fandamily were so negative about him.
We assumed that there was this kind of pressure, guilt, name what you will, so he dabbled in easy quickies and drank and all the rest of it.
It wasn’t much of a discussion, wasn’t provoker of much interest.
The other day there was this idea to honour the elder members of the Congregation in one big ceremony at a fancy place.
Ratty wanted everyone to come but I didn’t have a lift so he said he’d collect me.
The function was to begin at Six Thirty and we should all be on spot by Six and he’d pick me up at Five Thirty.
I was ready at Five Twenty, expecting him to be there when I stepped out, but he wasn’t. Then it was Five Thirty, then Five Forty, and I wondered if something hadn’t happened, so rang Ratty.
He said he was on his way.
Ratty pulled up some minutes past Six with his wife.
Ratty is never late, he’s always a bit early. That’s why I was ready early. Ratty’s a guy who likes to chat and joke and is interested.
The Robot who collected me was silent and Mrs. Ratty ignored me. She went along with her conversation to Ratty.
She was making pronouncements, she was making statements. I was totally excluded. The rudeness was remarkable. It was not as if I had been invited and Ratty was my willing driver, it was as if I were some bum picked up on the road side.
When we reached the venue and Ratty was going to park, Mrs. Ratty told him where and how. She ran the show.
When I got out of the car she walked in her direction and I followed and we entered. I made sure to move in a direction opposite Mrs. Ratty.
I sat with others and had a good enough time, and then the place began to thin. I went to Ratty who was on his own.
Mrs. Ratty had made ‘other plans’ and Ratty was to join her elsewhere.
Ratty drove me home, and instead of waiting until I got in, partially dumped me off so as to race back to where his Master demanded.
There is no ponder why Ratty eats traffe or why hates to go home. I wouldn’t even want to sit near Mrs. Ratty for ten minutes.
To say she is obnoxious, to say she is cold, would not capture the complete lack of any and all redemptive qualities expected in a human being.
So now I know why Ratty hates to go home. Now I know why Ratty drinks. Now I know why Ratty has affairs.