The Royal Family by William T. Vollmann

at one child, which would otherwise grow up lonely and spoiled like his wife. Hehimself had benefitted from the fraternal relation, as he was the first to acknowledge; certainly Hank felt the same way. Sometimes he wished that he and Hank had been closer in age. As John saw it, the second child ought to come quickly after the first—ideally, not more than a year later. Two nearly at once would be less work for Irene than two spaced several years apart. Besides, they could play together. Whether or not there would be a third child remained open to discussion. If Irene felt strongly one way or the other, he would not quarrel with her. When he closed his eyes, however, he could imagine two little boys and a little girl; he could almost see their half-Asian faces and dark eyes as they played games on the living room carpet, their voices lowered because he was working. The boys would be named Eric and Michael, and he thought that their sister would be called Suzanne. Irene could choose their Korean middle names, which she’d most likely do in consultation with her extended family. She had already agreed to stay home for a few years once the babies were born. In fact, a few months after their marriage John had spoken with his mother-in-law about this. Where was Irene then? She must have been out shopping with her cousins, or playing golf with her father. The conversation would have taken place at Christmas, when they always drove down to Los Angeles. Although Irene loved to complain about his rudeness to her parents, he and they actually got along quite well. Irene’s mother said that Eric, Michael, and Suzanne all sounded like excellent names. In confidence, she told John that Irene lacked common sense. She hated to say this about her own daughter, she continued, smiling and ducking her head, but that was how it was. Irene always went about with her head in the clouds. Her mother thought her quite lucky to have met a man like John, who would take care of her and perhaps indulge her a little. John nodded while his mother-in-law refilled his soju glass. He knew that nothing he could do would make Irene’s parents happier than transforming them into grandparents. And Irene wanted children even more than he. In about seven years, then, life would be exactly as it should be. They would have a house in Marin, which would soothe his southern California girl of a wife, who remained unaccustomed to this crowded, expensive city where most people had to live in apartments.
    Meanwhile he wished that he could make Irene happier. Sometimes, not often, he told her to take the credit cards and go shopping. Then he did his best not to wince at the bills. It pleased him to imagine her pleasing herself at Macy’s or the Emporium, and he attempted always to take her mother’s words to heart. Poor thing, she did need a little indulgence. But how much indulgence was enough? She might have gotten more out of him, had she not so frequently expressed the view that he kept her on a leash. She truly didn’t realize what she cost him. Regarding the payments on her wedding ring, Irene had quickly put him in his place: These were to be accomplished by him in much the same style as defecation—behind a closed door, with all evidence removed at the end, and no reference to them afterward. Well, his mother was almost the same way; he could understand that. But Irene, unlike his mother, almost justified the appellation of spendthrift. At the end of their very first tax year he had been sickened by the marriage penalty, which was hardly Irene’s fault, but he had still been deluded enough then to believe that a man need hide nothing from his wife. The result of that conversation had not quite been what John expected. Well, John had learned! He no longer criticized her to her face, and he never had the heart to speak ill of her to others, either. When the bills came in, he paid. Irene would buy what she wanted to buy—oh, shoes for Irene, exercise classes