Alec

by William di Canzio

In contrast, Morgan, whom Alec deemed genuinely kind, seemed shackled by this kindness, or a misunderstanding of it. He seemed to fear that he might somehow harm others if he pursued his own desires. “May I write to you, sir?” Alec said to him in the pub after the last meeting of Italian City-States, after the lumberman had said goodbye to them, leaving the two by themselves. “I’d be very happy to hear from you! Yes, please write and tell me everything—about your adventures in the Argentine, about the loves and triumphs, and when there’s nothing to write about, well then just write about nothing.” This warmth, this effusiveness, was what Alec liked best about Morgan. In the months they’d known each other, his lively humor had emerged from his reserve. Alec was also gratified that such a learned man as Morgan would care to know him. “Truly?” he asked. “Truly.” There were things he wanted to say but did not know how to, or even if he should. He loved Morgan, and felt his love reciprocated, but he was not attracted to the man sexually. Alec sometimes wished it might be otherwise, because he knew that Morgan was attracted to him and would have liked to please him, but there was no forcing or faking such feeling, least of all with someone as insightful as his teacher. Did the man understand his quandary? Yes, Alec believed, and the tension was fruitful for both of them, allowing Alec to love him without the entanglement of sex; at the same time making their friendship, tinged w...