Alec

by William di Canzio

His discontent, though, was more a matter of head than heart, because at this time of life it was difficult for Alec not to be happy. He was young and healthy; well-fed, clothed, and sheltered; and he spent his days mostly outdoors. He even discovered a certain asset to his queerness: it kept him out of trouble with girls. At nearly eighteen, his looks were maturing: his face, once round, was leaner and strong; his lips, once pretty, were sensual. Work kept his pale skin ruddy, and his coloring was set off to advantage by his habitual shirts of homespun flax or wool. He’d grown a couple of inches taller; faithful to Professor Attila’s discipline (with his first month’s wages he mail-ordered a pair of dumbbells, which he wrote to tell Van about), he was becoming more fit and shapely day by day. In short, Alec was a pleasure to look at (“A near occasion of sin,” quipped the Irish laundress), a pleasure by no means lost on the thirteen girls and women in service at Michaelmount. The young ones vied for his notice; the older ones mothered him and urged their favorites on him. If Alec had been made in the usual manner, he no doubt would have succumbed to such bounty and been husband and father before he was out of his teens. But he was not made in the usual manner. He was still young enough to treat the women’s matchmaking as teasing. As for the girls, he played along with their flirting, but hoped that by keeping a certain distance, he might avoid hurting anyone’s feelings or ...