Alec

by William di Canzio

In a field the villagers had set up canvas tents, open-sided, festooned with garlands of ivy. These sheltered tables with cheeses and jams to taste and for sale, as well as a makeshift pub with barrels of beer. Little kids gotten up like sprites in face paint and paper wings scampered all over the place. There were games—quoits and ninepins, and a jackboot-toss for the prize of a piglet. While Alec was enjoying a second friendly pint, a young blacksmith slapped him on the back and invited the visitor to run in their St. John’s race. “All right, then, why not?” said Alec. He guzzled the rest of his beer before they set off to the starting line. There, to his shock and delight, Alec saw that, honoring a quaint tradition, the Brenford Midsummer Footrace was run naked. He and the blacksmith joined the scores of youths, stretching, jogging in place, their clothes folded and stacked on tables provided. The whole village was watching, including women and girls, with an awning and chairs for the gentry, and nobody thought it was queer. Alec was glad he was tipsy; it helped to disarm his shame, not to mention his terror of springing an erection, which he hoped the public circumstances would inhibit. As he set his clothes aside, a parson, eyeing him up and down, lifted his tankard in salute and winked. Alec joined the blacksmith among the runners. The starting pistol fired. Two pints of beer drunk quickly, he learned, are poor preparation for a half-mile sprint; he also learned that...