Alec

by William di Canzio

Afternoon passed and evening followed, and nothing from Maurice. Why did this hurt so badly? Such risk he’d taken to offer himself to Maurice! He’d been welcomed eagerly, even gratefully. Now shunned. Why? In body and mind, in their passion for each other, they were equals. The force of this pain shocked him: he could feel it just there in his gut. Would it ever ease? Could he do nothing to help himself? He started another letter: Mr. Hall, Mr. Borenius has just spoke to me. Sir, you do not treat me fairly. I am sailing next week, per s.s. Normannia. I wrote you I am going, it is not fair you never write to me. I come of a respectable family, I don’t think it fair to treat me like a dog. My father is a respectable tradesman. I am going to be on my own in the Argentine. You say, “Alec, you are a dear fellow”; but you do not write. It felt good to chide Maurice, but still his words had no force. He wrote and underlined: I know about you and Mr. Durham. Let Maurice squirm. Yes, that was good. Still, he could feel tears rising as he wrote: Why do you say “call me Maurice,” and then treat me so unfairly?