Alec

by William di Canzio

Why should any man believe he had the right to hound another about religion? Servitude, there was the reason. In the eyes of the Durhams—and Borenius too—the lower classes (embodied in their servants) were children, prone to misbehavior and not to be trusted with their own lives. Alec thought he should set the vicar straight and tell him he attended St. Simon’s on Sunday mornings not for his own sake or his employers’ demands, but because Mr. Ayers, whom he liked, had said it would please him. He found it easier to accommodate the honest old fellow than to let him down. As for confirmation—that was something else, a matter of will, of active consent on his part as an adult. Holy Mother Church was free enough with her abominating and execrating the likes of Alec. Confirmed in such beliefs? The rabid old sow could fuck herself first. “Sir,” Alec said, “I’m to unpack the cricket things and clean them for tomorrow’s match, if you might excuse me just now.” “Yes, go; I’ll see what can be done and we’ll talk again soon.” Alec left quickly. The evening had rattled him. First, meeting Hall in the garden, where the man’s gentleness had undone his resolve. Then, inviting him to swim and setting himself up for rejection. And now Borenius, trying to snag him just before he was about to break free … Alec was hurrying through the front shrubbery when he walked smack into someone and caught hold of his elbows for balance: it was Hall. Alec was startled not just by the run-in, but also by...