Alec

by William di Canzio

“You mean that you and I shan’t meet again after now.” Pierced by Maurice’s sadness, Alec could not bring himself to face him, so he played cocky. “That’s right. You’ve got it quite correct.” And if it wasn’t still raining! Wet morning after yesterday’s downpour, wet on the roofs and the museum, at home and on the greenwood. Maurice said, “This is just what I want to talk about. Why don’t we arrange so as we do meet again?” “How do you mean?” “Why don’t you stay on in England?” Alec felt the floor drop away from under his feet. Terrified, he whizzed around and snarled, “Stay? Miss my boat, are you daft? Of all the bloody rubbish I ever heard. Ordering me about again, eh, you would.” He was struggling to escape to someplace familiar and safe, where Maurice was a toff who believed it his birthright to command such a menial as Alec and was therefore worthy of contempt. But Maurice would not follow him there, indeed could not, because for him such a place no longer existed: “It’s a chance in a thousand we’ve met, we’ll never have the chance again and you know it. Stay with me. We love each other.” Alec closed his eyes. We love each other. Not a confession, but rather a statement of fact. Maurice was speaking for both of them with an authority Alec had no wish to deny. He tried to escape once more, to argue from reason, or at least practicality, but it all sounded childish and false: “I dessay, but that’s no excuse to act silly. Stay with you, and how and where?” He picked up t...