Alec

by William di Canzio

Murray, dressed now, came back onstage and reviewed the contest’s criteria. He awarded the prize to a man from Gloucester, which evoked a round of booing. He then said that he was making a second prize from his own pocket to the young man who had stepped forward impromptu and shown how the benefits of physical culture and hygiene were within reach of all. A half hour later, Alec was waiting for the tram back to Osmington, rereading the contest’s fly sheet, kept for a souvenir. Behind him a familiar voice called, “Young Scudder, is it? Fred’s little brother?” Alec blushed so deeply he broke a sweat. “That’s right,” he answered. “Just Alec.” Van noticed the flyer. “Been to the show, have ya? Devotee of physical culture?” Alec had to swallow before he could speak: “Uh-huh…” “Do you practice yourself?” “Some.” “Good for you, then!” said Van. They sat side by side on the tram. Van made little of his prize: he hoped the money at least would quiet his father, who’d complained about his taking the afternoon off from the farm. Rather than boasting, Van drew Alec into a conspiracy of laughter about their siblings, staid Fred and foulmouthed Rowena. “Poor little Wee-wee Cunt. But how can you blame the child?” Van said. “That family she comes from! What kind of people call their kids Rowena and Ivanhoe and their workhorses Thomas and Sally?”