LITMIR.BIZ

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said through his teeth, “that you know there’s some possibility that you’re risking your life by being here with me.”

      Martin peered at the chops. “Yes, I know.”

      “Other than me, you’re home free. You don’t smoke, you don’t drink, you don’t carry on with women. The model of wholesome, boring health.”

      Martin grinned. “I carry on with women every chance I get. I mostly don’t get any chances.” He slid the pancake turner under the meat and shook the pan.

      “You could make chances. If you’re alone, it’s because you don’t care enough to make the effort.”

      Martin’s eyebrows went up. “Since when are you an expert on courting women?”

      “I know, that’s all. For instance, where is it written that you have to be here taking care of me and risking your life? If you spent the same amount of energy chasing skirts, you’d boogie. Shit, you’d have more nooky than you’d know what to do with. Why are you here, anyway?”

      “Because you matter.”

      “Matter?” Peter snorted. “My parents are from the south. My mother was raised to lounge on the veranda and drink mint juleps while the darkies sang down by the levee. That’s why she never did so good as a lawyer’s wife in Baltimore. Anyway, she always talks about menfolk who aren’t man enough to do nothin’. They’re the kind that when they finish some work or other, you can’t say, ‘Nice goin’. You done good.’ You don’t say nothin’ ’cause there’s nothin’ good to say. These men, they’re no-accounts. They don’t count for nothin’. They don’t do nothin’. They don’t matter. And when they die, nobody much notices.” He coughed, took a drag on his cigarette. “I’m one of them, the no-accounts.” He blew smoke at Martin. “That’s why it don’t matter what I do. That’s why nobody much notices. People don’t pay no attention to no-accounts.”

      “I notice,” Martin said.

      “You’re a no-account, too, aren’t you? You’re a wimp, and you ain’t got no balls. If you did, you wouldn’t be here. You already said so. So it don’t much matter if you care about me because you don’t count for nothin’ to begin with.” Peter laughed.

      Martin put down the pancake turner. “Let’s say I don’t amount to much. Let’s say I’m a no-account. And a wimp, too. You’re worthless and I’m worthless and I care about you and I want to look after you. We got one no-account caring for another no-account. Maybe that’s all right.”

      Peter started to speak, then stopped.

      “Get back in bed,” Martin said. “You’re getting tired out.” Martin helped him to his feet, followed him back to the bed, and returned the dining room chair to its place. “Stay in bed while I finish dinner.”

      

      Martin watched Peter grow stronger, as if in defiance of Cohen’s warning. By the second week in October, he was bathing himself. He asked Martin to come every other day.

      “Wrap food in plastic and leave it in the refrigerator.”

      “Can you shave yourself?” Martin asked.

      “No, but I’m strong enough for an outing. Will you take me to the park while the weather’s still nice? How about today?”

      “I have a buddy meeting tonight. How about Friday if it doesn’t rain?”

      Peter gave Martin his haughtiest sneer. “It wouldn’t fucking dare!”

      Friday morning, when Martin unlocked the apartment door, Peter was in the desk chair in loose jeans and a plaid shirt, grinning like a child.

      “I’m ready,” he announced as soon as Martin was in the door. “You?”

      “Ready?”

      “The park. Can we go right after breakfast?”

      Martin smiled. “Sure.”

      Peter was too tall to fit easily through the door of Martin’s VW Bug, but Martin finally wedged him in. He plunked the picnic basket and the army surplus blanket on Peter’s lap and drove down Porter Street toward Rock Creek Park. At the creek, he turned left on Beach Drive and headed north. He parked, found a picnic table near the creek, and spread the blanket on the grass in the brisk October sunshine. Peter lay on his back, hands behind his head, and sighed.

      “Don’t lie in the sun.” Martin said. “You’ll burn. You weren’t out all summer.”

      “I won’t stay long.” Peter glanced around. “I might take off my shirt. What do you think?”

      Martin shrugged.

      “I don’t like it when people stare,” Peter said.

      “Worry wart.”

      Peter stripped off his shirt. His skin was so pale it was blue in the sunlight. The body hair on his chest and belly emphasized his protruding ribs. He caught Martin watching. “I look like something out of Auschwitz, don’t I?”

      “It’s not that bad.”

      Peter arranged himself again, hands behind head, and closed his eyes. Martin rested in the grass next to him.

      “Martin, you ever get horny?”

      “No,” Martin said, “I stay that way.”

      “What’s it like?”

      “Being horny? You don’t know?”

      “Being horny for a woman.”

      Martin surveyed him through half-closed eyes. “Level with me, Peter. You never leched after a woman?”

      “Never did. I mean, they’re pretty and cute and nice and all, but I never wanted to fuck one.” He wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t seem natural. What’s it like?”

      “Don’t know how to describe it.”

      “You think about a woman’s body and you get excited?”

      “Or how a woman feels when she’s close to you. Or what a woman smells like.”

      “What do they smell like?”

      “Come on, Peter.”

      “No, honestly, tell me. What’s it like?”

      “I don’t know,” Martin said, “they smell—I don’t know—good. They all smell different.” He relaxed and closed his eyes. “When they’re aroused, sexually I mean, they change. Did you ever smell warm milk? It’s sort of like that. Milk and honey, sometimes. Sweet. And rich. Like the smell of the earth in the spring.” He opened his eyes and laughed. “I don’t know.”

      Peter lay quiet for a moment. “Why did you leave your wife?”

      “She threw me out. Found out I was having an affair.”

      “How come you were screwing around?”

      “I really don’t know why. Guess I was lonely and frustrated, and when Hedda offered, I accepted.”

      Peter raised his eyes to the sky. “What’s it like to be a father, Martin?”

      Martin shrugged. “You love in a whole new way.”

      “What’s your daughter like?”

      “Big girl. In heels she’s almost as tall as I am. She’ll have to keep an eye on her weight when she gets older.”

      “Blond?”

      “Brunette. Her skin is on the pale side. She has hazel eyes. She can be quite attractive when she sets her mind to it.”

      “What’s the trouble between you and her?”

      “How’d you know about that?”

      “You

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