Exiles in America(37)

He wanted Roy to laugh, too, treating his confession as a joke. But Roy

only nodded. “It will come back,” he said. “It always comes back.”

“Lust? You make it sound like Lassie.”

“Oh yes. ‘Lassie, come home.’ ” Roy looked more concerned. “You are

not afraid you’ll lose Daniel?”

“Not at all. It’s only sex. We have a hundred other things connecting us.

He and his new friend will bonk a few times, for a few months, until their sex

loses its magic. The end.”

“And if it doesn’t lose its magic?”

“It always does,” Zack said firmly. “Please, Roy. We don’t have to talk

about me. I’m aware of the dangers here. The patient is the one with the ill-

ness, remember? And I’m fine. Really. This might look dangerous from the

outside, but it works.”

Roy gave in with a friendly shrug. “I am only trying to understand. But you

must get something out of it.” He broke into a grin like a naughty boy. “The

voyeurism? Knowing Daniel is getting naked with this other man. You find

that a turn-on?”

Zack only laughed. “I’m not using them as a masturbation fantasy, if that’s

what you mean.”

“But you do still masturbate?”

Roy was an old-fashioned man at heart, a Brahmin professional, yet he

took perverse pride in his American adaptability, his willingness to say

anything.

“Yes, I masturbate,” said Zack. “Do you?” But he promptly regretted ask-

ing, since Roy was sure to answer.

“I do,” said Roy. “In the shower. And I think about Miss Krasic. Who do

you think about?”

Zack groaned again and grinned. “Roy, I’m not crossing that line. Let’s

keep a couple of secrets, okay?” He stood up to go, chuckling and shaking his

head. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

13

The trees flew past as Zack pedaled his ten-speed trail bike down the

highway. Cold air combed his beard and fluttered the wool scarf around

his neck. His white medical coat was left at the hospital, and he wore his old

army jacket, so he no longer looked like a doctor but like a local eccentric, an

overaged slacker, a middle-aged hippie on a bicycle.

It felt good to escape the locked doors of Building 2, the sad air of chemi-

cally neutered lives, the overly warm curiosity of Roy Chadha. Zack knew he’d

told Roy too much. One should confide in a friend just to get one’s thoughts

outside one’s head and see what they looked like, but one had to be careful.

Zack shouldn’t have tattled on Daniel—it felt like tattling now—but what really

annoyed him was his confession that he’d said goodbye to sex. Was it true?

He’d told nobody else, not even Daniel. It had been years since he and Daniel

had had sex with each other, but that was different, that was how they lived. Sex

got dispersed in everything else they did. This was not about the act, but about

the feeling, the desire. It was a shameful thing for anyone to admit that he’d said

goodbye to lust, especially a psychiatrist. Maybe that was why he was happy that

Daniel had a new fuck buddy: Daniel was having to screw for them both.

Zack was on Jamestown Road now, starting down the steep hill toward

Lake Matoaka. He had to stop thinking and concentrate on the brakes as the

E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a

8 5

bicycle picked up speed and flew downward. The woods on his left fell

away—there was the lake, cobalt blue in the October afternoon. Then the

slope leveled out and rose again, and he changed gears and pedaled furiously

to climb up the other side. He was almost home.

The truth of the matter was their situation neither worried nor excited

Zack. Things weren’t half as dramatic as Roy imagined. Zack had been here

before. Sex might not interest him, but he wanted Daniel to have fun. He

knew it wasn’t entirely out of love for Daniel; he wanted peace for himself. He

had his own full life to consider: patients to see, Victorian novels to read, this

beautiful fall weather to enjoy. The trees were starting to change color; the

cold air was like soda water. Who needed bodies and orgasms? Well, Daniel

did, obviously. Good for Daniel.

Zack coasted on Indian Springs Road and swung into their driveway. He

rolled downhill to the carport behind the house. The Toyota was gone—

Daniel must have driven to school this morning—but the door to the base-

ment rec room was wide open. Zack leaned his bike against the brick wall,

stepped to the door, and looked in.

A child sat on the floor, a little girl of nine or ten.

Zack had never seen her before. She sat cross-legged by the fireplace in a