Lusty Winter by Max Braithwaite

Author:Max Braithwaite [Braithwaite, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-55199-644-8
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 1978-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

Yuk yuk yuk yuk, very funny.

Old Joke: Now it takes me all night to do what I used to do all night.

Yuk yuk yuk.

Young McBain in the army and the toast he would recite every time he got looped:

Here’s to it and from it and to it again.

If you get to it and can’t do it,

Call McBain.

Oh yes, we laughed at that, all right. Nothing funnier than the poor old buggar who gets to it and can’t do it.

I try concentrating on how delicious it will be, how exciting, how great. Still nothing!

What a hell of a predicament. Talk about your torture chambers, this is the worst. There she is. I want her. Every part of me wants her. But I’m not up to it. That damned skiing! Used up all my excess energy. Energy conservation – that’s the thing. At my age.

“Don’t you find it hot in here?” comes from the other chair, and there is just an edge of doubt in her voice.

I can’t say anything. I sit there like a big dumb nut.

“Would you like another hot rum?” I ask, getting out of my chair but being careful not to look at her.

“No thanks. What’s the matter, George? Don’t you find me attractive? Come over here.”

“I don’t dare.”

“Why? Is it your wife?”

That’s it. My wife. I’ll fall back on Beatrice. Of course. Time for a little cunning here.

“Forty years,” I say solemnly, “is a long time.”

She sits up. “Do you mean to tell me that you have never made love to another woman in all those years?”

“That’s right.” What a liar I am. “Been a faithful husband.”

“I can’t believe it!” There is interest in her voice now. I’ve become a clinical problem. The last of the faithful husbands. “Why?”

“A lot of reasons. When I was young I was terribly romantic. Still am. Love, undying love, that was the thing.” Keep it up, you old fraud.

I stare hard into the fire. A tragic figure. I sense that the moment – and I’m sure it was there – is gone. Perhaps forever.

Then she is over at my chair, kneeling beside me. “George, I admire that. I really do. Forty years faithful to one woman.”

I feel like a eunuch being praised by one of the harem girls.

Then she adds, “But very square. Really, my dear, so old fashioned. After all, this isn’t the nineteenth century.” She is running her hand along the back of my neck now. “But I warn you, I’m not giving up on you. I think you are wrong, but I respect you for it.” She’s getting into her ski jacket. “Thank you very much for the hospitality and the lovely ski out on the lake. And I warn you, I’ll be back.”

“When?”

“When the spirit moves me. When you least expect me. You, George, are my target for this month.” Her laugh is low and charming. And then, God help me, she is gone.

And I’m alone. Ten times more alone than before she came. Alone and sad. Sad at the way things are.

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