“It’s nothing to do with that,” I said sharply. “You’d never hear of a cancer sufferer being cast aside by their family, but it happens all the time with AIDS victims. And so I come here a couple of times a week to visit patients and talk to them, and sometimes I go to the library and bring them books if that’s what they want. It gives me a sense of purpose.”
“And your boyfriend,” he said, the word catching a little in his throat as he said it, and I knew that if he had more energy he would have lifted his hands and made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “You found a boyfriend in the end then?”
“Of course I did. It turns out I wasn’t so unlovable after all.”
“No one ever said that you were. If I remember correctly, you were very much loved when you left Dublin. By a lot of people, myself included.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“I am. So how long have you been together anyway? You and your boyfriend.”
“Twelve years,” I told him.
“That’s impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed with the same girl for even twelve weeks. How can you stand it?”
“It’s not difficult,” I said, “since I love him. And he loves me.”
“But don’t you get bored with him?”
“No. Is that such a strange concept for you?”
“It is, to be honest.” He stared at me for a moment as if he was trying to understand how that would feel and finally he just sighed, as if he was giving in. “What’s his name anyway?” he asked.
“Bastiaan,” I said. “He’s Dutch. I lived in Amsterdam for a while and that’s where we met.”
“And are you happy?”
“Yes,” I said. “Very happy.”
“Well, good for you,” he said bitterly, and I could see how his expression darkened as he said the words. He glanced over toward the top of the locker where a plastic bottle of water stood, sealed with a straw through the top. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “Pass me that, will you?”
I reached over and held the bottle to his lips, and he used all his strength to draw the water through the straw into his mouth. Watching the amount of effort it took saddened me. Two or three mouthfuls and he collapsed back on his pillow in exhaustion, breathing heavily.
“Julian,” I said, putting the bottle back and reaching for his hand, but he pulled it away quickly.
“I’m not gay, you know,” he said before I could say anything else. “I didn’t get this from a man.”
“I know you’re not,” I said, amazed that even at this moment it was so important for him to assert his heterosexuality. “I probably know that better than anyone. But what does it matter anymore?”
“I mean it,” he insisted. “If this ever gets out, I don’t want anyone thinking that I went around fucking men on the side. It’s bad enough that I’ve got your disease—”
“My disease?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“If people back home knew what I caught, they’d never think about me the same way again.”
“What do you care what people think about you? You never used to.”
“This is different,” he said. “I never cared what people did before. They could go out and fuck a hedgehog for all the difference it made to me. Because it didn’t affect me. Until now.”
“Look, it’s an epidemic,” I said. “It’s going to affect people around the world. If they don’t find a cure soon, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Well, I won’t be around to find out,” he said.
“Don’t say that.”
“Look at me, for Christ’s sake, Cyril. I don’t have much time left. I can feel the life leaving my body hour after hour. The doctors have told me as much anyway. I’ve got a week at most. Probably less.”
I felt myself starting to cry again but took a few deep breaths. I didn’t want to appear pathetic before him and somehow felt that he would grow angry with me if I showed too much emotion.
“They don’t know everything,” I said. “Sometimes people last a lot longer—”
“I guess you’ve known quite a few then,” he said.
“Quite a few what?”
“People with this…thing.”
“Quite a few, yes,” I admitted. “This entire floor of the hospital is devoted to AIDS patients.”
He flinched a little when I said the word.
“I’m surprised you don’t have the Village People playing over the speakers all day long. Make everyone feel at home.”
“Oh fuck off, Julian,” I said, surprising myself with a burst of laughter, and he glanced at me anxiously, as if he was worried that I might walk out again, but said nothing. “Sorry,” I said eventually. “But you really can’t talk like that. Not in here.”
“I can talk any way I like,” he said. “I’m in a hospital full of queers dying of a queer disease and someone forgot to tell God that I’m straight.”
“I don’t remember you having much time for God when we were younger. And stop saying queers. I know you don’t mean it, really.”
“That’s the problem having a best friend who knows me so well. I can’t even be bitter without you calling me on it. Still, New York isn’t the worst place to call it a day. Rather here than Dublin.”
“I miss Dublin,” I said, the words out of my mouth before I had the chance even to consider whether I meant them or not.
“So what are you doing here then? What brought you to the States anyway?”
“Bastiaan’s job,” I said.
“I would have thought you’d prefer Miami. Or San Francisco. That’s where all the fags hang out, isn’t it? Or so I hear.”
“You can keep on insulting me if you think it will make you feel better,” I said quietly. “But I don’t think it will do you much good in the end.”
“Fuck off,” he said, without a lot of passion behind the words. “And can you please stop patronizing me, you little shit?”
“I’m not.”
“Look, there’s nothing you can do to help me anyway. What have you done with the other people you visit? Helped them to find inner peace before they met their maker? Put your arm around them, taken their hand in yours and sung a little lullaby to them as they drifted off into unconsciousness? Well, take my hand then if you want to. Help me feel better. What’s stopping you?”
I looked down at his left hand, which was lying on the bed next to me. An intravenous drip was going into the central vein, covered by a large white dressing. The skin around the bandage was gray and, at the place where his thumb met his index finger, a bright-red scar stood out as if he had been scalded. His nails were bitten down to the quick and what was left of them was blackened. I reached down nevertheless but as my skin touched his own, he pulled his hand away.
“Don’t,” he said. “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemies. Which includes you.”
“For God’s sake, Julian, I can’t catch it by holding your hand.”
“Just don’t.”
“And we’re enemies now, are we?” I asked.
“We’re not friends, that’s for sure.”
“We used to be.”
He looked at me and narrowed his eyes, and I could see that it was getting more difficult for him to talk. His anger was exhausting him.
“We weren’t, though, were we?” he said. “Not really. Everything about our friendship was a lie.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I protested.
“It was. You were my best friend, Cyril. I thought we were going to be friends for life. I looked up to you so much.”