Nathaniel and Alma lived in the two bedrooms that had once belonged to Lillian and Isaac, with the interconnecting door that had been propped open so long it could no longer be closed. They went back to sharing their insomnia, as in the days of being newlyweds, huddled up close together on a sofa or bed, with her reading, the book in one hand and stroking Nathaniel with the other, while he rested, eyes closed, breathing heavily, his chest rattling. On one of those long nights they caught each other crying silently, trying to avoid disturbing one another. First Alma felt her husband’s wet cheeks, and he immediately noticed her tears, which were such a rare sight that he sat up to check they were real. He couldn’t remember having seen her cry before, even at the bitterest moments.
“You’re dying, aren’t you?” she murmured.
“Yes, Alma, but don’t cry for me.”
“I’m not crying for you, but for me. And for us, for everything I’ve never told you, the omissions and lies, the betrayals and the time I robbed you of.”
“For God’s sake, what are you talking about? There’s no betrayal of me in your love for Ichimei, Alma. There are always some necessary lies and omissions, just as there are truths it’s better to keep quiet about.”
“You know about Ichimei? Since when?” said a startled Alma.
“I’ve always known. Hearts are big enough to contain love for more than one person.”
“Tell me about you, Nat. I’ve never pried into your secrets—and I assume there are lots of them—so as not to have to reveal my own to you.”
“We’ve loved each other so much, Alma! One should always marry one’s best friend. I know you like no one else. What you haven’t told me I can guess; but you don’t know me. You have the right to know who I really am.”
And then he told her about Lenny Beal. All the rest of that sleepless night they told each other everything with the urgency of knowing how little time together was left for them.
* * *
Ever since he could remember, Nathaniel had experienced a mixture of fascination, fear, and desire for those of his own sex, starting with his schoolmates, then for other men, and finally for Lenny, who had been his partner for eight years. He had fought against those feelings, torn between his heart’s desires and the implacable voice of reason. At school, when he was as yet unable to identify what it was he felt, the other boys knew instinctively that he was different, and punished him with beatings, jokes, and ostracism. Those years, constantly menaced by thugs, were the worst of his life.