We continued drinking. Cecelia had just one more and stopped.

“I want to go out and look at the moon and stars,” she said. “It’s so beautiful out!”

“All right, Cecelia.”

She went outside by the swimming pool and sat in.a deck chair.

“No wonder Bill died,” I said. “He starved. She never gives it away.”

“She talked the same way about you at dinner when you went to the men’s room,” said Valerie. “She said, 'Oh, Hank’s poems are so full of passion, but as a person he’s not that way at all!'”

“Me and God don’t always pick the same horse.” “You fucked her yet?” asked Bobby.

“No.”

“What was Keesing like?”

“All right. But I really wonder how he stood being with her. Maybe the codeine and pills helped. Maybe she was like a big flower-child-nurse to him.”

“Fuck it,” said Bobby, “let’s drink.”

“Yeah. If I had to choose between drinking and fucking I think I’d have to stop fucking.”

“Fucking can cause problems,” said Valerie.

“When my wife is out fucking somebody else I put on my pyjamas, pull the covers up and go to sleep,” said Bobby.

“He’s cool,” said Valerie.

“None of us quite know how to use sex, what to do with it,” I said. “With most people sex is just a toy—wind it up and let it run.”

“What about love?” asked Valerie.

“Love is all right for those who can handle the psychic overload. It’s like trying to carry a full garbage can on your back over a rushing river of piss.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad!”

“Love is a form of prejudice. I have too many other prejudices.” Valerie went to the window.

“People are having fun, jumping into the pool, and she’s out there looking at the moon.” “Her old man just died,” said Bobby. “Give her a break.”

I took my bottle and went to my bedroom. I undressed down to my shorts and went to bed. Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Bach, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice.

I took my choice. I raised the fifth of vodka and drank it straight. The Russians knew something.

The door opened and Cecelia walked in. She looked good with her low-slung powerful body. Most American women were either too thin or without stamina. If you gave them rough use something broke in them and they became neurotic and their men became sport freaks or alcoholics or obsessed with cars. The Norwegians, the Icelanders, the Finns knew how a woman should be built: wide and solid, a big ass, big hips, big white flanks, big heads, big mouths, big tits, plenty of hair, big eyes, big nostrils, and down in the center—big enough and small enough.

“Hello, Cecelia. Come on to bed.”

“It was nice out tonight.”

“I suppose. Come say hello.”

She went into the bathroom. I switched off the bedroom light.

She came out after a while. I felt her climb into bed. It was dark but some light came in through the curtains. I handed her the fifth. She took a tiny sip, then handed the bottle back. We were sitting up, our backs against the headboard and the pillows. We were thigh to thigh.

“Hank, the moon was just a tiny sliver. But the stars were brilliant and beautiful. It makes you think, doesn’t it?” “Yes.”

“Some of those stars have been dead for millions of light-years and yet we can still see them.”

I reached around and pulled Cecelia’s head toward me. Her mouth opened. It was wet and it was good. “Cecelia, let’s fuck.”

“I don’t want to.”

In a way I didn’t want to either. Which is why I had asked.

“You don’t want to? Then why do you kiss like that?”

“I think that people should take the time to get to know each other.”

“Sometimes there’s not that much time.”

“I don’t want to do it.”

I got out of bed. I walked down in my shorts and knocked on Bobby and Valerie’s door. “What is it?” Bobby asked.

“She won’t fuck me.”

“So?”

“Let’s go for a swim.”

“It’s late. The pool is closed.” “Closed? There’s water, isn’t there?” “I mean, the lights are off.”

“That’s all right. She won’t fuck me.”

“You don’t have a bathing suit.”

“I have my shorts.”

“All right, wait a minute. . . .”

Bobby and Valerie came out dressed beautifully in new tight-fitting swim suits. Bobby handed me a Columbian and I took a hit. “What’s wrong with Cecelia?” “Christian chemistry.”

We walked to the pool. It was true, the lights were out. Bobby and Valerie dove into the pool in tandem. I sat at the edge of the pool, my legs dangling in. I sucked from the fifth of vodka.

Bobby and Valerie surfaced together. Bobby swam over to the edge of the pool. He pulled at one of my ankles.

“Come on, shit head! Show some guts! DIVE!”

I took another hit of vodka, then set the bottle down. I didn’t dive. I carefully lowered myself over the edge. Then I dropped in. It was strange in the dark water. I sank slowly towards the bottom of the pool. I was 6 feet tall and weighed 225 pounds. I waited to touch bottom and push off. Where was the bottom? There it was, and I was almost out of oxygen. I pushed off. I went back up slowly. Finally I broke the surface of the water.

“Death to all whores who keep their legs closed against me!” I screamed.

A door opened and a man came running out of a ground floor apartment. He was the manager. “Hey, there is no swimming allowed this time of night! The pool lights are off!”

I paddled toward him, reached the pool edge and looked up at him. “Look, motherfucker, I drink two barrels of beer a day and I’m a professional wrestler. I’m a kindly sou! by nature. But I intend to swim and I want those lights turned ON! NOW! I’m only asking you one time!”

I paddled off.

The lights went on. The pool was brilliantly lit. It was magic. I paddled toward the vodka, took it down from the pool edge and had a good one. The bottle was almost empty. I looked down and Valerie and Bobby were swimming in circles around each other underwater. They were good at it, they were lithe and graceful. How odd that everybody was younger than I.

We finished with the pool. I walked to the manager’s door in my wet shorts and knocked. He opened the door. I liked him. “Hey, buddy, you can flick out the lights now. I’m through swimming. You’re O.K., baby, you’re O.K.”

We walked back to our apartment.

“Have a drink with us,” said Bobby. “I know that you’re unhappy.”

I went in and had two drinks.

Valerie said, “Look, Hank, you and your women! You can’t fuck them all, don’t you know that?” “Victory or death!” “Sleep it off, Hank.” “Goodnight, folks, and thanks. . . .”

I went back to my bedroom. Cecelia was flat on her back and she was snoring, “Guzzz, guzzz, guzzz. ...” She looked fat to me. I took off my wet shorts, climbed into bed. I shook her.

“Cecelia, you’re SNORING!”

“Oooh, oooh. . . . I’m sorry. ...”

“O.K., Cecelia. This is just like being married. I’ll get you in the morning when I’m fresh.”