Nude Men

that?”
    “I want to hang glide before I die.”
    I remember Henrietta telling me that Sara’s father died of a hang gliding accident. “That’s very dangerous,” I say.
    “Ha. Ha.” She pauses. “I’d really love it.”
    “I don’t know. I don’t even know where people do it.”
    “In the country. An hour away from here.”
    “You’d have to ask your mother.”
    “I already did. She said okay.”
    “Well, then, okay, I’ll take you there.”
    “And you’ll fly with me.”
    “No, I’ll just watch. You’ll go with an instructor.”
    “I want to fly with you.”
    “I don’t know how to fly.”
    “You’ll go with an instructor too, but we’ll be flying at the same time.”
    “I don’t know. It’s very dangerous.”
    “I’m sure you can’t be worried about me. Even if I get crippled for life, it won’t be for very long.”
    “Well, I’m also worried about myself.”
    “You could do this for me, couldn’t you?”
    I suddenly become ashamed that I hesitated. Since I can’t offer her a jeweled egg, I’ll risk my life for her. “Of course I could. We’ll do it.”
    She prances over to me, smiling widely, and kisses me on the mouth. The kiss does not stop. It continues, and it is not a kiss of gratitude anymore. I am again starting to smell the fruit in her. Her fruit is pear. It smells good, sweet. Everyone dying has a fruit in them. The key is to die before the fruit rots. My father’s fruit of death had been grapes. I had smelled them. My own fruit, I am certain, I instinctively know, will be lemon, bitter lemon.
    The kiss is there still. I am repulsed by her beard. I get little hairs in my mouth, and the mixture of the coarse hairs and the sweet fruity smell makes me feel nauseous, on the verge of throwing up if I’m not careful. It feels good to be repelled by her, because it means I’m more normal than before if I can’t be attracted to a little girl.
    But no, I’m cheating, it’s not true. The only reason I have this feeling of repugnance is the beard, and nothing else, I’m sure. I am monstrous to be repelled by a poor dying little girl who happens to have a beard. I cannot allow myself to feel this way. I mean, really, her beard is one of the symptoms, for God’s sake, of her dyingness. It does not deserve disgust from anyone. Especially not from me, who found her pretty enough to make love with before. Well, I should find her pretty enough to make love with now. I must push away my disgust and try to feel desire for her, despite the beard.
    What am I doing? What am I thinking? I’m getting all tangled in these absurd thoughts. I’m losing perspective. The fact that she has a beard is destiny helping me fight this challenge.
    I gently push her away.
    “I can kill, but I can’t have love?” she asks.
    “No, not unnatural love. You shouldn’t want to have it.”
    “First of all, it’s not unnatural love. Second of all, I do want it.”
    “You promised me that if I remained your friend you wouldn’t start this again.”
    “Things are different now. I’m going to be dead soon. I thought that meant I could do things.”
    “Yes, a lot of things, but not everything.”
    “Of course not everything. I can’t kill you, but I can kiss you, can’t I?”
    I don’t answer.
    She says, “It had to happen, didn’t it? At first I thought it might not. I thought I would be noble enough and not take advantage of my dying. But I’m not. Jeremy, I want to make love with you again.”
    “No. It was probably our lovemaking that caused your disease to begin with.”
    “You know very well that’s not the least bit true.”
    She’s right. I do, most of the time, know that it’s not the least bit true, but sometimes I forget.
    “Well, then,” I say, “the reason you want to do all this love-making in the first place is probably because of your disease. It’s a symptom of it.”
    “Well, listen to this: ‘Do you think that her brain tumor could have caused other symptoms?’ my mom asked the doctor. ‘Probably not, but like what?’ said the doctor. ‘Many things. For example, having unusually strong sexual urges for a girl her age?’ said my mom, embarrassed. ‘Absolutely not,’ said the doctor says Sara, emphasizing “said the doctor” very much.
    “How do you know this?” I ask.
    “I was there.”
    “Henrietta asked the doctor in front of you?”
    “No, but I was in the other room and heard everything.”
    “Maybe you misheard.”
    “No, because