Right to Die

good rule for any business.”
    “It is, believe me. About two months later, though, we ran into each other at a First Night party—last New Year’s Eve—and that got us started.”
    We’d reached the intersection of Beacon. “Well, this is where I turn.”
    Bacall said, “The meter still running?”
    “I charge by the day, not the hour.”
    “There’s something I want to talk over with you. How far is your car?”
    I pointed up Beacon. “Six blocks that way.”
    “A little closer than mine. Can we take a drive?”
    “A drive? Where?”
    “ South Boston ?”

    “So that’s the famous Powerhouse Pub?”
    We were passing the gigantic Edison plant on our left, the tavern on the right across Summer Street as it becomes L Street . Bacall was swiveling his head like a kid at the circus.
    I said, “You’ve never been to Southie before?”
    “How could you tell?”
    “Most people would come by car, and this is the most typical route. You can’t miss the Edison , and the pub’s pretty obvious.”
    “Well, you’re right. I moved to Boston in 1974. Can you imagine the impression I had of Southie from the bussing controversy?”
    In the seventies a series of federal court orders desegregated the Boston public schools. No white kids from South Boston were bussed out, but black kids from other parts of the city were bussed in. The television cameras captured white mothers and fathers throwing curses and rocks at innocent black children, local politicians taking stands that would have made Lester Maddox blanch.
    I said, “Not Southie’s finest hour.”
    “No. But it all looks so... I’m sorry, but ordinary.”
    “It is ordinary. Just a stable neighborhood in an era when most people move around a lot. You’ve still got at least two and sometimes three generations under the same three-decker roof.”
    “Fascinating.”
    I didn’t think demographics were the reason for the ride, but I gave him time.
    Bacall squinted at a street sign. “Broadway. This is where the St. Patrick’s Day parade goes?”
    “That’s right. They march between Broadway station and Andrew Square . Not as big a deal now as when I was little.”
    “You grew up here?”
    “No, but I used to think so.”
    “Good line to remember. I’m from New Jersey myself, near the George Washington Bridge . When they built the lower level, they called it Martha. That was pretty much the humor when I was little.”
    When I didn’t respond, Bacall said, “John, does my being gay bother you?”
    I glanced away from the traffic. He was staring at me.
    I said, “It keeps me from being completely at ease.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Having to be careful what I say.”
    “In the sense that...?”
    “At the Rabb tonight, I enjoyed you and Wonsley joking. But I didn’t jump in.”
    “Why?”
    “I was afraid I might say something you’d take the wrong way.”
    “You don’t know many gay men, do you?”
    “A few. No real close friends so far as I know.” Turning left onto Day Boulevard, I glanced at Bacall again.
    He was smiling, but not in a condescending way. “You put things very well, John.”
    “Is there a reason you’re asking me all this?”
    Bacall looked ahead. “Is that Castle Island ?”
    The old stone fortress loomed out of the moonlit water. “That’s it.”
    “Can you pull in and park?”
    “Sure.”
    We went over the curbstone, the only car in the lot. I killed the engine.
    Bacall unfastened his seat belt so he could face me. “I was raised Catholic, John.”
    “Me too.”
    “It wasn’t till junior high that I realized I was interested in other boys rather than girls. I didn’t do anything about it, not even those gross circle jerks that stupid boys do. I went to church a lot, and to confession about the unclean thoughts. I played basketball, a good small forward. I even dated one of the flag twirlers to look right, though I obviously didn’t feel right. I came out sophomore year of college, and I haven’t regretted it one day since.”
    Not knowing what I was supposed to say, I didn’t say anything.
    “It was difficult, but life’s difficult. Any life, all life.” He lowered his voice. “Have you been following the AIDS epidemic?”
    “Just TV reports on the victims.”
    “ ‘Victims.’ Not a good word, John.”
    “It isn’t?”
    “No. Victims shrivel up and die. Persons with AIDS, or PWAs, fight back.”
    “With these new drugs?”
    “There are only a couple of approved ones, like alpha