Straight Man

asparagus recently, but past a certain point, almost any set of random details stand about as good a chance of being true as any other.
    The limitations of intuition, of imagination, are what make one-book authors of men like William Henry Devereaux, Jr., I fear, and perhaps this is why I am envious of Rachel tonight. For though I told my agent that I was not jealous, the truth is that I am. Not of her success. The envy I feel has less to do with accomplishment or validation than with the necessary artistic arrogance that these breed. Usually all questions, Rachel, tonight, will feel like she got some of the answers right, saw some of the patterns clearly enough to detail them convincingly. She will consider the possibility that the leaky vessel of her talent may be seaworthy after all. Instead of being dictated to by the waves of doubt that threaten to swamp all navigators, she’ll turn bravely into the wind. The moment she does is the moment I envy.
    Tony is peering at me strangely, and I realize I’ve just suffered another ellipsis. As I usually do when this happens, I consult my watch to see if I can ascertain how long I’ve been away. And as usual I’m prevented from arriving at a valid conclusion by not having noted when the ellipsis began.
    “Pay attention,” Tony says, “because we’re about to embark on an intricate topic.”
    I’m glad to hear this. Nothing could please me more than to be assured that Tony has come armed with a subject, prepared to hold forth.
    “I’ve been considering the mystery of human affection,” he says, by way of preamble.
    I nod. “You’ve moved on. Last week you were thinking about fornication.”
    “I’m thinking of giving up fornication,” he says, deadpan, as always.
    “The act or the subject?”
    “Both. There wasn’t much point in discussing the subject with you, and I’ve concluded that the act may be coming between me and my true vocation, which is religious.… You laugh.”
    “Now you’re saying you have a lot to offer God?”
    “I happen to have the loftiest spiritual dimension of any person you know,” Tony insists. “Are you aware that I attend Mass every day of the week?”
    I tell him the truth, that I was not aware of this. In fact, from the way he’s informed me, I can’t tell whether it’s true or not.
    “I
do
have a lot to offer when it comes to spiritual matters. The mystery of human affection, especially as it pertains to desire, is a spiritual matter, though not everyone understands this.”
    I settle deeper into my deck chair. We’re rolling now.
    “Take men like us,” he suggests. “We are, in the end, true men of faith.”
    “We are?”
    “I shit you not.”
    “Good,” I say. “Great.”
    “For instance. I believe it would not be inaccurate to say that you feel considerable affection for your wife. A lovely woman, if I may say so, well worthy of your highest regard.”
    “According to Teddy I don’t love her enough,” I tell him.
    “Aha!” Tony exclaims. “Teddy also bears the burden of human affection for the very same woman. Whose affection is greater? Yours by virtue of knowing the beloved, or his by virtue of
not
knowing her?”
    “We’re talking biblical knowing here?”
    “We’re talking knowledge with a capital
N
. We’re talking epistemology. We’re no longer talking fornication except insofar as fornication helps us to know our spiritual world. I thought that was clear. You feel affection for your wife but also, if I’m not mistaken, for other women?”
    I don’t respond right away, having concluded that this question, like most of Tony’s questions, is rhetorical. Apparently not. “What are we talking about here, love?”
    “Affection,” Tony says. “Human affection. Oh, all right, love. You’re in love with your wife.”
    I do not deny this.
    “And yet you feel affection for other women?”
    “I feel”—I search for the word—“crushes.”
    “Ah,” he sounds sad, disappointed. “This unfortunately supports the consensus view that you are a case of arrested adolescent development.But let’s not be hasty. Let’s assume that a crush is intuitive knowledge of the virtue of another human being. And that our attraction to virtue, in the final analysis, is our desire to know God.”
    “By all means,” I say, though I can think of no reason why we should assume any such thing. I recall looking down the front of Meg Quigley’s shirt this afternoon, and the undeniable attraction I