The Last Gentleman

was shocked but Rita replied routinely. “You know very well there is no use in my answering you. Except to say that there is such a thing as concern and there is such a thing as preference for life over death. I do not desire death, mine, yours, or Jamie’s. I do not desire your version of fun and games. I desire for Jamie that he achieve as much self-fulfillment as he can in the little time he has. I desire for him beauty and joy, not death.”
    â€œThat is death,” said Sutter.
    â€œYou see, Bill,” said Rita, smiling but still unfocused.
    â€œI’m not sure,” said the engineer, frowning. “But mainly what I don’t understand is what you are asking me to do since you already know I will go anywhere Jamie wants to go and any time.”
    â€œI know, Bill,” said Rita mournfully. “But apparently my former husband thinks you have reasons for staying.”
    â€œWhat reasons?” he asked Sutter.
    â€œHe cannot conceive that everyone is not as self-centered as he is,” Rita put in before Sutter could reply.
    â€œNo, I can’t, that’s true,” said Sutter. “But as to reasons, Bill, I know you are having some difficulties and it was my impression you wanted me to help you.” Sutter was opening and closing cabinet doors, searching for the bottle which was in plain sight on the counter. The engineer handed it to him.
    â€œWhat’s number two?”
    â€œNumber two: I would not suppose that you were anxious to leave Kitty.”
    â€œKitty?” The engineer’s heart gave a queer extra thump.
    â€œI could not help but observe her kissing you in the garden as you lay under a Governor Mouton.”
    He stopped his hand, which had started up to touch his lips. Then someone had kissed him, not Alice Bocock in his dream,but Kitty herself, warm and flushed from the sun, tiny points of sweat glistening in the down of her lip. He shrugged. “I don’t see what that has to do—”
    â€œThe question is not whether you would stay but whether Kitty would go with you.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” said the engineer, blushing with pleasure at the prospect. It had not occurred to him.
    â€œThe further question is, ahem, whether in case all three of you go, Rita might not go along with you after all.”
    â€œYou can’t reach me any more, you bastard,” said Rita, but not, it seemed, angrier than before.
    â€œYou’re right, of course,” said Sutter cheerfully and earnestly, facing her for the first time over his drink. “You were right before and I was wrong. I couldn’t stand prosperity. We were good, you and I, as good as you wanted us to be, and in the end I couldn’t stand it. You were productive and so, for the first time in years, was I, and thanks to you. As you say, we were self-actualizing people and altogether successful, though somewhat self-conscious, in our cultivation of joy, zest, awe, freshness, and the right balance of adult autonomous control and childlike playfulness, as you used to call it. Though I don’t mind telling you that I never really approved your using technical terms like ‘penis envy’ in ordinary conversation—”
    â€œExcuse me,” said the engineer, setting a foot toward the door. But Rita was squarely in the way and gave no sign of seeing him.
    â€œI confess,” Sutter went on, “that in the end it was I who collapsed. Being geniuses of the orgasm is the hardest of tasks, far more demanding than Calvinism. So I couldn’t stand prosperity and had to mess around with Teresita. I longed for old-fashioned humbug in the same way other men long for the dear sights of home. You never really forgave me. And yet, now at this moment I forgive you for—”
    â€œDon’t you dare,” said Rita in a strangled whisper, advancing upon Sutter and at the same time, fortuitously, upon the engineer, who saw his chance and made his escape. As he left he heard Sutter say:
    â€œYou always said I knew you backwards. Well, I’m telling you now that you are wrong about yourself and wrong about what you think you want. There is nothing wrong with you beyond a certain spitefulness and pride and a penchant for a certain species of bullshit. You’re a fine girl, a fine Georgia girl—did you know Rita was from Georgia, Bill?—who got too far from home. Georgia girls have no business at Lake Chapala. Come