Page 317 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 287

hadn’t been gay.”
Kick sensed something more was wrong than one of Ryan’s famous
depressions. He loved Ryan enough to drive up to Bar Nada. Alone.
“Come back to the City,” Kick said. He was a knight on a white horse.
“You’re not writing. You’re not around enough for my liking. The Victori-
an’s empty without us both.” He followed Ryan from room to room. “If it’s
this disease thing, you can’t hide out. We’re safe people. We haven’t done
anything. You don’t have to be afraid of it. That’s the worst you could do.”
Ryan refused, politely, but refused all the same. “I need some more
time up here,” he said. “God! I love you!”
“I’ll never force you to anything,” Kick said. “But I want you to think
about me driving you back. I’m going out to the barn and pump up a little
on the weights.”
“Please, don’t,” Ryan said.
“Why not? If I get a good pump, maybe we could play a little.”
“Nobody’s been out to the barn since Thom died.”
“Somebody’s got to go out there sooner or later. Death’s nothing,”
Kick said. “Somebody’s got to bring life back to the space.”
“If anybody’s got the life force,” Ryan said, “you have.”
Kick walked out to the barn. He had hoped Ryan would follow. After
an hour, he came back. “Where were you?”
“I couldn’t,” Ryan said. “I promised I’d never say no to you, but I
couldn’t.”
What he meant was that he was desexed by fear.
“I’m a safe person,” Kick said. He moved in close to Ryan and held
him in his big arms. “Let me hold you,” he said. “Just hold you.”
“I love you,” Ryan said. “I love you so much. These are the best years
of our lives. I don’t want either of us to die.”
“We’re safe, Ryan. Listen to me. We’re not going to die. I won’t let
you. I need you too much.”
“Give me a couple of days,” Ryan said, “to get hold of myself.”
Ryan stood on the deck and watched Kick drive away until the red
Corvette disappeared over the crest of the hill. “I will get a hold of myself,”
he said.
That night on television, there was a clip of Henry Fonda reading lines
from William Faulkner’s novel, Sartoris. “Ever’ now and then,” Henry
drawled, “a feller has to walk up and spit in deestruction’s face, sort of, for
his own good. He has to kind of put an aidge on hisself, like he’d hold his
ax to the grindstone....If a feller’ll show his face to deestruction ever’ now
and then, deestruction’ll leave ’im be twil his time come. Deestruction

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