When I awoke, my body feeling ill-used and my soul worse, I lay in my bed unmoving. After some time, I realized that I was hearing a conversation coming from Gwendolyn’s room. I could not hear the words, but I seemed to detect an undertone of anger in The Roach’s voice and a coldness in Gwendolyn’s. For a moment, the temptation to press my ear against the wall and eavesdrop swept over me like a tidal wave. But I resisted it, springing to my feet and charging downstairs after hurriedly making my ablutions and throwing on some clothes.
Good as they were, I was getting a bit tired of beer and arsters, so I wandered down the street and had breakfast at a nearby restaurant. When I got back to the Free Lunch, Gwendolyn and The Roach were finishing a platter of arsters at the table in the corner. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided that avoiding them would be undignified. So I made my way over and accepted The Roach’s invitation to sit.
A somewhat strained silence followed, which Gwendolyn broke by saying: “I have to make arrangements to go visit the General. I’ll be back shortly.”
After she left, the silence returned. I was trying to think of some pleasantry to break the awkwardness when The Roach suddenly exclaimed some meaningless noise. He stood up abruptly and glared around the room. His great beard bristled fury at the universe.
“Absurd situation!” he exclaimed. Then, glancing down at me, he said: “Come on, Benvenuti, let’s go outside.”
I followed him out of the tavern, not sure what to make of things. He began pacing restlessly back and forth in the courtyard, staring down at the pavement. I soon gave up trying to match his immense strides, and stood unmoving. After a minute or so, he looked over at me and motioned with his head toward a bench against the wall.
Once we were seated, he leaned back against the wall and emitted a great sigh.
“Had I realized the situation soon enough,” he said suddenly, “I would have gone elsewhere to spend the night.”
“I don’t see why,” I said, very stiffly. “I have no claim on Gwendolyn.”
“Who does?” he demanded. “No man has any claim on any woman. Certainly not Gwendolyn.”
He looked over at me, and then burst into a barking laughter.
“Ah, and will you look at those square shoulders! A Sfondrati-Piccolomini of the old school! Face the ovens of hell with a stiff upper lip.”
My upper lip was stiff. “I assure you, sirrah, that your concern is misplaced. I hold the lady in the highest esteem, but—”
His laughter became positively canine. When the grotesque mirth ebbed, he shook his head and said:
“I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who can be such a jackass as a man trying not to be a jackass.”
I let this unseemly comment pass. My upper lip, I believe, now resembled the prow of a war galley. Suddenly, I broke.
“I—I just—” I stammered. “I’m only trying—what I mean—” I took a breath. “It is true what I said. There has been nothing—well, nothing serious—between Gwendolyn and me. That is, well, of a physical nature.”
Again, that barking laughter.
“Think I give a damn where your pecker’s been?” For some reason, this crudity was not offensive, coming from him. When I looked at him, he was gazing at me with a strange look in his eyes. But then, as I’ve said, his eyes were hard to read.
“This is not about you and me,” he said quietly. “Nor, to be honest, do I care a fig about your relationship with Gwendolyn.”
He looked away for a moment, and then continued.
“Gwendolyn and I have known each other for many years. During those years, we have been friends and comrades-in-arms. And, whenever the occasion permitted, we have been lovers. It is a hard world we live in, she and I, with few enough of life’s joys and comforts.” A hint of sorrow came into his voice. “I have thought sometimes, if—well, no point in that.” His eyes grew distant, as if gazing at an unreachable horizon.
“During those years,” he continued, “neither of us has ever asked any questions of each other. The truth is, for all that I love the woman, and I believe she loves me, there is no great passion in it.”