her pink hat and went to church on Sunday morning.
I was 50 years old and hadn’t been to bed with a woman for
four years. I had no women friends. I looked at them as I
passed them on the streets or wherever I saw them, but I
looked at them without yearning and with a sense of
futility. I masturbated regularly, but the idea of having a
relationship with a woman— even on non-sexual terms—was
beyond my imagination. I had a 6 year old daughter born out
of wedlock. She lived with her mother and I paid child
support. I had been married years before at the age of 35.
That marriage lasted two and one half years. My wife
divorced me. I had been in love only once. She had died of
acute alcoholism. She died at 48 when I was 38. My wife had
been 12 years younger than I. I believe that she too is dead
now, although I’m not sure. She wrote me a long letter each
Christmas for 6 years after the divorce. I never responded.