The Moonlight by Nicholas Guild Page A

not exactly qualify him for the Olympics.  Anyway, at his age he was lucky he could walk at all.  He was fine as long as he kept an eye out for traffic, and there was never much traffic.
    A squirrel, clinging to the side of a tree not five feet away, watched as they passed.  The dog looked at it longingly through rheumy eyes but did not even bark.  The dog was nearly eleven years old and well past it.  They were both past it, Leo reflected.  They were both as good as dead.
    It had been over three months since the last time he had got it on with Louise, and she was beginning to get a little impatient.  So tonight he would take it slow and easy, and maybe this time he could keep his battery charged up enough to make it happen.  He tried to concentrate on remembering what she looked like naked, but it was an effort.  Funny, there were women he had fucked sixty years ago who were more real to him now.
    It would be better to live without women, except that then you were as good as dead.  Leo considered the decay of his own lust with a kind of horror.  No, you had to go on with it.  When you stopped being a man you might as well shoot yourself.
    So much was desire mixed up with the fear of death—Leo had only to think of his own son to be struck by the truth of it.  Leo Jr., who was nearly sixty, had just divorced his second wife and had two mistresses jockeying to be Number Three.  Plus the damn fool was only fifteen months away from bypass surgery.  You’d think he only messed around with women to give himself something to worry about.  And that was probably it.
    What made a man cling this way to life?  At eight-six Leo Galatina had no answers.  He only knew that it was so.
    This part of town was full of little creeks and ponds, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the frogs croaking.  The road was completely in shade now, for the sun was just an angry red ball that showed itself between the trees.  It was already seven thirty, but the daylight would last until almost nine, by which time Leo Galatina expected to be in bed, holding Louise’s breasts in his hands.
    When he reached Birch Tree Lane he turned around and started back toward the house.  He was already feeling tired—it wasn’t going to be any good with Louise tonight.
    From somewhere ahead of him he could hear the growl of a car engine, but he could tell by the sound that it wasn’t going fast.  People didn’t drive fast on this road, because there were too many children and dogs and old men.  A second later the car came around the bend in the road just ahead.  It was the dark red one that had driven past his house and then parked in the Crockers’ driveway.
    He reached into his jacket pocket and then remembered that he hadn’t carried a gun in twenty years.  There hadn’t been any need.  There wasn’t any now.
    The car drove slowly toward him, its tires whispering against the bare asphalt.  When it drew parallel, the window on the passenger side rolled down and a man leaned out as if he wanted to ask the way.  He was in his middle thirties, probably, and was dressed in a brown suit.  Leo was sure he knew him from somewhere but couldn’t place him, which was surprising because Leo had a good memory for faces.
    The man smiled.  It wasn’t a very nice smile.
    “Leo Galatina, am I right?”  He laughed, as if he’d made a very funny joke.  “Of course I’m right.”
    Leo didn’t say anything.  He could feel his bowels turning to water—if this was a hit, he figured he had maybe three or four seconds to live.
    But apparently it was just a tourist with a sense of humor.  The window rolled back up and the car started forward again.
    Leo’s heart was pounding in his ears and he was short of breath.  The son-of-a-bitch had scared him.  He turned around to get the license number—he still had a few friends; he thought he might just have them teach the little shit a lesson—but the car was already far enough away