Free Love Doesn't Work by Henning Koch

covered in a film of green mold. This tendency was replicated on the terrace, which had grown a covering of moss. The once-pristine plunge-pool now looked more like a garden pond suitable for goldfish.
    “I suppose the cleaners have gone?”
    “Yes. Jimmy won’t pay the alimony. He’s bitter about things. His new wife is an heiress. They’re loaded.”
    “He did give you the house, though.”
    “Only because he didn’t want it. He hates this place. Anyway, what’s a house? It’s just a pile of stone, with a roof on top. Somewhere you can put your things. A house isn’t food or money. Speaking of which, do you mind doing some shopping? I’m flat broke.”
    “Yes, in a minute.” I refocused on the problem. “It’s a big house, though. You could sell it.”
    “This pile of shit? It leaks, and the municipality is challenging the planning permission. They say it was obtained illegally. I suppose Jimmy greased someone’s palm. That’s what he always does. No one would ever buy it. The trouble with you and all English people is that you think too much about houses. You think I’m fine because I’ve got a house, don’t you? Meanwhile I could be hanging myself, but at least I’ve got a house to leave to my children. Except I don’t even have any bloody children thanks to fucking Jimmy. Bastard.” At this point her lips began to quiver.
    “Well, mental sex was hardly going to prove very useful in that respect, was it? Although by the time we have children most of us are already going mental, it’s got to be admitted.”
    Archie closed her eyes in exasperation. “Oh shut up, Chuck, you talk like a bloody queer sometimes! You’d never get a woman pregnant, would you? You’d never lose control, and you’d never fuck anyone unless you were wearing a triple-glazed fucking condom. You’re not passionate, you’re derivative. That’s why you never got anywhere in the arts! I suppose you’re some kind of editor.”
    “I haven’t been as unsuccessful as some!” I threw back. “And I did come here to see you, which counts for something, doesn’t it?”
    There was a pause, then, with much rolling of eyes, she said, “Oh Chuck! What do you know about children anyway?”
    “Not much, thank God,” I said.
    “So spare me your wisdom. Can I tell you something about Jimmy instead? Can I?”
    “If you like.”
    “Don’t get sniffy just because I say what I think. That’s why you came, isn’t it? To find out the truth?”
    “Is it?”
    “Oh balls! I’m going to tell you about Jimmy whether you like or not.” She dropped her voice, as if what she were saying were shameful. “Jimmy was impotent. Completely. There was something wrong with his you know what. It just hung there. It took a bloody miracle to get it up. No wonder my cheekbones looked slightly hollow back then. My cheek-muscles were bloody buff.”
    “Let’s stay off the subject of sex and try to be constructive,” I said.
    “Oh stop it you old fag! Why is it better?”
    “I’m not a fag, Archie. And by the way, I’m not an editor either. I’m a publisher.”
    “Who cares, Chuck? Who except you in this world actually cares what job you do? We were talking about sex. We only ever talk about sex. I’m not available for that sort of thing any more. I’m not into it.”
    “You never were, as far as I can see, apart from some histrionics.”
    “Fuck you, Chuck. You’re a real bitch.”
    “It’s just the way I talk.”
    “No, it’s the way you think and it’s the way you feel about people, and it’s really sad to see a man in his best years all twisted up like this. It’s boarding school, isn’t it? Being held down and fucked up the arse at thirteen. Not a good start, right?”
    We sat in silence. I was awake now, looking out at the terrace. Funny, now that the place was crumbling I actually preferred it. It had taken on some soul.
    “So why didn’t he just take Viagra?”
    “He did sometimes.”
    “And?”
    “Oh it was