Friday, January 3, 2014

Interlude 1.5

to read from the FIRST CHAPTER





previous CHAPTER









EPISODE 26



All is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love








'You are healing me!' -- I confided to Fabrizio.

One afternoon, the sky had cleared completely and for the first time we could watch a sunset at our design house in Iceland. We interrupted our sauna session and went out to the balcony to watch that glorious and tragic display of a beauty that seemed oblivious of mankind, like all natural spectacles in that inebriating country.

Fabrizio, like me, loved the sunsets -- according to him, simply because he was too lazy to wake up and watch the sun rise -- Otherwise I might also like it, I guess -- he laughed.



"It's about time that you start healing, Laurent!" -- Darren had told me.

She was my best friend in Samsara Heights, along with Brazen, a former affair and the only one to become a friend in all my sex life. They had often heard my sorrows and regrets about Angelo -- "Since I know you, you've been heartbroken. It was more than time to start mending your heart!" -- she had told me, when I had begun dating Fabrizio and my happiness simply overflowed.



But again, sunsets reminded me of Angelo -- and I know I already wrote about this. It was at sunset that he and I first kissed, and then how I had wanted to establish sunsets as the daily celebration of our love, while Angelo would have preferred the moon, for he was an absolutely nocturnal creature.



The insistence from Fabrizio with sunsets, rather than making me rejoice, was hurting me. Since the end of my relationship with Angelo, I deliberately turned my back to the setting sun -- and several times I had cried at that moment. 

In Santorini, Greece, while the other tourists were settling in cafes to watch the sunset, when the sun seemed to open a bleeding mouth over the flooded caldera, I had hid myself in my room, crying with rage as I heard the applauses with which others greeted that spectacle of nature. I had thought that taking refuge in that beautiful island and in the arms of the gorgeous men that abound in Greece would help me overcome my grief, but everywhere and especially at sunsets I was reminded of Angelo -- because I carried him within myself, like a scar in my heart, and there was no escape possible.



It was during that sunset in Iceland that I finally understood it. 

It was a powerful and liberating insight.



Fabrizio did not intend to torture me with his insistence in watching together every beautiful sunset -- in Vice City, in Capri, in Samsara Heights, everywhere that we had been. 

He could not have known about my strange sorrow, and he certainly did not intend to stimulate it.



With his loving companion, he was offering me the chance to face my own suffering, and again to turn sunsets into a beautiful and happy occasion, making peace with my past and finally leaving it behind. 

That's what I had finally realized -- what seemed like a torture was actually a chance for redemption and transformation being offered with Fabrizio's insistence. I was just misinterpreting the renewed chance of redemption that he was handling me with so much love and care.

And while all that happened within me, without Fabrizio noticing any exterior signs -- for he might have been the therapist, but not the remedy -- I had wanted to thank him for the opportunity to heal another old wound.




'I'm so happy to hear that, babe!' -- and we celebrated my confession with a long kiss. As the end of our holidays in Iceland approached, we felt even more passionate about each other -- and it had actually been a great idea to have rented a house, where we could be as intimate as we would have wished for.



That long kiss brought us inside the house and into our room, and then we made ​​love on the big bed overlooking the sunset -- ironically, listening to a long sequence of Radiohead's songs.



Fabrizio's liking of Radiohead was something that would again hurt me -- because my whole relationship with Angelo, the good and the bad times, had elapsed to the sound of Radiohead. But again, how could he have known it?

1993, our last year in France, had been marked by the release of Pablo Honey, and Angelo and I had flipped to that album. I felt I was "Creep" myself, while Angelo had identified himself with "You", and together we were "Blow Out". 

1995, when we were already living in Vice City, the soundtrack was The Bends, and we had lots of sex to the sound of "High and Dry" and "Street Spirit", but would only come with "Just". 

In 1997, when Angelo met Jake and Laura, to the wonderful album that was OK Computer, we had had fights while listening to "Exit Music", "Let Down", "Lucky", "Paranoid Android" and "Karma Police", but we'd reconcile to the sound of "Airbag" and "No Surprises" -- although, at that point in our relationship, Angelo was giving me only bad surprises.



But since we had broke up, I never again wanted to listen to Radiohead with the same dedicated ardour. 

Especially because they had done piercing songs like "How to Disappear Completely" -- in fact, Kid A and Amnesiac entire albums translated my life and tortured me with their aching truths put into songs. 

Sometimes I thought I could kill someone listening to "Idioteque" -- or perhaps, kill myself.



Until I met Fabrizio who, with the King of Limbs album had again brought Radiohead into my life -- and to my heart. He had just downloaded it when he had visited me at the farm in the Apennines, but we would listen to it together again other times too.

And I gladly accepted the chance he was giving me to once again belong to the sect of worshipers of Thom Yorke, along with Fabrizio himself. He was the one man we both sighed for. 



Our love and sex were both redemption for us. Despite being only 37 years old, before meeting Fabrizio I foresaw myself alone for the rest of my life, cultivaitng bitterness and the lack of interest in love. I'm gonna lock my heart and throw away the key, I used to sing along with Billie Holiday -- and I thought I had done that, in fact. Fabrizio, ten years younger than me, had found himself in a self-imposed trap, having been sentenced to a life of lies and hypocrisy in love. Together, we were saving each other, opening a path into our hearts.

Secretly, I sometimes feared that Fabrizio would not bear social and family pressures and have a relapse -- with his extremely masculine looks, he was always attracting women, and though outwardly I laughed at them, knowing that gorgeous man was all mine, internally I felt insecure when I realized how he was a target for them, everywhere that we went together.



Maybe it was just another ghostly legacy of Angelo's cheating, or due to his own behavior towards Andara, having had Helmut as a lover in parallel to his fianceé for several years -- though not as many as Celeste, my grandmother, had been Monsieur de Montbelle's lover. Sometimes, it seemed, everywhere that I looked into my own past, all I could find was cheating and deceit.




Another redemption for us had been my return to Vice City. My reunion with Fabrizio had happened  less than a month after his visit to the Apennines. Rather than going back to my own house, Fabrizio had suggested that I stop before in Vice City to be with him.

He had offered to pick me up at the airport -- that same one where we had talked for the first time --  early in the evening, and from there we'd go have dinner. Although I had changed clothes in the bathroom of the airplane shortly before landing to disguise being travel weary, I was still tired from the long flight -- but at the very sight of Fabrizio, my fatigue had ended instantly, as I was reminded how much I longed to make love to him.



Naively, or perhaps boldly, Fabrizio had taken me to the most fancy and expensive restaurant in town, installed on a pier -- the Nirvana Lounge of my conversation with Carlo no longer existed. Fabrizio was disconcerted by the looks we received upon entering the restaurant -- even if only by sight, many people had known and remarked the golden couple formed by him and Andara, and now, to the gossip of their breakup, he presented his relationship with a new Platinum blonde -- me.



I had done a little research on Andara on the internet, to find that she had not always been blonde, and always less blonde than me! She was pretty, she was elegant -- but apart from being born wealthy, there was nothing I wouldn't beat her. 

Awkwardly, I could imagine that until some months ago, she was the one at the table with Fabrizio at his best loved restaurant in town, and somehow aware of her existence somewhere else on the planet, I had thought of her throughout the dinner.



But I was not entirely unknown in the restaurant, either -- in fact, in Vice City I was a demi-celebrity, like the demi-sec champagne that Andara used to drink at that same restaurant. There was always my notority from the Dark Room exhibition accompanying me, but not only that -- among those present at the restaurant, there was one of my one night stands, and he kept facing me with intensity until Fabrizio noticed it and faced him back, defiant and menacingly.

Our first romantic dinner was not ruined by any of these things, but neither did it elapse peacefully.



But none of that mattered to Fabrizio. He had clearly outlined his plan, and from the restaurant we went to his apartment.

I felt a little embarrassed to go in there again, remembering how I had left it with harsh and discourteous words toward my host, who eventually had become my boyfriend. Catherine would have been ashamed of my behavior, and Celeste would certainly have disowned me, if they learned how rude I had been to Fabrizio.



Fabrizio also seemed to be aware of the bad memories that lingered in that beautiful room with its stupendous views of the ocean, and without turning the lights on, he pulled me toward the stairs.

'Come, Laurent. There's someone waiting for you upstairs.'

Andara, I had thought for a moment? People were strange and had their weirdnesses, but I really did not expect anything of that kind coming from Fabrizio. Nevertheless...



How hadn't I thought of that, too?

Gerhard Richter -- the painter of our first conversation, in the bathroom of the chaotic airport -- and "St. Andrew", his glorious painting. I was elated. From the beginning, when Fabrizio had said he wanted a special occasion to make love to me for the first time, he had thought about that painting. The painting of his "crossing".



'Alone, at last...' -- I laughed -- 'with Gerhard!' -- and I jumped on Fabrizio's neck and kissed him, knowing I would have plenty of time to later admire that stunning work of art.



 Fabrizio's bedroom was another radical visual experience -- no concessions for colors other than black and graphite, unless in Richter's painting of course, that thus dominated the room. It was as if the whole room existed to display that painting.

 Naturally, all of Andara's traces in the apartment had disappeared -- no clothes, not one picture framed, of course -- but even so, I could not stop thinking about her, she who had once occupied that same bed with Fabrizio, a jarring touch of femininity in that austere and completely masculine environment, and at first it was a strange ménage-a-trois that I experienced in my mind.

Next, I thought I would probably have to burn my own bed at Samsara Heights, before inviting Fabrizio to lie therein, otherwise it would be a real ghostly orgy.



And then I realized as I was still clinging to the past -- and perhaps that first night with Fabrizio was the end of a long sentence, full of mistakes and mispellings that I had been writing until then.


*****



That week in which we occupied the house in Iceland, I had the privilege to get to know Fabrizio better -- and after a year of being in love, it was with greater intensity and scope that I felt my love for him growing, as I was able to admire and respect him even more.

Finally I realized that, just as he had been devoted to his work as a means to stay away from Andara whenever he felt suffocated by his own lies and her demands, just the same had he chosen to spend his holidays in a single house.



Actually, his choice not only contradicted Andara's, but her whole group of friends -- whom Fabrizio, after all, did not like much. It was perhaps her way of defending herself from Fabrizio's lack of romanticism -- he was a polite and correct but cold boyfriend to her --, always being among friends, that to Fabrizio seemed a hindrance and an excess. What I had imagined to be a great loss to him at the end of his relatioship with Andara, had actually been a relief.

Often he stayed behind when the whole bunch of people left on a tour, including Andara -- and he did not mind being alone, however, since he could devote himself to his businesses, which he led with dedication and seriousness. The same dedication and passion that he had in cooking -- and he did not mind spending hours in the kitchen, often on his own, while the other fellow travelers were at  the pool or at the beach.

That behavior had earned him the reputation of being a snobish and difficult person -- but Fabrizio did not care. It all seemed so fake to him, including the self-image he presented to people and how they perceived him, that during those years he had cultivated a fatalist feeling about the hypocritical social trap that he had laid for himself.



And talking about social traps, since their families had known each other, Fabrizio had met Helmut at his cousin's wedding. Casually and cordially, Helmut had introduced Fabrizio to his wife and shown him pictures of their baby boy, too small to come to such a big party. A beautiful baby in the splendid craddle of a glorious home -- Helmut's life was, after all, perfect. 

And in a moment when they had been left alone by Helmut's wife, Fabrizio told his ex-lover that he had made his coming out to his family.



For an instant, Helmut had been baffled, but as a good politician he had kept a smile on his face, and the tone of his voice sounding like if he was telling a holidays' joke, he told Fabrizio:

'I'm sorry, mate. I never thought it was serious to you. Of course this eliminates any chance of  friendship between us.' -- after which, he had used a less friendly tone -- 'This is dangerous. More for you than for me, if anyone ever finds out anything... about our past. You know, politics is a rather unscrupulous world. This is the end, for us, you understand it, don't you Fabrizio? Actually, it has never begun. It never happened.' -- Helmut laughed out loud at the end of his own holidays' joke -- 'Goodbye mate. We'll never see each other again.'



If Fabrizio had been happy with his parents during the wedding, Helmut's reaction was a new blow on him.

"We were just screwing around, man. It was no loving shit!" -- Helmut had hissed, and threatened Fabrizio before he actually had a chance to declare his loyalty to his former lover, whom he still held as a friend -- at least, that's how Fabrizio interpreted the words "it is more dangerous for you than for me... in a world so unscrupulous."



Anyway, Fabrizio felt finally left alone.

A part of his life was thus ending, and all those characters of his double life leaving it. Had Monsieur de Montbelle felt a similar relief with his wife's death, and Armand's retreat?, I thought. Not without pain, Fabrizio stated it clearly, but the relief was even greater -- and I was the balm of his new life, according to Fabrizio himself. He was healing, too, and like a plant that had had all its branches cut, he was now learning to grow in new, unexpected directions. 



And it was Fabrizio himself who had wanted to leave the house on our last full day in Iceland. 

During our holidays, we had read two very good books by Icelandic authors -- the mighty Njal's Saga, the Icelandic epic par excellence, and "The Fish Can Sing" by the Nobel Prizer winner Halldór Laxness. I had picked both books at a bookshop in Reykjavík, to be our first introduction to Icelandic Literature. We had read it the way we both liked best -- and we had been breathless to discover, upon having recently watched "A Single Man" together, that we both loved best the scene with the two lovers reading at the sofa -- but unfortunately not reading to one another!, we remarked. Like a dream come true, sometimes Fabrizio would read to me, and then I were to read to him aloud. It was such a small detail, perhaps others would consider it a foolishness, but reading out loud to each other was one of our most romantic rituals.



After our last lunch at the house, he was feeling a bit bored, and he had suddenly realized that, hadn't he liked to go out with Andara and her group of friends, in my company he liked to go anywhere and everywhere.



'Even to the hospital, babe!' -- he had said, when we had just left Vice City's General Hospital, where we had been visiting my friend Brazen, who had just undergone a surgery. 

I was happy with his invitation to leave the house. First, I had understood Fabrizio's insistence to stay at home as a way of honoring his family's tradition of spending every holiday at the villa by Lake Como, and not traveling around the world. Then I realized it was a habit acquired while still dating Andara, when he had tried to depart from their group. But secretly, I feared he was ashamed to be seen in my company -- it was not a new hairstyle, which made me look younger and perhaps foolish, that would end up with my insecurity.

Only Fabrizio's renewed love, over the years -- and sometimes I thought that only after eight years in his company, for that had been the amount of time of my relationship with Angelo -- could  completely heal my wounds.



Fabrizio said he wanted to return to that restaurant in Reykjavík we had found closed, to try puffin meat, reputed to be exceptionally tender. And if they were still closed, he wanted to eat whale meat again, and give a new chance to putrified shark meat -- one of the national delicacies that we had already tasted in Iceland and not quite liked, especially I, since I did not drink the strong herbal spirit that was supposed to accompany it.



In addition to his gastronomic tour, I proposed also going to the Blue Lagoon Spa -- before we'd eat, of course.

'With the weather that we have today, babe?' -- Fabrizio seemed discouraged by the cloudy day -- 'Isn't it outdoor pools?'

'Volcanic pools. Steaming hot. And this is our only day left in Iceland. This is it, gorgeous.' -- I said, daringly -- 'The Icelandic End. This is the only day that we still have to enjoy in this country.'

'You're right. Let's go then!' -- Fabrizio said and had jumped from the couch cheerfully.



Luckily, the weather changed on our way to the spa, while we were driving on a beautiful scenic road -- scenic being rather a common place in Iceland, for the whole country and all its landscapes were beautiful, the sceneries being more dramatic or less dramatic was the only difference in my opinion.

I was happy, and enjoying a good-natured disposition.



'I thought you were hiding me at home... In a country so full of handsome men...' -- I blurted, quite unskilfully.

'All of them will be making moves on you, is that it? Do I need to worry about this, Laurent?' -- Fabrizio had replied, visibly hurt. His jealousy was not something to which I could easily get used.



'No, that's not what I meant!' -- we were a good match, in almost everything. It was really a surprising and lasting harmony that existed between us, but the kind of comical humours we had were quite distinct, and our jokes were often misinterpreted by the other -- 'I meant that you were ashamed to be seen by my side in a country with so many handsome men, much more than I am... I mean...'



'That's ridiculous, Laurent! And you know...' -- now he was in a ranting fashion -- '...it's not just beauty to me. Or for you it comes down to it? Are you with me because I'm handsome? As you said it all right, this is a country full of beautiful men. And many of them prettier than me, even. As that one attendant from the chocolate shop...'



That had been one of the few stressful passages in our journey around the country. Unfortunately, I had commented on the extreme beauty of this store's attendat, dark-haired and blue-eyed just like Fabrizio, but with very white skin, rosy cheeks, a dimpled smile and slanted eyes. And though I had checked, I hadn't said a word about his very fit body. That specific day, I had been a little elated with our share of grand landscapes on the East coast, and in that chococolate store in Akureyri I had also commented on the nice aspect of the sweets and the chairs -- and the handsome young man, too, of course, but just like one who comments a work of art or a piece of design, but without wanting to acquire it.



Unfortunately, Fabrizio had been hurt. And though we had talked and clarified the whole thing, he  had again to mention the occasion. And this conversation about beauty in the volcanic pools, the beauty which always left me elated, working like a drug on me, would be remembered for a long time after that.



'Forgive me, Fabrizio. Your beauty is only one aspect of the love I feel for you.' -- I had said, thoughtfully -- 'Because it's a beauty who reads poetry and shows true passion for the things he does, because it is a beauty with ethics combined with kindness, it's an honest and generous beauty... Intelligent, educated, kind, helpful. That's your beauty as I'm in love with...Your beauty is only the outer shine of an unique spirit, Fabrizio.'



In the warm, soothing waters, Fabrizio's mood improved and he again relaxed -- despite the sulfurous smell that bothered him greatly, much more than me, and that in our opinion was the only "don't" in a perfectly wonderful country -- the sulfurous smell that sprang when one opened any Icelandic faucet, while brushing the teeth or bathing or trying to get drinking water.



And Fabrizio was happy and joyful again when he could finally try the puffin meat, even if I did not have the courage to eat it. 

Not because I was disgusted by its mortified aspect and the colour of dried blood, but because I was no longer able to eat meat thinking that an animal had died due to my desire to eat his or her meat. I'd rather kill my own desire, so that the animal could go on living.


*****



With the passing of time and his meditative practice, Carlo had like Armand become a vegetarian. But not quite radically. My father was unable to refuse any food that was offered to him, even if it was a steak, because his practice of equanimity was as strong as that of compassion, which included both his host as much as the food that was offered to him, even if it was a slaughtered animal.



My days spent with Carlo in the Apennines had influenced me to that point, although I did not consider myself a vegetarian.

  The day before to our last in Iceland, Fabrizio and I had called Carlo at the farm in the Apennines, at Fabrizio's own suggestion -- to learn that he was leaving for Sweden, to meet Armand! Those were great news, and the not so surprising outcome of a conversation full of silences that I had had with Carlo, after Fabrizio had left.



Carlo wanted to know if I had been talking to my mother lately.

Just as Carlo and I had rescued our relationship through our conversation at the Nirvana Lounge, it had also occasionally had the side effect of Catherine and Carlo resuming a kind of telephonic relationship. During all that time that they hadn't seen each other, they had kept the ritual of talking on the phone once a year -- though I had never been aware of it. And I was the only topic of their conversation.



But after the Nirvana Lounge, Carlo and Catherine had come to talk about themselves on their phone conversations.

'I think Catherine is not doing well in St Petesburg...' -- my father made a long silence and I thought that was all, but he had been reflecting before adding -- 'I don't know exactly what it is... She seems to be losing touch with herself... Do you know what I mean, Laurent? I'm not sure it is beacuse she is now expressing herself in a different language... That could be it...' -- Carlo pondered, and made a long pause before continuing -- 'With all the love and commitment that she has to words, it seems that Catherine's soul changed with Russian... or was it her dedication of so many years to those Russian mystics that made her a little bit crazy... Do you feel the same, Laurent? Why didn't you visit her yet?'

'And nor shall I, Carlo. I went once to Russia, during an art fair in which my work had been exhibited, and I was so often and so repeatedly treated with rudeness, at the hotel, in restaurants, shops, and twice they tried to rob me on the streets, that I decided to never return to Russia! I don't know, I don't have the same impression as you. She has been working on a novel... about my grandmother Celeste, it seems... She sounded very normal the last time I spoke to her...' -- and I didn't want to concern Carlo with what actuallt had been my last and final quarrel with my mother, and how we hadn't had any contact since -- 'Except for the fact that Catherine is in her third or fourth boyfriend in that country... Almost one each year! But you told me that it was just like that in France too, wasn't it?'




There was silence again. Carlo was unable to comment on Catherine's intimacy, even if it was about the uncomfortable infidelity of hers that had harmed him directly. My mother had always been consumptive, especially in terms of culture, and for years, also of men... I did not judge or condemn her -- I just realized that as my own heritage, which in turn Catherine had inherited from Celeste. A dynasty of only children, Celeste, Catherine and I, and of man-eaters. It was as if the legacy of my grandmother and of my mother had made ​​me gay, since I hadn't been born a girl in a thread of women, and also as if my promiscuity during a certain period of my life had been determined even before I was born.

'You might be doing to your mother just like you did to me, by isolating her. Keeping her out of your life might not be the best, Laurent.' -- Carlo pondered.

'I might be.' -- I had replied, quite simply, dismissing the subject.



'I never knew love like this before, Carlo.' -- I said, when my father's silence lasted long enough denoting that Catherine's subject was closed. We were lying on the lawn behind the house, looking into the sky, where clouds sailed and a single golden eagle flew by. And since we were not facing each other, we took greater care in carefully listening and slowly talking, in order not to interrupt each other.

'Not even for Angelo? You mention that boy very often. He seems to have affected you deeply, and I'm afraid not in a good way, Laurent... I remember you crying when I shared how I had left Armand on the Île du Blanchomme, and you recalled being dumped by Angelo... for a girl, right?' -- my father and I hadn't talked much about my ex-boyfriend. Though he knew a lot about my relationship with Gabriel, that had been a fiasco, and that's probably why he hadn't even mentioned him. But Angelo... funny, my father never even had seen a photo of him. Expect, perhaps, on some gossip magazine.

'No, not even for Angelo!' -- I pondered. My love for him had been angst ridden, more like a sickness, as if I had had a high fever and hallucinated for eight years -- 'Yes, I cried because how we parted was similar. But I don't think the love I felt for Angelo was like the love you felt for Armand... I think it is more like this love that I feel now for Fabrizio.'



Talking to Carlo recently was a mind opening experience. His silence was peaceful, as if compassionately encompassing my words, and giving a generous space, without any pressure on time, where my confessions could gently be born and slowly unfold and mature into insights.

'And we still haven't had sex, Fabrizio and I...' -- feeling serene about that, I sighed -- 'It's really love. In a way, a bit like what I felt for Fabio, when I was a boy. Pure just like that.'

Silence. And the sounds of nature -- birds chirping, leaves rustling in the wind, the distant roar of the waterfall down the valley, a dog barking and being echoed by the mountains -- again filled my ears and my heart.



'Don't you want to see him again?' -- I asked Carlo.

'I've seen him.' -- Carlo had replied after a while -- 'Once. A few years ago. We were part of a juri in a prize for young artists. He was to chose an archictec. I was to chose a painter, though of course we were all voting for all categories. Pina Bausch was to chose a coreographer. Wong Kar-wai, Marina Abramovic, Nadine Gordimer, Egberto Gismonti, each one in his own field shared considerations about the young artists... The Transmission, that prize was called. We were many at that juri, all staying at the same hotel in Berlin, and there was a tight schedule, since not all of us had the same amount of free time. Armand and I never had the chance to speak in private. Just once did we meet in an empty corridor, as our routes brought us close.'



"I hope life has treated you well, Carlo." -- Armand had said to me, quietly. His eyes were peaceful and full of love, though not the same romantic love I remembered. It was more like an immense tenderness, of the same kind that someone would experience in looking at a flower with mindfulness.

"We have survived, haven't we?" -- it was all I could say to him. After all those years, I still felt guilty.

"You are a prestigious painter, now!" -- Armand had smiled his most sweet, nurturing smile. Aging had only increased his gentleness and wisdom -- " I'm glad about that. I always knew it."

"You're so kind. You have always been kind to me."

"Gentlemen! Please! We have been looking for you!" -- an agitated young man from the organization had interrupted the friends -- "We have yet another round of considerations starting in less than five minutes!" -- and so Carlo and Armand's only conversation in decades had ended abruptly.



 'Don't you want to see him again?' -- I had repeated my question, but Carlo never answered me. Anyway, before leaving the Apennines I had left Armand's private number with my father. 

And the answer had come just now, when Fabrizio and I had called my father from Iceland, with the news that he was going to Sweden to meet Armand.

'How is the farm's situation, Carlo?' -- I had asked him next, after another prolongued silence at the lawn in the back of our house.

'Dear son, you don't have to ask about that. I remember having told you, when you were a child, how Tarso expected you to love these lands, so that you'd want to take care of the farm when you inherited it. That was very unskilfull. You have no obligation whatsoever, Laurent!' -- Carlo paused, pensive -- 'I was born here, I am one with these mountains.  I have always known and understood your preference for the islands. You can sell these lands if you want, when they reach your hands.' -- my father said, serenely.



 'Oh no, I wouldn't do that, Carlo! I feel connected now. I really do! And grateful, too.'

And I asked Carlo to take me to visit my great-grandfather's tomb up in the mountains.

I had so much to thank Tarso -- even if, had I had the actual chance to thank him, he would have rejected me, and probably have punched me again.

I was always a bit sad to think that the love I felt for men was to be considered dirty, sinful, and to be despised and battled against. The sincere love I felt for Fabrizio was the purest thing in my life at that moment -- full of respect, admiration, sincerity. So many straight people were not capable of devoting themselves to their partners so deeply, so many of them engaged in cheating their beloved ones -- but just because they were straight, their wicked love was justified, and mine, no matter how pure, was condemened and villified.



Tarso would have condemned me, I was sure -- and I wouldn't have condemned him for behaving the only way he knew.

Which made Carlo's acceptance of my sexuality the more remarkable. There was a part of him that remained the simple peasant, born under a very narrow moral code. But another part of him had grown to unsuspected heights -- or depths. He was still the simpleton who had just wished that someone take a look at his sketches -- the same sketches, unfortunately lost, that had catapulted him to Paris and into another life, ultimately to the pinacle of the contemporary Art world. But his openess of mind and heart found no explanations nor counterpart in his art career, I thought.



After we had returned from our holidays in the Apennines, following Fabio's suggestion, Carlo had taken me to the nearest country club, where I had happily joined the swim team. 



The rest of my summer vacations of 1987 I had spent at that swimming pool. I was really talented, a natural, but I was also a wild beast in the waters, with little techinique. I was faster than the other boys and I had a prodigious breath, but it took a wonderful coach to teach me how to be a true juvenile champion. 



Of course, I fell in love with the coach, a handsome young man who, like me, was sometimes considered an outsider -- he had been born in Argelia. And of course he openly and widely and wisely ignored my clumsy advances on him.



In that pool and around it, there was an overall horniness, coming from us boys and our nasty jokes -- and I include myself among them, for even though being very shy and mostly silent, for the first time I felt I belonged to a group in France --, that were tolerated but not stimulated by the coach. 

He allowed no bullying, and was very strict about our coexistence inside the pool and around it.



I wasn't the only boy in the team who had a crush on the coach. I had never exchanged confidences with Luc, but I knew he knew it about me, just like I knew it about him too. We were competing for the attention of the same impossible hunk -- and as a better swimmer, I deserved more dedication from the coach, but I wasn't any luckier in my nasty intentions about him.



One day, I stayed late in the pool, trying to correct a stroke that seemed to disappoint the coach. Luc had stayed behind, too, and as if changing his target, he  pressed me against a wall on our way to the showers -- and I remember the cold tiles against my back as much as I remember my first stollen kiss, a wet and clumsy confusion of tongues, arms and legs, and how it  had aroused our bodies, and how breathless we had been, even for swimmers, upon fearfully parting, having heard someone approaching. 

But since I never retributed his courage -- for I was too shy and hadn't actually been interested in him, just horny, possibly very horny, but still afraid and feeling guilty about my own lust --, Luc felt rejected and never approached me again.



My talents at the pool gave me an unprecedent confidence, and backed by Tarso and Fabio from the distance, and Carlo's caring presence at home, I felt different at the school, also. 

So much different that one of the cuttest guys in my class (I don't remember his name at all) whom I would have sweared was totally straight, had noticed me. He invited me to the back of the school, and there he kissed me, rubbing his erection against mine. He actually wanted me to go down him, but again I was not interested, not even in lettting him go down on me, which he had proposed next  -- I still felt my heart and my body belonged to Fabio, and by kissing those two boys I felt I was cheating on my pure recollections of him.



I then sensed I was really a different boy from the rest of them, and in a way, more feminine -- but I did not perceive that as bad. I just realized how my feelings were more important to me than my body calls, my physical sensations. Even having been kissed twice in a short period of time, I felt my real connection was not to the boys that had aroused my body, but to Fabio, who had also and in first place aroused my heart.

But that was only the soft, funny part of the changes in my school life the holidays in the Apennines had brought, along with Carlo's commitment in making me join the swim team, actually believing that I was a good swimmer, which stimulated my self-confidence.



I finally confronted the gang who bullied me. 

Even though it was one against three. I couldn't tolerate them dragging me around anymore. When they tried it, I did not run away -- because that could have been another possible reaction --, I resisted them. Not just once, but until they actually left me at peace, I fought them back. -- "You're gonna die!" -- they had shouted at me. But I had never felt more alive, now that I could react against the bullying. They ambushed me, and beat the crap out of me a couple of times, but even if I was always losing, I was so proud to fight back. And at those moments I thought of Fabio -- and of Tarso.

And even though both being dead, that last night in Iceland I still felt their presence, and I thanked them for preparing my way to such a great love -- the love I felt for Fabrizio. 


*****



It was a beautiful starry night, as we drove back to our rented home in Iceland. I was glancing at Fabrizio and thinking of the love making session that awaited us -- our farewell to the house. The night was dark, but Fabrizio's eyes were gleaming as he looked back at me.

'You still haven't told me why your father left home. Will you share it with me?' -- Fabrizio had asked. His genuine interest in my story was another very touching declaration of love.

Of course... I was going to answer him.



'Oh my God! No! Laurent!' -- I heard Fabrizio screaming and I saw terror in his eyes, as he turned the steering wheel madly. I was looking at his beautiful face, thinking how lucky I was to have met him, and I didn't see it coming. 



Sliding towards my side of the car, an enormous rock came tumbling down the mountain. 

It had the shape of an immense tongue, edgy like a knife, and it hit underneath the vehicle and almost split it in two. 

We were lifted into the air. I recall the strange sensation of flying upside down, and I remember trying to glance towards Fabrizio from behind the airbag that squeezed me against my seat. Is this it? I thought, and I actually wanted to ask Fabrizio Is this how it ends, my love? But... he wasn't in the car... anymore? 

With a deafening sound of retorted metal and shattered glasses, muting the crushing of bones and flesh being ripped, we hit the ground really hard, and I blacked out.







THE END   of   INTERLUDE  ONE




I've seen it all

[...]

the man you will marry

the home you will share

to be honest, 

I really don't care.

[...]

I've seen what I was

and I know what I'll be

I've seen it all

There is no more to see

I've seen it all



from the song   "I've seen it all"   with Björk and Thom Yorke
















7 comments:

  1. OMG ... I'll have to come back to comment. I must read the rest of this first!

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  2. Nooooo! Blogger said there was another update, but it was an older chapter. You left me with a cliffhanger like this?!? I'm speechless ... too overcome with sadness to comment more. Rest assured, I loved this chapter, as I always do. *wipes tears from eyes* :'(

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    Replies
    1. I did not predict it.

      The words dripped from my fingers, and I have cried myself -- I really have shed actual tears -- as I wrote this ending to Laurent and Fabrizio's love story.

      Or maybe it did not end. Part of me says they are both dead -- and that would give the chance for a new main character to take on 'the last canvas'. Another part says only one of them is dead -- probably Laurent, and then Fabrizio, who has the greatest fan club, would take on Interlude Two. But we will only know that when I actually start writing it.

      For now, on the next chapter we return to Book One, to Vice City in 2008, with Carlo and Laurent's conversation.

      I hope you'll remain with us, Lily.

      Thank you for reading and commenting, Lily -- it's really precious to me!

      Delete
  3. I had to come back to see if you had responded. And now the tears have welled up in my eyes again. I am so invested in both of these characters! It makes me sad to think that either of them would come to such a tragic end. If one were to survive the accident, could he survive the heartbreak? I honestly don't know. How it all plays out is for you to decide. I will continue on the journey with you, wherever you take it. How could I not? This story is so beautifully written and illustrated. You are truly talented, my friend.

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    Replies
    1. dear Lily, I am sorry I hadn't seen this comment before, and only today that LKSimmer has written a comment did I notice it.

      Thank you for you appreciation of my characters Laurent and Fabrizio and their love story. Like many boys out there in real life, they need a lot of support to build a relationship often considered "sinful", unacceptable and all that crap that undermine their love.

      It's been months now, and I still don't hold an answer to Laurent and Fabrizio's destiny, both individually and as a couple. I am writing Book Two at the moment, and Interlude Two is still a few months ahead and I don't want to look into it yet. There a few possibilities being considered.

      At the moment I write this, I recall one of Kurt Vonnegut’s Tips on How to Write a Great Story, which is "Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them -- in order that the reader may see what they are made of." I prefer the word "cruel" to "sadist"... I can make my characters suffer for the story's sake, but I don't feel any pleasure in it.

      Thank you very much for your words of encouragment about my story and the writing. I do need to read these during my writer's block.

      Thank you for reading and commenting, Lily!

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  4. Holy crap, Andante Zen! LOL. This ending to this interlude has me on the edge of my seat. A bad car accident, I am so hoping they're both okay. T_T I love them so much, LOL. It might kill me a little bit to wait to find out what has happened to Fabrizio and Laurent, since you said end of this interlude, LOL, I have to find the patience within myself hahaha. :D

    I'm glad that Laurent's time with Fabio gave him confidence, that helped him later on in his life. Yes! Standing up to the bullies! :) Good for Laurent.
    I enjoyed your parallel between same-sex love and straight love, how a same-sex couple can be completely committed to each other, but still be looked upon as vile, whereas a straight couple can have many affairs, but still be looked upon as normal. It's sad, and I wish people could be more accepting and actually see the relationship itself rather than labeling the relationship.

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    Replies
    1. I am also eager to find out what has happened to Laurent and Fabrizio, but I won't look into that until I actually start writing Interlude Two, in a few months or perhaps even a semester from now. The story and characters have their own will and logic; I am simply the one at their service, typing the letters. Let's wait. I truly hope you can wait. At the moment I am writing the first episodes of Book Two, and since they are prior to Laurent's accident, he will be seen on a mission again, digging for the foundations of his family and his own origins, trying to mend the past and his broken heart.

      Thank you for showing your love for the boys, they do need it. Laurent is continuously struck by the fact that many people condemn beforehand the love he can feel for another man, no matter how pure and sincere and dedicated it might be. I do think this kind of love shall never be thoroughly accepted, not on all corners of planet inhabited by a mankind that is so full of hatred and prejudice and self righteousness. May boys like Laurent and Fabrizio at least find a supporting environment of friends and perhaps family to nestle their love. Love.

      Fabio died, but he lived in Laurent as long as Laurent was alive and fighting his bullies back, and not tolerating any longer being abused. If just for that, Fabio's legacy was already a beautiful one.

      Thank you for reading and commenting, LKSimmer!

      Delete

Thank you for reading this online novel!

For the author, it is important and a privilege to get to know your thoughts and feelings about the story, so please do share them in the comments!

All comments and questions shall be answered, thus adding more details to 'the last canvas' :)

cheers!