Hidden Away (34 page)
I imagine Kurt blushing. His posture in the chair is more relaxed than I’ve seen from him. While he’s described what types of sexual encounters he was forced to have with the commandant of the camp, I can’t help but think deep down, Kurt is inexperienced. Vulnerability is an attractive trait. Obviously, if I want to push a physical relationship, I would have to do so carefully. He’s a timid mouse, and I can’t go for him like I’ve gone for other men. I can’t be a ferocious lion, no matter how desperately I want to be.
“What about you, Kurt?”
“Pardon—excuse me?”
When I give him a grin at his change in words, he drops his eyes back down to his lap. “Is it difficult to keep your secret?”
“In the camp we wore the pink triangle, so everyone knew. Before that I was very shy and thought no one knew, but….” After a moment, he speaks again. “And here, I talk with very few people. I do my best not to be noticed.”
I think he responds with “Yes,” but I’m not sure of it. He points to the bottle and asks, “Why do you drink?”
“I have dreams, and—”
“And this helps?”
“It seems like wastefulness, then. What do you dream about? You dream about the camp, about the war?”
The question drapes me with uncomfortable tension. I think of telling him about the terror and gore and hellishness of my dream with the bodies and the blood, but instead I say, “I’ve been dreaming about you.”
“At first I thought you were a Nazi, so you were one of the men I killed or you killed me. Now, typically you’re a prisoner, and I can’t save you.”
I hold up my hands as if I can protect myself from his loud voice. “I know, but I didn’t when I
first saw you. You have blond hair and blue eyes and the facial structure of… but I know you’re not. I know what they did, but before I knew you, I was just trying to make sense of it all. Do you understand?”
I can stand the physical separation no longer. He might be timid, but perhaps he needs someone who isn’t afraid to be bold. Maybe he’ll never feel comfortable enough to come to me, letting me see that he might want what I want, so I rise and then sink back down onto my knees in front of him.
Kurt is no longer relaxed, so I shush him. I can feel the whiskey in my body. It is setting fire to every piece of flesh and bone and every drop of blood within me. Everything about him radiates anxiety and nervousness, but still, I put my palms to the outsides of his legs. Our eyes connect and suddenly, I’m as nervous as he looks.
I lay my head on his knees and forget about the awkwardness of it all. Not sure of where this might lead or what I am even doing, I take several deep breaths and let my eyes slip closed. To my great relief and pleasure, I feel his hand rest on my head. One of his fingers trails the curve of my ear before his whole hand stills.
But forever is not a timeframe set in reality. I get him for perhaps ten minutes before he nudges me off of him and stands. “I must go.”
Rising to my full height, I can feel the heat in my face. I could’ve been embarrassed by my weak display of neediness, but I’m not. The burning within my body is desire. I take his hands, but he looks away. I keep one hand in mine and use the other to cup his face. “Do I scare you?”
The light from the streetlamps beyond my screened in porch shimmers in his eyes. Tears are threatening to spill, and I’m ready to see them, so I brush just under his eyelashes with a knuckle, wiping away the wetness.
“No,” he answers, “I’m not afraid of you.” “Then what is it?”
“I’m afraid of the… of the situation. We must
To my inebriated mind, his words sound like an invitation, so I move in and kiss him. It’s quick because he pulls his head back, his hand slipping from within mine. He’s so fast that I can’t process what his lips felt like.
“That is not careful, John! We are outside. People can see what it is you do!”
I retake his hands and tug him closer. “We’re not outside. Trust me. No one can see what’s happening on my porch. It’s dark and—”
“
You
trust
me
. People can
always
see what is going on. Everywhere. No matter how sneaky you think you are, someone else will be there to prove to you that everything is—”
“This isn’t Germany, Kurt. This is California, and it’s not—”
He takes a step back, and I lose his hands in mine again. “It’s not that different than where I am from. You have a nice life here, and I won’t put it at risk, and if you cannot see what you will lose with your carelessness, then I will not be a part of any of it. I won’t be the cause of your….”
“My what?”
“I must go.”
I’m not quick enough to stop him, and even if I could, I know I shouldn’t.
the next day missing Kurt, but I don’t seek him out. Instead, I meet Charles at the bar. “Are you ready to go back?”
He’s asking about school, so I respond, “No. I think I’m going to just be a bum.”
In the dramatic fashion I love about him, he rolls his eyes. “Like you ever could be.”
I shoot my eyebrows up as I swallow a gulp of beer. “I could. I could just hop trains and travel from town to town.”
“Yes. You could be the mysterious man who waltzes into sleepy little towns and takes lovers left and right, only to leave them when the 6:15 rolls in.”
We both chuckle, but then he says, “Or you could just buckle down, finish your degree, and go on to riches, fame, and glory.”
After minutes of focusing on our drinks and watching the men around us, he asks, “How’d the date go?”
“You’ve never cooked for
me
before, so how can I have faith in your ability? I’ve been friends with you for years and all you’ve ever done for me was grill a steak.”
He ignores my dismissal and continues, “When shall I expect an invitation to dinner so that I may have the opportunity to assess this man’s quality of character. I can’t have you falling in love with just anyone so—”
“Will you stop it? I’m not falling in love. Just spending time with him.” The words aren’t convincing to me, so I have no hope that Charles will believe them.
“Don’t be so damned scared of it. I’m happy for you. You need a man to love you.” He drags his eyes up and down my body. “And to help you get dressed in the morning.”
Waiting for Kurt to come to me is nervewracking, and I almost falter. I drive by the Fourniers’ near dusk, but go back home where dreams overtake my restful sleep. By noon the next day, my resolve slips again, but as I pull open the door, I find Kurt on the other side.
“Hello,” he says. He’s holding a loaf of bread wrapped in thin linen. “Flori sent me with this.” He holds out the bread, a blush coloring his cheeks, lips curved slightly.
“It’s good to see you, Kurt,” I say as I hold the door open for him. As he passes me, my stomach jumps and excitement floods me.
It gives me something to do besides stare at him. I could look at him all day, half because he’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever laid eyes on, and half because the closer I look at him, the more small scars and imperfections I see. I’m not sure if I want to hear all the stories behind each one, because the collection tells me all I need to know: He’s a wounded man, like me.
“Thank you, John,” he says as he takes the cup from me. Now I know what people mean when they say their heart melts because it feels like mine has each time he pronounces my name.
We stand in my kitchen, drinking coffee and staring at each other. Finally, I think of something to ask. “School starts back up soon. Will you have to go back to work?”
Kurt sets his empty cup on the counter, then lets his arms hang down by his sides. “I am not suited to be around large groups of people. Also, the pressure is too great.”
“To speak correctly when the instructor asks a question. Sometimes I slip back in time, and when I do, I can’t break out of it. People here don’t understand, and it frightens them.”
“I understand.” I place my cup next to his. His breathing changes when I’m close to him, but he doesn’t seem like he wants me to back off. “The shrinks call it ‘shell shock’. Sometimes I do the same thing; slip back into the past. It’s like I’m there.”
I shake my head and risk touching him by placing a hand at his elbow. “No. I had to when I first got out, but I don’t want to talk about all that shit with strangers.”
It hurts that he says it. “We’re not. Just because we don’t know each other well, doesn’t mean we’re strangers. And you’ve been through shit too, so it’s the same as talking to some military officer who happens to hold a medical degree. You won’t judge me or write it down on a little piece of paper that’ll go in my file when I tell you about the dead kids in France whose bodies were left to rot after a bombing. You won’t ask me a hundred questions because you don’t need words to tell you how it feels witnessing horror like that.”
Very slowly, Kurt brings his hand up to my face. Only his index finger touches me. As he glides it down my cheekbone, I move my hand on his arm until my fingers are twisted in his. We stare into each other’s eyes. I love the feel of his touch, so I deepen it by pressing my cheek into the palm of his hand.
Our chests touch. He lets out a breath that sweeps over me. This is what it feels like to be intoxicated without alcohol. I’m pulled to him; attention only on the man before me. I’m too close to look into his eyes, so I drop my gaze, retraining it on his lips. They are inviting.
His hand drops to my neck, then to my shoulder. I hold his hips and kiss him. It’s deeper than the one last night, but he doesn’t let it linger for long. He breaks the connection and steps away, eyes darting to the window behind the sink.
“No one can see. Trust me, I’ve lived here for a while, and I’ve had many….” I stop as I think better of telling him how many men I’ve had here. “Sorry, I won’t do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
I turn away from him and rinse out the coffee cups. “My friend Charles wants to meet you,” I say.
“You mustn’t talk to anyone about me.”
“When they tortured me, I gave them the name of a casual acquaintance. He was arrested and killed because I gave him up. Your friend Charles will be no different. When they are breaking his fingers and slicing his flesh with knives, he’ll say my name because it’s easier than the alternative.”
He pulls his brow tight so the crease is deep between them. “How do you think we can live open? Even here, it’s not acceptable to be queer.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, John. If I could be better for you, I would, but I am who I am and can’t help it. I know what can happen when I’m not careful.”
I go to him. “I don’t want you to be a different person. I just want you to know that you’re safe with me. I’m not—”
“You don’t understand. You’ve never been beaten for being a homosexual. You’ve never seen your friends—”
I quiet him with another kiss and love that he lets me. “Let’s not go around in circles, Kurt,” I say when I pull away. “You’re frightened, and I understand that, but what was the point of fighting to survive in the camp if you’re giving up any hope of regaining goodness in your life?”
He answers, “I don’t know. After Peter, I did not fight. I simply floated. Luck brought me through the end of the war. Well, luck and Jules.”
“Do you want to tell me about that?” The question in his eyes makes me define it. “About luck after Peter?”
Kurt visibly flinches when I say Peter’s name. “I lived in the orchestra barrack with the other musicians. It was best. Block 10 held too many memories of Peter. They were all laid out the same, but I slept with no one. There were only twelve of us with a barrack elder who was more interested in himself than helping the SS torture others. He already had a lover, so I was safe.”
He worries the scar, pinching it tightly. It’s when he begins to twist it that I pull his hand away and hold it.
“Besides, it was easy for everyone to see that I was unavailable for things such as that. I was with the commandant every day. Jules gathered me after roll call and walked with me at the day’s end to ensure I didn’t go too close to the fence.”
“It was a favorite game of the guards. If an inmate walked too closely to the electrified fence, they were shot for trying to escape. Or, if the prisoner wasn’t deemed worthy of a bullet, the guards made sure he found his way closer. Sometimes they would leave the bodies hanging on the fence for days. The smell of cooked human flesh can stay with you for weeks.”
The entire Dachau compound smelled horrific, so I wonder how he could’ve separated that smell from the rest. “I know what you mean,” I say. “I’ve smelled a lot of burnt skin and flesh. I think I can still smell it.”
