THE ODD COUPLE by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2005 written on September 28th 1993 translated by the author English text kindly revised by Dave
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"THE ODD COUPLE" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.
CHAPTER 1ONE - The return
He looked around. The town seemed exactly as when he had left, yet different in a way he could not quite discern. He recognized the progression of arches, the sober facades on the buildings, the shadowy hills in the distance, even most of the shops. The streetcar was of a different shape and color. The paired greens had given way to an absurd orange. He looked inside the old stationer's shop with its windows that still held the same old Alinari prints, the same vintage pictures... and saw the same old proprietor lady. Twenty years later and she was still there - as if time had stopped! Moved, he entered.
"Bund"!" the old lady greeted him curtly in the region's harsh twang.
He remembered her well: seventy years old then, seventy years old now - with the same little crocheted gray woolen cape.
"May I help ye?" the old woman asked her stately client.
"Do you still have the reproduction of Leonardo's man? You know the one in a square and a circle."
Nodding once when she understood, she said, "Yeh. Stay there; I'll get it down for ye." She went to the end of the little shop and with surprising agility, climbed a stool to retrieve from the highest shelf a black imitation leather portfolio fastened with three loops of ragged black cotton ribbon. Laying it on the counter, she opened it and began to leaf through the sepia prints.
"Is that one, yeh?" She showed him a sheet.
Stefano smiled. Twenty-five years ago he had bought an identical print - there - in that shop from the same old woman. "Yes. Right. I'll buy it."
"12,000 liras."
"Alright."
"How d' ye wan me t' wrap it, flat or rolled?"
"Flat, thank you. I will put it in my case." Stefano wondered if the old lady remembered him, but to ask would have been absurd. So he paid and went out.
That simple purchase, he knew, was a pathetic attempt to reestablish connections severed more than twenty years ago. He was deeply changed. He had left the town young and freshly graduated from the university to live his life with Carlo. Thinking of Carlo filled his eyes again. He had come back to Turin not so much because he loved this city, but because he could no longer stand Bologna now that Carlo was dead. Every corner of that town screamed Carlo's name. Wherever he went, Carlo's ghost was just moving out of sight.
He couldn't help it that he had fled. He came back to Turin, where at least there were only faint memories from his youth - where he had met Carlo young and handsome and alive - oh! And how very much alive. Bologna now harbored only memories of the slow agony of his lover's death.
He passed the University: the same stands of used books, the same youths passing through its ornate, big, wrought iron gate. On impulse he entered the courtyard only to find that it had become a parking lot. Troubled, he lifted his eyes to the arcades of the first floor loggia, looking for the marble busts of distinguished past faculty members. At least those were the same. He crossed the courtyard and went out the back gate. The old road with its round paving stones was unchanged, but wait! They had rebuilt the side of the Royal Theatre at last. Its style, though modern, did not clash with the other architecture. He followed the road to the square. Here too, things reminded him of before, even though they had changed subtly.
His reflection stared at him from a shop window. He was different, too - not just his hair and his skin, but his eyes seemed more veiled now. Carlo had taken so much of Stefano's vitality with him to his grave. He sighed, long and fluttery, and went around the square under the porticos to the taxi stand. Getting into one, he gave the address and during the short ride to the old house, contemplated his folded hands. Stefano paid the driver. Deliberately he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, took out his keys to unlock the door, and entered.
His steps echoed through the empty rooms. Here is where he would start over. This apartment was not only a reasonable rent, it was also far from his old house and that of Carlo's family. Although could it matter? They might not even still live there now. Carlo had been adamant in his love for Stefano, defying his Orthodox Hebrew family. His father had disowned him. Stefano, alone since nineteen, didn't have such worries -alone, like now, but with thirty more years on his shoulders, and a great yawning chasm in his heart.
The cleaning agency had done good work. The walls were white as snow, the frames matte black, and the flooring a bright red brick pattern - all spotless. Vapors of fresh paint filled the bright rooms. He looked at his watch. The movers were due at five p.m. He had given them the other set of keys, just in case, but he knew he would be back in time. He opened windows to air out the place and went out.
He didn't know who his neighbors might be, nor did he care. There were no names on the mailboxes in the entry, just numbers - a modicum of anonymity. His place was number eleven. Crossing Saint Martin Boulevard, Stefano went to eat at a nearly empty Chinese restaurant. The waiter took his order and in a few minutes, delivered his lunch. As he ate, Stefano wondered if it would be better to leave the hotel that day or keep the room one more day.
He decided to keep it. By the time the movers finished, he would have little time to make up his bed - better to wait until the next day when he would have time to unpack and put everything away. Finishing the meal, Stefano dabbed his lips with the napkin, tipped the waiter, and went out into the street. From a tobacconist he bought a pack of Merit 100s, and standing under the porticoes, he lit one.
"Wait - aren't ye Steu?" he heard a surprised voice say. He turned and saw smiling at him a well-dressed man perhaps ten years older than he, with thin salt-and-pepper hair, a little full but not fat. Stefano thought hard then guessed: "Piergiorgio?"
"Yes, indeed, my dear man! This really is a nice surprise. Passing through or back to the pen?" They shook hands warmly.
Stefano replied, "Back home, Pigg"."
"Ha! Y' know, ye didn't change one little bit! How'd ye manage to stay so young?"
"You seem okay, too."
"Not at all! I lose hair and gain weight - a bad exchange, that! Th' age, y'know. But thank God m'health is good. Are ye alone? How is Carlo?" Pigg" asked.
"Carlo? He is no more with me."
"Oh, did you separate?"
"In a way."
"Well, m' friend, all great loves haven t' end, unfortunately. How long have ye been apart?"
"Since this summer."
"Well, fuk it all! And after twenty years an' more! Did he leave ye?"
"Yes, he is dead."
"Oh, Steu! I'm s' sorry. Please fergive me. I wouldn' hev dreamed - he was younger than I! Oh, God, how sad. How did he die?"
"Cancer." said Stefano with a wan smile.
"Oh, my. He must hev suffered much..."
"Yes, particularly in the last year. But let's not talk about it. What are you doing, Pigg"?"
"Oh, of course, of course - I'm sorry! I run a pub."
"Your old bar?"
"Oh, no, I gev that up. Then I tried bein' a travelin' soft drink salesman, but I missed my bar too much. So I started managin' a beer garden. Gredully I've trensformed it into a gay pub with good customers and good business. You mus come see it! Some of our old friends still come around, but there are also many nice youths who give it a lot of spirit and are easy on the eyes, too. Thank goodness the gays don't need t' hide th' way they did in our day."
"And, what of your love life?"
Piergiorgio laughed, "Thet? Oh it's a longr story, many adventures, but fewer recently. Oh, good God! I don' complain. Th' time when youths just dug youths is past. Thet's good fer me!"
"Oh? Something nice under way?"
"No, I'm free as a bird fer now. There is one at th' pub who makes eyes at me, but he's too swishey. What could we do togethr, jest crochet?" The man laughed. Stefano smiled.
Piergiorgio continued, "Where d'ye live now?"
Stefano gave him his address.
"Ah, it's close t' here! Telephon?"
"Not yet," Stefano replied. "I probably will apply for one soon."
"Stefano, you mus' come t' th' pub an' see me. Here. This is th' address." The man offered him a colored card. "Will ye come?"
"Sure, Pigg". As soon as I can get settled."
"Y' promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
"I really would like t' renew our friendship."
"Thanks, Pigg", I would, too."
They talked a while more then parted. Stefano gazed after him as Pigg" shuffled away. His old friend was a nice man - good and sweet. They had met at the movies when he was eighteen and Pigg" twenty-nine. Their short affair ended in a lasting friendship. Yes, he was happy he had found Pigg". He looked at the card. The pub's name was Taboo. Its hours were 7:00 p.m. to 3:00 a.m. and closed on Tuesdays. He put the card in his pocket and resolved to go there, maybe even tomorrow.
Stefano looked at his watch. There were still three hours before the movers would arrive. The time lay heavy on him. What should he do? Lighting another cigarette, he realized he was rather cold. Then he remembered a gay sauna close by across the boulevard. He crossed and looked for it. It was still there.
He entered, undressed, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Then he wandered the aisles to learn the layout of the place. There were just two other customers, middle-aged men chatting in low voices in one of the small lounges. They cast appraising looks as he passed. Finding the showers, he went in and washed himself at length until he felt his body absorbing the pleasant warmth of the water. He felt relieved.
Stepping out, he dried himself then went into the wide sauna cabin, passing again in front of the two men still chatting. He lay down on his towel on the top most bench and stayed a long time while his thoughts wandered and he relaxed. Soon a small sweat began to cover him. It ran down his body in little rivulets that tickled him pleasantly. For over a year, no one had touched him - not after Carlo had entered the hospital only to leave in a wooden coffin. Silent tears mixed with the sweat on his cheeks.
"Don't leave me, Carlo," he had implored just before the end.
And his lover had answered him, "I will never leave you, even though I am dying. I'm part of you now." Lightly, Carlo had squeezed his hand. Yes, the nurses understood about them. The men's glances, their little gestures of affection, though discreet, still spoke clearly. But not one nurse ever had the slightest sneer.
On the contrary, when Carlo took his last breath, the nurse on duty had squeezed Stefano's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity and comfort, whispering, "Now his suffering is over, poor man."
"Yes..." Stefano had answered in a choked voice.
"Now you try not to suffer too much, professor," she had said gently.
Just then, the door to the sauna opened. A young man entered and looked at Stefano. Deliberately, he removed his towel, put it on the bench opposite the older man, and sat down with his legs slightly open to display his soft genitals.
Stefano hoped that his sweat would mask his tears. He could feel the other man's gaze roam his body, focus on his own genitals then on his face. He was neither offended nor pleased. Now out of the corner of his eye he could see the other stand and come to his side, standing on the lower bench, smiling slightly.
"You have a nice body," he said, as he glided a hand over Stefano's sweating skin. Stefano let the young man caress him but did not respond. Although the touch was agreeable, Stefano did not feel aroused. His member, though carefully caressed, continued to lie softly on his thigh.
"Am I bothering you?" asked the younger man.
Stefano slightly shook his head no.
"But you aren't aroused - am I not your type?"
Stefano looked at him. "It's not that. You have a beautiful body; I'm just not in the mood. Sorry..."
The young man nodded but continued to caress him, running his hand over Stefano's stomach and chest. "You seem sad," he said, looking into Stefano's eyes.
"I am - terribly."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No... uh, I don't know.
The young man sat next to him. "If you want to be alone just tell me."
"No," Stefano said, "you don't bother me, really. It's just that I don't feel like..."
"Yes, I understand. It happens. I've never seen you here. Are you just passing through?"
"No, I just moved."
The young man nodded then said, "You really are a handsome man."
Stefano smiled bitterly and said, "Maybe so twenty years ago, but I am forty- eight."
"No! I thought surely ten less than that. You must do a lot of sports."
"I did, mainly tennis, with my lover."
"Are you still together?"
"No, I'm alone now."
"Then that's why you are sad?"
Stefano nodded, feeling a lump in his throat.
The other, perceiving his emotion, said kindly, "It is recent isn't it? You're still hurting, right?"
All Stefano could do was nod.
"Do you want to talk about it? It helps, you know. It's not good to keep it all inside. If you want..."
Stefano could sense the warmth in the younger man's voice, so he began to speak of his loss. As he did, the other continued to caress him - no longer erotically but compassionately. Stefano was grateful. After all, he needed a little affection, even if from a stranger. When the older man finished his story, the younger said, "Let's leave the sauna, okay? We can shower, and then I'll get you something at the sauna bar." Stefano nodded. In his heart, he was grateful to the other for not mouthing the same old trite consolations.
As they showered, Stefano admired the younger man's lean body. They had finished and were drying off when Stefano said, "I am Stefano; and you?"
"Ugo - happy to meet you." He smiled slightly. They sat down in one of the small lounges and Ugo called their orders over the intercom to the bar service. When the waiter brought the drinks, Ugo had him put all on his bill.
"Are you alone?" Stefano asked him.
Ugo looked away. "Uh, no... I am with a boy named Gillo. He is out of town now, and I thought I could just, uh, you know, take advantage of the chance for something a little different."
"Well, you sure missed out on that with me." Stefano said, smiling at him.
"Oh, no it's not that. I don't really need the sex. It's really okay with Gillo. It's just that, well at times, it's very hard for me to be really faithful."
"How long have you and Gillo been together?"
"Five years. I have cheated on him five or six times so far. I don't think he has ever cheated on me. If he knew what I do, he would be quite hurt. He trusts me." Again he looked away from Stefano. "I... ah... I really don't deserve him, you know."
"Perhaps fidelity is not just a physical thing."
"You two, Stefano, in twenty years, you never cheated on each other?"
"Never. I think we both felt free to have an adventure. Maybe it is because we did feel free - who knows? We just never seized the opportunity."
"That's wonderful! I always promise myself to stop after I have cheated, but then I fall right back into it again."
"Well, once a year - can that be so bad?"
"If Gillo knew, he would suffer. I know that."
"But he doesn't know now."
"The trouble is that I know, Stefano."
"Why don't you talk with him? Carlo and I always told each other everything."
"I'm afraid Gillo would not understand. For him, only I exist."
"Do you live together?"
"Yes, for two years now."
"Is it hard for you?"
"Oh, not at all! When Gillo and I are together it never enters my mind to cheat on him. We come to the sauna together two or three times a week - we have a yearly membership. We chat with friends, we relax..."
"Aren't you worried that your friends here will tell your boyfriend if they see you here with me?"
Ugo smiled. "You are the first one I have tried to pick up here in the sauna. Today there is nobody we know. And then, thanks to you, nothing happened between us."
"In another moment, I might have said yes to you." Stefano said wryly.
"Then, it's better the way it happened."
Two other customers who knew Ugo came in. One, a youth about twenty-five years old called Fred was with his boyfriend Paolo, nineteen. They made an odd couple. Fred was very macho, with bulging muscles though not the fanatical bodybuilder type. Paolo was thin, slightly effeminate. Ugo introduced them and for a while the four chatted. Then Fred and Paolo entered the sauna.
Ugo explained, "They both still live with their families, so they come here to make love. Before Paolo met Fred a year ago, he was a hustler. Fred is a very jealous, possessive stud, and Paolo likes that. He only hustled rarely, but not because he needed to. His family is quite rich. I think he did it more as a challenge to his parents' middle-class respectability. But I don't know for sure. He is a good boy. He needs a strong, protective man like Fred."
"They seem to be in love." Stefano observed.
"Oh, yes, they are very much so. They complement each other nicely. Fred gives Paolo safety and confidence and Paolo responds with tenderness and kindness. Fred has also improved by being with Paolo. He is more balanced. I think he feels the responsibility for his boy."
Fred and Paolo came out of the sauna and went into one of the little rooms. Fred led his friend by one hand. Paolo had shiny eyes. Stefano recalled Carlo, who in almost the same way, had taken his hand and guided him to their bed to make love.
"Lucky them!" Stefano mumbled nodding with his head toward the roomette.
Ugo nodded with a smile, then said, "I like you very much, Stefano. I'm not suggesting that we have sex, but I would like for you to become our friend - mine and Gillo's. I am sure that Gillo would like you very much, also. Come back here next Monday, around six p.m. We will be here then."
"I'd like that, Ugo, but what will you tell Gillo about how we met? Will he not suspect something?"
"No, I will simply tell him that I met you here in the sauna. That's the truth, isn't it? He is not suspicious. He trusts me - poor Gillo!"
"Don't feel too guilty. You do love him, right?"
"Yes, but not as much as he loves me."
"You'll grow..." Stefano said, simply.
"You talk to me like I'm a kid. You're right to do that you know. That's how I feel - just immature like a kid."
"We are all immature in our own ways, Ugo. We never stop growing. In a couple, it just seems to be easier, better," the older man concluded
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 2
In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is http://andrejkoymasky.com If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English translations, so that I can put on-line more of my stories in English please e-mail at andrej@andrejkoymasky.com