Chapter 28
“His name was Gerard,” Mathieu said one evening a few days later when they were working on the maps in the kitchen.
It hadn’t escaped him that Sven had been avoiding him since they kissed; he hadn’t sat outside drawing during his breaks, like usual, but had gone up to his room.
They had continued on with the maps in the evening, but Sven hadn’t engaged in conversation with Mathieu.
Instead he had remained silent, focused on the task at hand.
It made sense that Sven would be confused after what had happened, and Mathieu wanted to tell him about his own transformation and his journey to becoming his true self.
Without Gerard it would never have been possible.
“Who?” Sven glanced up from the map.
“The young man who made me realize who I am, and helped me to accept it.”
Mathieu stood up, feeling that he needed to move while he was talking.
“We met at a dance in the village. He’d just arrived here; his family had bought Lassac, the vineyard three properties away.
” He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts.
“He was the kind of person who was always surrounded by others—both men and women. The women wanted to be with him, and so did the men. He saw everyone, paid attention to everyone. He was warm, friendly, and somehow world-wise, even though he’d never set foot outside Bordeaux. ”
Mathieu smiled as he spoke. “I saw him as soon as we walked in. The friend I was with knew him and introduced us. I felt something the second our eyes met. Love at first sight, if you like. His family were also winemakers, and we had lots to talk about—the latest harvest, the work at the vineyard. But he also told me about his dream of going to Paris and training to be a doctor. He loved to study and learn new things, and he really wanted to go to university. Hearing someone speak of their dreams like that was very unusual. Here in Bordeaux everyone stays and helps out in the vineyard, then takes over their parents’ business—that’s how it works.
We talked for hours that evening and became good friends. That was how it began.”
Mathieu smiled again at the memory.
“He came by a day or so later, and I showed him around. Then we cycled down to the river, laid a blanket on the sand dunes, and read books. Spring had arrived early that year. Every evening after our work was done, we met by the river. We brought cheese, bread, and fruit, and we read books and ate our food as the sun went down. Swam in the river when it was warm enough. It felt like that summer went on forever, in a good way. And we . . . we fell in love. At night we crept along to see each other through the underground passageways between our vineyards. No one has ever made me laugh like he did, and he taught me to love. Passionately. We kept our relationship secret, of course, but rumors started to circulate. Gerard’s parents were furious.
” Mathieu paused. “Around that time the war broke out, and we were both called up.”
Another pause as he prepared to tell Sven the rest—the painful conclusion.
“Just like me, he went away to war. We kept in touch at first, but then the letters stopped coming. A couple of weeks after France surrendered and I came home, my parents received this.”
He dug into his pocket and fished out the long silver chain with Gerard’s dog tag. His full name and date of birth. Mathieu stroked the cold metal.
“His parents had sent it to me.” He let the chain run through his fingers.
When the tag arrived it had still carried bloodstains, and he hadn’t wanted to touch it, hadn’t wanted to risk erasing the final traces of Gerard.
At the same time he’d wanted to keep it close, because it was the last thing that had touched Gerard’s warm chest. By now the blood had been worn away by his pocket and his fingers.
It seemed to Mathieu that telling Sven about Gerard, their relationship and the death of his beloved, signified a new beginning—maybe because he’d spoken of it he could start afresh now?
But it was also a way of doing for Sven the same thing that Gerard had once done for Mathieu.
He could see how Sven was struggling, trying to fight against his urges.
Which made Mathieu sad. What kind of life was it if you didn’t allow yourself to love?
Even if the person you loved was the wrong person in society’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Sven said quietly. “So your parents . . . know about Gerard? Is that why you’re in hiding?”
“They’ve never said anything directly, but . . . The Nazis showed up one day and asked about me, so that’s why they’re hiding me here. Everyone knows that the Nazis want to track down people like us.”
People like us.
Sven thought that he perhaps ought to place a consoling hand on Mathieu’s shoulder after what he had just shared, but he was finding it hard to take it all in, so instead he carried on with the map. He couldn’t look at Mathieu. He needed time to process everything he’d heard.
The kiss had terrified Sven. He had been convinced that he had infected Mathieu with his sick urges. He’d heard that this was possible, so he had lived under the delusion that he had somehow driven Mathieu to kiss him.
But now he realized that if Mathieu had once loved another man, then his unnatural tendencies had nothing to do with Sven. Mathieu had already been like that before they met, before Sven came into his life.
Sven had not led Mathieu into depravity. Mathieu was who he was, and his parents had accepted it.
When Mathieu said that he had loved Gerard passionately, Sven had been struck by an immediate and instinctive pang of jealousy.
Gerard sounded so full of life, so carefree, everything Sven associated with Mathieu.
Nothing like Sven, who brooded over every little thing, who suppressed all that he felt through work—either as a soldier or at the vineyard.
Even when he was supposed to be resting, he needed to draw, in order to avoid thinking too much.
A second later he realized how stupid it was to be jealous of a dead man. He could see how Gerard had helped Mathieu become the person he was—the person Sven was in love with.
He ought to be grateful to Gerard.
In the days that followed, Sven processed this new information and tried to understand who Mathieu was, who he himself was, while continuing to work peacefully in the vineyard.
No soldiers came calling, and the only people they saw were the Fosseys, the owners of Chateau du Boda, the vineyard next door, and their little boy, Jér?me.
They visited regularly with news and food, and the families exchanged produce from each other’s kitchen gardens.
They also tried to keep up to date with the Allies’ successes. The Germans were still fighting, but there were frequent reports of increased aggression. They were taking more prisoners, arresting anyone and everyone. It was a dangerous time.
The days were unbearably hot, and during the hours when the temperature was at its highest, Sven and Mathieu rested in the shade behind the house, while Hugo and Juliette sought refuge indoors.
On one of those days, Mathieu asked Sven to draw a portrait of him for his mother’s birthday.
They disappeared down to the cellar where it was cooler, and by the light of the flickering candles, Sven worked on Mathieu’s portrait.
He drew those beautiful, characteristic features, spending a long time on the slightly crooked nose, that thick hair.
The chiseled jawline was easy to capture, but the gray eyes with a hint of melancholy were more challenging.
Sven loved those eyes—they held the joy of life, but that joy was edged with sorrow.
This was something Sven had come to recognize in occupied France—the people were living under oppression, but no one could take away their hope and lust for life.
Sven tried to encapsulate all this in Mathieu’s portrait.
They worked like this for three days. On the third day, when Sven had finished, he put down his pencil and asked Mathieu to take a look. Mathieu gave the drawing a brief nod.
He then asked, “Do you want to start a new sketch?” Mathieu’s voice was hoarse as he slowly took off his shirt.
Sven was dumbstruck at first. Did Mathieu want Sven to draw him without his shirt on?
Should he do that? But then he stood up and carefully placed the portrait for Juliette on the wooden shelf.
Fetched a clean white sheet of paper, laid it on the table, and picked up the pencil.
He drew the first stroke, the line of Mathieu’s shoulder, then continued to work with focus.
Mathieu removed another piece of clothing, then another, until he was naked.
Sven studied every shadow, every curve, every single hair.
He drew frenetically, as if this were his first and last chance to see Mathieu’s naked body, even though he knew that this image would be etched on his consciousness for the rest of his life.
“I need a break,” Mathieu said after a while. He stood up and stretched. Took a step toward Sven. He wiped the perspiration from Sven’s brow with his thumb. Sven hadn’t even noticed that he was sweating, but now he realized that his shirt was almost soaked through.
Then Mathieu leaned forward. Kissed him. He tasted of salt, and something smooth. He played with Sven’s tongue, sucked on his lips, and Sven let himself be kissed. Waves of pleasure surged through his body.
This was what it was like to kiss someone you desired.
The unbearable heat continued. Early one morning a few days later, Mathieu was helping with the work in the field. Both men were sweating profusely.
“I need to cool down,” Mathieu said, glancing at Sven.
“In the house?”
“In the river.” He gazed at Sven for a long time, and Sven’s body immediately came to life.
After the kiss in the cellar, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else, but they hadn’t had an opportunity to be together.
He wanted to go with Mathieu now; he had to go with him.
As if he were under a spell, he put down his tools and followed Mathieu in the direction of the forest.
Mathieu confidently led the way along the forest tracks.
They were hidden by the dense trees, Sven told himself.
No one could see them. No one could see Mathieu.
What would happen if someone did see him?
If he gave himself away? People would start asking questions, wondering why the Latorres’ son was home.
The Germans would hear about it, and Mathieu was already on their list.
This adventure was dangerous. A lethal game.
They kept going, and when they reached the edge of the forest, they continued down the riverbank. The water was shimmering, almost azure blue.
Mathieu pulled off his shirt, his pants.
Then his underwear. With only a few strides, he was in the water.
Sven remained standing on the bank. Mathieu beckoned him, and eventually Sven took a few hesitant steps, then removed his shirt and pants.
The sun was burning his shoulders. He hesitated for a few seconds, then took off his underwear.
He made his way resolutely down the bank and waded out into the river, the reeds scratching his calves, then kept on going in the crystal-clear water that was so wonderfully refreshing around his ankles, cooling the blood pumping through his overheated body.
He felt free. He could almost forget about the German soldiers who were just a mile or so away.
He heard Mathieu laughing out loud. It was a fantastic sound.
“What if someone sees us?” Sven said as reality suddenly caught up with him.
“It’s only for a little while,” Mathieu said. “I can’t stand being a prisoner in the house and the vineyard any longer.” He splashed the water all around him. “I want to breathe.” He turned his face up to the sky, spread his arms wide, and fell backward, allowing the water to embrace him.
Sven did the same, then dove and swam underwater with his eyes open. The fractured sunlight filtering down through the surface of the river danced in front of him until his eyes hurt.
When he came up again, Mathieu was spinning around and around, causing the water to ripple in wide circles around him. When he was done, he swam along the shore until he reached a tree trunk growing out across the river, then clambered up it.
“Come here!” he shouted, and Sven followed him.
Mathieu jumped down and made a big splash, not graceful in the least. They kept on swimming back and forth, competing to see who could swim to the trunk the fastest. Sven won every time, until the last time.
He was almost there when Mathieu seized his foot, pulled him back, and quickly overtook him.
“That’s cheating!” Sven laughed, grabbing hold of Mathieu’s bare shoulders, slippery from the water. He pushed him under the surface as Mathieu fought back and bounced back up, laughing too.
“How can you be so happy? You’re amazing,” Sven said as they breathlessly treaded water in the shade of the tree’s long branches. He thought about how much he had laughed since he had gotten to know Mathieu. He hadn’t laughed like that for several years.
“You have to live, find happiness where you can.” Mathieu moved closer to Sven, tucked his hair behind his ears, gazed at him for a long time. They were close to the bank now, their feet touching the bottom. Sven felt the muddy, soft, sandy riverbed beneath his toes.
“Painting, drawing, swimming, sneaking away from home. In spite of everything that’s going on. That’s the happiness we need,” Mathieu said. “Kissing. Is something we need.” He gently kissed Sven’s lips. “We have to dance in the darkness,” he whispered, letting his wet lips caress Sven’s.
Sven nodded in agreement as the words, the kiss, and Mathieu’s touch sank in. Mathieu was probably right.
Then he pressed his body against Mathieu’s and kissed him harder. He tasted sweet, from the river water. Sven put his arms around Mathieu’s neck, felt Mathieu’s thick, wet hair against his arms. His naked body, so close. His hardness against Sven’s thigh, Mathieu inhaled sharply, deepened the kiss.
A sound interrupted them. The snapping of a branch echoed across the river, and they drew apart. Sven turned around.
A shadow was moving among the trees.