| Rain poured down from the sky. It had been a warm day, the sun had shone bright so the stones of the city where warm. But now torrents of rain came down, it battered relentlessly against the windows. I sat alone in my living room. Another year had passed and it was spring now. A brief flash of lightning illuminated my dimly lit living room, and then the crash of thunder came like a faraway roar of some great beast. When the rain stopped twilight had gone, replaced by the warm humid night. I opened all my windows so that a cool breeze could blow in that would take the heat and the humidity with it. I relaxed standing in front of an open window letting the film of sweat blow away. I was alone, I did not mind. After Johan I had not wanted another companion, I favored being alone. The breeze stirred my curtains; they looked like strange phantoms. Suddenly I felt restless; I moved away from the windows and sat down in a chair. I relaxed again, or at least tried to. The night air filled my nostrils, it exited me. Again I got up; I could not sit still. I looked outside again; perhaps w walk would clear my head and cure me of my restlessness. So I closed my windows and went outside. Thin wisps of fog floated through the streets, illuminated by the moon they looked like spectral gossamer floating on the breeze. The streets where empty, most people where in their beds, tossing and turning, warm and sweaty, trying to fall asleep. I walked on, down the street, I took a turn and another. I did not know where I was going, just that I was going somewhere. Vienna seemed haunted, windows stood open but there was not sign of life behind them. Remnants of the clouds shrouded the stars and occasionally the moon. From far away I heard music, and then it vanished as if it hadn’t even been there was this music from heaven? Was Johan letting me know he was doing well? I shook my head and walked on. A feeling of confusion, of being lost crept along my spine and wrapped itself around my heart. It was like I was trying to find my way in a maze, and somewhere in this maze there was a Minotaur waiting for me. Would I find my way back without Ariadne’s thread? Was there a way back? I realized going back would be useless, there was nothing I wished to return to. Houses loomed up like monumental headstones shrouded in the ever-thickening fog. I realized that it was not I that was lost; it was I who had lost myself. The pain of losing Johan had ravaged my mind and left me confused. Could I still return to the time before Johan? Could I return to that world of dark desires? Love can break a man and perhaps even rob home of his sanity. Was that it? Was losing my sanity? Trees, bushes and fresh green grass filled my view; I had come upon a park. I sat down on a bench and stared of into the mist. What would Johan look like now? Could I still love such a desecrated form? Could I kiss his parched skin pulled so tightly over his bones? Could I caress his brittle hair, touch his withered loins? The thoughts where as fleeting and vague as the fog around me. The air began to cool and slowly the thin swirlings dissipated revealing the splendor of the park around me. Its nocturnal beauty astounded me; I was captivated by its mysteries as they unfolded before my eyes. Then a sound broke the spell, someone was coughing, a young male person I guessed by the sound of it. I looked, searching for the source of the sound. The source was indeed a young man. He had dirty blond hair, he was skinny and I could smell a film of cold sweat on his skin. He was breathing heavily. Yet even though he looked ill he somehow captivated me. I took him home; he weighed near to nothing in my arms. His fragile form huddled as close against me as it could. Once I reached my home I put him in my bed. Who was this young man, This pitiable creature that I had found in the park? His slender chest rose with each breath. His chest was covered with a light sheen of sweat that formed the tiniest of drops in the patch of downy hair in the middle of his chest. The silver moon made his skin seem paler as I watched him sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. He did not have the refined noble appearance Johan had, and though his features where quite fine, his beauty was more rugged and countryside-like. He lay there like an angel fallen from heaven, his arms outstretched, one leg straight and the other, knee slightly bend so his foot pointed outward and his heel almost touched the calf of the other leg. The sound of coughing woke me; the boy had woken up. It was dusk, apparently I had fallen asleep in my chair. He looked around a bit dazed and confused. I smiled and told him to relax, and then explained to him that I had taken him home because I did not think that the park was the proper place to sleep for a boy his age. I sensed he was afraid of me, of what I was going to do, but he was also very grateful for being taken in and allowed to sleep in a warm bed. Then I told him he could stay as long as he like as long as he took a warm bath, did not prove to be a nuisance, would adept to my waking and sleeping times and would be pleasant company. The boy agreed and I went to make a warm bath. Later that evening we sat in my living room. The boy was thoroughly washed and groomed, not to excess but thoroughly. I gave him some of my clothes, which where too large of course, but they would have to do for now. First we spoke a little, then the introduction. Again I introduced myself as Alexander Rabenstein; he introduced himself as Dieter Kralinger. His name was simple but I liked it. The windows in my living room where slightly ajar and a soft breeze made the candles flicker. In the candlelight Dieter’s hair looked like a dark kind of gold and his dark bleu eyes seemed brighter and more mysterious. After a few minutes of silence a gentle rhythm of raindrops on the windows began. There was no point in going outside now; we would only get wet. We just sat there in silence, I watched him and he looked up every once in a while and then averted his eyes from my gaze shyly. I watched him and knew that this boy could slate my carnal desire. But what was he thinking? Emotions flowed from him and I picked them up and I felt fear, gratitude and desire. What kind of desire I did not know, but it did light a spark of hope in me. When the silence became painful I asked him whom he was, where he came from and how he ended up on a bench in park in Vienna. The story he told me was one I could hardly believe, but I knew he could not have made it up and there for had to be true. All the while he was telling the story I heard soft music, from a piano. With Dieter’s help I wrote his story down in his exact words. |
| Chapter 5 |