Bente didn’t protest as he finished getting dressed.
He felt torn. Should he think about her in this moment, or about himself? Part of him wanted to throw his arms around her, take away all the pain she was feeling, destroy it.
Another part just wanted to get out of here.
He turned and walked out of the apartment.
Bente made no attempt to stop him.
28
1944
“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 hisunnatural tendencieshad 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 Gerardpassionately, 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.
