This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

 

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments.

 

Love It or Leave It

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

 

Fifty-two

(Sunday, October 23rd)

Our shower and shave are only to get clean, and we hurry down to see what Geneviève is up to. There's a note on the kitchen counter, next to the keys.

Marty reads it and tells me that she is staying at a hotel across from the cemetery. We’ll see her tomorrow at the interment.

Do you think that she's pissed off at us?" Marty's problem of always feeling guilty is surfacing again.

I couldn't care less." is all I can offer on the subject, when the doorbell rings. Marty goes to answer it, since I’m making coffee.

Good morning, Mister Mongrain-Bourke,” Jaén’s soft-spoken voice filters in from the corridor. “is your brother in?”

Marty shows him into the kitchen. Jaén’s voice becomes shy, almost introverted. “I’m too early, I know. But my aunt had trouble sleeping, so she relieved me. Am I bothering you?"

I step over to where he’s standing behind Marty in the doorway and kiss him on the mouth. His face ignites, causing Marty to blush in solidarity. I stand back for a good look, and am pleased at what I see. "How did you know that we're brothers?"

This makes Jaén chuckle. “Have you ever looked into a mirror together?”

I look at Marty; he laughs and shrugs. I look at Jaén. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think we ever have.”

You are so much alike,” Jaén continues to blush. “that I have to use the mark on your brother’s neck to tell you apart.”

It’s new to me that the scar of his war injury is visible that high. I take a close look at Marty’s neck. “I’d never noticed that before.” I smile and kiss the scar.

Sometimes love retouches vision.” Jaén explains, causing Marty's face to continue flushing. "You shouldn't be embarrassed, Mister Mongrain-Bourke, that's why I have a beard.”

The scar doesn’t embarrass me,” Marty sighs. “the attention does.” He sighs again. “Please, call me Martin or Marty.”

And I’m Jaén.” he introduces himself with kisses to both of Marty's cheeks.

When Marty misunderstands the French greeting, he returns the kiss, albeit just as chaste, but on the man’s bearded mouth. Jaén’s body goes rigid, probably partly out of shock and partly in anticipation of trouble with me. When I laugh, he wants to know if I’m not angry with him.

My dear, Jaén, you’ll have to do a lot more than that to make me angry." I run my hand over the right side of his beard and kiss him. "How do you want your coffee?"

Sweet, like you.” His voice is soft, filled with self-consciousness.

Sitting at the kitchen table in front of the window to the courtyard I’m mesmerised at what Jaén is telling us. Marty is intermittently glancing at Jaén then at me then back at Jaén, letting me know that he has something on his mind.

When Jaén finishes telling us about how his family took the deed and the key of their home with them when they left Ishbiliyah, now known as Seville. And when he had to leave Constantine, the city of bridges, he did the same.

I let the conversation pause before asking him point blank: "Would it be all right if Marty came along with us?"

He beams at Marty then at me. “I would be honoured. Not only one but two lovely gentlemen at my side.”

This, of course, makes Marty blush, feeling that he is intruding. At some point, I think it would be worthwhile to pay a visit to Lebanon, Missouri just to tell his parents what an absolutely crappy job they did.

It’s odd how this thought triggers the next: I most likely will never see Missouri again, which causes Marty to ask me if I’m all right.

I nod slowly and look pensively at Jaén. "Have you ever been back?"

He shakes his head. “I’m not allowed.” Then he looks at me sadly. “Besides, I no longer know anyone there. Everyone is either dead or has emigrated. That's why they call me a displaced person.”

No, you’re not!” Marty moves fast when he hugs Jaén, startling him and turning over his own empty coffee cup with his elbow. "You are no longer displaced. You’ve got us.”

At first Jaén looks as if someone had used an electrical cattle prod on his nuts. Then, seeing my smiling face, he relaxes in Marty’s arms and ends up resting his head on big brother’s shoulder with his moist eyes closed.

Marty is the first to break the silence. “Who did this to you?”

Jaén gives Marty a look of helplessness. “The story is very long.”

"Then start at the beginning.” Marty orders, giving Jaén no option.

When I was little, the Mohammedanians hated Israel for the displaced Palestinians in 1948, so they attacked Jews. And then the FLN hated the French for colonialism, so the attacked the French, and in particular the harkis.”

Whoa, Little Buddy,” Marty is just as confused as I am. “you’ll have to explain all this. You’re talkin’ to two hillbillies, here.”

Hillbillies?” Jaén looks hopefully at me.

I grin. « Péquenauds. » His eyes blink; he nods understandingly, and he leans across the corner of the table to kiss me.

Let me collect my thoughts.” His left hand is resting on my right, as his right hand searches for one of Marty’s. Marty places his left hand on the table, and Jaén sees the wedding band. “Are you married?”

Yes, of sorts. I’m both the lover and adopted son of Dan's father. So, you were telling us about the Mohammedanians hating Israel."

Jaén's confusion is just short of debilitating. “You’re half brothers?”

No.” I tell him truthfully. “We are not related by blood at all. My dad adopted Marty so he could become British and get proper healthcare because the American government wouldn’t treat him for his wounds from Vietnam.”

But you were a soldier, were you not?" Jaén eyes glaze over with moisture.

Yeah, but I’m also queer, which is illegal. So, they won’t treat me.” Marty looks terrified that his story is inflicting pain on gentle Jaén. “Please, tell us why the Mohammedanians attacked Jews.”

H'm,” He looks at the table top, as if reading from a script. “the Mohammedanians were angry about Israelis driving Palestinians from their homes, so the Mohammedanians attacked the Jews who were at hand, even though we were their own people.” Marty and I both nod that we understand.

And for clarification, Marty asks if Jaén would not consider himself an ethnic Jew.

He shakes his head to negate the question. “I don’t believe such a thing exists, it’s just a religion. The same way that there are no ethnic Catholics.”

Nor Lebanese Baptists.” I quip and Marty flashes me the bird.

Jaén looks as if he may be afraid to ask for an explanation, so he continues. “Many of the Sephardic Jews in Algeria were Berber and had to leave Al-Andalus, the southern two-thirds of what you now call the Iberian Peninsula, during the reconquista, which ended with the start of the inquisition. They returned to their homeland in North Africa.”

You mentioned harkis.” I’m starting to put things together. “Who are they?”

In the 1860s, the French offered the conquered peoples of Algeria French nationality if they would renounce shariah, or Islamic law, and submit exclusively to French law.

The Berber Jews had nothing against this, but most of the Mohammedanians did. The Berbers who became the enemy were called harkis: Maghreb Arabic for traitor.”

Marty’s eyes water. “You mean, although you’re Berber, they hate you ‘cause your forefathers became French?" He looks at me with tears starting down his cheeks. “Doesn’t this sound so fucking familiar?” Marty wipes his face on his sleeve. “And now in France, they probably hate you because you’re a Berber Jew. Is that right?”

Jaén nods. “They hate us because they say we are taking their jobs, taking their stipends at university.”

Taking their women, making property prices go down, causing criminality to rise...” Marty laughs and cries at the same time. “How am I doing? Isn’t that what they’re saying?”

Yes,” Jaén is seriously surprised. “how did you know?”

And Israel?” I squeeze Jaén’s hand. “Wouldn’t that be an option?”

Jaén shakes his head sadly, but it’s Marty who blurts out through his sobbing: “Don’t you see, Dan? Jaén here is Sephardic and Israel is run by the fucking Ashkenazim. The Russians and Poles and Germans have the say. For those idiots, our Sephardic brothers are just a little bit less undesirable than the poor Palestinians.”

Jaén is just looking at the table and nodding his head as if he already knows. But I have to get an answer from Marty. “And you know all this, because...?”

Again, he wipes his face on his sleeve. “My mother. Before hooking up with my father and becoming a Lebanese Baptist, as you call them, she was an Estonian Jew. That’s where I get my blond hair from.”

So, she taught you to hate yourself.” I look into his blurry eyes. “But look at the bright side, Big Brother; she didn’t let the guy with the knife near your dick.”

Ah,” Jaén’s tone is optimistic as he smiles behind his moustache at Marty. “they did not circumcise you?”

No,” Marty erupts in rude laughter. “my old man hates Jews, so he didn't let them near me."

Jaén knits his brow. “Your father hates Jews, so he married one?” I have to laugh and give Marty a questioning look, too.

Marty starts to giggle. “No, he hates Jews but fucked one before he knew that the sexy blonde chick was Jewish.” His giggles increase. “Got her pregnant and had to marry her. And the son’va’bitch just had to go 'n’ name me after fuckin' Martin Luther.” He is expressing his emotional scarring in hilarity. “Next to Hitler, he was probably Germany's biggest anti-Semite.”

I have to laugh along with him, along with the irony. “So that’s why you never felt wanted until you came across Seph?" Marty nods confirmation.

Seph?” Jaén is confused again. “You know Monsieur Seph?”

Seph is what we call our dad." I explain. "Except for Marty, that is. He calls him Joseph."

But Monsieur Seph is the owner of this building and is a very influential Jew.” Jaén looks at me then Marty.

Oh, holy, shit, Li’l Brother,” Marty whoops, still wiping his eyes. “Speakin' of a nigger in the woodpile, our dad is an Irish Jew.” Then he looks at Jaén and excuses himself.

Jaén waves off the apology and clicks his tongue just once emphatically. I think I'm going to adopt that; it’s a cool way of saying both ‘no’ and ‘fuck off’.

I contemplate the possibility of being from a Jewish family and snort. “My first names are, after all, Daniel Aaron, and I am circumcised.” I laugh. “But Seph isn’t."

But still, he has to be a Jew. Who else would have given Algerian Jews employment at an enormous salary and a retirement plan and provided a lawyer to help my uncle fight for his pension as a public servant?"

Marty giggles and winks at me and raises one eyebrow. I nod. “Comrade Joe.”

What do you mean by comrade?” Jaén leans his elbows on the table, looking dour.

Our dad is a Communist.” I chuckle.

Ah, that cannot be.” Jaén furrows his brow and shakes his head. “No big property owner from the 16th arrondissement is a Communist.”

Marty gets up “Be back in a moment.” and rushes out. We hear him running up the stairs and running back down. So, I guess that he didn’t go take a piss. “Here’s the proof, Dan.”

Proof of what? That Dad’s a Communist? We already know that.”

No, that he owns the building.” Marty is waving a sheet of paper. “He left me a list of things to do, one of which is to phone the notary to make sure that he has transferred the deed from his to our names. And here's his copy of the deed.”

Does that mean you will be my aunt’s employer?” Jaén starts to withdraw and Marty looks concerned.

Apparently.” I answer awkwardly.

What will happen to them, my aunt and uncle?” Jaén’s fear of change is slowly coming to the fore; he is beginning to shake.

Absolutely nothing, Jaén.” Marty takes a hand.

I take the other and kiss it. “They can stay here for as long as they wish.”

But they’re not getting any younger.” He’s shaking less, but it’s still noticeable.

Marty pats his hand. “We’ll make sure that things stay as they are for a long time to come.”

My major concern here is you.” I kiss his hand again. “Do you live with your parents?”

No,” He sighs deeply. “they were killed on May 12th, ‘56 in street fighting in Constantine.” He touches his scarred cheek; his eyes go dull. He sighs again, becoming incapacitated by violent memories. He pauses and sighs yet again. “I live at a students’ hostel, not far from here.” He slowly looks up at me; his line of visual focus is alternating between my eyes, like they did yesterday when I asked him if his name was really Jean-Michel.

Marty glances at me; I nod approval as he asks: “Why don’t you come here to live with us?”

His eyes are still dull, his face expressionless. “For how long?”

Marty takes the lead. “For as long as you like.

He looks at me. “For how much?”

Of a sudden, I’m having a flashback to Kansas City involving Busby and all his conditions of letting me use the Impala for free. Only to have the privileges revoked at the drop of a hat, so he could, he thought, manipulate my behaviour. I cannot, I will not tell Jaén it’s for free.

I offer: “Uh, what if we make it a bonus to your night shifts, plus what you pay for your room now?”

Jaén nods, considering our proposition.

Marty gives me a harsh look, as if to object to my charging for a room, which doesn’t cost us anything to start with. I have to glare at him, shake my head in a disapproving manner and revert to Pig-Latin: “On’tday opstay emay. Illway elltay ouyay aterlay.”

Marty gives me a mischievous grin; Jaén looks as if I’ve gone mad. “The reason I work nights is to help pay for my room at the hostel."

Okay,” Marty takes the lead again. who pays you for working nights?”

My aunt and uncle, of course.” He gives Marty a look as if he should have known this.

What if we assume your payment, so there is no burden to your aunt and uncle," Marty taps the table top to underscore what he's offering. "and we throw in the room as a bonus."

I must admit that I’m impressed. Marty offers Jaén the room for free plus pocket money and makes it sound like an absolutely balanced business deal.

Jaén looks at me for approval. I nod and smile. “Uh, may I also use the piano?"

Marty and I look at one another, both with question marks in our faces. Even though we own the building, the piano is Seph’s and I’m not sure how possessive he is. Jaén gets up and we follow him into the living room, where he takes a seat and plays Debussy’s Claire de Lune in a manner, which would do Seph proud.

Marty laughs. “Yeah, the piano is included.”

When may I move?” Jaén looks first at Marty and then at me, with one raised eyebrow.

Uh,” Marty looks at him and me and shrugs. “don’t know. How about now?”

The first thing anyone has to know in Paris is never to tell a taxi driver to step on it. But since I didn’t know this the entire move has taken less than half an hour, as we unload the last of Jaén’s five boxes. Four are in the room next to mine, where Geneviève had been, and he takes the last one into the kitchen. “What do you want for lunch?”

Marty shrugs and I’m not sure what there is. I open the refrigerator to look, with Marty gawking over my shoulder. “One of your friends from the brothel.”

This makes Jaén worry, so he pushes his head in front of us to have a look and laughs. “Ah, the duck.”

I look at Marty. “Who else didn’t eat theirs?”

Raph.” his voice is barely audible.

At that, I have to leave the kitchen and go for a smoke on the terrace outside the sitting room. That’s my excuse; the reason is to bawl my eyes out. When I put out the cigarette in the sand in a flower pot, I turn to see Jaén watching me through the doors. I enter the sitting room, and he steps in front of me. “If I could, I would gladly assume your pain.”

I wouldn’t do that to you, Jaén.” I kiss the scar on his cheek. “You’ve been through enough.”

Marty comes across from the kitchen. "So far, I've found two onions, five tomatoes, some ancient spices and one slightly used duck."

What did you use the duck for?” Jaén snickers.

Marty clicks his tongue, mimicking Jaén, earlier. “I don't kiss and tell."

And you didn’t look in my box, either?" Jaén looks at Marty in mock admonishment. "What sort of Communist are you?"

No, that would be Comrade Joe,” Marty claims innocence. “and his buddy, Ron.”

Would you like duck couscous?” Jaén offers to make us lunch and judges correctly by our expressions that we have absolutely no idea what he is talking about. “An Algerian specialty, we usually make with chicken, but duck will do.”

Okay,” Marty pats him on the shoulder. “surprise us.” He walks with Jaén to the kitchen and returns with his to-do list. “We have to confirm the caterers for tomorrow. Since your French can be understood on the phone, as opposed to mine, you make the call.”

I phone the number and am surprised to get an answer on Sunday. Okay, it’s not Kansas City, and there are no blue laws in France, prohibiting the sale of virtually everything on the lord’s day. Obviously the separation of church and state works here. The caterer verifies a buffet and wine for six persons to be delivered at ten-thirty, which has been paid in advance.

Okay,” Marty rolls our first joint of the day on the round glass end table, which previously had Isherwood’s Adieu á Berlin on it. “What’s your plan, now that you’re single?”

I’m going to concentrate on what I’ve got.” My eyes are still watering, every time I think of not being with Raph. I wipe them on the back of my hand and turn toward Marty. “My record of relationships is pretty miserable. I drove one to suicide and turned the other straight.”

And what do you mean by concentrating on what you’ve got?” He lights the J and passes it to me.

I toke and hold, giving it back. “With Seph in England and you here, I’d like to spend more time with you. And I want to get to know Jaén better without lassoing and branding him.”

What about university?” Marty waves smoke out of his eyes.

I wave off the joint. I’ve had enough. “Yeah, I want to talk to Jaén about that, too. I like his majors, theatre and English lit. But I think that I’d like to start in the spring. I want to get to know Paris and check out some things, first.”

Can we get to know Paris together?” This question strikes me as odd, and I wonder if Marty needs attention but is afraid to ask for it.

I scratch him lightly on his buzz-cut head. “Isn’t that what brothers do?”

Could we sleep together again tonight?” This question shoots out, as if he's almost fearful of the answer.

Of course.” I look at him, and he seems to be engaged in an inner struggle, or maybe an attack. “What’s the matter, Marty? Want me to call that doctor, Seph recommended?” I start for the phone.

No. It’s not physical, Daniel.” He looks at me helplessly. “I love you.”

I have to laugh. “I love you, too, Martin.” I think I see the problem. “And we’re both falling for Jaén. Is that it?”

Didn’t Joseph warn you about usin’ that feckin’ crystal ball?” He takes his last toke and puts the joint out with spit and offers me the roach to swallow. I take it and swallow it, just because it’s his spit.

We’re going to have to work on your seeing a problem where there is none.” I sit on the floor at his feet. “You know, I think I fell in love with you in Katz’ parking lot.” He giggles, wiping his nose on his sleeve; I continue. “I think that’s why I made such a deal about being underage.”

Did you have any idea about Joseph and me?” He sounds sad.

None.”

I thought I only saw a younger Joseph in you.” He sighs heavily. “And until today, I thought that’s all there is to it. But it’s not.”

I know that it wasn’t chance that you wound up in my bed.” I stroke his calf. “And I also know that you believe in monogamy. You only have sex with others when Seph’s along.”

Marty chuckles oddly. “Did he tell you that?”

No, Big Brother, you did. Your body language and how you react to situations reveal a lot.” I snuggle my chin on his leg. “And now, I think you’ve got a problem with fidelity, don’t you?”

That’s not half of it, Dan.” He strokes my head and tickles my ear, while thinking about something. “Joseph told me to take care of you.”

Huh?” I lean back, supporting myself on my hands, looking up at my adopted big brother. “When did he tell you that?”

He shows me his to-do list. At the bottom, in Dad’s copybook handwriting are his wishes for Marty to take care of me and his knowing that I will take care of Marty. I get up off the floor and hand him back the note.

Staring out the double doors to the terrace, not taking notice of anything, not even the Eiffel Tower, wondering what Seph meant, Marty takes me in his arms from behind, leaning his chin on my shoulder. “It looks like you’re not the only one who got dumped, doesn't it?"

I turn round in his arms and put my forehead against his. “I can’t think of anybody I’d rather help pick up the pieces.”

Marty snickers self-consciously. “Do you think that this might be a setup?”

I pull away from him to see if he’s joking. “Like in Seph and Raph orchestrated the whole thing?” I snort and let my imagination run wild. “Yeah, you’re right. They were secret lovers and planned it so they could drop out and live happily ever after on a Scottish island.”

Who knows?” He looks at the double doors as Jaén comes in from the kitchen. "Something smells exotic."

It is.” Jaén laughs and motions for us to follow him.

The scents of cumin and coriander, which I’d smelled on Jaén yesterday, are fresher and more potent. Until this very moment, I had only known the two spices to be used in taco meat.

Two large bowls are steaming on the table, the one with a thick broth, presumably the duck, and the other with saffron-yellow granules. Next to the bowls is a glass teapot with a greenish liquid. I’m getting whiffs of peppermint, and my stomach growls.

Jaén and Marty laugh. Jaén gestures toward the table. « Ahlan wa sahlan. » I suppose, we’ll find out later what that means.