Date: Mon, 14 Apr 2003 09:31:32 -0700 (PDT) From: Wishus Teglin Subject: Stupid Johnny, chapter 8 (M/b) Stupid Johnny A Boylove Romance Chapter Eight by Teglin with the invaluable assistance of Michael and Kallen Dedication: Once upon a time, a friend of mine named Michael was driving along a country road in his native Poland, and came upon a ragamuffin of a little boy, dressed in tatters, struggling all alone to push a cart much too big for him. Looking miserable, hungry, cold. It was one of those moments - we all have them - moments we look back on with such great regret. Because Michael wanted to stop. He wanted to talk with the boy, see if he was ok, if he could use some food, or perhaps a helping hand, or just a kind word. But he didn't stop. Why didn't he stop? Why don't we all stop, in moments like that? Why do we let convention, or fear, or doubt, or hurry, or sometimes just plain selfishness keep us from meeting the moment? Well, Michael helped me write this story. It's all about what might have been. It's dedicated to that little boy on the roadside. And every other boy anywhere in the world who might someday need one of us to stop ... just for him. The story is also dedicated to Ganymede. May it be worthy of him. Copyright 2003 by Teglin. You may freely copy this boylove romance and distribute it. Please have the courtesy not to alter it in any way. WARNING: This boylove romance contains descriptions of sexual acts between a man and a minor boy. Their sexual relationship is very important to the story, as part of their love-making, but it is their spiritual relationship that I wanted to explore even more, as the very essence of boylove. If this story is illegal where you are, or for your age, or the concept of a man/boy romantic relationship offends you, don't read further. Glossary: Jasio = Yasho jasnie panie = yashnee pahnee (formal mode of address, meaning `my lord`) jasnie panicz - yashnee pahneetch (less formal, referring to a boy, meaning `young lord`) kochany paniczu - ko-ha-ny pahneetchu (familiar, to a boy, `beloved lord` or `little lord`) pani, pana = pahnee, pahnah (noble addressing a servant woman/man) Straznik Drogi - Strashneek Drowgee (Guardian of the Way) Podhorowski = pod-ho-rouskee Piotr Ostoja = Pyoter Ostoya Leon Koczurba = Le-own Kotschurba Beskidy = Beskeedy Jodlowka = Yodlovka Rzeszow = Dgeshow Polska = Powlska Misiu = Meeshoo babciu = bubshoo siusiak = shu-shak (pronounced softly, tenderly - a boylover`s most loving word for a boy`s penis) moj chlopczyk = moi hlopsik (my boy) eremonos = beloved of the man erastes = beloved of the boy Chapter Eight Grecka Droga Beskidy Mountains Rzeszow Administrative District, Poland September 15, 1959 1:28 PM Jasio melted down through my arms right in my lap, instinctively seeking the covers even as the old woman turned the door handle to enter our cabin. I had just enough time to pull the comforter up snugly to his chin before the she opened the door. I sat there behind him, naked to the waist, but she was giving me no real chance for modesty. I was beginning to feel like I had just about had enough of her demands and intrusions, and started to blurt out angrily, "Give us a moment to get dres ...." "We don't have ... a moment," she cut me off peremptorily, pushing the door wide and shuffling in, stooped and breathing hard. She had to half turn her whole body towards us as she glanced over. "I've seen men and ... plenty of boys ... naked. Now, the both of you - you had better ... start getting dressed." I snarled, but stretched to bend down to the floor nonetheless, to retrieve my shirt and pants. Jasio`s things were folded and resting upon a little stool next to the bed. I reached for them too. "Why do you say we have to go back to Jodlowka tonight?" I grumbled curtly. Perhaps she sensed my rising anger, or a burgeoning resistance, because for once she didn't scathe me with her eyes, but just glanced my way and sidled slowly, chuffing like a steam engine, over to the edge of the bed where she sat down. Jasio seemed to want to shrink away from her, and started to slip right around me in the bed. I made way for him, holding the covers up. Even with our hostess sitting just a bed-length from us, my thoughts turned instantly to stealing a glance under the covers at his naked form, but I briefly closed my eyes instead, savoring the molten, silken heat of his bottom and his legs as they seared my thigh. He grasped me, using my bulk as leverage to slide behind me. I could only lean ever so slightly into him, imagining his touch as an embrace. In truth, I realized, his touch was even more intimate than any embrace could be. He sought refuge behind me, trusting that I would protect him. I leaned over quite consciously then, when his escape was complete, and postured myself as my little boy's shield. The old woman heaved a sigh, as if she had resigned herself to some burdensome task, but then she looked down the length of the bed towards Jasio, and her features seemed to soften suddenly, unlike anything we had ever seen her do before. There was more than mere idle scrutiny in her raised brow. Much more. There was a kind of beatific melting of her all her ire, as she seemed to soak in the boy's features. "Good afternoon, paniczu," she intoned softly, almost reverently, dipping her head towards him with an almost girlish, shy smile. I looked from her back to Jasio, taken aback by her choice of words. `Good afternoon, my lord.' How very odd. But there was no condescension in her manner. Just the opposite. There was more of deference, than anything else. Just as I turned my head to look back at him, Jasio sneaked a peek from behind me, leaning out, staring back at her wide-eyed, just as stunned, or perhaps more so, than I. I could well imagine that no one had ever addressed him in that manner before. "I hope you enjoyed your bath, and napped well." "Ye ... yes, I-I did ... I mean, we ... did," Jasio stammered out in barely more than a whisper. He looked up at me almost desperately, questioning. I shrugged and shook my head, equally as bewildered. "Please tell me if there is anything you need, paniczu. And you too, Comrade ... Ostoja," It seemed to be her intent to surprise me now, because she looked at me so pointedly, but this time her raised brow seemed to hint that she was toying with me. I stared back at her, wondering if there were any implied threat in the revelation that she knew my name. Notwithstanding her bemusement, to me the air in the cabin, so silent and calm, suddenly bordered more on oppressive than peaceful. "Yes, I know who you are, Chief Inspector Piotr Ostoja," she continued, answering my unstated question. "Captain Rudenko told me all about you on the phone just now. And it is he who says you must return to Jodlowka tonight." She said it quite matter-of-factly, with no edge to her tone. There was no threat here. But there was a mystery. More of the Grecka Droga mystery. I calmed myself and relaxed down upon the bed, then reached around behind me and patted Jasio through the covers. He leaned into my back, the warmth of his body reassuring against mine. The thought flitted through my mind instantly - let there be mystery, let there be danger, but from now on just let there always always be Jasio near me, with me. "Who might this Captain Rudenko be?" I asked. "He's with the KGB. And you will be thankful that he is, before this is all over. When I described your car he knew you well enough. You can be just as thankful that he has guarded The Droga these many years, since you Commies took away all the Podhorowski lands. But his power extends only so far. That's why we have to hurry." She sighed heavily again, then seemed to gasp for air, her chest shuddering with the effort. Blindly, she held out one hand. "Come! Just come with me." Again she dipped her head towards Jasio deferentially. "Kochany paniczu. Please, come with me. I have many things to show you." She commanded me. She seemed to beg the boy. His presence behind me, against me, felt the same. Yet hearing her tone, seeing the way she implored that he bend to her will, made me wonder about the boy. Who was he? At least, who did she think he was, to speak to him so? Of course she would have no idea of the circumstances in which I had found him last night, but now she was acting like he was a little prince. Well, far from me to disabuse her. Who better than this little boy had earned all the respect he could get? "Quickly, please. Get dressed and come with me," she implored of him again. I sat silently, my head turned down towards him as he stared at the old hag. Slowly he took up his garments and withdrew again behind me. I felt him starting to dress himself, so I took up my own shirt. ----------------------------------------------- The old woman seemed to falter coming down the steps. Jasio surprised me by letting go of my hand and rushing to take hold of her arm to help her down. I stood back and watched, astonished by more than his new daring. He had sheltered himself behind me while we got dressed, and then latched onto my arm with both his hands and practically welded his body to mine as I led him out of the cabin. Now I realized that in all the time we had spent together since bathing - even during our walk back to the cabin - I had not had a chance to just stand back and gaze upon him. What a glory he was to behold! Like the sun's rays sought only to shine upon him! The brightness of his sailor-boy whites, set off by the blue pinstripes and the wide, dark blue collar, blended with the pure whiteness of his skin. He had a natural clearness to his complexion, and now that the grime and grit were washed away, he looked virginal, like a boy doll fashioned of porcelain. Such a slim, small boy, but suddenly he seemed taller, standing so erect next to the bent and gnarled form of the old woman. It was his legs that did it. They seemed to rise up and up above his high stockings, in long white columns up to where his short shorts clung tightly to his thighs. His little bottom was firm and tight inside the shorts. I could easily cup both cheeks in one outstretched hand, if only I dared. Oh, I almost dared. I was so jealous of the old woman, as he took hold of her arm instead of mine. He stood there so attentively, awaiting her feeble descent down the one last step. I stared, almost breathless in wonder. Could it be true that I had actually touched this creature? Had I been dreaming that he had touched me as well - that we both had done so much more together than merely touch. With his free hand he brushed a stray strand of hair back from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear in a vain attempt to tame it against the wisp of a breeze off the mountain slopes. I almost swooned forward, so closely did I watch the graceful movement of his little fingers. Now completely dry, his hair fluffed in swirls all about his head, longer than it had appeared when wet and plastered against his neck. Each strand began straight, lustrous and tinged red, then curled in graceful waves. The wayward lock sifted back across his cheek. He peered through the strands as if through a veil, letting it flutter against his white skin. I wanted to reach out and hold it back for him, so that I might simply behold his loveliness. Loveliness. His loveliness. Can a man rightly ascribe such a quality to a boy? But how else to describe him? The very tenderness of his touch, his open-hearted trust in me, his innocence of spirit, free of resentment for all the wrongs done him, his eager inquisitiveness about the world around him, his seemingly matchless ingenuity All those could be described as elements of this boy's loveliness A loveliness that emanated from deep within. But I must admit that at this moment, it was his beauty that transfixed me. I won't resort to calling him just sexy or pretty. I should not even use the word beautiful. He was beautiful, but lots of boys are beautiful. The word just doesn't suffice. Every boylover must have the experience - it happens to all of us at one time or another. We see boys every day whom we admire, whom we want. Boys we describe as cute, sexy, pretty. But then on occasion a special, very special boy steps for a moment into our vision, and all else in the world is forgotten. It's as if our eyes have never before been focused. We are stunned, benumbed momentarily, by this special boy. Something about him makes him stand out before all others. We stare at him without fear of discovery, because this kind of boy turns heads. No one would look at you suspiciously for watching him, because everyone watches him. Did it take the waters of the Grecka Droga to reveal to me that Jasio was such a boy? Then blessed waters, they were. Holy waters. Revealing a living God amongst us. I've long wondered about such boys. Do they realize how special they are? Did Jasio realize it? Others may never have spoken of it to him. I would. I would make him realize it. I would teach him, reveal it to him. Perhaps he would see it in my eyes, this special boy, this once in a lifetime special boy. If I could not reach out to simply clear the hair from his cheek, then I wanted to reach out and snatch him back to me, away from the old woman. I wanted to feel his long, delicate fingers close about my arm, not hers. And then I'd pull him around to face me. I'd tip his face up so that I might be the one to soak in his radiance. Then I would be free to touch his hair. I'd trace each wave with my own fingertips. I felt bereft! He no longer clung to me. You're mine, Jasio! I've found you now. I won't give you up to anyone! He must have heard the cry of my own spirit. Else I cried out loud, not even knowing it. The old woman heard me too. Both of them stopped and looked at me, Jasio with an inquisitive little twist of his head, his eyes big with wonder at what he must have seen in mine. The old woman`s eyes laughed at me. My longing must have been written in plain letters on my fa ... but it was not my face that she was laughing at - she looked down with raised brow, her face wrinkling in a bemused grimace. "Don't worry your ... self, Comrade Ostoja," she huffed, as she took one last step down with Jasio's help. "You can keep your prized manhood in your pants - I won't take ... your boy from you." I reddened immediately, feeling it now. My longing for the boy would be obvious to them both, if Jasio noticed my arousal too. I self-consciously looked down the length of my torso to where my dick had again raised its head, and was straining hard, resting sideways, pushing out the fabric of my pants, flexing, threatening to rise up and poke up above my waistband. Not twenty minutes since Jasio had sucked me. Less than that since I had wiped my semen off his lips, and here I was erect again. Perhaps twenty years without a boy will do that to a man, or ... perhaps it was simply ... Jasio. Thirty-eight years without Jasio. Beyond amazement, my immediate reaction was embarrassment that the old woman should see me like this, and that she would so crudely comment on it. I had tried to hide it from her before, earlier in the day, but now? What did she mean by her crude remark? Did she guess? Or was she truly capable of reading my mind? And Jasio? A part of me wished that he would notice, that he would know, that the knowledge would remind him of what we had just done together, in the baths ... in bed. I wanted him to be reminded that his rightful place was with me, not her! I raised my head slowly, and looked at him from under my brow. His eyes flicked down too, then raised again, boring into mine. He seemed to have stopped breathing, in his concentration on me. "Men don't change ... much, paniczu," she said to Jasio, patting his hand reassuringly, still chuckling. He half turned his head, to listen to her, but still he kept his wondering eyes on me. "It's the same ... the same, always ... as it should be. And boys too. Wanting to help ... and their men? Chary of each little ... glance. Or even a moment ... away from their boy. However, your man seems a little more ... uh - jealous - than most. Ha! Or at least he's more obvious about it," she ended with a wry lift of her brow. My ears felt singed - it was as if she could see right into my soul, as if she knew what Jasio meant to me. Certainly she would know that I hadn't grown hard for her! Indeed, my whole face burned, but I could not, would not, break the connection that had suddenly formed between me and Jasio. Let him read what he could from my all too obvious condition. Let him begin to understand his captivation of my whole being. The old crone had no patience for us. She placed both of her hands upon Jasio`s, and by sheer force of weight she pulled him around to face her. "Your man is jealous. But you, kochany paniczu," she patted his hand where it rested beneath her arm, "you do me a great ... honor, and ... I am grateful." Jasio too seemed reluctant to break the spell that had bound us to one another. With a confused, almost desperate turn of his head back and forth between me and his insistent companion, he finally seemed to give in, leaving me with one final imploring look before turning to stand attentively before her. He stood there listening, but as I watched him, it seemed that he was struggling to hear her, straining to still the thoughts in his head, so that he could understand her. "Thank you." she repeated. "You're very kind, paniczu," the old woman said, again lowering her head towards Jasio, as if in deference. "Now. I have much to show you and your ... man. Much to tell, also. I will explain everything. You ... won't believe any of it, until you see ... for yourself, so we must hurry. There is much still to be done ... this day." Once again, her mode of addressing the boy struck me. It was so archaic. A generation or more out of date. That might be understandable given her age, but there was more to it than that. It was if she were using the old language reserved for the subservient class, kowtowing to an aristocratic master. She talked as if she were Jasio's personal servant. The aristocracy was long dead. First came the Republic, then the Nazis and the Russians made sure that the Polish nobility could only be found in the history books. And yet, to the old woman, Jasio was her `young lord?' Even now she held his hand in a shy, self-deprecating way, with a meek smile and a dip of her head. It was all the more remarkable given the vast difference in their ages. Her hands were small, the skin glassy and almost transparent with age, but his were smaller still, even softer, smoother. Her fingers gnarled with age, awkwardly crooked at the joints. Jasio's were slender and straight - just a boy's hands, but she seemed to bow to them. The old hag might well have curtsied if her wobbly legs could have withstood the strain. Jasio was the picture of concern and attentiveness as he walked the old woman forward. It was no sham. I saw it in the way he stayed half turned towards her, reading her face for signs of her strain, cradling her arm. I was struck by the irony - a boy who had been kicked around and neglected for as long as he could remember, and he could so genuinely give of himself to help this old woman whom he hardly knew. "Comrade Ostoja. Your car has been removed to Jan's private carriage house, and ...." "My car? Moved!" I almost panicked, right then and there. Without that car I was a sitting duck for my pursuers. Not to mention that upon that car rested all my hopes for establishing some kind of life, some new arrangement, for Jasio. I looked around wildly. Even a cursory glance showed that the GAZ was gone. "But who ... what did you ...." "You're sputtering again, Comrade," she pinned me with those disdainful eyes of hers again. I was more than sputtering! I was about to spit tacks! The old woman was just speaking nonsense now. Dangerous nonsense at that. Jan's carriage house? His private carriage house?! I'd lay down odds that she herself couldn't drive, so who else was hanging about here, unseen? What had we gotten ourselves into? Instantly I saw Jasio's alarm at my outburst. He dropped the old woman's arm and started back over towards me. I reined in my first instinct, which was to lash out and demand an immediate explanation from our erstwhile hostess, assuming my accustomed authority as a Party official. Instead I reached out for Jasio and pulled him into me protectively. He felt my hands upon his shoulders, and sought the refuge offered by my body. The old woman sighed loudly, almost impatiently. "You may be the man Jan has chosen ... but once a Commie always a Commie? Just ... listen now, don't talk. I will give you plenty of opportunity to ask your questions ... when I'm done." She looked at the two of us for a moment, her glance soft and understanding when it rested upon Jasio. Less so when upon me. So much for deference! It seemed that the entire measure of the old woman's respect was reserved for this wisp of a boy huddled in my embrace. "Jan," she said soothingly. "Don't be afraid or alarmed. Just follow me - with your man. Hmmph," she grunted, and gurgled what might have been another chuckle at my expense, again looking down between my legs. I suppose that in my alarm about the car, my member softened a bit, no longer straining against the fabric of my pants. "It seems your man will be able to walk with us after all. So please follow me. I will not lead you wrong." She raised her palsied arms and waved about, all around us, in half-circles circumscribed by the inflexibility of her ancient bones. "All this ... everything you see here was ...," she paused again and fixed me with her stern gaze again. "Was and always will be, no matter what the Communists say - everything here IS owned by the great and noble Polish Podhorowski family. When I was a little girl your age, the Count and Countess were foremost among all Polish noble families, recognized and honored at the Viennese court as much as any of the Austrian or Hungarian nobility. Long before the Emperors and Czars and Kaisers, who have held sway over Poland for so many centuries, and for as long as there has been a voice to tell the story of the Grecka Droga, Podhorowski's have been lords of this land." She shuffled on past us and took the lead, heading off on a track to the side of the inn, it seemed. We swiveled to follow her. I let Jasio shift to my side, but held his hand firmly in mine, wary of any further tricks or surprises from our hostess. Say what she might, I wasn't letting Jasio leave my side for hers again, if I could help it. How I managed to walk forward, I don't know - not because of my dick, which threatened to burst the seams of my pants again now that I had Jasio to myself, but because I couldn't keep my eyes from straying to the boy holding onto me - I still felt that amazement, that awe, as if I had only just now begun to realize how special he was to me. More than once he looked up at me too, with those self-same wondering glances, as if he were trying to make sense of me. More than once too, I almost spoke, wanting to drown out the droning of the old crone, to tell this wonderful boy something of what I was feeling. But how do you tell a boy you've just met that you love him? What could possibly make him believe that? Or understand it? Would it just scare him more, rather than offering him comfort or solace or reassurance? Oh I wanted desperately to be alone with him, to just try to sort out all these emotions and sensations that I was feeling. If only I could make him understand. This one boy had entered my life - after so many years in which I had despaired of ever truly loving a boy, of ever having a boy to love, and ... my god, I had to waste precious moments from the few that we would be allotted, to walk with him in the company of this ancient old witch who seemed to think that our destinies were somehow inextricably bound up with hers! My penis strained against its imprisonment, reminding me at each step that my body was a mere creature of my emotions. Now that I had Jasio with me again, holding onto me, it would be impossible to ignore. And by the gods I didn't want to. Every pulse within it, every movement I made, hurt with an excruciating torture that reminded me of my passion for my boy. Of course he noticed. Again. He was staring at the full length of my bulge. This time he slowed his pace. His mouth dropped opened and he looked up at me wide-eyed, as if he were awed, wanting to speak, but unable to. He let go of my hand, but I didn't have even an instant to protest, because I felt his fingers slide softly across my pants. He took hold of me, and I might have swooned right then and there. My mind reeled, as he traced the long lump of my dick down to it's stalk. I almost staggered when he retraced his way back to the head, and grasped it, squeezing. I did stumble, but kept on walking, notwithstanding the fact that I was totally unable - even if I cared to - to listen to the old woman's continued meanderings. I could only trudge along, watching, feeling Jasio's touch. He raised his head and looked up at me, his mouth still open. His eyes were wells of emotion. In the softest of whispers, he asked, "Is it really me? Do I ... mean that much to you?" I tried to answer just as softly, not wanting to share in this moment with the old woman. "Yes, Misiu, it is you. Only you." The old woman was uncanny, for she slowed to a stop and started to turn about. Jasio's hand darted from my cock and he dropped it rigidly to his side. I fumbled to catch my own sense of balance, then wrapped my arm around his shoulder and drew him close to me. My thoughts were all a-jumble - trying to prepare to meet another onslaught by our hostess, struggling to deal with the emotions that surged through me. Jasio knew! If I could not speak directly of my love for him, my condition of ever-lasting arousal at least served the purpose. I think the old woman was going to make another of her acerbic remarks about me, but no sooner did her eyes rest upon Jasio than she seemed to melt, and with the most beatific of smiles that she could possibly manage. "Paniczu, I know you must have much to think about, to wonder about, but you have had some time to talk with your man alone. I promise you - you will have more, soon, but I beg you for now - the both of you - give me just this moment. Will you do that?" "Yes ... Babciu," Jasio answered her meekly, his head turned down. "Good. And you. Commie?" she looked at me, raising the brow over one eye questioningly. Again she glanced quite deliberately down at my erection. "I ... no. I won't even ask you to cover yourself. Just do your part, and let the boy listen for a while. You too. What concerns him seems to concern you too," she ended. "Yes, ma'am." "Right. Then I tell you again. Everything you see here is Podhorowski land. And this day, paniczu. This day ... well, it's the happiest day of my life to welcome back to the Grecka Droga its rightful lord." There was no mistaking who she was referring to. I might as well have not been present, for all the notice she gave to me. Here eyes were transfixed upon Jasio. He stared back at her for a moment, then slowly shrank back into me even more. I don't think anyone could make an honest appraisal of either Jasio or me, and say that either of us was dumb. I can admit however, to being completely dumbfounded at that moment. We both knew what the old woman was saying, but there is a grand chasm between what is heard and what is understood - or even believed. "That's alright, Jan. You will understand. And accept it. Soon," she crooned at him, and bent her head to the side, looking at him tenderly. "Ah! But I ... no. No more now ... just come with me. We'll get to the gatehouse, where I can sit ... then I'll tell you all." She turned again and wobbled off in the lead. Jasio and I had no choice but to follow along behind. At least his hand was now firmly grasping mine, back where I wanted him, by my side. I felt better that way. Somehow more secure - all the mysteries and uncertainties of the Grecka Droga held at bay, so long as we were together. My penis was still hard, but now it seemed no longer to strain and throb - perhaps a dick does have a mind of it's own - perhaps it felt more secure now too, sensing the rightness of being with Jasio - for the moment not needing more. I chose for this moment to ignore the old woman's ravings. Let her stew in her grandiose fantasies, if she must. Jasio could be the last of the Caesars for all I cared right now. Just keep him by my side! As we passed the inn, the park-like forest spread out before us. Off to the left was the sun-struck, faceted dome of the baths and arboreum. Through the trees we could see the creek wending its way on up the floor of the narrowing little valley, between the looming mountains on both sides. I saw that we were following the tracks of a little-used road that trailed off through the trees towards what looked like a small cottage, perhaps 50 meters ahead. There was a tall, black, wrought-iron fence - each post topped with some kind of figurine - extending to either side of the cottage. And a gate. Yes. The gatehouse that the woman sought. Beyond the gatehouse, beyond the fence, the forest seemed to thicken a bit - the trees to grow taller - or perhaps it was merely the rise of the valley floor beyond, that proffered that illusion. All around us too, the forest closed in as we walked on. The boles of the tall pines were thick, the matting of needles beneath showed the accumulations of years and years, undisturbed. And all around us it was so quiet. Birdcalls. The breeze high up among the crowns of the firs. A woodpecker far off in the distance rat-a-tatting. The scrape, scrape, scrape, as the old woman dragged her feet along the track, her puffing breath. Once again I felt like Jasio and I had entered some world where ... well, time might not stand still, but none of the dangers that threatened us could break through. It was a haven, this Grecka Droga. Peaceful. Untouched. Untouchable. By rights, I should be speeding up the King's Way to escape my pursuers. By rights, Jasio should be back down in the flatlands, scouring the roadside for scrap. But here we were, both of us, walking patiently behind this ancient woman towards ... what? In truth, I walked along dreamily, filling my senses. The pressure of Jasio's grip upon my hand was more real than my own heartbeat, or my own breath. The brush of his arm against mine was what sustained me. I could close my eyes, and smell the pungent spruce - or the clean, soap-scent of the boy beside me. Or I could open them, and look all around at the deep greens of the foliage, the dark browns of the dirt track, the crystalline blue of the sky above - or I could look down at my side and see the curls upon Jasio's head. The world was big and beautiful and serene around me. I could turn in circles and stop in any direction and see it's magnificence. At the center of that circle would be the 150 centimeter tall little creature who strode with me. Circles again. Circles that could be said to circumscribe our world. But to me, at this moment, the circles were what set me free. I had the sudden urge to release Jasio's hand. I slid my own across his shoulders and drew him to me, melding his body against mine. Neither of us broke stride. We walked as one. He looked up at me and smiled so sweetly, his eyes both questioning and knowing. I felt him raise his own arm to grasp me about my waist. He drew me to him.. He understood. I knew he did. We continued on at the old woman's labored pace. She led us right up the two-track lane towards the gatehouse. I felt Jasio's arm slip from behind me. Please don't let go, I wanted to call out to him. I don't think I was capable at that point of thinking of anything beyond holding him close, beyond his body leaning into mine. I looked down at him again, not wanting this moment to be over, wanting to see that same wondering look in his eyes. In an instant I saw that the boy was indeed concentrating on something, but it wasn't me. He was staring down at the ground, and along the track behind the old woman. I followed his gaze, and saw only her small bootprints in the dank, bare earth. Jasio nudged me, and pointed down, his finger tracing a path in the air that followed right on along the track. He looked excited, or startled by something, but didn't say anything. I looked where he pointed, but could only shrug my shoulders. `What?` I mouthed at him, keeping just as silent as he. He held up both his hands, as if grasping some object on two sides, and described a kind of waving or oscillating up and down motion with them, then one hand shot forward, as if gliding up the road towards the gate. I said before, that no one could honestly describe either Jasio or me as dumb. Now I had to amend that. Certainly they could never say that about him. But me? Surely no one was going to compliment me on my observational powers. It was as plain as writing on a paper. The tire tracks. The tire tracks in the roadway, on one side superimposed by the old woman's bootprints. My GAZ had been driven this way, and from the look of it, was somewhere beyond that gate. Towards Jasio's carriage house, according to the old woman. "Look," Jasio whispered, shifting his gaze. He pointed at the fence, which loomed taller and taller - even over my own height - going off on both sides of the gate into the forest. "It`s the same ... as my key ...." "Your key?" "Yes. Each fence post. On top, see it?" "I see a bunch of ...," and I stopped. Literally stopped, right in my own tracks. I stared, to make sure. Then looked down at Jasio, thinking of all the strange things the old woman had said. Her `young lord.' The heir of the Podhorowski's, returned to his lands. She was indeed leading us towards a Podhorowski estate. Each one of the fenceposts was capped with that noble family's familiar crest - that self-same shield with crossed horseshoes that had stood guard down at the entrance to the Grecka Droga - carved on the mountain face. "Your key?" I could only ask again. "Yes. The one I've had ... for as long as I can remember. I used to carry it around on a string, around my neck. Until Leon broke it. It had that same symbol carved on it's handle. What ... what could that mean ... Piotr?" Jasio's words trailed off into almost a whisper. "It means just what I've been telling you," the old woman interrupted us gruffly, with a harrumph. She had stopped too, farther along, and turned toward us. "It confirms it. I knew it was your key, and I knew then exactly who you were - even if your face didn't speak of it just as clearly." "You're insisting that Jasio - Jan - is a member of the Podhorowski family." It was more an accusation than a question. It was time for the old woman to quit stringing this out. "He is not just a member of the Podhorowski family. He IS the Podhorowski family. The heir, the last known remaining member after you Communists ...." she answered heatedly, but stopped suddenly. I think she saw how Jasio quickly took my hand again, as if to defend me from her own accusation. She took a deep, halting breath, then continued softly, looking now at Jasio. "I am sorry, Paniczu. This is not the way to tell you. And I know enough about your man here," she raised her gnarled finger and pointed it shakily in my general direction, "so that I can say he had nothing to do with what happened to your family." The boy was gripping my hand tightly, and a glance told me that he was standing by my side stiffly, looking shaken by the harsh exchange between me and the old woman. "Look," I said more calmly, but I was still impatient with her ways, and not about to be deterred. "If you don't want to hurt the boy's feelings, then quit saying all these fanciful things. Like this key? Anyone can make such a key. I hardly think that just because Jasio had it , that it proves ...." Now I had to stop, because what I was saying didn't even make sense to me. And why would I be so quick to deny anything about Jasio? I didn't know anything about his past. It might be time for the old woman to spill out her story, but it was also time for me to just shut up. "I don't know, Jasio," I exchanged a confused glance with him. "Perhaps ... we should just listen to what she has to say." "Oh ... ok," he said meekly. He stepped closer into me, grasping my forearm tightly, and took my hand with his other one. "Good, then come inside with me now. I have to ... sit down. We'll talk in there ... then, if all is right, you'll go on up to your lodge". The lodge, whatever that was, remained hidden beyond the gate and fence. The roadway continued on upslope beyond, disappearing in a curve a hundred meters or more into the forest. Somewhere up there was my GAZ. I could have panicked at that thought, but frankly, at this point I didn't know how to feel. Events and circumstances were taking new turns every few minutes, it seemed: my car was gone; someone called Captain Rudenko was demanding that we return to the Jodlowka Collective; this old woman was proclaiming the noble birth and heritage of my Jasio. ----------------------------------------------- The Grecka Droga September 15, 1959 2:41 P.M. Jasio fingered the weathered photo in his lap, tilting it one way, then the other, peering close as if trying to draw out from it some evidence that would convince him of the old woman's story. The boy who stared back at him couldn't have been more than ten or twelve years old himself, but his visage was faded, washed out by too many days, months, and years of exposure to the elements. Even now brightly-lit dust motes swashed the air in front of the mantle, where all the rest of the family photos were on display, splattered by the sunlight in leaf-filtered abandon. "Believe me, it's true, Paniczu," the old woman repeated for perhaps the fifth time. There seemed almost a desperation in her pleading. But there was conviction too. Certainty. "I've kept that picture through all the years, along with all those you see there above the hearth. That is your family. That little boy is indeed your father. Anton Agenor Wycenty Podhorowski. Your father, when he was your age." I stared at the photo too, and I might just as well have been staring at Jasio, it was such a close likeness. The little boy in the hand-tinted portrait had the same curling hair, the same nose, lips, chin. His eyes. I could feel the intensity of their gaze. That was the same way Jasio's eyes pierced and probed. The twenty year old photo captured a spirit. Jasio's spirit. I was convinced. It was plain to my mind that Jasio was a Podhorowski. Well ... if I could accept the word of this old crone that those photos on the mantle were of the Podhorowskis, then so was Jasio. "What do you think, Piotrek?" he said to me in such a small voice, still peering at the photo. He placed it loosely in the vale between his two tightly closed legs and left it there, holding his palms wide, as if unwilling to claim what was evident. He sat so straight and upright, his legs together, feet flat upon the floor, looking helplessly lost in the face of the old woman's assertions. "I .... " I started to speak before even knowing what to say, so desperate was I to reassure this boy who meant so much to me. But what could I say? I had no way of knowing the truth. My heart went out to him. What must he be feeling, to suddenly realize that he was looking at a picture of his own father? A father he had never known, or could barely remember. I edged close to him on the settee, where we sat across from our hostess, and placed my arm around him once more to draw him close. He leaned into me, accepting, even welcoming my touch, but didn't waver from his gaze upon the face of the young boy in the photo. "It ... might just as easily be you in that photo, Jasio," I said quietly. "He looks exactly like you. Especially the eyes - so big, and ...." I ended abruptly, on the verge of saying that the boy's eyes looked so big and alive. I shrank from acknowledging the truth, however. For this boy, if the old woman spoke the truth of it, was long since dead. "My father," Jasio intoned, as if musing to himself. "Of course I wouldn't have remembered him like this, but ... shouldn't I remember, shouldn't I feel ... something?" "Perhaps." I answered him solemnly. "We don't often remember much about things when we're very young, Jasio. Perhaps you were just too young, when he was ... when the last time ...." "Yes," he rescued me. I felt so guilty for that - fumbling for words, when it was he who had just been given such shattering news. "How do you feel about it, Misiu? Are you alright?" He seemed suddenly to need the reassurance of contact with me, leaning in to me even more for support, sliding his bottom closer. I felt the taut muscles and rigidity of his whole body pressed into mine. With a stuttering sigh, he answered. "I-I don't know what to feel. About these pictures, all this .... I guess I should feel happy, to be told that ... I had a family once. That ... but it's just all too soon for me to know what any of it means. All I really do know is that I never had anybody, Piotrek. You came back for me last night. You're the only one who has ever come back for me. Only you." I squeezed him tightly to me and crossed my other arm over his chest to hug him even harder. The old woman was relentless. She seemed oblivious to Jasio's turmoil and started in again with her stories. It all seemed so impossible, what she was telling us about this once great family that she had served all her life, but what if it were all true? What did it all mean? What would it mean, for my Jasio? What would it mean for me? All I could think of, all I could do, was just ... be here, for him. I couldn't possibly understand what must be going through his mind, after hearing about his long-lost family like this. It would have to be enough, for now, for me to just hold him and let him think it through. ---------------------------------------------------------- "Glupi Jasio! Don't you ever stand on my shadow again!" Jasio could hear those words now, just as clearly as that day last Spring. He hadn't reacted fast enough. Bolek's balled-up fist came down like a sledge-hammer against the side of his head, and the boy flew in a heap into the roadside ditch. Even through the dazzling pain, he forced himself to open his eyes and to roll, knowing that he couldn't just lay there. If the old farmer got his ire up, there was no telling what he would do. "You trying to steal my ghost, boy!?" Bolek demanded, glaring down, towering over him, his huge hands resting upon his hips. Jasio stayed on his hands and knees, trying to look as meek and small as he could. How many times had he seen a little puppy dog cower in submission before a bigger dog? Old man Bolek was in charge of Jasio for the rest of this month, so it wouldn't pay to get him too angry. The boy wanted to eat. And he didn't want to sleep outside the farmer's hovel, as cold as it was at night. "No sir, I was just ... I was just trying to find out why your shadow wasn't as long as ...." "Stupid whelp!" Bolek cut him off. "The others may let you get away with all that kind of nonsense, but not me. Now get up, we have to get this hay back to the byre before sundown." "Yes sir," Jasio scrambled up, backing out of the way of the farmer`s ham-like fist, and took up his position again behind the man, but standing well back along the rope so that he couldn't possibly step on the old man's shadow again. It didn't matter that shadows obviously were caused by blocking the sunlight - that they had nothing to do with a man's `ghost,' whatever that was. Shadows were nothing. They didn't matter to a man at all. Bolek would never understand. Bolek would never even listen, if Jasio tried to explain it. Now Jasio wondered if this old woman, this old servant as she proclaimed herself, would understand him if he told her how he felt about being a Podhorowski. He knew the old woman was telling him the truth. Looking at the picture that lay upon his knees, he might as well be looking in the mirror again. Seeing himself in that full-length mirror this morning had been a shock, but now? What should he feel for the boy in the picture? What should he feel for this boy who grew up to be his real father, then ... died. Was killed. What should he feel for all those other people - his people - pictured on the mantle? His grandmother, his grandfather. Uncles, aunts - ancestors .... It was just a picture, from long ago. It was little more than a shadow, on paper. It felt like a piece of paper. It was a piece of paper. There was once a boy, and somehow, someone had put his shadow on this paper. There were once ... all these other people ... even a shadow had more substance than they did, to him. Memories. Now memories were real. Not like shadows. If only he had memories of his father, his mother, his ... all the Podhorowskis. Then he might feel something other than ... emptiness. But he did have memories. Of Piotrek. "What do you think, Piotrek?" Jasio heard himself asking. He even heard Piotrek's answer. But it was more the man's voice that he wanted to hear than his words. This man was real! Not a shadow, not a paper! This man at his side was the only reality that he cared about now. He felt the man - his man! He felt Piotrek edging closer. That was real too. The physical presence of this man next to him. The strength of his body. It sent shivers through his own form just to be near Piotrek. Not shivers of fear, like with Bolek or Leon. It was like his whole body was one of those strange pieces of metal he had found once - metal that clung to other metal - and it just didn't cling - it practically leapt towards the other piece of metal, like it needed to touch it. That was what he felt, being near Piotrek. Even as the man's arms went around his shoulders, Jasio snuggled closer, wanting to feel the man's flesh - to feel what was truly real. "It ... might just as easily be you in that photo, Jasio," Piotrek said quietly. "My father," Jasio answered. "Of course I wouldn't have remembered him like this, but ... shouldn't I remember, shouldn't I feel ... something?" "Perhaps," came Piotrek's reply. "We don't often remember much about things when we're very young, Jasio. Perhaps you were just too young, when he was ... when the last time ...." "Yes," Jasio said quietly, filling the awkward silence. He could practically feel the gentleness of the man. Piotrek didn't want him to be hurt, but he obviously didn't know what to say to avoid it. "How do you feel about it, Misiu? Are you alright?" Piotrek's lips almost rested upon Jasio's brow. The heat of the man's breath caressed Jasio`s skin, and his whole body responded. He shifted his bottom again, pressing hard against Piotrek. From the soles of his feet to the top of his head, he wanted to feel this man, to smell him, to ... taste him again. Piotrek's whole body was hard, not just his thing. A manly strength seemed to surround him. He smelled ... like a man. Like a man should. Not pungent like Leon or Bolek, but ... like the earth, of the earth. Jasio felt the man, smelled the man, and suddenly, he thrilled at the familiar ache growing between his own legs. He was getting hard down there, just like Piotr did so often. And he knew it was for the same reason. There was no way to tell the old woman what mattered to him. There was no way to tell her that all this land, all these pictures - they were ... shadows! There was no way to tell her that one moment with Piotrek, one second of his touch, was worth every bit of all these treasures that the old woman was talking about. I feel you, Piotrek, he wanted to shout out. You were there last night. You were still here, this morning. Your touch is real. Your touch is what I want. Jasio pressed his legs together tightly. The momentary relief, with his siusiak and his aching balls held rigid in the vise, was all that made it possible for him to quell what he wanted to cry out. He steeled himself, and with a ragged rasp of his breath said, "I-I don't know what to feel about these pictures, all this .... I guess I should feel happy, to be told that ... I had a family once. That ... but it's just all too soon for me to know what any of it means. All I know is that I never had anybody, Piotrek. You came back for me last night. It was you who came back for me. Only you." Jasio listened - he truly wanted to know it all - but the old woman's stories about his real father were something that he would have to think about later. Looking back had never done him much good. Until last night. He had looked back, that once, and wished that Piotrek would come back to him. At this moment, that was all that really mattered - that Piotrek had come back - these faded pictures meant nothing compared to this moment, sitting next to this man who seemed capable of ... well ... what wasn't he capable of? It was Piotrek who had wrapped him against the cold, who had given him warm clothes. It was Piotrek who kept Leon away. Piotrek, who had caressed him,- wanting only to make him feel good. Piotrek who had brought him here, made sure he had a place to sleep, to eat, to ... bathe. Piotrek who ... for the first and only time in his life ... made him feel ... wanted, loved. Piotrek who had touched him in places and in ways so intimately, and so differently from the way that Leon had ever done - Piotrek who had awakened in him ... what? Hope? Desire? Belief. Piotrek made him believe! In himself and in the future. Most of all, in the man, himself. Jasio listened to the old woman, but every word that was not about Piotrek, and their future together, was ... just like the shadows. There was more reality in the heat he felt right now, from pressing his body against Piotrek's flesh, than in all the Podhorowskis - even if they were his people. Jasio felt like his whole body was wound up tightly, like the spring he had scavenged from an old rusted clock in the Jodlowka dump. He used to wind it, and wind it, till it was a tight little disk of metal, then watch as it sprang loose - always wondering, thinking - how could he use it? What could he make with it? He felt like that now, like his stomach was all twisted up into a knot. The ache between his legs pulsed, begging to be released just like that old spring. But for what purpose?! For only one purpose now. He had only one purpose now. To be with Piotrek. To see Piotrek, to touch him, to hold him - oh, to he held by this man!. To taste him - to offer himself to this man! To know him - and to have this man want him! ---------------------------------------------------------- The photo dislodged from it's perch between Jasio's legs, and fluttered down upon the floor. I hastily let go of him, and bent to retrieve it. "I'm sorry. We must take care of this now. This photo of your ... Tato." The words were searing to me, and I swear I felt jealousy even of this faded photo! It was only moments ago that Jasio had called me his Tato. I didn't want to relinquish that title, even for ... especially for a photo. "I wonder what he was like, when he ... you think ... you think he would have washed me, like you did? "I'm sure of it. He would have washed you, taken care of you." "You can be sure of it, Jan," the old woman interjected. "You're father was a wonderful boy, and when he grew up, he made all of us proud." "You say he lived with you here during the war?" I asked her. "Yes," she answered with a wistful smile, and continued, reminiscing again, losing herself in what were obviously fond memories. "It wasn't safe on the estate, after the Germans came. But up here - my Karol, God rest his soul, my Karol and me, we kept Anton with us. The old Count brought him to us and said that the enemy would never touch him here. Anton already knew the Way. He found it when he was just ten. He and ... and ... ah, how can I forget his name ... I'll - I'll remember it ... Anton pined for him so, but there was no way for a Frenchman to visit the Droga in those times ... but Anton did love it here, even without his beloved ...." The old woman seemed suddenly to return from some far away place, interrupting her train of remembrances. They seemed to make less sense the longer she spoke, so perhaps it was just as well. "I babble too much," she mumbled, looking down at her twisted, palsied hands, resting in her lap. "There is much for you to discover here, for yourself, but right now, you want to know what happened to your father, don't you." "Yes," Jasio answered in a near whisper. "Well," she continued, "the Grecka Droga was protected, as it has always been. But then after the war, when all the Podhorowski estates were taken from them, and the family just disappeared - well, Anton was sixteen then, and wouldn't listen. He didn't realize what it was like, he couldn't know. We had kept him safe here all those years during the war, but we had also sheltered him from what it was like out there, with the Communists in control. He left. He was determined to find his Erastes, although it had been six years since they had last ... joined ... here. Koczurba had control by then. All the home estates had become part of the Jodlowka Collective, and Anton made the mistake of going directly there. Koczurba captured him and made sure that Anton was punished - just for being the last of the Podhorowskis." She stopped, and just sat silently for a moment, turning her head to stare out beyond us again, into the woods. "We never saw him again. He got word to us. He was assigned a shack on the Collective, within site of the ruins of the old palace. He was forced to work like all the others. He said he would make everything be all right again, but ...." "He didn't give up. He married one of the peasant girls. Imagine, one of his own peasants, and she became the rightful Countess Podhorowski." "I'm sorry, I should not speak any ill of her. From everything I heard, she stayed by Anton's side loyally until the very end. It was love that they had, just as true as the love between me and my man. She went with him, when the Commies came one day, and took him to Warsaw. Captain Rudenko searched for them. Found their records. They both ended their days in a common grave in some camp in Siberia. You can ask him all about it, he'll know all the details. I've never wanted to know that much. I have my memories. I have ... those years ... when he was with us ... like he was our own boy ... my Anton ...." I thought she was lost to the world then, lost to her memories, but suddenly she shifted her gaze from the far-off woods that had shared her memories with her, to gaze directly at Jasio. "Captain Rudenko said they had a son. Jan was his name - a name of honor, borne by so many of his line through the centuries.. Heir to the great Podhorowski name, and all that goes with that glorious lineage. But he never found any records about the boy. We all assumed that he - you - died with your parents in some Russian camp." "We should have searched for you, Jan! If only we had known! Leon. Koczurba!" she spat. "He must have kept you, when your parents were taken to Warsaw. Or your father, knowing what was to come in Warsaw, left you at the Collective on purpose. We don't know. We just don't know. Don't you see, that's why you ...." she ended in a spate of coughs, throwing her head back and sinking into her chair. Jasio quickly gave the picture to me and stepped over to her side, patting her on her stooped shoulder. "Babciu, Babciu," he called to her soothingly, bending down to catch her gaze. "Are you alright?" "Yes," she croaked, "I'll be alright. It's that Koczurba, Jan. He had a reason for keeping you. He must have all your things there too, anything that your father left you, all that remains beyond the Grecka Droga. That's why Captain Rudenko says that you must return there tonight. Before you go, before Piotr Ostoja takes you away from here forever. No. Not like that. Only you, Commie," she turned to me. "You will go. You will leave Jan here with me, and you will return, while there is still time, and you will find out ...." "No!" Jasio almost screamed. He stepped back from the old woman, and in almost a panic, looked from me to her and back again. "You won't ... you said ... we talked about it, and I don't want you to leave me, or take me back there either ...." "Jasio, Jasio!" I found myself sitting on the very edge of the sofa and reaching for him. He pulled back in a defiant little struggle, his eyes wide in denial of what the old woman was suggesting, but then he yielded to my grasp and gave in and let me fold him into my arms. I held him to me and buried my face against his chest, feeling the whip-cord wiriness of his frame, tensed against any plan that would tear us apart. I caressed his back almost in a frenzy, shushing him. "You're not ever going back the way it was, Jasio! Never! I don't know what's to become of us, but ... dammit, I won't make you go back there. I won't. I won't ...." My words trailed off as I felt his body softening, giving in to me. I leaned back, and drew him back onto the sofa with me, holding him, pulling his legs across mine, hugging him to me, cradling him almost like a baby. I glared over at the old woman defiantly. "You have to promise not to leave me either," he pleaded. "But ... if ... look, I don't think she's talking about ... she just wants me to go back to the Collective and try to get whatever belongs to you. Things that your ... your father left for ...." "I don't care about any of that. You said there were bad people chasing you. If you go back, they might catch you. There's nothing back there for me. I just want ...." "You don't know what Koczurba might have, Jan," the old woman interjected. "It doesn't matter what he has! Don't you see? I don't care anything about all this ... stuff you've told me. It doesn't mean anything to me! But Piotrek! He ...." "If your man loves you he will not let you make that decision, young man!" the old woman interrupted vehemently. Her ire was something to behold - she sat up suddenly with an energy that neither Jasio or I could have expected in her, and looked at the both of us like Baba Yar poised to cast some lethal potion. Just as suddenly she collapsed back into her chair, looking pale and drained. Both her hands, resting on the armrests, shook violently. Jasio scrambled to get out of my grasp again, groaning, as if denying the possibility that she might have had a stroke or something. I finally had the sense to boost him up, and followed to kneel opposite him by her chair. "It's ... alright," she whispered. She must have felt his hands caressing her arm, because her eyes remained closed. "But you ... mustn't refuse your ... birthright, Jan. There's so much ... more for you to see. I know ... no one helped ... we did nothing ... your man has ..." She closed her eyes, and took deep breaths. We could see her palsy abating, as her hands steadied a bit. Color began to return to her face. "Just don't make any decisions yet, Paniczu. I will take you up to your lodge now. Commie. Pull on that rope. There in the corner. I'm going to need help getting up to the Straznik. Servants will bring a carriage." I felt my own breath suddenly escape me. What was it she had said? Something that ... something that I somehow knew was very important. "What is this Straznik? The Guardian? A house?" I demanded insistently. "It's always been called that. The Straznik Drogi, where Podhorowskis have guarded The Way for more than a millennium." My heart was pounding, but I didn`t know why. Something about that name, something I had heard before. "Jasio's house, you said, because he is the last of the Podhorowskis ...." I mumbled, lost to my own thoughts, trying to remember something. Something that had to be very important. "His home. No matter where you may take him. The Straznik Drogi will always be his home." Try as I might, I could not place the name, the phrase. Straznik Drogi. Guardian of the Way. In a daze, I said "I ... I can help you to walk up there, if you wish us to go there now." "No. Something must be said first. Jan. This is your home. Yours to do with as you will as lord of this land. You may come and go as you wish. But with all others," she fixed her gaze squarely on me. "only those who are ready to follow The Way may go there." "The Way. The Way! You keep speaking in riddles, old woman!" I was angry. At myself, at her. There was something nagging at me. Was it something perhaps dangerous for Jasio? Was this old hag a threat to him? But no. There was nothing to indicate that. It was my fault, the way I was feeling. Letting my own fears get the better of me. "Forgive me. I know you think you are ... I don't know, carrying on a tradition or something, being true to the Podhorowskis - and now to Jasio. Jan. But you have to understand that this is very frustrating to ... both of us, I think. "I don't expect you to understand, Piotr Ostoja, but if you are true to your word you will do as I say." "True to my word?" "Last night, looking down the barrel of my shotgun, you said you would take care of this boy. I must know if you meant that, in all ways." "Well ... of course, I did." "Do you love him?" "Ye ...," I started to answer her immediately, emphatically, but the nagging continued. What was the old woman trying to get at? I looked at her hard, trying to plumb the depths of those old eyes. Bewilderingly, I answered, glancing across her at Jasio too. "Do I love him? Yes. Yes, as hard as it may be for someone like you to believe, I do love him." I stood, as conscious as ever that my dick bulged where it lay, expanding the fabric of my pants. Defiantly, still angry deep down at this old harridan's machinations, I felt like pointing to my penis and demanding her to deny what it meant when a man is aroused like I was by just standing near a boy. As quickly as that thought came, it vanished in a panic of doubt. Impossible. How could I even think of ruining everything Jasio and I had together? Instead, I reached across the old woman, holding both my hands out, begging Jasio to give me his in return. He slowly rose, his eyes fixed upon mine - questioning again. Always questioning! But he did raise his hands to mine, holding them out flat, palms down. I gently grasped his fingers and lightly pulled him over, from around the chair. "It doesn't matter, Babciu, that I've only known him for one - no - less than one day now. That doesn't matter, "I continued as I again pulled him to my side and put my arm across his shoulder. "I don't know how to explain it to you, but I think I would do - anything to take care of him. I've tried to explain it to him. Circumstances are ... there are people ... looking for me. If I could ... I mean, I will do anything I can for him. I have plans, there are people I can call. I ...." "I'll do that too, Commie. You're not listening to me. I asked if you love him!" "But I said I ... what do you want me to say?" I felt myself blushing. I glanced down at Jasio, and saw that he was watching me closely, listening as if he had asked the question, instead of the old woman. I sat back down on the settee, and gently pulled him down to sit beside me, trying to figure out what to say. I couldn't tell her what he meant to me, in truth. If a boylover learns anything in life, it's to hide his true feelings. Who but another boylover - or a loved boy - could possibly understand how I felt? How could I tell her that - that I`d ... marry him, for lack of a better word. I'd bind my being to his. But trapped in a world where such feelings are criminal, how could I tell her I wanted to devote my very being to this boy, that I wanted to be with him in every way, to be a part of him? How could I tell her? I had not even told him. I looked at her grim-faced. Feeling helpless. "If I could," I spoke now carefully, firmly, emphasizing my words. "If I can, I'll do anything. I wish it had been different. I wish I could have been with him all the years of his life, to watch him grow, to make sure he had enough to eat, a place to sleep all his own." I swiveled on the cushion, and looked directly at Jasio, including him in my words. "I would have been a ...," I gulped, unable to say what I truly wanted to say. My eyes sought his briefly, beseeching him to understand. But I couldn't maintain the contact. The questioning in his eyes threatened to force me into admissions, in front of our hostess, that might ruin everything we had had together. I dropped my gaze to my own hands, gripping my knees. "I would have bathed him," I muttered feebly, remembering how our ablutions together in the Grecka Droga's hot baths had meant so much to him. "I ... would have been a Tato to him...." I felt flushed suddenly, weak and defeated. A self-defeat, it was. I was not brave enough to dare the truth. My cock shriveled in that instant. I was literally deflated in body and spirit. Dammit, this old woman meant nothing to me, and yet I could not break through the fear of revealing what I really felt for Jasio. I resented her for trying to force me to do so. It wasn't for her to hear. It was for Jasio! "Ahhhhhh." the old woman finally filled my helpless silence. She stared at me, looking at me with narrowed eyes, as if trying to peer through some kind of fog at me. I watched her eyes as they lowered to my groin. She saw everything. She seemed to know everything. I waited, just knowing that she would comment just as crudely now as before out on the road. The silence was intimidating. I felt shamed. But at least Jasio hadn't noticed. He was staring up at me still. I didn't see any disappointment in his eyes, at least. Nor any kind of an accusation. He just looked ... he looked at me with such an open gaze of ... expectation ... of trust? Like I had done no wrong, as far as he was concerned. He had that magic with the old woman. A mere glance at him was enough to soothe her, to transform her. Now he had that same magic with me. His trust was like mana to me! I felt it just as if there were a lifeline between us, and he was filling me with his own unstoppable spirit. Defeated? No! I wasn't defeated. I couldn't be defeated, as long as Jasio had faith in me. God, I stood taller all of a sudden. I felt stronger. And yes, I felt every bit of that force returning within me, filling my manhood just as surely as it did my heart. When the old woman finally spoke, it was like nothing I had expected. Had she too drawn from Jasio's spirit? Had she sensed that perhaps there was something in me that was so very special to this boy? She continued almost speculatively, slowly, thoughtfully. "It's a noble thing, to be a father. Every boy deserves to have known a father. I'm sure you would have been a good one, Piotr Ostoja. But you are not his father, are you? "He ... he called me ...." "He called you Tato. Yes. I know. We must ask him what he meant by that. But first, let me ask you something more. You know, when you arrived here last night I thought you may have directed that big ugly Russian car here with a special purpose. Did you? Do you, Piotr Ostoja, know why this hidden vale is called the Greek Way?" "Yes, well, the road ..." "... extends no farther than Jan's chateau, behind us." she completed my sentence peremptorily. "You know nothing more than that?" "I was trying to find a way over the mountains," I threw my hands up, wondering what it was she wanted of me more than that very obvious explanation. "The Greek Way is not a road!" she said, her agitation obvious in the way she shuffled forward in her seat and grasped her cane with both hands. She looked at me with what I could only sense as exasperation, but then she glanced over at Jasio once more and in an instant she was soothed, becalmed. The boy was as much a balm to her as he was life to me. She melted back into her seat again. She sighed, then looked off into the distance again. "Babciu," I asked, "is there a purpose in ...." "You will think it very odd," she interrupted me loudly. "you, an all-powerful Communist official, will think it odd that I, a woman, could know of the Greek Way." "I don't think it odd, because I have no idea what ...." "Shusshhhh," she dismissed me, not even showing anger at my own interruption, but silencing me all the same. I felt every muscle in my body bunching, wanting to spring to action, but her shush was as effective as a command from a Commissar. "It has always been so," she continued, oblivious of my agitation. "It has always been true, that mothers and sisters - and old old loyal servants," she said with a bow of her head to Jasio, "that women have urged their men and their boys to walk The Way. We know what it has meant to the world, through all the years. From before the time of the Grotto, through all the centuries that the Mount stood sentinel, to the time of the Straznik, men and boys have joined together. Pushed on, encouraged, by their women. Don't you see, men and boys had to join together. Not as father and son. Oh so much more than fathers and sons. Otherwise ... well, there is Beauty in this world, there is Good, but there is also evil, and the Good must always be fought for. Women nurture the Good, but men and boys - only they can safeguard and defend it. It is The Way. It is what God has ordained. What the Gods ordained, before that." I was listening now. More than listening. Again that nagging something in what she said gripped me. She had triggered memories in me, as if I had heard it all before, and understood it then no better than I did now - but oh how I wanted to understand it! "Fathers can fight, but would a father lead his own son to battle? Can a father ever truly cut away all the ties that bind him to the earth? Fathers can instruct their boys, but what father could ever truly free the spirit of his son to dare fate?" The old woman was impassioned now, and spoke as if having a vision. I heard her, but at the same time my own mind whirled: The Greek Way. The Grotto, the Mount. The Straznik Drogi! Tomek! He had spoken of these same strange names! It was one quiet summer evening early in the War. The rest of our band were sitting about the fire, whiling away time before Tomek ordered us all to our blankets, but Tomek and I had walked hand in hand off into the tall grass of the field next to our hideaway, just scenting the slow breeze, listening to the encroaching silence of nighttime. I don`t know why I asked it. Maybe I wondered what it was, that something that seemed to bind me to the big man. I think I was afraid to just come out and ask him, so instead I said to him, "Tomek? Why do you only take boys into our troop?" His step faltered, as if he had stumbled over some clump of grass. Then he stopped and turned to face me. His expression seemed one of surprise, almost of alarm, like I had suddenly hurt him - me, the boy who had fought by his side and shared his bed for almost a year. If he had been wounded by a German bullet, I think that is what he would have looked like - surprised, shocked, disbelieving that anyone could break through his armor. He recovered quickly, though, and just stared at me quizzically for a moment. Then he chuckled. Quietly. "But haven't you learned by now, my little Piotrek, how much I love little boy ass?" "No." I objected immediately, lowering my eyes in embarrassment, feeling the blood rising up my cheeks, for his actions belied the facts of our lives together. "That can't be it, Tomek. That's no answer. There are ten boys with us now, but you've never ... you only ... fuck me." A mask dropped over his face in an instant. Although he stood there still looking down at me, his eyes seemed to retreat, he seemed to draw back, contemplating either me, or dwelling on his own thoughts, or ... I don't know. He was silent for a while, then spoke words like I had never heard him utter before or since. Gone was the peasant-like gruffness, gone was the easy-going bluster, to be replaced by a an almost studied formality, as if he were mimicking some man of culture and education, and yet he was not mimicking. "My little Piotrek," he sighed," In this world gone savage, you and I can fight the barbarians with more than mere guns and grenades. Perhaps ... someday you too will walk the path that I dare to follow. I am the Erastes to your Eremenos, dearest one. Hand in hand we walk the way of the Greeks. Together we can safeguard what the Guardians of the Rose once taught their boys upon the Mount, what was once celebrated by Greek Warriors and their boys at the Grotto of Naxos, what has lived on between men and boys at the Straznik Drogi. We can do that if ... if I am worthy of you, my little Eremenos. "Moj Eremenos. My beloved Piotrek. I ... I should have asked you before. Will you follow the Greek Way with me?" he held his hands out to me. I was dumbfounded, understanding so little of what the big man had said. It was all so strange, and yet ... I somehow did understand more of what had happened between us since the day he found me orphaned and alone. I stepped into his arms and buried my face in his massive chest, and simply said `yes.' He kissed me. This burly bear of a man who had saved my life, who shared my bed, who taught me how to survive in our crazy, upturned world, kissed me. He had never done that before. I don't believe he ever tried to do so again. But at this moment, he placed his finger under my chin, lifted my face, and leaned down to kiss me. Our lips met, our tongues slid sensuously past and over each other's. At that moment I knew that Tomek the Bear lived his life for me, to show me the way, to teach me how I might become a man someday. I don't know how much I missed, but the old woman`s rasping voice finally broke through to me: "... repeat, Mr. Communist. Do you understand what I have been telling you? "Y-yes," I fumbled to respond, wanting it to be a truthful answer. I understood that Tomek had been more than just another father to me. Much more. Was that what she meant by The Way? The Greek Way? The Grotto, the Mount, the Straznik Drogi - those names impassioned me too, but I hardly knew why. Because of what Tomek said? Men and boys. Men and boys! Always men and boys. What men and boys celebrated at the Grotto ... what men taught THEIR boys upon the Mount ... what lived on between men and their boys at the Straznik Drogi ... what Jasio and I had lived in this one day and night we had had together? I had protected him. Saved him. Yes. We had briefly - all too briefly, I feared - joined our fates, under the protective symbols all around us. My circle of life conjoined with his. Where we linked our lives together, we both thrived - that had to be part of the Good that the old woman preached. But to what ultimate purpose? What had I taught him for the days ahead? What had I given him ... for his future? In a searing flash within my mind, I knew that I had not given Jasio anything for his future. NO! I had not yet given him anything, but ... could I? Was there time? "Are you listening, Piotr Ostoja?" I again heard the Old Woman's demand. She continued without waiting for an answer. "Hear this, then. Why would a mother or a sister - or an old servant like me - let her boy, any boy ... be with a man? Because there is more to safeguarding the Good than merely knowing how to fight for it! A boy must understand the very nature of the Good. It is no accident that every religion on Earth enshrines Love as the embodiment of Good. It is by knowing Love that we know the Good. It is by sharing Love that man and boy - those special few men and boys who find each other - those that follow The Way - it is through their Love that they fulfill their destinies. They follow the Way together. It is their life. It is the life of our world." "You see that there is more to this love I asked you about, than that of a father to a son, don't you, Piotr Ostoja?" "Yes!" I answered angrily. "No! I mean ...." I looked over at her and lifted both my hands, palms open, waving helplessly in the air. I was reduced to being a supplicant before her relentless questioning. What was it she wanted from me? Why was she goading me, telling me these ... things ... about men ...." About men and their boys. Again I wondered if she was a witch. Could she see into my soul. Did she suspect all that I felt for her Jan? Did she - would she accuse me, would she denounce me as a filthy pedophile, if she knew ... but then, why all this about the special love between men and boys? Dammit, what was the old woman trying to do to me? To us. I could only drop my hands onto me knees, and look down. I felt no shame. I gloried in my love for boys, in my love for this boy. I was a MAN, when he saw me erect for him. What was I when she saw me? How I feared the baring of what I was to any public glare. "I ... I can't ... possibly tell you ... what I feel, Babciu," was my strangled reply. She sat quietly for a moment, when I didn't continue. I couldn't. I wanted to. For Jasio's sake. I wanted him to know that there was meaning in what we had done in the baths. I sucked his dick, yes! I took into my body part of his spirit! Then later he sucked my dick. It wasn't just sex, for him either. Not for either of us. I was sure of that. I would talk of it with him, I would declare my love ... but should this old hag hear it too? My hand crept back into his lap. He let me entwine my fingers in his. I squeezed, and he squeezed back. I dared to lift my eyes to his, hoping again to see the understanding there, even if we never had the chance to talk about anything again. "That's right, Piotr Ostoja. Touch him. Feel your spirits entwine, not just your fingers. Let the spirit wash through your body, feel the beauty of it, the Love. You will feel it, if you truly do love this boy. And then you must tell me. I must know." "Don't be afraid. I know you have touched him before. I know that you have taken his boyhood in your mouth ...." Jasio gasped at her words, and I felt his fingers clinch mine. Perhaps I should have felt shock myself, and anger, but oddly, I did not. Her words did not have the ring of an accusation. "No, Jan! Don't be afraid of what I know. Your women will always know," the old woman said, almost cooing to him. "I did look in upon you. But I was not spying. I did not watch. I did not stay. What you shared with your man was part of the Good that I so wanted you to share. I knew then that this man might indeed be worthy of you. When I glimpsed the sight of Piotr taking you into his mouth, I knew that my little Podhorowski had truly returned to his rightful home." "And you, Piotr Ostoja. You should not fear or resent my knowledge either. If you are the kind of man I believe you to be, you will have heard the legends, you will have searched out the fables, the myths. Aiden and Mihel - do you think the young prince's mother knew not what a man would teach Mihel, when she took him to the Mount? Yes. The Mount of the Rose. She knew. She knew Mihel would be taught how to make love. She hoped more - that he would FIND love with his man upon the Mount." "The little Tzarevich Alexis and his beloved sailor, Nagorny - sent here by Her Highness the Tzarina herself - oh you must know it was not just so that the little Alexis could bathe in the Grecka Droga's healing waters, but that the boy and his man might walk The Way. Yes. They walked this very road to the Straznik, and beyond. The made love in the same waters that you bathed in with Jan today. " "So you see, Piotr Ostoja, my challenge to you is no trick, no trap. I want to know of your love for our Jan. I want to know. I must know, if you are worthy to walk The Way." My mind whirled, and I swear I wasn't sure where I was, or when. First Tomek, now this old woman. And Jasio. The silence was palpable. I was almost afraid to look back to Jasio, but knew I had to. Time was slipping away. How few hours might remain, that I would be together with him? Would I let those hours speed by without telling him how I felt? Whatever the meaning of the old woman's challenge, whatever it meant to her, it was something I had to accept it for US. For Jasio and me. Perhaps also for Tomek. And ... Stefan .... "Jasio," I began softly, tentatively. "All day today, I've been telling you that we didn't have much time, that people were chasing me, that I had to take you back to Jadlow ... no, no, it's ok, Misiu. I won't ever make you go back there again. I think we have to take our friend here at her word. I think ... there's something magical about this place, like it's a haven, hidden away here in these mountains. She's promised to show us, to prove it. To prove that you are the heir to a great and noble family, that you own everything around us here. That we have a chance. I want to believe it. I guess I do ... believe it." "She also tells me that I must somehow prove that ... I love you. I tell you, I don't understand why she needs to know that, but maybe I don't care any more. Because I want to tell you, Misiu. I want to tell you, desperately. I think my heart will break, if I go one more minute without telling you. I want to try to explain what I think - what I hope - has been happening between us, ever since last night." "I used to think that Time was my enemy, that it has always stood against me, because it took from me everyone I ever loved before. You make me see everything differently, now. Now I realize that Time made me who I am, at this moment. It made you who you are now, too. "I don't know. This old lady seems to be very wise. I know she's right about one thing. I would not go back, now, Jasio. Back to be a Tato to you through all those terrible years you lived alone at Jodlowka. I'm selfish. I would not go back, because I've ...." I stopped, almost breathless, feeling my heart pounding so hard in my chest. I wanted so much for him to understand what I had to say. "Oh Jasio. My Jasio. The past shaped the both of us, but as far as I'm concerned my life only truly began yesterday, when I met you. Even if I could snap my fingers and make time stand still, I would not do so. I wouldn't go back. Not even to just two hours ago, to that time that is already gone, when I got to hold you and bathe you. Or before that, when I beheld you undressing in the light of a rainbow, and thought I had never seen anyone so beautiful. Or ... this morning, when I helped you get dressed in clothes that are finally worthy of you .... "Or ... to that moment I first beheld you, on the road outside Jodlowka. No, I wouldn't even go back to recapture any of those special moments. Do you know why?" He was staring at me wide-eyed, drinking in my every word. Slowly he shook his head no. "It's because every moment from now on, is going to be just as special, if I can be with you. Now is my time. I'm ready now, after 38 years, I'm finally ready to be the man that Time has been working to prepare you for too." "When I found you last night, and then drove away, leaving you on that desolate road all alone, I was afraid, I guess - afraid to accept the challenge. In truth, the very same challenge that Babcia has given me. But in truth I knew I was ready. I did return to you, Jasio. We were meant to be together, I believe. When at your moment of greatest need, when at my moment of greatest need, we met! I do accept Babcia's challenge. I think - I pray - that you will too. We can fulfill our destinies together, if we dare." "Jasio, I hope you will understand what I'm going to try to explain to you, about the kind of man I am, of the kind of man I want to be for you. I think this is what Babciu is daring me to do. She's forced me to be true to the kind of man I am - the kind of man I've always been. I think ... if I understand it myself ... I think she's forced me to be true to this ... this Grecka Droga. To `The Way.' To all who have followed The Way before us, and to all who will come after us." I took a deep breath again. "Why, Misiu ... why ... have I ... did I ..." I glanced self-consciously over at the old woman, who sat listening to me. I couldn't let her presence keep me from trying to explain the truth to Jasio about what I felt, about the kind of man I was. "you remember how I was all morning, with you. You even asked me about it. Why did I ... why was my ... penis so hard all the time. Why did you get hard too, when we were together in the baths? What is it that makes us both like that, just being together?" "I've been what is called a boylover all my life. I know now that I was born to love boys, to want always to be with them, to take care of them, to love them. I was made that way, for a purpose." Suddenly I just had to stand up, and face him, and as I rose, I realized why - I had grown harder while trying to find the words to tell Jasio about the kind of man I wanted to be for him. I felt my blood surging through my body, filling my penis - it was an irresistible, overpowering force that had to be expressed not merely in words, but in the one way that was unmistakably a part of being male. "For you, dearest." I reached down between my legs and felt the hard tube of my flesh trapped within my pants. Slowly, deliberately, oblivious to the presence of the old woman now, I slid my dick up and up under the fabric, till it pointed straight up in my white slacks, tenting it out, stretching up above my waistline, threatening to poke through the buttoned layers of my shirt. It felt huge under my fingers. Jasio stared at it momentarily, still wide-eyed, and I saw that he too was breathing heavily, feeling, seeing, sharing in my passion. I looked down between his legs. He was sitting tensely, his legs together, so it was difficult to tell, but I thought I saw the spear of his own little penis standing hard against the fabric of his sailor shorts. My heart raced, seeing him like that. "Misiu, I loved another boy, once, long ago. When I was just a boy myself. His name was Stefan. Yes, we did the same kinds of things together that you and I did in the baths today ... and like you did to me in bed afterwards. We shared in everything and wanted to be together always and forever more. The War ended all that, and took him from me, just like the bad times after the War took your parents from you. But in the time we had together, Stefan taught me so much. One thing I'll always remember - something he said once - that before we fell in love he only knew one word - `me.' "Me, me, me," he said. "But now that we are together, Piotrek, it's `us' and `we.'" "That's the way I feel about you, Jasio. I only want to know those two words, when I think of you - we and us! "I have to tell you that I was once a loved boy, too. Like you. There was a man named Tomek, who took care of me during the War. But `took care' doesn't really tell you what he meant to me, because he was much more to me than just a friend, or even like a father. We were like ... well, you know when a man like your father falls in love with ... a woman ... or one of the farmers on the Collective falls in love with a woman - they get married, they live together, share everything. Tomek and I were like that, Misiu. He was like I am with you - always hard because he had a need that was just as basic to his being as it is in mine when I'm near you - he had a fundamental need in his being to be always with me. . But more, Jasio, so much more - we made love. He ... lay with me ... entered me ... like - like a man does ... with a woman ... because he wanted to be a part of me, and I wanted to feel him in me ... He wasn't my lover. He was much more than a mere lover. I wanted him to be like my ... husband - or like my other half, like we were joined together ...." Suddenly Jasio stood too. I froze and stood there breathlessly, as he looked up at me. He seemed to be searching my face. Reading me. Using that power of his to probe, to seek out meaning and purpose. Wordlessly, he stepped closer, then closer still. Always peering up at me, drilling me with those omniscient eyes of his. There was Truth, where he looked, and I knew he had found it when he nodded, just once - an almost imperceptible lift of his head - an acknowledgment. He searched all of me, letting his gaze trace it's path down, across my shoulder. He reached out, and touched it, with just his fingertips, so lightly that I could barely feel it. His eyes glided downward, along my arm, then across to the other. He touched them both, gliding his fingers along them as well. I heard his deep breath, through his nostrils, as he let his gaze, and his fingers slip across my own heaving chest. Feeling me, forcefully now, tracing the outlines of my muscles - down, down over my stomach. Suddenly he looked up at me again, but let his hands drop, till I felt them upon the hard shaft of my penis. I took a breath, and answered his touch. "I think that's what love is, Jasio. It's that burning need you feel in me now. The need in me to be always with you. To be a part of you. To ... join with you ...." I heard rustling and grunting behind me, but I hardly noticed as the old woman croaked softly, " You two ... deserve some privacy ... I'm sorry to have intruded ... Paniczu, but ... I had to know. I will wait for you ... outside. You and your man ... you must certainly walk The Way. Together." With that I heard the scrape of her feet across the floor, and then the quiet click of the door as it closed behind her. Jasio had given her a slight, offhand nod - not once did he take his eyes from mine. His hand still explored my member through the cloth of my pants. "I tried to tell you this before, about what made me like this," I let my hand rest upon Jasio`s as he felt of me. "Jasio," my voice came husky and soft. "No matter the number of days there may be, I want to live them with you. I want to be with you, a part of you. I do love you, dearest. Will you be with me? Can you ... love me ... too?" He leaned in to me, seeming suddenly weak, and rested his cheek against my chest. I felt him pressing into me, as if he wanted to smother himself in the fabric of my tunic. He enfolded his hand and mine between our bodies, stepping into me, capturing my rigid dick within his grasp, almost within his body. Again I heard him breathe deeply, his nose pressed hard into my flesh. He seemed to want to burrow his body into mine. I suddenly felt the hard rod of his little penis against my leg as he practically climbed onto me, wrapping his legs around mine. I knew that he understood everything I had said, and with absolute certainty, I knew that he returned my love. There was a desperation in his need to tell me. It was like he had discovered a way to speak without words, that he had found a way to unite our bodies. I had said I wanted to be a part of him - I heard the echo of my words in his pressing need. "You already are ... a part of me, Piotrek," his muffled voice was as husky as mine. "And I never want to us to be apart again. Ever!" He turned his face in and I felt him kissing me, over and over. In one sinuous movement I immediately knelt, sliding down his body, wrapping my arms around him till I could see his face before mine. "Jasio," I whispered, " I ...." "Just tell me, Piotrek," he wouldn't let me continue. He pulled back from me just enough to look into my eyes. I felt the supple warmth of his delicate form yielding into my hands. my fingers molded to the blades of his shoulders. My palms held his slender arms tight to his sides. "Will it always be `us'? You and me? Was your ... was Stefan right?" "Yes, sweetie, it will always be `us.' "Do you want me like your man - like Tomek wanted you? Am I going to be ... do you ... want to be like that ... with me?" "Yeesss, Misiu" I groaned. I slid one hand down the curve of his back till it pressed against his soft bottom, and pulled him into me even more. He closed his eyes, and let me draw him closer. "If you will have me like that - like we were one soul - like our souls were joined ... our bodies ... joined." Dreamily, his eyes barely fluttering open, his nostrils just flaring, his every sense almost a part of mine, he said "It's what she means, isn't it, Piotrek? About this place? About you and me - like those others and ... The Way? There's a special Way, isn't there. For two people - like - like you and me?" "Oh yes, Jasio. A very special Way for a boy and a man, like you and me. Will you, dearest?. Will you walk The Way ... with me? "Yes, Piotrek. I will always walk The Way, with you. Only you ..." he whispered, and his lips were so close to mine that I felt them form the words. His breath entered into me as I so very gently completed our union and our lips became one.