Bruno started hesitantly, in a low voice,.
"I... I know I've hurt you, I've hurt you badly... and I don't know if you could ever forgive me, if I could ever forgive myself. I believed I was in love with you and, in my own way, I was. But now I know that in reality I was unable to love... that I was not able to reciprocate your love. If I had truly loved you, I would never have left you, I would never have let myself be attracted by... an illusion. And soon, very soon, I realised I'd made a complete mistake. You see, he loved me, in his own way, as I did you, but he was not really in love with me. He felt as if I was an object, I belonged to him, but he didn't belong to me, just as I didn't belong to you. So, now I understand the quality of your love. You were living for me, to make me happy... and you succeeded in that. But I... I wanted to be happy myself, but didn't care enough about making you happy, exactly as he didn't really care about making me happy.
Oh sure, he was nice with me, gentle, perhaps even caring, as I had been with you, but that wasn't enough for me. I only truly understood that when I experienced it first hand for myself... and then I realised how much I had wronged you. So, after six months... I left him. I needed you, the love you were able to give me, that you did give me, and which I had not been able to appreciate while I had it. But I didn't dare come back to you. I felt I didn't deserve your forgiveness, your love... Now that I had really discovered what it means to love, now I thought it was too late. You avoided meeting me, and I did the same. I don't know why you avoided me, but I avoided you because I was afraid... and because I despised myself. Antonello persuaded me to come... so if you tell me to get lost... I'll go away at once; but first I wanted to ask your forgiveness, if you can..."
He fell silent, choking back a sob. I was feeling confused, or rather, shocked and upset. I was trying get my thoughts, my emotions, my feelings into some sort of order, but I couldn't. One part of me wanted to embrace him, to hold him tight, tell him that nothing had changed; another part of me stopped me, filled me with fear - fear of making a mistake, of giving in too soon, of mistaking desire and sentiment for reason...
But finally, almost stammering, I spoke: "Bruno, oh Bruno... I love you, yes, I love you and I have nothing to forgive you, you've always been forgiven, from the very first moment, because I... I love you. But, you see... I'm frightened. Being together again? One part of me shouts 'yes, at once!'. Another tells me 'but if it should happen again, would you be able to survive?'. I need you, Bruno... and that frightens me too. And then, three years have gone by, you're no longer the same Bruno who left me, and I'm no longer the same Andrea you left. Each of us has lived through different experiences that have made us grow in different ways - are we still made for each other?"
I stopped talking, waiting for his answer, hoping he could find an answer that would convince me we had to get together again.
An incredibly long time passed before Bruno resumed: "I don't know, Andrea. I hope so, I wish so ... but I honestly don't know. I only know that I love you...and if you tell me that you would be happier away from me... I'll understand and will leave you in peace, because I've finally realised only one thing is really important to me, and that's your happiness. Believe me... or, no... if you still can, if you want to... put me to the test. I can't ask you to believe my word alone, but only facts... and if... Forgive me, I'm not trying to push, I don't want to force you. I am here, Andrea - do with me what you will, what you feel is best for you."
Tense, I looked at him anxiously: "What does it mean to you, Bruno, that you love me now, that you want to see me happy? Is it possible to go back? Is it possible to erase the pain that we've felt, to let bygones be bygones?"
"No, it's impossible to go back. A wound cannot not exist, once it has been inflicted. But one can stop causing the pain, and the wound can heal up... Oh God! If I only I had never done what I did! But sadly I did do it; because I was not able to love you the way you deserved, because I was a spoiled brat, happy being spoiled..."
"But obviously I didn't give you everything you needed. I understand that. In any case, I am sixteen years older than you. You are young, you need to be with young people. When you are a man in your prime, I'll be an old man - what kind of future is that for you?"
"What does age matter? You are... a magnificent person, a person who is able to love. Can a wrinkle change all that? What use is it being young, if one is unable to love? Look how many years I've wasted! You are younger than me, believe me. And then, wouldn't it be beautiful, to grow old together? Andrea..."
"But then, what if you were to leave me when I'm so old nobody else would want me?... No, I'm sorry, that was just a selfish thought. You see? I'm not so good, so unselfish, after all." I concluded with a bitter smile, feeling terribly mean.
"Andrea, whatever it costs, I'll never abandon you again, if you want me back."
"No, Bruno, don't say that. Nor can I ask that of you. If I'd asked you four years ago if you would one day abandon me, I'm sure you would have sworn it was impossible. And you would have said it with the same conviction, just as truthfully, as now."
Bruno lowered his head, confused. Then he looked back to me, his eyes brimming with tears: "You are right, Andrea. You can't believe me any longer..."
"No, it's not that. I wouldn't be believable either, if I were to say 'forever'."
"No, I would believe you. Because I know you and I know that for you it is so, it has always been so. But... you only know the stupid and childish, the selfish and superficial Bruno who has not been able to love you. You're quite justified in thinking you cannot trust me..."
I took his hand in mine. It was the first time our bodies had made contact: "No, Bruno, it's not that I don't trust you, I swear. It's just that nobody can say 'forever!'. And my mistake was in knowing that was so, and still having dared to hope it was forever."
"No, no, no! Don't keep blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault! It's me who did wrong, only me, do you understand that?"
I don't know what happened to me, but I burst into nervous, almost hysterical laughter: "All right, all right. Let's stop competing about who is more at fault. What do you suggest we do, Bruno?"
"You... do you still want me?"
"Yes Bruno, yes. I want you physically, I want you emotionally, I want you intellectually, I want you! I want my Bruno, but my Bruno, the one from three years ago, no longer exists. I feel ill, I want you so badly! But I'm also terribly scared."
"Scared? Of... of me?"
"No. I'm scared - of life. I was parted from Michel by life, from Benjamin by death, from Jussuf for reasons of State, and then from you... Life is merciless, Bruno."
"But then, what's there left for us to do?" Bruno asked, distressed.
"I don't know, Bruno, I don't know. I want you, but..."
"So, why don't we try then Andrea? Please..."
"Yes, we can, but how? I... I would like to make love with you, now, right away. But I feel it would be the wrong way to start again. I like you so much, you know that... but it would be a mistake just to give in to desire..."
"But it's not just desire - you still love me."
"Yes. I've never stopped loving you, not even for a moment. When I first met you, you were a scared, runaway boy... and now you are a beautiful young man, learned, refined, more desirable than ever..."
"And you're the one who made all this happen. You gave me back my life, and taught me what love is..."
"Are you sure you're not just mistaking gratitude for love?"
He looked at me amazed: "NO! We had this discussion ten years ago. Why is it that you are so able to love, but are so scared if others love you? I am grateful, of course. But I love you, much more than I am grateful. After I left that boy, two and a half years ago, I didn't want to have even a brief adventure, because I love you. And if you don't want me, I may perhaps one day have an adventure, because the flesh is weak, but I will never be bound to anybody, because I love you, only you. Sure, you can think that these are just words, but how can I prove this to you? Anyway, that's what I feel, and what I believe."
"I see... perhaps you're right. Listen, Bruno... let's give it a try, if you're willing."
"If I'm willing? I desire nothing else, I dream about nothing else. Andrea, tell me what do you want me to do, anything."
"So, what are you waiting for then? Why don't you come over here?"
"Over there? With you? On the bed?" Bruno asked, dumbfounded.
"Yes."
"But do you really want to...? Didn't you say that it would be wrong, to make love right now?"
"Yes... but it's one way to start again, isn't it?" I answered hesitantly.
Bruno came over to me, sat on the bed beside me, and embraced me lightly, shyly. I hugged him back, tightly. I smelled his good scent again, I felt again his strong body, and I became lost in him. We started to caress each other and fervent desire reawakened in us both. I started to undress him feverishly.
Bruno stopped me gently: "No, please... not yet... Give me the time to believe that all this is true..." he murmured.
"As you like, Bruno, even if... it's difficult."
We continued to caress each other more and more tenderly, as the evening darkness slipped furtively into the hotel room. Gradually we lay down on the bed, still dressed, embracing tightly and caressing each other sweetly. Neither of us even felt the pangs of hunger. We remained like that, in silent embrace, both aroused but afraid to give free vent to our mutual desire, until we glided insensibly into sleep.
I woke up in the dead of the night. Bruno was curled up against me and held me tight. I looked at him sleeping serenely, and felt deeply moved.
I murmured to myself: "Oh, Bruno, Love... you are here again... you are with me again! I don't know if this time it will go better, but as long as it lasts, I will be the happiest man in the world. How much I have missed you, Love...!" I gave him the lightest of caresses and, gazing at him and clasping him to me, I abandoned myself to sleep once again.
Bruno was the first to wake up in the morning. He woke me up caressing me and pecking me lightly on my face.
"How do you feel, Andrea?" he asked, noticing the expression on my face.
"Well... very well. What time is it?"
"Seven forty-five. Do you want to sleep some more?"
"With you so close? No. Why don't we go and take a nice shower now, instead?"
"Together?"
"Of course, together."
"Are you sure?"
"More than sure. Are you coming?"
We got off the bed, quickly freed ourselves of our clothes and went into the shower. Bruno turned on the water and adjusted it. We started to soap each other and soon we both were strongly aroused.
"God, how beautiful you are, Andrea!" he murmured.
"And you are splendid!" I said full of desire. We embraced, kissed. "I want you..." I murmured in a hoarse voice.
"I'm here... I'm yours." he murmured.
We coupled under the pelting water. It was a wonderful joining, very long, of an incredible intensity. It was tender, ardent, sweet, vigorous love-making in which we savoured each other again with calm and with passion. When at last we both reached the peak of pleasure, we almost shouted our passion.
We rinsed off and dried each other then I took Bruno by the hand. "Come to bed... I still need you."
"Me too..."
So we started making love all over again, this time with extreme gentleness and calm, savouring each other voluptuously. It was as if we were exploring again, rediscovering each other. Like when you go back to your native village and try to retrace your memories, and check at once to see how much and in what ways it has changed. Without a shadow of doubt, this was my Bruno, even if he was different. And for the first time, during our wonderful orgasm, we once again called each other "Love".
When we lay back, sated, quiet, I told him: "It's true, you know, Love - you are different now. I feel you have changed... and I can feel you really love me. I cannot tell you why, but I can feel it. If I was happy being with you before... I can't find the words to tell you how much more so I am now. More than with any of your words, you've convinced me of your love with your whole body."
He looked at me with luminous eyes, radiant. "Thank you, Love, thank you..." and he burst into tears.
"Hey, what's up?" I asked him gently, caressing him.
"Nothing. Don't you know that you can cry for joy too? I was so afraid I'd lost you forever. I was living in remorse, in darkness. Now finally life has savour again, thanks to you. Without you I was a nonentity - now I feel like a king!" he murmured and, curling up against me, he sobbed aloud, giving vent to all the pain of those three years of being so far away. I hugged him and cuddled him, deeply stirred.
I really could feel that a great change had taken place in Bruno - every one of his gestures, his looks, his caresses, his kisses proved to me he was now deeply, truly in love with me. It had been almost a competition between us to give more to the other, and not in a mechanical, reasoned, calculated way, but in a spontaneous, instinctive, natural way.
But... will it always be so? I asked myself. Perhaps not so intense as today, but it will be splendid, because, whereas before he used to tell me he loved me with words or with little attentions, now all of him was shouting his love for me, proving it to me beyond any doubt.
We decided to stop in Capri, and spent wonderful days there, almost a honeymoon. Then we went back to Florence, to "our" home.
As soon as Bruno entered, he stopped, dumbfounded, then toured all the rooms. Finding the three parcels with the presents for his three birthdays, he turned to me: "Oh, Andrea! How wide, deep, huge your love is! How sweet, strong, unique! Will I ever be able to love you that way?"
"Maybe this time, yes..."
"I'll do my best, I promise!"
"I believe you, Love, I believe you."
"For three years this home has been waiting for me..."
"No, it was waiting for us. But now we'll make up for all the lost time, won't we Bruno?"
"You bet!" he exclaimed.
We kissed passionately and started to undress each other feverishly.
"Oh, take me, Andrea! I want to feel you inside me, I want you to make me feel that I belong to you!"
"Come into the bedroom..."
"No, let's stay here. I want every room to become a love nest for us."
We united just like that on the lounge carpet and I felt overwhelmed by a tide of heat and such intense shudders of pleasure as I had never felt before in all my life. And I felt also a kind of wild joy. Bruno was really splendid, overflowing with love.
Thus a wonderful new era started for us. Bruno had matured a great deal and really was the ideal companion. His work didn't hamper our life together. He asked me if he could refurbish our apartment, almost as a symbol of our new life together, and I was glad to let him do so. He had exceedingly good taste and was very professional, and I really loved the result.
We'd been back in Florence for about a month, it was February 1958, when a thought that had already been in my subconscious for a while came to light.
I expressed it to Bruno: "I think we ought to go and see Antonello, to thank him."
"Yes, sure, you're right."
So, we went to Antonello's home. But only his brother lived there, who told me that Antonello didn't live in Florence any more.
"Do you know where he's gone?"
"No, I don't. He hasn't sent me his new address yet."
"But... that's odd. Why did he move?"
"I don't know. I'm afraid he must have got himself into some serious trouble, but he didn't want to tell me. are you his friends?"
"Yes, and we were hoping to meet him..."
"He packed up on the fourth of January, and left."
"But... what about his work? The school?"
"He told me that he gave in his notice, he resigned."
We talked some more but it seemed that his brother really didn't have any more news.
Then I remembered Father Stefano. We went to look for him at once. He received me with his usual warm welcome. I explained to him that I was looking for Antonello, and also told him the reason, what he had done for us.
"Yes, I know. But it would be better not to look for him. He told me the facts and it is precisely because he was afraid you might come to look for him that he left everything."
"But why? I don't understand."
"Because in reality Antonello was deeply in love with you, Andrea. But he knew that you are in love with Bruno, that you had never stopped loving him. So, he decided to get right out of everyone's way."
"Out of everyone's way?" I asked really alarmed, scared.
Father Stefano smiled: "No, not like that - he's a true believer, remember, so suicide is out. He's found a good job, he's all right..."
"Then you know where he is now?!" Bruno interjected.
"Yes, but I promised not to tell anybody, least of all you."
I felt bad inside: "He was in love with me... and he is suffering because of me. I feel..."
"No, Andrea, no-one's to blame. Antonello made an adult choice, worthy of one who is able to love, both when he started his relationship with you, and when he stepped aside to allow Bruno to take back his place. Everything's fine like this, you mustn't reproach yourself at all. He wanted you two to be happy... are you?"
"Yes, we are... but at what price!" Bruno said, and this pleased me.
"At a price he thought worth paying."
"Oh Christ! Oh, sorry, Father..." Bruno exclaimed. Father Stefano smiled understandingly. Bruno continued: "I want to be able to love like that too. But Antonello, poor boy..."
"Stop worrying about him. He's all right."
"I hope he can find somebody able to love him the way he deserves..." I said, feeling a worm.
"I certainly hope so too." Father Stefano said.
"If I wrote him a letter, will you get it to him, Father Stefano?" I asked.
"Yes, I think I can do that."
"But does he at least have a good job?" Bruno asked.
"Yes..."
"But resigning like that from the school... Antonello loved teaching, being a teacher was important to him..." I said.
"He still is. In a good private school."
"At least that's something..." I murmured, confused. "But how could I have not realised he was in love with me?" I added.
"Antonello didn't want you to be aware of it, and he was right. If you had realised, everything would have become more difficult. Because after all, you loved him too, and do love him, or else you wouldn't be here now, Andrea."
We talked for a long while, about Antonello, love, religion, and I saw that Bruno was fascinated by what Father Stefano was explaining us.
Together, we wrote a long letter to Antonello.
Then, as we were about to leave, Bruno asked: "Father Stefano, if I come back to see you, will you help me to become a real Christian? At least I will be sure I can learn to love in the right way."
"Of course, Bruno, you will always be welcome."
"And... Father Stefano, can you give us your blessing?"
"With all my heart."
We went back home both of us feeling renewed, different, changed, matured. It was really the start of a new, fuller life for us. Now we were united in our bodies and in our minds, in affection, and in prayer. They were splendid, incredible, marvellous years. If I hadn't lived them for myself, I would have thought they existed only in a fantasy world. But, as so often happens, for good or for ill, reality for me surpassed any fantasy.
Very soon, besides going to Mass and to pray together, we both became involved in helping Father Stefano in his ministry with a group of handicapped boys. The young priest became our spiritual father, our real guide, our friend and confidant. It was so good going to take Holy Communion together, living together, helping others together, and also becoming old together.
Bruno had made a name for himself as an architect, and I continued working and successfully leading my newspaper.
In 1961 my nephew Alex came to visit us, with his lover. It was no longer his school friend, but a boy his own age he met while doing his National Service. He was a likeable and jolly Scot, though with the cheerful and extrovert character of a Latin. His name was Clyde. Alex told me how they decided to become a couple. One evening, on leave, they went for a drink in a pub. While they were going back to their barracks, merrily chatting as they went along a narrow, half-dark lane, at a certain point Clyde, laughing and joking, pushed him into a pitch-dark gateway, pressed himself against him and, restraining him with his arms and legs, French kissed him. Alex, after hesitating briefly out of surprise, returned the kiss, becoming aroused, and feeling his comrade's excitement.
Then Clyde broke away from him, looked him straight in the eye and said: "Sorry, Alex."
"Is it because of... the alcohol?" my nephew had asked rather disappointedly.
"No. It's because I've fancied you ever since I first met you. I want you..."
"Does that mean you want... to have me?" Alexander asked, excited, as he too had been feeling a growing attraction towards his comrade for some time.
"Please don't tell the others... You know what would happen if they knew I'm a homosexual."
"No, I certainly won't tell anybody, only... on one condition..."
"What condition?" Clyde asked, tense and uncertain.
"That you make me yours, that you become my lover!" Alexander answered, pulling Clyde towards him again.
"You mean... you... are like me... too?" the young man asked, taken aback, as Alexander started caressing him between his legs.
"But I like to get fucked... I hope you won't disappoint me..."
"Fucking shit, Alexander, are you taking the piss?"
"D'you want to find out right now if I'm serious or not?"
"It would be dangerous here..."
"But you've made me horny..."
"Holy shit, you're a fine one to talk..."
They went back to their barracks, holding back their mutual desire, but the very next day they found a way to make themselves scarce and be able to make love without risk. And so they became lovers.
"I assure you, Uncle, Clyde is a real stallion. He's adorable, we fit wonderfully together..." Alexander said to me, in Italian.
"What are you saying about me?" Clyde asked with a broad grin, hearing his name.
"That you're the best fucker in the world!" Alex answered, in English.
Clyde barely blushed, but nodded, merrily, then asked me: "Do you mind?" and pulled Alex to him, kissing him passionately.
"Sorry, Uncle, but..." my nephew said and, taking Clyde by his hand, they withdrew to their bedroom.
In the month they spent with us, we would often hear them moaning in their bedroom and afterwards it was beautiful to see them coming out with their eyes sparkling from their shared pleasure. That month together with the two young men was really enjoyable.
In 1963 something happened that risked becoming a problem. Bruno won a competition for a major complex in Kuwait, so he had to go there to supervise the construction. This meant that he had to be away, at times for months on end. We would often call each other, we wrote letters, and somehow or other the enforced separations passed by. Whenever he came back, the happiness of being again together repaid us for the separation. In May, Bruno was away again for a couple of weeks, and I had to interview an aspiring young journalist who had been warmly recommended to my by some friends in Milan. His name was Valerio and he was twenty-four.
He presented himself at my office. He was dressed with informal elegance and his attempt to put on a brave face, while in his eyes I could read his fear of not making a good impression, gave me a feeling of tenderness. I started with the usual interview, filling in the form with his details, but we were continually interrupted by the telephone or by people from the newspaper needing to talk with me. While I only needed to ask him for his details, this was not a big problem, but when I started the real interview, to investigate his mental attitude, his way of expressing himself, his way of interpreting things, I felt really annoyed by all these interruptions. So, in the end, I suggested he should come to see me at my apartment that same evening. I gave him my card, wrote the meeting in my diary, and bade him goodbye.
He turned up in the evening punctually at eight thirty, which made a good impression on me. I sat him down in the lounge and offered him a drink to put him at ease. Then I started talking with him - he was an interesting boy. He was very frank, yet nevertheless very proper. He gave me the impression he came from a noble family. When I asked him, he smiled in mild amazement and denied it with simplicity. As we were talking, I came to realise that he had the makings of a splendid journalist, but that he still needed to be refined, groomed. So, I proposed to him a series of training meetings - I would take care of him personally, as I thought he deserved it. Meanwhile, I told him, he could start work on my newspaper as an apprentice. If all went as I thought, in a couple of months I would be able to hire him as a journalist.
Valerio was radiant: "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Nike, really. But... I know that I was recommended to you, and I hope that you're not..."
"No, my boy, you're made of the right stuff. All the recommendation did was to make sure that it was me that interviewed you, instead of one of our sub-editors. But don't worry - if I didn't have faith in your potential, I would certainly not hire you, however important the recommendations were. My first loyalty is to my newspaper."
"Thank you very much, Director. I feel much happier now. I really want to become a journalist, and a good one."
"If you follow my instructions, you will become a really good journalist. But you will have to work hard."
"Effort and difficulties don't scare me, Director. And I will follow your instructions to the letter, you can trust me."
"Perhaps the spirit is more important than the letter..." I suggested archly.
He seemed confused, blushed slightly and nodded.
So, he started working at my newspaper during the day, and would come to my apartment in the evenings for the informal course I intended giving him. At the newspaper he was caring, industrious, genuinely untiring. And he always had a beautiful, open, luminous smile. At my home he was attentive, keen, I would say well-behaved, without losing even a little bit of his freshness and his fascination.
Yes, I use the term "fascination" deliberately, because little by little I literally became fascinated by him. And not just because he was a handsome boy, in fact beautiful according to my tastes, but mainly for his character. I started to look forward to the evening with real pleasure and, without being aware of it, each time I kept him a little later.
Finally one evening I realized it was already one a.m. and we were still talking: "My goodness, we've hit one o'clock! I didn't realize."
"Not me, Director. It's so enjoyable talking with you. If I didn't have to go, I'd like to stay here for ever."
I smiled: "Yes, I find your company most enjoyable too, but there is a limit to everything, don't you think?"
"No, I don't agree, Director. Why put limits on the good things, things we like?"
"But a limit exists, and it's determined by our duty. Tomorrow morning we have to be sufficiently rested to carry out our work properly."
"Well, yes... that's true." the boy admitted.
A couple of evenings later, I rebuked him, possibly a little too sharply, about the way he had dealt with a subject I'd suggested to him. I saw he was disheartened. I encouraged him not to take it like that, to react, and I told him to try to rewrite the piece. I got up and moved away, to leave him in peace. I was sorry I had treated him unkindly. The boy was really sensitive, I told myself, he didn't deserve such a sharp reaction. I felt a sudden impulse to hug him, to apologise... I went over to the table again, coming up behind him.
He heard me coming and turned to look up at me, his eyes glossy: "I can't do it, Director, I really can't. I just feel... so confused..."
>From behind him, I put my hand on his head and ruffled his hair tenderly: "Never say 'I can't', Valerio. You're a really talented young man and you can manage very well. Sorry about just now, I didn't mean to treat you badly. You don't deserve that, you're a dear boy..."
He leaned his head back against my body, took my hand between his and kissed it lightly. I felt so troubled by that sweet contact that I broke away from him at once.
Valerio stood up, turned towards me, and in a voice broken with emotion said: "Perhaps I'm too tired. It's late, it is probably best if I go home..."
I nodded dumbly, unable to answer him. In actual fact, I had read in his eyes the same agitation I was feeling myself - he too was attracted to me, physically and emotionally.
I went to bed and did nothing but think over what I had felt. That the boy attracted me incredibly, troubled me. If I were just to make a move, I could pluck him like a ripe fruit. And he would certainly have allowed me to, without any problem. I had difficulty getting to sleep. During the night I dreamed I was making love with Valerio, passionately, in the middle of a sunny, flowery lawn. I woke up wet - it was years, many years, since I'd last had a wet dream. I blamed it on the separation from Bruno. It was a month now since I'd had any physical contact, and I wasn't in the habit of satisfying my needs by myself. So I didn't attach much importance to it.
At work the next day, Valerio was his usual self, efficient, attentive, with the same broad smile. That evening he come round as usual for his lesson. To tell the truth, he was dressed no differently from normal, and yet when I went to open the door and he stood there in front of me, for the first time he seemed to be dressed really provocatively. He seemed more beautiful than ever. Just his nearness troubled me deeply. I felt more and more strongly attracted to him; and I could read in his eyes the same desire as was growing in me.
We began the lesson. He showed me the article he'd written. As a subject, I'd given him "Reportage from a cruise". I read it through. It was well written, lively, entertaining and fluent, in Italian that was simple yet elegant, as a good journalist's should be. And, whilst not lacking in "colour", it was suffused by a subtle psychological analysis about the presumed cruise passengers that I liked very much. At a certain point, I read the description of a couple who were "evidently on honeymoon". It was well written, but all the same I pointed out: "From your text, you can't tell which is the groom and which the bride."
"I did that on purpose, and for two reasons. Firstly, to avoid stereotyping the rôles - the man who acts and thinks and moves in such and such a way, while the woman behaves in a different way... And then, I also did it to suggest that it could equally be a honeymoon couple of two men or two women. It's time people started to accept that two men, for instance, can also be in love, without being scandalized by it."
If he hadn't blushed while saying these last words, I could still have believed it was just the result of taking up the cause of a minority... but now, I suspected it was a personal message aimed at me.
Instead of ignoring it as would have been wise, I gave him more rope: "It's not our job to make people think the way we would like them to, Valerio."
He fell into my trap like a school kid: "Why not? Do we have to continue to feel different, and to be discriminated against, just because people don't understand?"
I smiled - he was so worked up telling me what he felt, he wasn't even aware of my snare.
So I asked him: "So, you think that if a man feels attracted towards another man, it should be possible for him to show that openly, with no qualms?"
"Yes indeed. Crime is the only thing we must avoid, or else hide in shame. The private life of a citizen, if there is no crime, should not be repressed by public opinion."
"Nice words, but not based on personal experience. Fine in theory. But if, for example, I said to you 'Valerio, I want to make love with you...' what would your reaction be?"
"I would answer 'yes, with pleasure'... if it was what I wanted too." he corrected himself, finally becoming aware of my game.
We looked each other straight in the eyes for a long while. We had both half-revealed ourselves, and yet had both kept a safe escape route open.
Though a tiny, tempting voice inside me was sweetly whispering: 'seduce him, he's offering himself to you...', I heard myself answering: "Well, you could be right. But it's one thing to make certain theoretical assertions like this, just to discuss principles, and quite another to actually experience the real situation. Anyway, if those were your intentions in writing this article, you have done it with very good grace, in a way that could not upset the potential reader, and that's very... like a real journalist. Much better than running at full tilt, spelling out our ideas clearly, and thus risking offending the reader's susceptibilities, and so producing the very opposite result. Well done, Valerio, congratulations."
"Did I... offend your susceptibility, Director?" he asked, a silent prayer etched in the depth of his beautiful eyes.
"No, Valerio, not at all. After all, we were only talking theoretically. But now let me finish reading your article..."
A flicker of disappointment clouded the boy's eyes. At this point he no longer knew what to think, what to do. I hoped he wouldn't make a new attempt, as I felt that if he insisted, it was very likely I could end giving in.
Valerio didn't return to that subject again, and I was able to regain my self-control. Our lessons proceeded without problems and few difficulties. Only now I was aware, it was essential for me not to lower my guard, or else I might have been the one to make the first move, taking advantage of the obvious attraction that the handsome boy felt towards me.
Eventually I was able to hire him as a journalist on my newspaper, so our evening meetings ceased. And fortunately, Bruno came back home at last.