Chapter 17

Erik came out of the restroom and glanced toward the table on the distant terrace: Felix was sitting there quietly, eating a large bowl of Greek yogurt with a spoon.

He walked straight to the counter.

“Hey, Yannis.”

The short, stocky man with a ruddy complexion put down his glass and came out from behind the counter with a broad smile. “It’s so good to see you here,” he said, giving Erik a light punch on the shoulder. “It’s been a while since you last came. Since… well, is everything alright?”

“Not bad,” Erik said, pretending not to notice the obvious pause. “By the way, I have a question for you. You must be pretty familiar with the stories of the Greek gods, right?”

Yannis puffed out his cheeks, looking almost offended. “Tch, how could you even ask! It’s been less than ten years since I left the literature department in Sparta. Do you think my education has sunk to the level of the country bumpkins around here?”

“I know. So I wanted to ask, in the story of Apollo and Daphne, why did Daphne choose to turn into a tree rather than accept Apollo?”

“That’s simple, it was because of Eros’s mischief. Apollo boasted that he was the best archer in the world and mocked Eros’s bow as a child’s toy, utterly useless. So that mischievous little god got his revenge: he shot a golden arrow into Apollo’s heart and a lead arrow into Daphne,” Yannis explained eloquently. “Of course, the result was that Apollo fell madly in love with her, while her heart, pierced by the lead arrow, felt nothing for him. The more he pursued her, the more she despised and feared him. Finally, he caught her and tried to force himself on her. She cried out to her father, the river god, and the other gods for help, and they turned her into a laurel tree—but even that didn’t stop Apollo. He embraced the tree,” he winked, “and declared it his.”

“I see,” Erik sighed. He found the story, and Apollo himself, increasingly unappealing.

Yannis looked at him curiously. “Why the sudden interest in this story?”

“Nothing. I think I’ve always mixed it up with the story of Hercules chasing the deer. Someone corrected me recently.”

“Ah, Hercules!” Yannis exclaimed. “He’s my absolute favorite. You know, back when I was in school in Sparta, I did a project on Hercules…”

“Yes,” Erik patiently listened to Yannis’s little lecture again and seized the moment when he paused for breath to interject, “Now give me the bill, Yannis. I need to get going.”

“The bill’s already been settled,” Yannis gestured with his chin toward the terrace. “Your little friend came over and paid it.”

“Oh, okay,” Erik said. “But he’s not a little friend. Felix… he’s the same age as me.”

“Really? He looks like a high school student. He’s so small,” Yannis said, completely disregarding the fact that he himself was significantly shorter than the local average. “And he’s way too thin,” he added. “He looks like a starving kitten.”

Erik didn’t like how Yannis spoke about Felix—he felt that Yannis’s jokes had never been as unwelcome as they were today. “Thanks for the hospitality,” he said stiffly.

He was about to leave, but Yannis grabbed his arm.

“Wait, I need to tell you something,” he said in a lowered voice.

“Uh, what?”

“Just now, when that boy came to pay the bill, the eldest son of the Becker family happened to walk into the shop. You know, the big guy with the bleached blonde hair and a scar on his face.”

“Jonas?”

“Exactly. Well, how do I put this?” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “I was at the other end of the counter printing the bill, so I didn’t hear exactly what Jonas said to him, but it didn’t look like a friendly conversation. I quickly went over and separated them.”

Erik frowned.

“What happened then?”

“Then Brigitte ran in and dragged Jonas out, and he kept cursing and swearing, saying some things I couldn’t understand, probably really dirty stuff. The two of them left without eating. Your boy—Felix, right?—went back outside to sit, and I brought him a mango yogurt.”

“Thank you, Yannis,” Erik said. He genuinely liked the little man from Laconia, Greece, once again. “Do you know why Jonas did that?”

“Who knows?” Yannis spread his hands and then clasped them together again. “But I can probably guess: he’s always been a bit xenophobic, and when he sees someone foreign who he doesn’t like, he bristles like a wild boar. Your Felix obviously doesn’t look like he’s from around here, and he… well, he’s a bit too pretty for a boy.”

He looked around and lowered his voice even further. “I have to say, there might be places in Germany that are very welcoming to foreigners, but this isn’t one of them. There are some xenophobic scum, not a lot, but they made my life very difficult during my first couple of years here. It wasn’t until I settled in, made some friends, and married Ursula that things slowly got better.”

Erik looked at him in shock. “God, you never mentioned that,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Yannis, if I had known…”

“It’s fine,” Yannis chuckled. “You’ve always been a good kid. Now go back to your sweetheart,” he patted his arm.

Erik was startled, then blushed furiously.

“Who told you?” he whispered.

“Do I need someone to tell me? I’m not blind,” Yannis made an exaggerated gesture. “The way you were staring at him during the meal, it was like he was more delicious than my moussaka.”

Erik’s face turned even redder.

“Hey, hey, no need to be so shy,” Yannis said. “It’s a pretty common thing. Even Hercules loved Hylas. ‘We are not the first mortals to see beauty in what is beautiful.'”

Erik walked out of the shop, and as soon as he stepped onto the terrace, he felt the surrounding chatter suddenly quiet down a little. He looked around at the dozen or so tables filled with people, recognizing several faces (some he knew well enough to say hello to on the street). Some immediately looked up at him, while others deliberately looked away. The closest was the Weber family; Mike Weber glanced at him expressionlessly before lowering his head to eat his salad. “Hi, Erik,” Melanie Weber waved at him.

But Erik had no intention of responding. He was shocked to realize that before he had come out, these people—both those he knew and those he didn’t—had been quietly observing Felix and whispering among themselves.

No, it must have started earlier, when they had first sat down to eat. He just hadn’t noticed: all his attention had been focused on the person across from him.—But what about Felix?

He looked toward the table: Felix looked up at him and smiled.

…He must have felt it. Maybe he had anticipated this before coming here. Erik remembered Felix’s response and expression when he suggested coming here for lunch this morning.

I’m an idiot, he thought. Why did I bring him here? I should have expected this kind of reaction. I know how much people here love to gossip, and some just can’t accept people who are different from them, but I didn’t think it would be this bad—just like I never knew about the troubles Yannis had faced before.

He walked straight to the table.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Felix nodded, then stood up and reached for his backpack on the back of the chair. Erik suddenly stepped forward, cupped his face with both hands, and kissed him on the lips.

“Let’s go back,” he said again, taking his hand.

They walked through the terrace, past the tables, under the obvious or hidden gazes of the people. Erik held Felix’s hand the entire time. The slender fingers in his palm felt like a gently resting bird.

By this time tomorrow, Felix would have been gone for several hours, he thought. What would he think then? Would he miss it, or would he regret his actions? Just as one can never know what tomorrow will bring, one doesn’t truly know oneself: you never know how you’ll react or feel when something actually happens—feelings that reason can’t control. Like in that moment just now, he couldn’t help but kiss him in front of everyone. Because in that moment, he had no other choice.

Screw it. Tomorrow hasn’t come yet; there’s only now. Now he held Felix’s hand as they walked along the forest path covered with autumn leaves. Occasionally, one or two people appeared on the path ahead. Maybe people he knew. But screw it. Felix’s hand was in his, his warm breath so close. If he wanted, he could stop and kiss him from time to time.—And he did just that.

They walked back to the hiker’s parking lot and got into the car.

“What do we do now?” Felix asked.

“We go home. Take a shower. And make love,” Erik said.

The words stunned him as soon as they left his mouth. But after a moment’s thought, there was nothing to correct.—Maybe he should have added “if you’re okay with it”; but looking into the other’s eyes, he felt it wasn’t necessary.

“Do you always speak so directly?” Felix looked at him.

“I don’t mean to. You know I’ve always been terrible with words,” he admitted. “Most of the time, my struggle is finding the right words. Sometimes I find them, and I just say them.—I can’t think too much.”

“Hmm, I think you’re doing pretty well,” Felix said.

“So… is it okay with you?” Erik asked.

“Just one thing,” Felix said slowly.

“I think we need some lube, but I’m not sure which of us should go buy it. The pharmacist probably knows you, and as a foreigner, I’m pretty conspicuous here.—It seems like no matter what we do, there’s a risk of attracting a lot of gossip.”

“Then we’ll just walk in together and buy it, screw it,” Erik said, starting the car.