coffee. He picked them up and carried them through the bare room adjoining the kitchen and threw them into the courtyard. The clatter seemed to melt into the heat. He returned to the kitchen and scooped water into the kettle from the jar in the corner and put it on to boil. Gunther drifted silently into the kitchen, also naked.
“Hi,” Joe said.
“Good morning.” The German wandered over to the kitchen table and stood in front of it.
Joe was embarrassed by their nakedness despite the promiscuity prevailing above. “I’m trying to get some coffee going,” he explained. He lifted his hand to wave Gunther away from the table and touched his hip. The hip didn’t move. Joe looked at him.
The boy’s gaze was level. “Enough of girls, I think. You and me, ja? ” he suggested. His face was expressionless, but his eyes managed to convey his thought. He shifted his hip slightly, reminding Joe that his hand was still on it.
Joe felt himself blushing. He should probably give it a try just to find out what it was all about and what guys did together; it seemed to be the thing to do these days.
Biblical references paraded through his mind, all of them minatory. All the same, he had been tempted to experiment with Costa the boatman a week ago, before Lena had moved in. Costa was the go-between for the foreigners with the local population; he could come up with anything from lobster to pot. He had made suggestive gestures in a joking way late one night at the house and had proposed staying till morning. Joe had sent him away with some reluctance. The island was nutty. What would he be tempted to do next? He found his eyes fixed on Gunther’s.
“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a pretty crazy idea. We’ll see.” His characteristic tone was eager and innocent and he sounded perhaps more willing than he intended. He spread his fingers on the boy’s waist.
“Is good. We will be brothers. Is different with girls.”
Joe found nothing to dispute in that statement and exerted pressure with his hand to move Gunther out of the way. As he did so, without actually looking, he could see from the lower rim of his vision that he had excited the boy. His own quiescence reassured him that he wasn’t going to turn queer overnight.
He pulled open the drawer of the table with the insubstantial hope of finding some clean spoons. There were none. He started to push the drawer closed but hesitated and then pulled it all the way out, gazing into its emptiness.
“Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed. “I put a thousand drachmas in here yesterday. Where is it?”
“You lose something?”
“No, goddammit.” Joe lifted accusing eyes. It wasn’t much in dollars but it was worth two weeks living here. “My money. It was here yesterday. Somebody’s taken it.”
“You think I steal? Your money? What for?” For the first time since Joe had met him, Gunther smiled. It wasn’t an expansive smile but it indicated amusement and immedinately exculpated him.
“No, not you. Of course not.” Joe put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. It’s slightness was very pleasant to the touch, quite like a girl. “Maybe Lena took it. I’d better go ask her.”
Gunther stepped closer to him. “We go to bed now?”
“Not now. Aren’t you hot?” Joe’s eyes were on the boy’s mouth, finding that if you overlooked the slight shadow of mustache above the upper lip, it appeared kissable. “Anyway, I’ve got to find my money. I don’t like being robbed. I wonder what old George will make of it. He’s always maintained that nobody steals here. Do you know him? George? George Leighton? The famous novelist?”
“Novelist. Money. What matter is it to me? I offer to be your brother.”
“Thanks, Gunther. Later maybe,” Joe said distractedly. “I have to look into this. I don’t guess the police would be any good. George will be able to advise me.” He pushed Gunther firmly aside and went up to confront the girls.
George Leighton
Learning to Kill: Stories