Rcticf
right, the ruddy glint of flame light on bald skin. lmeresting, I thought. Maybe rough trade. I took a step in that direction. He moved towards me. In the infernal blackness I touched his head; he leaned forward, ran his hand gently over my face, and then kissed me. We touched and held each other for a minute or two, with other men breathing on us and trying to touch us from behind, before he leaned forward and whispered, first in Spanish, and then when I didn't understand, in perfect English: I have a place near here. Mu.ch cooler and nicer than this. Just five minu.tes' walk. Do you want to go there? I said yes. On that five~minute walk back to Alejandro's apartment-for that was the name of my plump and balding, not shaven-headed, stranger-I managed to establish that he was one year older than I was, that he worked as a painter and graphic designer, and that he liked reading many of the same authors and listening to the same composers that I did. I also learned that he had recently broken up with the only man he'd ever had a serious relationship with, a fifty~ year-old alcoholic aristocrat. In Alejandro's beautifully decorated apartment, among the photographs of his grandparents who fought in the Spanish Civil War, his own art photographs, paintings, and homemade furniture, and his vast collection of smiling ceramic owls, I let him make me Twinings Earl Grey as we talked about Gaudf's architecmral innovations and Goya's series of dark and light paintings in the Prado. After talking nonstop about art, history, literamre, and politics until the early hours of the morning, we finally fell into bed. I was deeply moved by his gentleness, the way he touched my body lightly and respectfully, as though he were touching an artwork, the way he embraced me with such fierce and spontaneous joy and planted dozens of kisses on my hair and on the nape of my neck, like a child greeting a parent after a prolonged absence. Tolstoy wrote that all happy families, and by extension all happy relationships, are alike. Perhaps these are the experiences that make them so: an easy, relaxed pleasure in each other's company; common interests; a spontaneous, contented expression of mutual consider~ arion and affection, which in turn inspires a profound and peacebequeathing trust. Although I had only known Alejandro a few hours, I had never, since those early days of living with James in the boarding-school bedroom, experienced such a level of instinctive comfort and tranquility in the company of another human being. Certainly I had never felt such consolation descend on me so quickly and instan~ taneous!y: a miracle, like sudden rain, a peace welling up in me deep and unfathomable as pain. That night I slept the joyful sleep of the satisfied, held in my new friend's arms until the sunlight crept through the slots in the metal blinds and woke us. 128
FUGUE #28