Chapter 7
The lagoon was flooded with sunlight. I couldn’t look at the water. The sun’s reflections were so intense that they were blinding me. I turned round and found myself with my face in Francesco’s neck. I burrowed in and he wrapped his arms around me. He ushered me over to the other, shady side, where I was able to see.
The entire lagoon seemed to be laid bare before us, and all Francesco had to do was to give a slight nod towards an island and spell out its name. There was so much space here. This boundless world was such a stark contrast with the confinement of the main island, that your head would spin from the mere thought that it was the same entity, the same city, the same place on Earth.
‘Sant’Erasmo,’ I heard Francesco’s voice and it jolted me out of my metaphysical musings.
I could see we were approaching a vast expanse of land, mostly bare this time of year. I saw an embankment and trees along it, but the rest of the island seemed to be plain and unbroken. It was probably the largest island in the group and the least inhabited. I could see only occasional red dots of roofs, when most places around were built over so densely that you could see nothing but roofs. I could imagine this place was full of vegetation in summer. This island seemed closer to nature than anything I had seen so far in Venice.
‘It stands out amongst the rest of them,’ Francesco said, effortlessly reading my mind. ‘It’s the only agricultural island around. This is no longer a waterline metropolis. People are close to the land here. They grow stuff.’
‘And what did you grow?’
I asked this question with trepidation, fearing to touch on the painful subject of Francesco’s farming days and his escape to the city. But Francesco only chuckled in response.
‘Artichokes.’
‘Artichokes?’
‘Everybody grows artichokes on Sant’Erasmo. And vines. We did have a vineyard, but mainly it was artichokes. Mind you, all I have left now is a hut and a small patch of land. You’re not going to see a plantation.’
‘I didn’t expect a plantation,’ I said seriously, as my mood had plummeted despite Francesco’s cheerful façade. ‘I just wanted to see a bit more of you.’
‘You will see a shadow of my former self. I should have warned you straight away, my hut doesn’t have central heating. The toilet…’ He giggled. ‘Well, you should see it. I have electricity there, just about. I need to check the generator…’
I closed my hand over his. He stopped laughing and I finally saw a glow in his eyes. I threw my arm around his head and drew him to my shoulder, squeezing him tightly.
‘I wasn’t born in a presidential suite, you know,’ I said.
He slowly drew away and looked at me. His cheer had all but disappeared.
‘Well, in that case, congratulations,’ he said. ‘You’ve made it. Mr President, now welcome to my residence.’
The ferry was docking and a gust of chilly wind reminded us that it was December. When we disembarked, it seemed to me that the only people on the island came from this boat. We had to cross a long pier, which was expectedly empty, but even when I could see streets I couldn’t spot as much as a stray dog in them. This was a world of objects.
‘How far is your hut?’ I asked when our faces were lashed by another gust of wind.
‘Ten-minute drive.’
‘Are we going to drive?’
‘It’s on the other side of the island.’
‘So, you have cars here?’
‘Don’t you see?’ Francesco pointed to a car parked nearby. I saw another one a bit further down.
‘Sorry,’ I snorted. ‘I didn’t pay attention. Are we going to take a taxi?’
Francesco stared at me with amazement etched on his face.
‘Get real,’ he chuckled. ‘I have a car here. But you will have to forgive its less than glamorous looks.’
‘Francesco, would you please stop poking fun at me,’ I said with vexation. ‘I’m not rich and, for your information, I don’t have a glamorous car. I drive a Volkswagen.’
‘What a coincidence!’ Francesco exclaimed raising his eyebrows. ‘So do I! But do you want to bet that you haven’t seen a Volkswagen like mine?’
‘I don’t really know Volkswagen cars…’ I drawled out. ‘I wouldn’t appreciate…’ I didn’t finish, because Francesco stood in front of me with a smug smile on his face and with his one hand propped on the roof of a small hatchback.
The colour of the car was difficult to define. It had probably been green once, but now it was scruffy and looked matt, even white in places.
‘Is it a classic?’ I uttered, staring at the vehicle.
‘Didn’t make it.’
‘Does it have an engine?’
‘Of course it does! Now you’re insulting me.’
I burst out laughing.
‘Okay, I’ll rephrase the question. Is it going to move?’
‘Not straight away, but it will. I have a jump-start kit.’
‘Let’s try to start it first.’
‘Trust me, it won’t,’ Francesco smirked. ‘I haven’t been here in ages. This battery doesn’t last very long.’
The whole thing only took a couple of minutes for Francesco. His battery recharging skills were honed to perfection. He invited me into the car and we soon left the shores, finding ourselves driving along narrow winding roads through the fields. The fields were mostly fenced and trees were scarce here. We were passing farms and I could see close-up the red roofs I had spotted from the lagoon. Canals were everywhere around here, like in the rest of Venice. However, here they mostly resembled narrow irrigation ditches, and in many cases were shallow enough to cross over on foot. I caught myself thinking that I probably didn’t like the island too much. I couldn’t imagine what one could do here if not farming. Probably not even walk, since the entire land was divided up into allotments and the fences were dull and functional. It was only my reverence for Francesco that prevented me from indulging in negativity.
Francesco came to a halt literally in the middle of the road. I figured we were somewhere deep inland, if that term was applicable to this small patch of land at all. He took care to park his car on the thin strap of grass on the roadside, to allow enough space for other cars to pass.
‘We have to cover the rest of our journey on foot. There’s a path between farms here. All this land around us used to belong to my father, but like I told you I had to sell it all.’
I nodded, wanting to say more, but lost for words.
‘What can I say?’ Francesco snorted heaving a sigh. ‘Some people find the strength in them to work through whatever life throws at them. My father was like that. Others crumble. I’m not my father’s son.’
‘Yes, you’re absolutely right…’ I raised my voice to keep better control of it, as I felt unable to overcome a tremble inside me. My lingering anxiety had finally surfaced. ‘Some people are only too happy to inherit a large holding and get a bit of cash coming in. Others love their parents far too much to simply brush their memory aside and move on.’
Francesco’s look faltered on me before he looked down. I was still trembling, not knowing how to rein in my worries. The past has that unique quality of invincibility. No matter what evil befell your loved one back there, you can’t help. You were not there. You were useless by the virtue of your non-existence at the right time at the right place. You are left to pick up the pieces. I couldn’t protect Francesco from his past, and that was at the core of my worries. I didn’t even know what exactly had happened there and what effect it still had on Francesco. He certainly appeared more composed than I was. I didn’t know what was under that exterior. Secrets again… I so wanted him to talk to me, to open more than he had done, but I knew it would be wrong to press him.
He approached me and clasped me to his chest.
‘You’re so passionate,’ he said. ‘A sensitive, beautiful soul…’
That confused me a bit. I thought we were at cross-purposes here.
As we walked along the path between fences, I gradually figured out what his words meant. He misinterpreted my passion as empathy. He was looking at me as at someone who was prone to falling prey to strong, devastating emotions, and he thought I was simply being understanding here. In reality my reaction was not kindness. It was my obsession with him. It was all about how much I cared about him, how close to my heart I took his ordeal. He didn’t understand or didn’t want to understand me.
It turned out there was more than one path here. An intricate network of paths leading to different allotments and farmhouses. Despite fresh air, or maybe because of it, my head was beginning to spin from this never-ending maze without left or right.
‘How can you remember your way around here?’ I exclaimed.
Francesco laughed.
‘I think I memorised it when I was still in the womb.’
Where we came to didn’t even have a fence, but was separated from the surrounding allotments by a hedge. To my surprise there wasn’t even a clearing for a gate or a crack to slip through. We had to tear our way through the bushes.
When we emerged on the other side of the bushes, we immediately found ourselves in front of a wooden structure. Francesco approached the front door and I realised it didn’t have a lock. He just flung it open.
‘Welcome.’ He turned round, waving me in. We entered.
Inside there was only one room. It was dark to start with, but Francesco opened the shutters, and that was how I realised it had windows. I could now look around properly. A table with a plastic tablecloth was next to the window. The bed stood against the wall opposite, and it was almost double in size. There was a cupboard and a chest of drawers. A small gas cooker was in the corner next to the cupboard. I paid attention to a curious, freestanding black iron fireplace, which looked like another cupboard, but had a pipe for a chimney going all the way up through the roof.
Nothing was particularly clean, but it was tidy enough. The room had a stale smell about it, but it began clearing out as we entered together with a breeze from the open door. I couldn’t really imagine Francesco being part of it. I had come here to get closer to Francesco, to immerse myself in him, but I had been restless since I’d stepped on this island. I could not connect with this place or anything I had seen here so far. What was wrong with me? Had the presidential suite completely corrupted me? How could that be?
‘Here we are,’ Francesco uttered, and I looked at him, smiling wide to cover up my confusion. ‘This is the dwelling. But I also have storage outside. I’m going to get a set of bed sheets for us. Hopefully they’re free of mildew.’
‘Try harder,’ I smirked. ‘You’re not putting me off.’
‘I’ll keep on trying,’ Francesco grinned and walked out, closing the door behind him.
I saw some crockery on the table and approached it. I expected it to have the creatures Francesco was hoping to avoid on the bedlinen. I imagined he must have left tea in a mug or hadn’t washed a plate when he had last come here. I was fully prepared for the worst, but saw nothing of the kind. All dishes were clean, if a little dusty. I looked around and saw a sink. I recalled Francesco saying he had no central heating here. The tap, however, looked genuine enough to suggest some form of running water.
I collected the dishes and took them to the sink. We had brought food with us, and I thought I might as well start working towards our lunch. I found a not very disgusting sponge by the sink and turned the water on. It was cold, but bearable. As I was rubbing the plates with the unglamorous sponge, allowing my hands to freeze under the wintry water in the tap, I realised I was warming up to the place. I was not such a hopeless president after all.
Francesco entered, his arms full of bedlinen. On the stack of sheets were also some vegetables.
‘I asked my neighbour for some artichokes. We surely can’t leave this island without you trying some.’
‘That would be fantastic,’ I smiled.
‘What are you doing there?’
‘Just washing some plates for lunch…’
‘The water must be freezing.’
‘You have any alternatives?’
‘We could boil some.’
‘Waste of time. I’m only cleaning the dust off.’
‘You might consider taking it easy with water. We don’t have running water here.’
‘Whoops!’ I exclaimed, turning the flow down. ‘Where is it coming from?’
‘I have a water tank on the roof. I fill it with a hose from the nearest pump.’
‘Sorry…’ I was only trying to help.
‘Don’t be,’ chuckled Francesco. ‘You’ll be filling it yourself when it runs out.’
I smiled.
‘Absolutely.’
Francesco left again and came back when I was wiping the tablecloth.
‘Firewood?’ I exclaimed, this time regarding Francesco with a pile of logs in his arms.
‘How do you think we’re going to sleep here in this weather?’
‘I don’t know, I thought you might have an electrical heater.’
‘Ah, reminds me. I need to check the generator.’
‘You have everything here,’ I grinned at him.
‘It used to be my home,’ he said.
I stopped smiling. This word, home, was mentioned for the first time, and I thought it was a very apt name for what was around and what was going on here. These objects, each one of them, carried an essential function. This hustle - we were making things work, we were nestling up. Despite my apparent discomfort on first acquaintance with this place, I had to admit it was growing on me well and truly.
‘Is everything okay?’ Francesco asked.
I thought he must have noticed by now that I was prone to drifting away. He must have thought it was something to do with recent events. I decided to tell him one day that I had always been like this. My thoughts would always get the better of me.
‘Yeah… more than,’ I said smiling again.
‘Great!’ Francesco responded, throwing the firewood in front of the fireplace with a loud thud.
Once the fire was lit, the room warmed up quickly. It also gave the dwelling that unique charm only an open fire could give. Francesco suggested we should have our meal on the floor in front of the fire. He threw down a blanket and arranged cushions around it. We had a lavish meal prepared mostly by Francesco. While I was cutting vegetables for the salads, Francesco was conjuring up state-of-the-art treats. Artichoke alone would win any prize, if only Francesco valued fame more than his stomach. We had artichoke fritters with chive and anchovy sauce for starters. A filling dish of eggs, capers and artichoke as the main course… Well, one of them, because Francesco, as resourceful as he was, managed to put together an alternative - braised artichoke in wine. We duly dealt with both. My stomach was jubilant. I thought I could live on a diet of artichoke for the rest of my life.
Our red Chianti was an excellent choice to complement the flavours and administer light anaesthesia to the struggling stomach lining. I liked these coarse glasses we were drinking it from. Our sophisticated meal was balanced by the democratic way it was served. Form bowed to content and the world’s harmony was restored.
‘You never cease to amaze me,’ I said to Francesco. ‘I didn’t know you could cook so well! You’re a rare gift. You’ve spoiled me. I will keep on expecting things from you.’
Francesco looked at me with a sly smile, biting his lip.
‘Wha…?’ I bobbed my head.
‘There’s one more thing I want to spoil you with today.’
‘What is it?’ I blurted.
He said nothing, but continued looking at me, right into my eyes. Gradually I was beginning to understand what he intended and it was beginning to excite me before he did or said anything.
‘Are you warm enough?’ asked Francesco.
‘Yeah…’ I drawled out.
‘Then take your pants off.’
My mouth opened. I kept my eyes fastened on his when I reached for the zip of my jeans. Francesco took off his own jeans. The fire was playing on our bare skin now and this almost dark room was betraying nothing of the day that still reigned outside. I suddenly realised how hot it was by the fire. My breathing became deep and laborious. I slipped out of my pants and kneeled, facing Francesco with my legs apart. Francesco revealed his own crotch and sat down in front of me. We both had our tops on and I didn’t do anything about mine, because Francesco didn’t ask me and he was in charge here.
Moments felt like millennia as I held my breath, thinking of what was to come. Because my top half was covered, I felt even more exposed at the bottom. I was desperate to give myself to him, to let him rule over me.
I gasped when Francesco took my penis in his hands. I didn’t get what I expected. Instead of rubbing over my shaft, which was still flaccid, he held it with one hand and brought the tips of his two fingers to my foreskin. Now I was looking at his hands with my eyes wide open and my heart pounding heavily in my chest. He gently pressed on my foreskin and it revealed my glans. A charge shot up my body, which made me gasp. I felt a rivulet of sweat running down my neck.
Francesco drew my foreskin back as far as it went and looked into my eyes.
‘You have to help me now,’ he said.
He took my hand and placed my fingers over the foreskin. I held it. I was taking deep, short breaths. I still didn’t know what he had in mind and I didn’t want to know until the end. Francesco hung his head momentarily, heaving a sigh. He held his own penis and brought it close to mine, tip to tip. He stretched his foreskin, opening it outward, and for a moment it seemed to me he overdid it. I flinched, as I thought he was hurting himself. He swiftly slipped his foreskin over my shaft and this sudden encasement made me take in air and release it with a moan. I felt his cockhead on the tip of mine. My stomach contracted and it caused friction. That was the first time I was on the edge. I landed my hand heavily on Francesco’s shoulder and squeezed it. Francesco pressed his wet forehead to mine. I didn’t need any more guidance from him, and as soon as I came round, I pulled my foreskin over his shaft and we docked.
Our cockheads were now pressing into each other. We were both trembling and the friction over our cocks was now maddening. It felt overwhelming and omnipresent. It was everywhere. Francesco’s moans were breaking out almost in unison with mine. Our faces were pressed together and my hand was over Francesco’s cheek, forcing them even closer. Then Francesco’s hand started jacking our penises and it blacked me out for a split second. When I came round, Francesco’s moan had already transformed into a howl and I was gasping for air.
We burst out simultaneously and our cum bulged the foreskin before breaking free as we collapsed on the floor. I felt Francesco’s hand gliding over, spreading our juices. I, on the other hand, was completely incapacitated and euphoric. I stretched outward to bury my face in Francesco’s shoulder and allowed myself to pass out for a few moments.
‘Ralf! Ralf, baby, are you alright?’ I heard Francesco’s voice.
I struggled to come round and realised I didn’t look good. I had to pull myself together not to scare Francesco. I opened my eyes and managed a smile.
‘I think I’m slightly better than alright,’ I faltered.
He chuckled and leaned over, pressing his forehead into my chest. He wrapped around me and we lay for a while resting. I so wanted it to last, but for some reason I began to shiver. First I thought it was just overexcitement and exhaustion, but then I had to admit I was probably cold. The fire was still burning, but it no longer seemed hot. It wasn’t even warming me up. Francesco was squeezing me in his arms, kissing my head.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he blurted.
‘Whatever it is, it’s the aftermath of pleasure,’ I smiled.
He pulled out the edge of the blanket we were lying on and drew it over my shoulders. It didn’t help. Our intense experience must have weakened me and I couldn’t keep the warmth in my body.
‘You’re still not very well,’ Francesco said. ‘I shouldn’t have done it to you.’
‘Joking???’ I exclaimed, jerking my head.
He snorted and pushed my head back to his shoulder.
‘We need to stand up. You’re not gonna warm up on the floor.’
He helped me to my feet, never releasing me from his protective embrace. He ushered me to a chair by the bed and took a blanket from the bed to wrap me in. I enjoyed his care so much that I omitted to tell him that I was probably getting better.
‘I’ll just make the bed and we’ll have a nap. How about that?’
‘Sounds great…’
I soon found myself in Francesco’s arms under a thick duvet, which appeared pretty antique to me. It was stuffed with feathers, as I could see them sticking out in places.
‘How do you feel?’
‘I’m absolutely fine. You’ve just wasted me away, but in a good way,’ I murmured.
I slowly slipped away to the sound of the crackling fire. I was so grateful for the paradise I’d found. It seemed absolute, at least for a moment, the moment of my departure from reality in Francesco’s arms.