Five Times Hanschen Should Have Told Ernst That He Loved Him and Didn't and the One Time He Shouldn't Have and Did
So, this is a weird little ramble. I found a recording of the 2001 workshop version of the Word of Your Body Reprise, and sort of fell in love with the lyrics. Besides, Ernst has his own verse in that one, which I love. And there's a little bit more dialogue (as in, Ernst rightfully responds to the "and so you should"). Anyway, here's the lyrics to his little bit, and then onto the story-thing.
Come steal away my kiss
Fondle the world within my fist
Lap up the pearls from the whispered pleas
Haven't you heard a word? How I want you?
It was that moment in Latin when they were all living in their private fantasies, dreaming on things they shouldn't. He could blame Moritz for the legs, or Otto for his mother, Georg for his piano teacher, but mostly he blamed Bobby Maler for his pretty ass and willingness to participate in Sinful Acts in the bathroom stalls. Because sure, they hadn't actually touched each other, but they were Touching Things and that was something Forbidden. Though in all fairness, it wasn't even his fault, because even Bobby Maler with his ass and his khakis that were just a little bit too tight hadn't started the first of the stirrings in his mind.
That was Ernst. Ernst with his wide, wide eyes that roamed the locker rooms when they shouldn't, something Hanschen shouldn't have noticed in the first place unless he was doing the same. But he looked at Ernst again, and his sad eyes were staring at something far away, something like freedom. He should have reached for him then, held onto him, and told him that it was okay, that he wanted It too, that they could run away to somewhere different where they wouldn't have to just think about Sinful Acts anymore, they could be as sinful as they wanted all the time. They were so, so close...
Ernst was miles away.
He has him, he finally has him, but the space between their bodies feels like forever. They should be touching, feeling, inside each other, but there's air and space and fear between them. Ernst seems so scared when he tells him of the life he's supposed to want, so scared when he edges closer, when the words inside his mind scream at him, but feel like a whisper. He is telling him in his mind of what they could have, the worlds they could live in, the dreams, the dreams...
And just like that, their mouths are touching. It can't be wrong, it can't be. It is everything right and it is gone in an instant. Then there's that terrible space again and Ernst is scared again, and it might just all go back to how it was before, if this was even anything more than just another dream. Then there's that look again in Ernst's eyes, the one that wants something too far away to even visualize, but it's powerful and it's saying something that has meaning. There is wanting, and he can hear it ringing in his ears. He wants the stolen kisses and the bruises and the shining, shining pearls.
This time, when they kiss again, Hanschen forgets how to let go when Ernst pulls him closer. He wants more, shining palaces and forbidden seas, all of it blue and silver and drowning them, but then they break and the moment is lost. When Ernst tells him he loves him, he is so afraid because there is Love and there is Sin, and this must be Sin because he likes it, wants it, but it feels like Heaven. He says something wrong, something arrogant that Ernst doesn't understand, and they stare at each other, wanting to touch and to hurt from the pleasure, wanting the wounds of Love, but still, so afraid, too afraid to take it.
He has long since given up on thinking of it as Sin when they touch. If there is any God above, it will surely forgive him for something so heavenly. They lie together by the river, naked and basking in the warm glow of the sun. He is unaware of what precisely to do, and though the Bible and all the books mention the specific Sin he wishes to enjoy, they are all vague, but he doesn't tell Ernst this when he reaches for him, tells him that it'll be more beautiful than anything they've done before.
He reaches for him, kisses him like they're dying. The insects hum so far away while autumn wind waves through the grasses, but he can't hear more than the rush in his ears, the frantic blood in his veins. It is nervousness that makes him go first with his fingers, pressing into Ernst, who wraps his legs around him tighter. The fear is bruising, and he tells him, when there's pain, that it'll feel better soon enough, praying brokenly that he's right.
He enters him and the gates open, though to Heaven or Hell, he can't be sure. All he knows is that this is what dreams are, what he's been wanting all along, and Ernst wants it too, grasping and murmuring to the angels. Their souls are alight and shivering, new. It's all at his fingertips, the bliss, held tightly within his fist and he's not about to let go. The warmth, the glow, burns brightly, so bright, until all he sees is silver and pearls and something more wonderful than anything he's ever known.
It is Ernst and he wants him, he loves him. Hanschen knows he should tell that he loves him too, but he's been broken and the words just won't come.
It is wrong, and Ilse knows it too. But she is standing next to him because she knows he'll never hurt her, never abandon her like Moritz did all those years ago. He isn't running because he knows what is expected and he knows that Ilse knows about the springs and summers and autumns spent in the woods and fields and vineyard, the winters spent hidden in barns trying to stay warm with a dark eyed man-child. Ilse stands next to him in the House of God, but he knows that God has seen all the dark, beautiful things he's done with another, that he would have been struck down if there really was such a being. Because people aren't supposed to be happy. They aren't supposed to love or want or to be a part of someone.
Ernst isn't there when he vows a lie. He imagines the boy, the man, walking through the vineyard, grasping at the promises left on the wind. The knowledge that he isn't there to witness it stabs him (it's all for him; the lies, for freedom). Ilse kisses him softly and it's wrong, so very wrong, but he can't pull away like he wants to, not in front of their parents and friends. His mouth makes lies against hers.
That night, she doesn't try to pull him to bed the way she's expected to. He knows he'd only be able to think of his real love, the only thing he's ever able to think about. Somewhere in town, in his parents house, Ernst lies on his bed feeling betrayed. He can relate. His body betrayed him when it spoke the words that sealed him to a woman he doesn't love, when it let his lips press against hers the way only Ernst should have felt, when a smile cracked his face though the rest of his body was breaking. But then, he's used to being broken.
Ernst looks so scared before the priest. Martha seems to want to smack him into an expression of happiness, or at least complacency. His eyes run around the room over and over, trying not to settle on his face. Hanschen watches him with something like amusement. It isn't as if they haven't touched each other since his own wedding, it isn't like his really means anything. But in a way, it does. Ernst is a terrible liar. He hates to do so, but he'll have to if he's married. Things are always changing. Hanschen tries not to blink too much when the opportunity comes for him to object.
Late that night, past any reasonable hour, he taps on Ernst's window softly, knowing he's awake. A pale, scared face meets him, and a hand points him in the direction of the barn. Hanschen floats over the ground. They meet in the hayloft with something like fate pressing down on them. At first, Ernst is too honest, won't let more than their lips touch, but his body betrays him. They cling to each other on the damp, sweet hay, and let the love, the sin wash over them. It feels like burning, like breaking, like surrender when they finish. Hanschen curses himself a million times over for not saying it them, or any other time following when they love in the dark.
It really isn't enough to only love alone, to hide from themselves, from others. But to give up would be to give Ernst up, and he'll never do that. Not for anything.
In walls of dirt and duty, they sit across from each other. They soak in filth and fear, surrounded by hollow men, some they know, some they don't. Melchior stopped screaming hours before, but the sound still rings in his ears. It's daytime, a heavy, nervous calm settled over the trench. Hanschen stares at the mud beneath his boots and sees Ilse, and their Suzy, but the only think that makes him feel any better is the man sitting across from him. There's air and history and silent words between them. They can say nothing, do nothing. They can't touch, not surrounded by twenty dirty men who'd never understand. Death is imminent, like a shadow. It's then that he makes his plan.
When night falls, the officers come around and look for volunteers to go over for surveillance. Hanscen raises a hand without any hesitation. His eyes beg Ernst to do the same, and he does, unafraid, like someone who's seen the end and given up already. They're given guns, like they have any sort of chance, and climb up into the night. On elbows and knees they try to crawl across No Man's Land, finding a shell crater to hide in. Hanschen looks at him for a long moment. He says it then, like piece of ash on the wind, just a lonely, floating I love you. His hand finds Ernst's, and they stand, walk. Out of the crater, they make it five feet.
The last thing in his mind, his heart, his body, his soul - the knowledge that he was right all along. There is love in Heaven.