Chapter 1: Salt Peanuts
It was a dingy little bar with bad beer, but Ludwig wasn't here for the beer, hadn't been anywhere for the beer for more than a decade already. He was here because he knew this was better than getting himself into another pointless unrequited business with a married man, and because there was no better cure for heartache than heavy drinking and a good fuck. These things happened. He was turning into an old man, and had started to get used to it.
The lights over him shone a soft, warm light, and the place was smoky and empty tonight. A few faces Ludwig recognised but somewhat preferred to avoid stood up against the dramatic red curtains, and the few religious icons which hung ironically against the wall next to the bar counter, some of them defaced by parties or years past, seemed to glow in the night like small little angry fireflies. Ludwig's eyes laid shamelessly on the caved abdomen of a crucified Jesus, more dissecting than longing in their intent. How gory.
The dingy little bar had a name. It was named The Arrows, an inconspicuous name for a place that was pretty much an open secret in the red-light district or, as the locals called it, Paradise. It was because the owner, a Polish drag queen who only went by the name Darling, had always been a proud catholic with a bit of a fascination with Saint Sebastian. She'd explained to him, with her usual slight lisp and exaggerated hand gestures, the story of the martyr, his miracles and the most profound effect her first contact with the saint's icons in a baroque church, during a field trip to a monastery as a child before the war, had done to her.
"Of course, a godless socialist like yourself wouldn't appreciate the great mysteries of the Church," she'd said to him at one point over their long acquaintance, her makeup still perfectly applied even though she'd just had to kick out another troublemaker while wearing sharp pink high heels.
The comment had made Ludwig chuckle as he'd lit up her cigarette, which she held like a Hollywood celebrity, all glamour and elegance in the way smoke danced on her bright red lipstick. Darling was like that, both delicate and fearless, somehow managing to tackle all the contradictions that made her, well, her.
"I thought you'd first invoke the fact that I'm a Jesus-killing Yid," he'd said with a shrug.
"We're not in the old country anymore, and it's more fashionable to denounce communist sodomites nowadays."
Darling, however, was busy tonight, Ludwig could see, and he didn't feel like talking to her anyway. She strutted around greeting old acquaintances and eyeing suspiciously newcomers once in awhile in fear of another police crackdown that had costed her a few customers and a night in prison for crossdressing. Her steps, still, had the hidden strength of steel wire.
Darling was charming, but no good with heartaches. The fact that she had stopped caring a long time ago about how people thought and felt was what made her strong. Ludwig couldn't blame her for that.
A look at the wall clock informed him that he'd spent around two hours here already, and that he had done it alone. Wednesday nights were slow; married men with a dark secret spent their week watching bad TV shows with their wives and taking care of their children in overly decorated suburban homes. Ludwig bit his lips, tried to get it out of his mind. Someone put a jazz tune on the jukebox, one of those new fast, undanceable things that the younger generation seemed to like so much. It did however manage to detach his mind from more unpleasant things.
He drowned the whiskey like one would drown champagne. The beer was bad here anyway, and he was in the mood to get quickly, thoroughly drunk. Something, however, stopped him from ordering another too quickly.
"Two beers, please. One for me and one for the gentleman here."
There was a sharp smile, and warm, sunkissed skin that looked alien in this freezing, ugly city. Confidence oozing from a mellow tenor voice, and elegant ease as the man slipped on the bar stool next to him. He was young, at least ten years younger than Ludwig, but once again that wasn't exactly against Ludwig's taste when it came to men.
The beers arrived, and they toasted, silently. The stranger winked, and Ludwig rose an eyebrow, a bit against himself. It's not like he was anywhere against gorgeous strangers basically inviting him for sex, because the stranger was indeed gorgeous, with the kind of boyish look that never failed to remind Ludwig of long lost loves and sunny days in the streets of Venice.
"You looked bored," the stranger said simply, tapping his fingers on the counter mindlessly as his gaze laid heavily on Ludwig's form. "I thought I might help."
Ludwig forced a practiced easy smile as he appraised the stranger. Slightly shorter than him, blond, with that carefully gelled hair and thoughtfully picked clothing that somehow managed to pass as natural. He kept his voice steady, and his eyes met the stranger's own. They were blue, just like his own, but they seemed sharper, brighter, in a way.
"Hard to be bored when a handsome man buys you a drink."
The stranger laughed. It sounded both carefree and full of promises. Ludwig closed his eyes, wondering very briefly, if this wasn't like the darling rent boys who had made a fool out of him long ago. America wasn't the Berlin of years past, and this country was too busy buying washing machines and televisions, building cars and hunting communists to leave space for decadence and unnatural lust.
"Always glad to help, then. I'm Alfred Jones." The stranger's hand snaked to his thigh, and something like lust seemed to spark in his eyes. "But you can call me Al, if you'd like."
Ludwig sipped his beer, returned the look. That had been quick, but things were quick in America, unlike in the old country. Everything happened within the blink of an eye, or so it seemed, from television signals to the drop of an atom bomb.
Hard to be bored when a handsome man buys you a drink and flirts with you, indeed.
"Ludwig. My name is Ludwig."
Alfred nodded, and he didn't ask about Germany or something equally awful as the others usually did. He kept the hand on his thigh, the steady gaze, the flirty look, the easy charm. The rims of his glasses took a dark honey colour in the dim light, and it had an odd kind of appeal as he leaned in for a kiss, eyes closed and a giggle, maybe, losing itself on his lips.
The stranger smelled of alcohol, cheap cologne and sweat, but the kiss was nice without being too invasive. Ludwig let himself be led into the dance, the familiar motions of covert seduction in bars like this, away from dawn and the crisp light of reality.
"Hello, Ludwig," Alfred murmured against his cheek. "Let's make tonight a memorable night, shall we?"
They caught the rain on the way to Ludwig's apartment, and it made Alfred drunkenly laugh as they hurried through the alleyway and stopped at Ludwig's doorstep. There were messy, wet kisses on his neck as Ludwig fumbled with his keys, and he couldn't help but to lean into them, the slight buzz of alcohol making his thoughts fuzzy and his body eager for the warmth that seemed to radiate from Alfred's skin.
It was only when they finally got in the building that Ludwig let himself be taken for another deep kiss, flush against the wall, rain water still trickling down the nape of his neck. He'd have usually waited until he'd gotten into his own apartment to do that kind of thing, but he'd had quite a lot to drink, between the introductory beer and the several cocktails that had preceded their leaving of the bar. The landlady was a catty gossipmonger, a most typical old maid, and while she was stupid enough not to realise Ludwig's rather specific tastes or at least to accept his money every month, it didn't keep from insinuating she'd tell the authorities if anything suspicious happened in her house.
"My room is on the third floor," Ludwig managed to whisper in Alfred's ear between two light gasps.
The truth was that Alfred was young and he was beautiful, and there was something exhilarating in having a pretty little thing coming home with him without the usual uneasiness and shame of Ludwig's previous relationships. It seemed hard for him to keep his hands for himself as they climbed the badly lit stairs and his whole body seemed fidgety, both from drink and lust.
There was some more fumbling with keys, definitely enough noise to wake the neighbours, a chuckle or two.
They didn't even make it to Ludwig's bedroom. Alfred pushed him against the wall of his small kitchen with surprising strength, without much of a warning, before trailing down open-mouthed kisses over his neck, fumbling with his coat, his tie, his shirt. Nimble fingers undone his belt and took out Ludwig's semi-hard cock from his pants. Ludwig groaned between tightly shut teeth, closing his eyes as the man dropped to his knees and took him in his mouth.
It felt good. It hadn't felt that good in a long time, and it felt so good. It didn't take Ludwig long before he was fully hard, the combined skill of Alfred's hands and mouth bringing him closer and closer to climax. He'd mistakenly thought that Alfred wasn't very much experienced, from the giddy, almost boyish excitement he seemed to show whenever something caught his fancy. The spark in his eyes as he looked up to meet Ludwig's gaze, along with the ease with which he kissed and sucked, had proven him wrong.
Alfred hummed around his cock with a satisfied look on his face, and the vibration shot straight through Ludwig's spine, making his whole body arch in want. He couldn't have been more wrong about Alfred's inexperience. His hands went to the man's hair, gently pushing his face away. If Alfred kept going that way, Ludwig was bound not to last much more longer.
"Please," he said, his voice a little breathless. "Let me take care of you too."
His cock came out of Alfred's mouth with a wet little sound, and Ludwig almost whined at the cool air that hit his skin. There was an irresistible glint to Alfred's eyes, one that screamed I want to ravage you in a way that made Ludwig shiver in anticipation. He placed an inviting hand on his hair, pressed him up against him for a kiss as they stumbled to bed.
Ludwig woke up naked with a hint of a headache to an empty bed, which wasn't a first time or all that surprising in any way. He dressed without much of a care, looked at his reflection for a long time on the bathroom mirror, shaved and splashed water over his face. It was bad enough to realise how old he had become.
Ludwig had woken up to an empty bed, but there was a note, with a somewhat messy handwriting, simply placed on the table along with a cooling coffee and an open radio softly playing swinging jazz tunes in the cool morning air.
That was fun. Let's do it again (mostly) sober next time. Call me soon.
A phone number, a name. The paper felt nice against his fingers, soft. To this, Ludwig could only smile, a little, and sigh, a bittersweet taste on his tongue, from the coffee and from the rest. The boy, because Alfred, with his blond hair and bright blue eyes, had everything of a boy, was a strange little thing, but an entertaining one too. Ludwig wasn't sure if he'd left a few words out of politeness or genuine interest, or maybe Ludwig wasn't sure if he wanted such a thing as another man, another risk to be sent to jail and another potential heartbreak now.
The sound of the train that passed right his window startled him out of his thoughts. He closed the window in one swift movement, and the moment was lost, just like that. The spartiate furniture of Ludwig's apartment seemed somewhat greyer, sterner at dawn. The city, with its streetcars and busy streets, didn't wait for Ludwig, and was already shaking itself awake.
Work had been slow at the funeral home. City folks didn't seem as keen on dying as they had been in the past few years, with the war over and the women back to the homes in which they belonged.
The building in which the family business stood was a moderately ugly one in one of the working class immigrant neighbourhoods, but it did have a rather imposing appearance. It was the large front door, the cheap wood panels with old fashioned Spencerian script announcing proudly the nature of their shop. The most impressive feature of the place, however, was the large granite obelisk, whose black elongated figure stood proudly in front of any potential visitor. The tombstone, for all its spark, was basically unsellable, had been ever since it had come into their possession, but its placing in front of the building did add some flair to an otherwise rather sad facade. The owner had, after all, always been an out of time aesthete.
"It's that damned war, as always," Roderich sighed as he passed Ludwig by at the counter with what seemed like some sort of inventory. "When it raged we got told there's no tombstones to sell, that businesses had been requisitioned for the war effort, whatever that might be. And now it's over and there's nowhere near as many people to bury anymore."
"We did have a boy who'd died in France a few years back and from whom they found the body only recently, I think," Ludwig responded politely. "Italian family, with the Catholic priest who wondered why they'd chosen to do business with a Jew."
Roderich let out a very weak, very tired cynical little laugh. It had been because the family couldn't afford anything better, and they both knew it.
"I'd forgotten about them, it's true…" Roderich marked a pause, looked at the papers in his hands, sighed and walked away. He never really liked to delve upon those things. None of them did, in fact.
Roderich seemed to count the urns in the showroom adjacent to the reception for a moment, scribbling notes down once in awhile as he did. Ludwig looked at him work for a few moment, still thoroughly bored, then turned his gaze back to the neatly kept open agenda which laid next to the phone in front of him. There were a few new names for the week etched in Roderich's fancy handwriting, but one of them caught his attention. He frowned at what he saw.
"Isaac Rosenberg? The old baker is dead?"
Roderich didn't bother to turn around. He made a vague gesture of the left hand, still going through the glass shelves where the urns laid in a neat row.
"He had a heart attack two days ago. The widow came here in tears yesterday, blamed the departure of her son for Palestine to have ruined the old man's health. Typical."
Ludwig frowned, now perusing the agenda in case he'd find another surprise there.
"Will you need me to do some overtime tomorrow?"
"If you don't have anything better to do, I'm sure Mrs Rosenberg will love to tell you how much of a shame it is that a mensch like you is still single and how she'd love to introduce you to her nieces."
Ludwig laughed, slightly uneasy, but it didn't matter. Roderich wasn't an idiot, but they would never talk about the reasons why Ludwig wasn't married, and wouldn't date for very long any of the girls Elizavetta had once tried to introduce him to. It wasn't proper to talk about these things, at least not in this country anymore.
"I'll be there, then," Ludwig smiled. "Wouldn't miss this for the world."
Roderich, who'd been crouching in front of the lower shelves of the urn display, rose back up, passing a hand through his perpetually messy hair, before heading past Ludwig and towards the backstore once more
"Great. I must go look over the flowers for tonight's reception. Elizavetta wants to make sure the rabbi who's coming tonight won't have anything to say about the casket being not kosher enough or something like that. You know how she is."
It was a funny thing, and it never ceased to be funny, all things considered, to see how the Edelstein worked together. They were an strange, mismatched marriage against all odds, in a way, from their physiques, Roderich's sharp features and mannerisms against Elizavetta's softer traits and gestures, to their personalities and occasional clashes that ensued.
It had caused a mild commotion within the predominantly Jewish neighbourhood to hear that the Edelstein son, who had picked up his father's business, always of prime importance within the tightly knit, mostly Orthodox community, had married a fair-haired, catholic shiksa after years of covert concubinage. It had been one of these juicy gossips that had kept housewives busy for months, as things such as these often would. While much of the hype had died down as Elizavetta, for all her Hungarian headstrong temperament and hard work, proved herself worthy of consideration, it still was one of those sore topics within the house, which was adjacent to the family business and in which some of the preparations for receptions were done.
The occasional fights Ludwig had witnessed had been strange, with Elizavetta usually being the most vocal one and Roderich only responding in angry but cool, witty retorts. These were healthy fights, he liked to think, and while they definitely made him uncomfortable, he could never really stay annoyed at the both of them. Roderich had been, ever since his arrival here, one of those silent, ever-present figures in his life on the basis of some remote shared ancestry, and he was grateful for the help, the job and the discretion it allowed him.
He continued perusing the catalog for their next casket order, humming to himself as he still thought about whatever had happened last week. Truth was that he hadn't called Alfred, no matter how much it felt like he should have. There were too many things crashing against themselves in his head, about past lovers and new ones, and about the intangible quality of a night that would stay in the past. It was stupid, and Ludwig couldn't help but to be acutely aware of that fact, but picking up the phone didn't feel right just yet.
Destiny, however, would have an interesting way of turning things around, under the form of a crisp green collar and familiar sharp white teeth that glinted into a smile.