For the first time in a billion words: the same place and time I stopped in the last chapter, but a little later.
* •
America
November 5th
1964
After writing everything he was feeling in his diary, Ivan called Gilbert. He wouldn't admit he was bored and speaking with him felt like a nice idea.
"Ivan, how did you know I was going to call you?"
The Russian would make a sassy comment towards him. Nevertheless, he felt the urgency in his voice and he was speaking in German.
"What is wrong?"
"The wrong is that two policemen appeared looking for you in my Pub!
Ivan felt the sickness hit his stomach and the world was out of the air for him to breathe. Was he discovered? How? He covered all his tracks perfectly since he was doing them. People still didn't notice a single murder he committed and he had perfect documents. He doesn't have any documents proving he exists besides his documents in Moscow saying he is Ivan Ilya. And even if they could connect Ivan Thomas with Ivan Ilya, he was the perfect spy so he faked everything. KGB made an amazing job with him.
"What did you say to them?"
"That you are sleeping on your girlfriend's house and you will come to work tomorrow." He responded with an erratic voice. He was obviously astonished and shaking. "Ivan, tell me you didn't fuck anything! I can't be discovered. My legacy is not going to be completed in jail, you understand me? I can't drink at the jail and I really like to take a bath in bathtubs."
"I have the perfect disguise, Gilbert. They wouldn't..."
Ivan remembered every moment he did since he was sent to America in 1957. He pretended to be epileptic in a public place seven months after he arrived in America. He swallowed several medicaments that cause seizures for the whole time he was in New York as bupropion, penicillin, quinolones and tramadol., He used to walk around public places at the time waiting patiently for a seizure which came one day when the Russian was at the park. He was normal when he was taken to the hospital later than normal - American health is terrible - which gave him a chance to test his theory after saying he is an epileptic for vascular problems. He had some of Gilbert's blood on the same syringe that is used for most hospitals in the United States since New Zealand pharmacist and inventor Colin Murdoch was granted New Zealand and Australian patents for a disposable plastic syringe. Hospitals would use that because it was safer and if that specific hospital didn't, he would pretend to be terrified of needles. A phobia is a good aspect. Ivan Ilya has a phobia of blood according to a psychologist and didn't do exams like those. The hospital utilized the syringe as he predicted. When the woman took his blood and put on the tube, Ivan said something about being completely hungry and she left to grab something to make him eat before he faints. Since he was laying down it wouldn't be a problem to leave him alone as he manipulated her to think since the beginning. Then he hid the tube with his blood type AB negative by Gilbert's O negative and changed the syringe on the garbage to make it look even more reliable. Not a single medication on his blood that would prove he caused the seizure.
Now Ivan Thomas had epilepsy due to vascular diseases when he was a child and he was O negative. Ivan Ilya had A positive type and he wasn't an epileptic. Though he was a diabetic which Ivan had to forge using Nora's blood; she and her son had the same blood type. He also faked a scar on his hand when he was Ivan Ilya and Ivan Thomas had a birthmark on his hip according to official medical documents in England. Ivan didn't have anything besides the scar on his neck, but he knew enough about makeup thanks to Nora to hide it when he needs to and create marks. He has also been trying to clear the scar since he earned it and now it was less horrible than it used to be.
Besides that shameful scar, he was the perfect ghost. Not a single scar or mark on him. He was safe. Perfectly safe.
"I need to flee, right?"
"Ivan, don't do anything harsh! Just stay still and use the weapons you have built for years. You said yourself there is nothing they can find that will link you to KGB or Russia even if they noticed any resemblance between Ivan Thomas and Ivan Ilya. You are okay with Alfred. Don't ruin things now."
He never expected to feel reassured by Gilbert at that edge. He felt a heavyweight, but he didn't feel alone. He had Gilbert and Alfred. Perhaps, he had more people if he allowed himself.
Ivan wrote about it in his diary. He was going to wonder about all his steps all night. He knew. Deeper in his tired bones, he would never forgive himself for the slightest mistake because that mistake cost him something bitter than pride. His life was based on this and he committed a mistake in it. The emotion was something massive and destructive in his veins.
Ivan walked to the kitchen while an orchestra was playing lightly and the lights were out. The heavyweight was taking place in his eyelids when he noticed the dancing light on the floor.
Alfred was on the kitchen floor sitting on an improvised rug made with a sheet that had a lantern as if they were camping. The American was drawing sketches. He smiled when he looked up at Ivan.
"Hey."
Ivan almost chuckled.
"What is this?"
"I thought about you said about Nora and I guess we can make something childlike." Alfred explained grabbing the plate of waffles, pancakes and bacon. "I am so happy you told me straightforward. I am proud of you."
He was constantly making things like that to cheer him up. One time Ivan was irritated with something about his duty, though he didn't tell about his irritation, Alfred rented a trampoline. They jumped in it for hours. The Russian has never seen one and he enjoyed jumping with his boyfriend as if they didn't have any worries in the world. There was one time Ivan was melancholic with his life since his duty as a spy was lowered by boredom. Nothing to do, Alfred took him on a road trip around the United States to show him weird things like The Mitchell Corn Palace in Matthew's car.
"Let me guess," Ivan inquired with a playful voice. The music playing on the phonograph was a beautiful melody named Dream A Little Dream Of Me. He only knew that after hearing several artists from America since he was living with Alfred. "you used to dance this song with your mother on the kitchen like in books and plays. Am I right?"
"Actually, she burned out the kitchen with this song as a soundtrack. I inherited her cooking talents. The firemen enjoyed Doris Day and my mother took thousand of pictures of an open fire." He answered pouring wine at Ivan's glass with skill and smiling as the summer. "I'm not going to ask you to dance with me through the kitchen another time. I hate dancing. I only did this with you on your last birthday because I wanted to be romantic."
"You almost destroyed my feet with yours, Alfred."
"Love is pain!"
The Russian couldn't stop smiling. He was so happy. Ivan never thought he would experience something pure and true like the feeling in his chest. For a second he forgot Nora, the police and himself. He was merely feeling the tiny shivers in his lungs. Nevertheless, everything shattered so fast around him as if he was merely happy to be truly sad afterwards. Ivan smiled feeling his cheeks merely stretching and hurting for the effort. He was happy, but he was also destroyed so he was a melancholic mixture he faked into a smile. He sat in front of the American feeling the light of the lantern on his face and the breakfast on their improvised camp.
"Thank you. You cheered me up."
Only for a moment.
The Russian chuckled.
"It's my speciality, citizen." Alfred responded with his mouth full of noodles. "Although I can't understand how you like my food. Perhaps, England's food is, in fact, completely awful."
Ivan agreed.
"Disagree. I love scones."
He doesn't.
"How do you don't like Arthur?"
The Russian chuckled rating his bacon with too much fat. Alfred likes everything with a lot of cancerous threats.
"He is annoying and I only like your annoyance."
"I know you love me."
Ivan loved him so much it ached sometimes. His life before knowing Alfred was like a chessboard which every movement was crucial to make him get killed or win. When he was with him on the ground, or on the bed, or on the pub, or anywhere, Ivan was the one playing. Life wasn't a competition in which he has to prove he is not completely useless to the people that raised him. He wasn't merely a piece to someone using him; he was playing a game like a child having fun.
"If you say so."
They ate more while the music was playing lightly. Ivan drank the wine fast and he embraced the amazing taste he has been missing. Since Ivan entered in a fight while he was drunk, Alfred made him promise he would amaze his alcoholic life. Ivan tried to explain he would punch Gilbert even when he was sober, but their last fight was harsher than usual.
"How is your father feeling about losing your mother?"
"Nothing new. Joseph is just being grumpy about paying to bury her when he could just leave it on the ground."
Alfred sighed and finished his dish. Ivan was always astounded at how fast he eats. He was in the half of his plate.
"David is the same, I guess. But only because bodies feed the Earth." He answered with tiredness in his movements. Ivan knew how Alfred tried to maintain a relationship with David even if he was distant as a dream. He never called or sent letters unless it's a holiday. It's like he never knew Alfred or he was just an acquaintance. Now, with Alzheimer, is obviously worse. "To be honest, Ivan, I want to meet Joseph regardless. Or your friends from England. Or anyone. I don't know. Maybe, see your Nora's picture to picture you in her."
Ivan wondered about his life whilst he finished his pancakes. If he was a normal person with a normal life would he have thousand of friends? Or would he be alone as he is now?
"Fred, I don't have a lot of people you can meet, okay? I don't have best friends all around Earth as you or even here. I have always been alone. I never felt comfortable in my own house." He acknowledged with a sour taste on his mouth. Another time making lies with the truth. "My father is not going to accept us politely. He is going to be worst than he is typically and this is going to be problematic to both of us. He is not so important in my life for you to meet him, alright? I don't want to deal with him."
Alfred seemed utterly disappointed. The Russian grabbed his hand and caressed his fingers.
"I can show you a picture of Nora." He whispered with a simple smile. "Give me a minute."
The American smiled as if the summer was embracing him.
"Thank you."
The Russian left for a moment just to grab a picture from his diary. The picture in which he and Nora are staring at the camera in a snowy field in Siberia. The photograph was taken by Nora's camera because Ivan told her he wasn't supposed to appear in pictures. She has always tried to make him experience normal things when they were joint. In the picture, Ivan was shy to smile, so she asked him to look at it like he was challenging the camera. In the end, she imitated him. He had two pictures taken from him in his whole life as far as he knows. One with Nora and the other with Boris.
The Russian returned to the kitchen and showed the picture to Alfred while he finished his breakfast.
"You are not smiling." The American affirmed and crossed his legs on the rug while staring at it. "I wondered if we take a picture you would smile or not. Can we take one?"
He couldn't risk anymore, even if he wanted a picture with Alfred.
"I don't like pictures. Sorry."
"It's alright..." Alfred affirmed with a dreamy and steady look. "I can still look at you every day, right?"
Ivan smiled and placed his dish on the sink behind him without raising. He approached Alfred and held his hand with shyness. The American grinned extroverted and pressed his fingertips on Ivan's knuckles with kindness.
He was going to say he wasn't going anywhere, however, he remembered the phone call he had earlier.
Alfred kissed him. Only touching their lips and it was enough to make the Russian hold a smile. His lips were always pushing too hard on his as if Alfred couldn't permit a single distance between them. Ivan was always managing their kisses in slow tempo and opening the American's mouth using his lips, nonetheless, he was always kissing with pressure and urgency. Alfred kissed like he was saying goodbye.
He crossed his legs and pressed the Russian's hands on his chest without noticing. His habit had an addition performed as Ivan's hand.
"Do you like children?
"I love them." Ivan answered with a smile. He would be curious about every child who was living on the Gulag when he stayed a month there. "Why do you ask?"
"I was wondering... I have always wanted to be a father, but things felt far away from my touch." Alfred explained calmly and playing with Ivan's fingers. "Do you want to adopt a child someday?"
The Russian paralysed.
"A child?" He inquired. Ivan would see parents hugging their children in the streets and smile. But he has never fantasized about doing the same because he always knew he wouldn't be authorized. All because of the rule spies can't have roots. He was filled with dreams and wonders about the world around him and he always considered his imagination his revolution against his reality. Now he noticed he has been living in wires when the matter was having children. The idea was something he found splendid. "You mean..."
"Yes. I have been thinking about it." He said with nervousness and made his habit of sticking his nails in his chest using Ivan's hand. "I crave that. Very badly. I have always wanted to have children and I always thought about adoption anyways; since we can't... Make one, everything is perfectly fitting. What do you think?"
Ivan raised from the ground on an impulse, turned away from Alfred and walked to the phonograph. He tried to pretend he was merely replaying the music but, in fact, he was decaying. His mind went blank and his ears refused to work to merely listen to his fast breathing and his heartbeat. Something deeply dark crawled into his chest as a slithering object he changed into a feeling. The feeling remembered him when he fell on the ice in Lake Lena when he was younger and he sank. He couldn't breathe and his vision was trembling like his hands; they were moving inches back and forth. And he is sinking. He feels his own mind trying to fight the disease in his body until it gives up. Ivan almost laughed when he thought that his brain was supposed to be the omen of survival in his body yet it was killing him.
He knew, somehow, he would crumble and crawl if he had a child that belonged to him. He wouldn't love the duty the same way and he wouldn't choose it if he had to. He would encounter a lock every time he thought about leaving. The bitter truth is that if Ivan had to choose between the duty and Alfred, he would choose duty. Without blinking. Even if it would destroy him and the only thing that felt right in his life. Nevertheless, having a child with Alfred... He would love without even considering another option. His duty would be eliminated from every variable. In the other hand, he imagined carrying the child on his shoulders and give them the best childhood Ivan never had. His shoulders became soft just by thinking about it. The tension became shivers with relaxation when he imagined their smile in his direction. In a second, the Russian thought about holding something small and pure as he was one day and tell stories about clouds and winter.
I don't think a dream has made me feel happier than this. How have I never thought about this? Just imagining it makes me happy.
Gentle arms surrounded him and he felt Alfred's breath in his neck which made shivers run down his spine. The same arms who would hug him in the morning and tickle him just for the taste of his laughter. Sometimes, Ivan wonders how he was defenceless when it comes to Alfred. How they would share the same bed and hug and make surprises for each other and the Russian wasn't paranoid about it. It wasn't like that from the beginning, however. It was a long process for them. Anyhow, Ivan still doesn't understand how the American accomplished that. He disarmed a weapon.
"It's okay."
Ivan started to breathe slowly after a whole minute, but he was still sweating and shaking.
"I won't bring this up again."
"I don't hate it. You need to know I don't hate it. Not at all."
"It was just a silly idea... I barely keep this house and you don't have anything for yourself." Alfred explained with laughter and a southern accent. "We shouldn't consider it."
He felt an urgency as if he already had this child and they were being taken from his arms. Ivan always dreams too lively.
"Don't say that. I want that."
"Really?"
"Yes. I just..."
Don't think I can hold a child with hands covered in blood.
"If we could give a child a home, how would you name them?" Alfred inquired caressing Ivan's chest. The Russian saw what he was doing. Creating a dream on his head to make him deal with it as a fantasy. "It can be a middle name since they are probably going to have a name already."
Ivan wondered about the thousand words and names he knew. He couldn't choose a Russian name in front of Alfred and he didn't want an English name. In a dream, the red men would let him keep that child. He wandered through his mind something that would connect Russia and America, even as a piece of land, even as a dream.
"Alaska."
"Alaska? Why don't you call them Massachusetts?"
"I like 'Alaska'. I don't know what it means, but I like it." Ivan affirmed with shyness and hid in his scarf. He was still being hugged by Alfred from behind. "It's similar to your mother's name that was also a state. Don't you like it?"
Alfred kissed his back.
"Do you want a boy or a girl?"
"I don't mind gender."
"Alaska is a girl's name, apparently."
"It's not even a name, Alfred. It can be a boy's middle name since I want it to."
"Do you want them to be older or younger?"
"I know it's selfish but I want to teach them how to walk and talk."
Dream A Little Dream Of Me was playing furthermore. He thought about teaching Russian to the child behind Alfred's back and he could say it was merely invented words when they speak in front of him, even if it was risky. He laughed at that thought. It made the Russian remember about the time Joseph taught him how to read when he was five years old. He was patient as if he was seeing someone else in Ivan's face and the child learned fast because he wanted to learn badly. He also thought about Joseph teaching him how to walk when he was two years old and Ivan wanted to give up when he fell and scratched his knee. Then, Joseph put him on his shoulders and walked around the basis. He talked with the child about birds singing slowly and how the Red Army was amazing. He talked about things the child could accomplish if he accepted his own strength. Ivan saw how glorious it was and he wanted to learn everything. He would do the same with his child. In a way, this memory was the brightest thing in his memory. Perhaps he saw humanity in Joseph and he had hoped he can find compassion in himself too. He saw guilt in him and he was missing something on those moments.
"I want to contemplate them being happy about growing. I don't want them feeling alone a single day in their life."
"Should they have my last name or yours?"
Ivan wanted to have last names as a pain in his chest at that moment. Not something forged or stolen, but something that belonged to him.
"Yours. I hate my last name."
"It's funny how your last name is something I hate." Alfred affirmed kissing Ivan's back. "God-Knows-What Alaska Jones?"
Ivan chuckled.
Ivanovna. Daughter of Ivan.
Something as a name to mark her as his forever. He noticed he was wishing for a girl before he realized anything else. He was also wishing he could give her whole name.
Alaska Ivanovna Jones God-Knows-What.
He turned around to look at Alfred and they were hugging in the kitchen when Ivan noticed his surroundings. The lantern was embracing the scene with light. The American's arms were caressing his shoulders when he placed their foreheads together.
"I have never thought another dream would mean so much to me." Ivan whispered between their mouths. He thought about names and families. "I want that."
Alfred stepped away from him with something determined on his glare. It was intoxicating to even look at it.
"We will have it. I promise."
Ivan was frightened somehow.
"Alfred, we barely have enough for us sometimes." He acknowledged with a sigh. "Last year you almost lost the house."
"I'm going to study Airline Engineering."
The world felt a better place when the Russian smiled and kissed him. The kiss lasted five seconds, but it was enough to make Alfred chuckle and a shiver run through Ivan's spine.
"I'm so happy you decided to accomplish this."
"You will have to promise you will make me go even if I can't leave the bed."
"I won't force you when you are feeling bad, Alfred."
"Just promise!"
Ivan sighed.
"Fine. I promise."
Alfred smiled as he was dreaming, but there was something dark about his movements.
"I'm glad I have the privilege to grow old with you."
The Soviet tried to avoid thinking about the future. Or even tomorrow.
•
America
November 6th
1964
On that night, Ivan wrote that name in his diary for two whole pages. He wrote in Russian and in English several times like a mantra. When he was done he read the name one last time and smiled feeling the clouds becoming snow in his mind. This was the second idea of family he never dreamed. Creating one rather than being born in one. He still wanted to give a last name to his daughter. She would be able to accomplish Ivan's dream of having patronymic, last name and a family. He would do this for her.
Next day, he told this dream to Gilbert because he was too happy. He was shaking the whole day imagining the policemen trying to arrest him and he wanted to be distracted. Even if distraction was Gilbert's laughter and mockery.
"Ivan, why don't you leave KGB and stay here?" He asked instead and held Ivan's shoulder to stop cleaning the bar and drinking. "Is everything you built here going to be for nothing? Everything you endured is going to be for you to spend the rest of your life on the basis? You created something beautiful here. Damn, man! You are better than the awesome me. You can't be really fucked up to fuck this up because you want to know about a past you can't live in anymore. Who cares about your family? Who cares about soldiers and spies? Stay here. Is the only way for you to leave KGB is by being caught?"
The idea felt like a long nightmare he was having since he was sleeping in the mixture of sheets on the Basis. He imagined losing everything he had when he imagined losing everything he has now. He couldn't imagine his life without it. Nevertheless, somehow, he hoped for that. He wished for more time with Alfred and he wished for Alaska.
He stared at Gilbert. Both of them grew more wrinkles and white hair even if neither of their natural hair colours can display it. It was rare to believe they spent eight years together. They built something from complete distrust to some kind of mutual agreement on an alliance.
Ivan wondered about that conversation when they started to simulate another simple fight that would end in punches or more drinks. When Gilbert was cleaning the bar, Ivan went to the hallway. The same that a phone was stuck on the wall and he grabbed it. He remembers his last minutes with Joseph before departing to England by train to start the plan. He spoke in English; a language he hated, but he needed to pretend to be Ivan's relative from England.
"Don't fuck things, Ivan."
"I won't."
"Don't waste our resources."
"I won't."
"Kill as many Americans as you can."
"I will."
In a second, something shone in Joseph's blue eyes. Something Ivan would see in his own violet eyes thousand of times when he is looking at the mirror. He would see the brilliant idea the world was different and he had lesser walls for people to break. He would watch the tiny bird singing in his chest trapped by rules, morals and a mask. Joseph hugged him and said something on his ear. This was the only time after Ivan wasn't a child that a soldier was kind to him.
He settled the number on the phone that the General whispered to him in Russian before saying he could only call him once and never again.
"What do you need, kid?"
The same tension hit him when he was in front of Joseph. He would feel his limbs shaking, his mouth dry and the heavy knot on his throat.
"I want to stay here after my duty is over." He spilt in Russian and felt the horrible taste of those words. "I have always obeyed you, I love my motherland, I love communism because I truly believe in it and I don't care about my past anymore. I want to stay here afterwards as Ivan Thomas. I know I traded my freedom with you to maintain my name, but I am begging you to reconsider. Let me stay here and I will work until my lungs give out. I will never get retired as we planned. I will make you proud every single day you let me live. But, please, if you ever cared about me... Let me stay."
Silence. For a whole minute, the earth stopped alongside everything. When Joseph spoke again Ivan was on his knees as if he was in front of him. He spoke clearly and slowly. The Russian turn the phone off and cried about losing the bird. He lost it to the machine he was.
When he entered the bar again his eyes were dead. When the policemen entered, Gilbert gazed at him with wariness.
Ivan smiled like a child.
"It's all for nothing."
•
America
November 23th
1964
The British was acting tremendously weird on the last month. He was basically colder and harsh towards Alfred as he was with people around him. So the American tried to speak with him and only received "I'm fine". He tried to regain what they were losing - it has been weeks since Ivan touched him the same way he used - but everything he did was useless. It was like something died in Ivan.
Alfred wasn't thinking about this metamorphose when he shook Ivan's shoulder gently until his boyfriend woke up with tired eyes. He grabbed Alfred's wrists with terror and a panicked glare in a matter of seconds. The British looked as if he was going to punch him and he flinched with fear. He started to reach for Alfred's throat until he seemed to be fully awake. He looked haunted.
"Sorry. I tried to be gentle. It's just me, Ivan." He whispered with a worried smile. The light of the lamp was the only thing illuminating the darkroom and made Ivan's face look like a monster. "I can't sleep and I have to tell you something."
Ivan moaned and placed his head on the pillow with hatefulness. He took the tape off his mouth and placed on the floor even if there was furniture empty next to him. Alfred knew if he was having good dreams or nightmares by how he would react when he is awake. The American used to stay awake when he wants to stay awake and sleep when he wants to sleep; he was very functional in this. Ivan, on the other hand, had insomnia several nights and wake up screaming most nights. It was rare to see him peacefully sleeping. When someone wakes him up and he is angry, he was having good dreams. It's the opposite when he is having nightmares; he glances at the person as if they were saving him. Last month, he was only waking up angrily.
"Fuck, Alfred!" He cursed visibly infuriated and rubbed his eyes. "You truly are a pain."
Alfred felt the words in his chest like a rope ensnared his lungs.
"Sorry. I was reading and I wanted to..."
"I don't care!"
He was offended.
"Why are you like that?"
"Don't wake me up when I'm not screaming in my sleep! Are you an idiot?"
"It's not just now. Why are you like this at all? It has been weeks since we had a conversation and you are always grumpy and shouting."
"I am fine! You are delusional."
Alfred felt horrible in a second and he couldn't notice where his hands were until he caught a glimpse of them in his chest. He cleaned his tired eyes as he was dealing with the usual feeling when Ivan was yelling. A mixture of despair, anger, and urgency.
"Can you just listen, baby? You can go back to sleep after. Please."
"This is not what this is about, Alfred. I almost never sleep with peace and you wake me up like that? You are already impossible to be around when you are making things easy. Don't make them difficult!"
The American scoffed and crossed hid arms like he was the one annoyed. Ivan raised from the bed clenching his teeth; he was almost smiling in a morbid way.
"What?"
"I am the one who is making things difficult." Alfred spat. "I just wanted to tell you something and you act this way?"
"Care for someone other than yourself once, alright?" Ivan yelled with resentment. "I don't want to hear it! If it's not a situation you are going to die it can wait until fucking morning. Or you know what? Just die!"
Alfred raised from the bed with him.
"Is it okay for me to wake up with your screams and stay with you the rest of the night, but when I'm having an emotion you can't stay awake for two seconds?"
Ivan looked like he has been knocked by words.
"Don't compare what I have with scaring me for no reason. You don't have problems sleeping as I do."
"Why do you have those problems? What is scaring you that horribly? What are your nightmares about? Why are you treating me like this after we talked about having a child?" The American replied with despair and hitting his foot on the ground as a kid throwing a tantrum. "I should know since I'm supposed to be your boyfriend and I'm the one who tries to calm you every night. I am the one who receives your harsh words every day. I can't take this anymore! So what happened? Let me help you."
Ivan scoffed and rolled his eyes. Alfred was infuriated.
"Talking about this again? Shouldn't I be able to keep private things to myself? I don't have to tell you everything, Alfred!"
"Then don't come running to my lap when you are crying!"
"Do you think I asked you to keep up with me? I didn't! If it bothers you so much I don't need to stay here screaming in any way, do I? You are the worst thing that happened to me. I hate you!" He shouted and went towards the American until he was glowing his chest in his. In six years they know each other and the three years they are together, Alfred had never been afraid of him like people would be. He would never see Ivan the scary way people did. But at that moment he really thought Ivan was going to kill him and he was completely terrified. Until he noticed where he was, Alfred has fallen on the ground in front of his boyfriend and backed away from him to defend himself. Ivan looked as if he was awoken from a nightmare, however, he was still infuriated. "I can't be here with you. I don't need this. You only ruin what I'm doing anyway. I don't need you!"
Alfred saw his anger thousand of times, nonetheless, he learned when he was just hurting and when he was actually angry. He was hurting. Alfred could see in his haunted eyes he was dealing with something that wasn't really in front of him. And he demonstrated he was completely terrified of Ivan when he should be a hero and fight to save him.
"Ivan, just stop? We are fighting over what? We are always fighting for nothing! You are taking your anger in me." He declared while raising from the ground and tried to approach Ivan. The British was walking away from the room and Alfred felt a deep resemblance. The American comprehended what that would create. He watched it in his parents. A single time David left after a fight with Virginia and a month later the divorce was done. A year later he was leaving for Canada with Matthew. "Just admit it and let me help you."
He tried to touch his shoulders and Ivan shoved him off. He tried several times while they were going downstairs and every time the British shoved him off with violence. Alfred felt his hands would have bruises with the strength Ivan was shoving him off.
He kneeled on the ground when Ivan reached the door. Tears were burning in his eyelids while he was trying to regain his bright personality.
"Please, stop. Talk to me. Please. Talk to me. I can't go on like this. I miss you."
The British turned to face him as if he was glaring at a great unpleasant aspect he has to live closely.
"I want to to stay away from me!"
His yell almost frightened Alfred to his knees.
"I know you don't want to be alone. I love you. Please, accept my help."
He stared at the American as if he didn't believe a thing he said.
"No. You don't. You just love the mystery and the chase you have with me since I'm not opening up to you like other people. You are so empty about your own identity you need to find what you lack in other people!"
This sentence damaged him more than he expected. If he could describe the feeling he would say that he didn't have any space or strength to move a finger anymore. His whole world was full of something invisible prohibiting him to move.
"There is nothing you can say or do that will make me stop loving you. Even if this is completely insane. There is absolutely nothing that would make me hate you, okay? Come here, baby. I love you." He responded with softness and a bright smile. He raised from the ground feeling the heaviness of putting forward, however, he wanted to fix things. Ivan was curving his body like a trapped animal willing to scape, but he wasn't opening the door behind him. "I am here, Ivan. I won't go anywhere. If you want to leave, then go. I won't ask you to stay as I have never done when we met. I am asking you to come back when you are well again. Just know that I love you and I forgive you."
Ivan closed his eyes and started to murmur things. Alfred just watched while he placed his back on the door and basically slid until he sat on the floor. He could only watch when Ivan lay on the floor and pressed his palms on his ears as if he was amidst a shooting. Perhaps, he was. Alfred couldn't know. The American crawled until he was in front of him and strived to create strategies to help him without scaring him further. No touching, apparently. No words or screams.
He had an idea. He laid down in front of Ivan while he was murmuring and embracing his head in a chaotic way. Not touching him, but in front of his face so he would be able to see him when he opens his eyes.
The time spent there felt like an eternity, however, Alfred couldn't know for certain. His head was hurting due to the hard ground. He lingered until Ivan was apparently feeling better than before and started to whisper.
"Remember a few years ago, in the coldest day, you came home after God-knows-what and I was laying under my bed for, at least, two days and a half? I was hungry, I didn't take a shower in ages and I wanted to pee more than breathe. But I couldn't get up. I simply couldn't. I felt like my mind was a prison and I wanted to be free so bad I tied up my linen and sheets and wanted to stop everything. But I gave up. You know why? Because my body is the only shell that makes me be with people like you or Arthur or Matthew or Kiku or Matthias. I need this to hug you, Ivan." He told with a smile on his face and he was delighted when he noticed Ivan stopped murmuring. "Then you laid beside me on the ground. Not touching me or anything; you just stayed there as a balance. Do you remember what you said?"
Ivan didn't answer in his ball of fear.
"Sun all the time makes a desert."
Alfred hugged his boyfriend on the ground. He removed the platinum hair, placed his mouth on Ivan's forehead and kissed a little. The American liked finding a place in his body and focus on kissing that part for a long time.
"The reason I woke you up was that I found what 'Alaska' means in the book I have borrowed from Arthur's private library." He asserted with a playful voice vibrating the carpet on the floor. Ivan put his gaze on him as if Alfred was going to tell an amazing story, even if his eyes were red like bruises. "I wanted to tell you badly. I'm sorry."
Ivan waited with the curiosity of a child.
"It means 'hit by the sea'."
This seemed to calm him. He placed his hands on the floor tiredly and he stared at his fingers as if he was dreaming on the ground. Alfred noticed it wasn't the kind of hopeful dream; it was a distant dream. Something he could only gaze at like he wasn't free to taste it.
"I don't want this to end. I want to stay here." Ivan whispered with his lips shaking with his hands. He rocked his head on Alfred's arms and clenched his fists. He seemed to be in pain. "I can't do this anymore!"
Then he started to cry. It was a wail almost like a hurt animal or a child crying for their mother. Alfred couldn't understand, but he decided the dark with Ivan was better than knowing everything without Ivan. He felt useless, though.
•
America
January 2nd
1965
The first thing he built inside was a surprise. Ivan was always some kind of extraordinary surprise before they got steady together. As a ghost who appears in the middle of a dream. He would appear in the middle of the week and vanish in the middle of a second. When they started everything, he would vanish from Alfred's bed in the middle of the night and he would let his scarf there for the American and appear days later. So Alfred was surprised but accustomed when he answered the door and saw Ivan in front of him after he went to see his father in England for a few weeks during Christmas.
They closed the door and only then they hugged because their neighbours could see them – Alfred even closes the windows every day in case Ivan is coming. They started to kiss while clinging each other closer. In a minute, they were kissing in the darkroom like the thousand times they did the same thing.
Ivan's mouth was pressing his lips with an urgency Alfred gladly accepted at that moment. He always kisses with a soft touch and an experienced, yet shy, technique. Now he just tasted crucial and salty. Since the American was missing him like hell, he accepted that pressure in his body. He embraced his arms around Ivan's neck and the British gave retribution by hugging his waist. They just tasted each other's lips before they were using tongues. Alfred indicated he wanted to Ivan take off his shirt merely to feel his skin against his. They glued to each other as if they lived with the same tissue.
Alfred chuckled at that urgency with the British below him.
"Did you miss me?"
Suddenly, Ivan turned the situation around when he twisted him and positioned Alfred below him instead. The American chuckled more.
"What has gotten into you?"
"I don't mind staying like this forever. I really don't."
Ivan rarely says something romantic like this. Especially after their last fight and the period they spent apart. The American pulled his face and kissed his cheek pressing his lips and feeling his teeth.
"Stay forever then."
The British raised. He was supporting the palm of his hands on the mattress to look at his boyfriend under him. He gazed at him like he was watching stars. The same way Alfred gazed at him as an unreachable dream when they began to know each other. He wasn't smiling, though. He was serious as if that moment was a serious appointment.
"What is it, Ivan?" Alfred inquired with a nervous voice and a Southern accent. He chuckled on the mattress. "You are scaring me."
Ivan placed a hand on his cheek and caressed Alfred's closed eyes. He positioned his finger around the American's face as if he was moulding his skin as clay.
"I need you to know I feel like I was created to be with you. My purpose... my duty is to be here with you and I can't stop thanking everything for it. You attained all my dreams even if you didn't accomplish any of them."
The darkroom felt illuminated by those words and the street lights. All through his life, Alfred is going to remember that moment as a downfall. Everything around him could crumble down and he wouldn't mind. He had enough of everything around him. He had what people have always searched for. It was stronger than love when the room felt more comfortable. For the first time in his life, he felt something strong inside of him as if feelings wasn't merely abstract and he couldn't describe it.
Alfred was speechless. His face was bright red and he could feel it while shivers played in his stomach. His lungs were inhaling and exhale better and it was colourful around his breathing. His shoulders finally relaxed. Perhaps, the only way to describe that feeling would be receiving every fraction of love someone has ever felt for Alfred at the same time. With one sentence, his world was colourful and he never noticed it was black and white before.
"Ivan..."
"If I had to go through everything to meet you..."
Something in his eyes was haunted.
Ivan laid above him and placed his head on the mattress beside Alfred's head. He placed a hand on his dark blonde hair and caressed with pride as if he was glorious to be there. The American couldn't move. He was too happy. Can someone be so happy they don't want to move a second to ruin it?
"I would go through all of it for a thousand times."
Alfred closed his eyes and heard Ivan's heartbeat against his. He wanted to say something in return, but nothing felt as right. Somehow he knew those words belonged exclusively to his boyfriend even if he wasn't good with words. It wasn't Francis or Gilbert advising him like a thousand times. He felt he didn't know the British for a second. He spoke about duty and purpose with haunted eyes and Alfred wondered what that heavyweight in his shoulders was displaying. He felt that when Ivan was crying in his arms or moaning above him or showing him the snow with childish happiness he was never more genuine than at that moment.
Alfred heard his heartbeat and felt his heat as a mantra. They laid with Ivan cuddling him. He was dreaming about heartbeats. Small vibrations that meant the world to him and he tried to dream words to say to the British. He felt the heat embracing him like something original from all the feelings. He loved the heartbeats and the heat. That meant he was alive. He was here.
When Alfred woke up he felt no heat or heartbeats. Only a scarf. He felt something abnormally miserable in his stomach.
It was goodbye.
"No. No. No." He repeated the word "No" for all the way he strumbled through the house. He searched for Ivan doing breakfast in the kitchen, or listening to music on the living room, or reading on Virginia's room. Perhaps, he was in the balcony in front of the house writing on that leather book. "Ivan?"
He opened the door and he saw nothing.
If Ivan wasn't acting that way last night, Alfred would be tranquil with that disappearance. Nevertheless, something in his stomach felt weirdly wrong. Maybe he was just imagining things.
Ivan must be working.
Gilbert answered the phone.
"Pub too awesome for a name. Gilbert speaking. We don't make delivery raise your flat ass, come and get it."
"Is Ivan there?
He sighed. The German was serious after that presentation and Alfred's suspicion became true slowly around his eyes. It has to be a lie. Alfred felt his heartbeat increasing and the world became black and white again.
"W-why are you like this?" He stuttered and interrupted Gilbert for two times. "Do you think he is seeing Matthew? Or perhaps..."
"Alfred, he is gone."
"When is he coming back."
Silence for a minute.
"He is coming back, Alfred. I will make sure of it."
* •
Yes. Ivan left.
A singer I mentioned in this chapter, Vera Lynn is an English singer, songwriter and actress. Her musical recordings and performances were enormously popular during the Second World War. During the war she toured Egypt, India, and Burma (Myanmar) as part of ENSA, giving outdoor concerts for the troops. The songs most associated with her are "We'll Meet Again", "The White Cliffs of Dover", "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" and "There'll Always Be an England". She has devoted much time and energy to charity work connected with ex-servicemen, disabled children, and breast cancer. She is held in great affection by veterans of the Second World War to this day and in 2000 was named the Briton who best exemplified the spirit of the 20th century. She is the woman who sings that song:
We will meet again. Don't know where. Don't know wheeeeen.
He swallowed several medicaments that cause seizures for the whole time he was in New York as bupropion, penicillin, quinolones and tramadol.
Please understand that none of these medications causes a seizure out of nothing, but as Ivan was taking a dose of all of them together for some time he was basically poisoning his body to have a seizure. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!
He was normal when he was taken to the hospital later than normal - American health is terrible - which gave him a chance to test his theory after saying he is an epileptic for vascular problems.
Ivan's thoughts, not mine.
He had some of Gilbert's blood on the same syringe that is used for most hospitals in the United States since New Zealand pharmacist and inventor Colin Murdoch was granted New Zealand and Australian patents for a disposable plastic syringe.
I think I explained everything in this paragraph. Congratulations, New Zeland. There are more modern needles today, but in the 50s this was the needle most hospitals were using because it was the most modern thing.
Nothing to do, Alfred took him on a road trip around the United States to show him weird things like The Mitchell Corn Palace in Matthew's car.
Any drive through the Midwest will bring you face-to-face with cornstalks taller than you can imagine. The Mitchell Corn Palace in South Dakota celebrates all things corn-starting with this prairie town in the middle of nowhere. This "palace" looks like something straight out of Russia, built-in 1892 to showcase South Dakota's bountiful harvests. Touring celebrities and one of the world's largest bird feeders await road-trippers who visit. Literally a place America would ask Russia to marry him. I love roadside attractions. Americans are definitely the most creative people in the world when they want to win a "The Biggest..." record.
The music playing on the phonograph was a beautiful melody named Dream A Little Dream Of Me.
This song is sung by Doris Day, an American singer and actress. I described Vera Lynn's voice as Tip Toe voice, but Doris Day's voice is close enough to a glitter rain. I love to picture things. Eike and I would get along.
Well, let's talk a little about Alaska.
Alaska is the largest U.S. state by area and the seventh largest subnational division in the world. Alaska was occupied by various indigenous peoples for thousands of years before the arrival of Europeans. The state is considered the entry point for the settlement of North America by way of the Bering land bridge. The Russians were the first non-native people to settle the area beginning in the 18th century, eventually establishing the colony of Alaska that spanned most of the current state. The expense and difficulty of maintaining this distant possession prompted its sale to the U.S. in 1867 for $7.2 million, or approximately two cents per acre ($4.74/km2). Alaska's indigenous population is proportionally the highest of any U.S. state, at over 15 per cent. Close to two dozen native languages are spoken, and Alaskan Natives exercise considerable influence in local and state politics.
Sorry if this chapter was too long. Thanks for reading until now.