AWAKENING, CHAPTER 9: CAUGHT
IMPORTANT: There are scenes in this chapter of two men being romantic with one another, with kissing and touching.
This chapter picks up right on the heels of the wet bathroom floor incident of chapter 1, in which Peter told Louis his sisters used to pick up after him. It is the closest thing we've had thus far to a racy chapter, but the activities are more implied than explicit.
I want to really emphasize that this story is focused on character development. It's not intended to be highly titillating, but it will be realistic about the fact that sex is part of life. There will be warnings before anything really explicit occurs. This story is intended to explore what it would mean if one of our beloved heroes turned out to be gay, and how that would affect his options in life and his relationships with friends and family alike.
June 1946
Louis had grown up in a tidy home, and he kept a tidy home. And while he didn't mean to nag, for the past month he had found himself constantly on Peter's back about picking up after himself. His frérot left a trail of debris wherever he went. Louis hadn't remembered him doing that at Stalag 13; then again, they didn't have much in the way of possessions at Stalag 13.
One afternoon, as Louis returned to the house for a late lunch with Peter in between meal shifts, Louis stopped in Peter's bedroom, saw him lolling on the windowsill with the cat, and reflexively began cleaning up his mess. Peter had mentioned just the day before that his seven older sisters had been in the habit of picking up after him; Louis decided he really needed to have a word with them.
"Whose is this?" Louis asked, examining a pullover he didn't recognize. It had been on the floor, and it was too big to be his or Pierre's.
"Oh, Tomasz must have left that," Peter said, leaping down from the windowsill to reach for the pullover. Then he reminded himself to look calm and folded his arms behind his back. "He was over here this morning. I brought it in here so I'd remember to bring it to him."
"And you threw it on the floor? That was very considerate. Which Thomas is this?" Louis asked as he folded the pullover and laid it on the dresser. "It's not in very good condition," he said with a frown.
"Says the chap who went through World War II in a shredded pullover," Peter jibed. He perched himself on the desk as Louis tided up all around him. "And it's Tomasz Krakowski, the Polish lad what mops up at night. I'll bring it to him tonight."
"How did you end up with it?" Louis asked idly. "Pierre, come on, it's your bedroom. Don't sit. Help. Mon Dieu, your poor wife."
"I'm not married," Peter said, sounding confused.
"Someday you will be, and we're not sending you to her like this," Louis said. "You'll destroy the poor girl with overwork." He took a look at Peter's crestfallen face, reminded himself he was being harsh, and remembered he'd interrupted. "You were saying something about Tomasz?"
"Oh, yeah, him," Peter replied. He attempted to make his bed while the cat pounced on ghosts that were apparently lurking under the covers. "We talk all the time when we're on smoke breaks. He knew of a kickabout football match in the Luxembourg Gardens on Saturday mornings. We met up there and came back here afterwards to clean up, because he don't have a bath in his bedsit. I hope that was alright, Louis. He didn't want to go to work all sweaty. You saw him there when you left, didn't you?" He had to force himself to put the brakes on his explanation. It was too much. He picked up Cosette for a cuddle, then watched as she hopped down and scrambled onto the windowsill to sun herself.
"I did. He was working hard," Louis said. "And you mean 'doesn't.' He doesn't have a bath," he corrected. "Not 'don't.' I want you to be able to converse properly with our English-speaking patrons, Pierre."
"If bathing comes up at any time with our patrons, I shall be sure to employ the proper verb forms, Louis," Peter said a haughty voice. Then he cracked a big smile. "Blimey, you're supposed to be helping me with French, not English. Well, I hope you had a good sniff of Tomasz, because he was fresh and clean." He shifted back to very proper tones: "And he was jolly grateful for the shower, because he doesn't have a baaaath. He instructed me to tell you."
"He could have told me himself," Louis said with mock sternness.
"At the restaurant? In front of everyone? How gauche!" Peter replied, feigning horror.
"You are very generous with my water bill, Pierre," Louis said, thinking back to the previous day's flood. He was trying to keep a straight face, but he was unable to resist laughing back. "At least you are learning some French. The opposite of gauche is droite. Try to remember that."
"Rive Gauche, Rive Droite. I've figured THAT much out, Louis," Peter said. Another bullet dodged, he thought as he lit a cigarette to calm himself. "What's for lunch?"
XXX
Two days later
"Pierre, the shower is dripping again. You have to turn it all the way off." As Louis strode down the hallway, he passed the partially open door to Peter's room. With just a glimpse, he saw Pierre scramble out of bed naked as a companion dropped to the floor on the side of the bed farthest from the door.
The door snapped shut, but Louis had seen enough. The companion was just as naked as Pierre, but taller and more solidly built. And there was absolutely no doubt that he was male.
Louis went into the bathroom and turned off the water again. Then he stood in the doorway, knocked, and said wearily, "Introduce me to our guest, Pierre."
A moment passed, and Peter called out. "It's Tomasz, Louis. From the restaurant."
Louis shook his head and stood sideways to Peter's bedroom door. "Both of you get your clothes on and meet me in the living room immediately. And don't even think of climbing out that window."
"Louis!" Peter protested. "I can explain. It's not what you're th-th-thinking."
"You don't have to explain. I have eyes. Now meet me in the living room. If you're going to be together, we need to talk."
XXX
Tomasz sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands as Peter pulled on his shorts and trousers.
"He's going to fire me. I can't afford to lose my job, Piotr," he muttered into his palms. "Maybe I should go."
"He said not to," Peter said as he buttoned up his shirt and brought Tomasz the underwear and trousers he'd dropped in front of the cupboard. "And believe me, he's a very good tracker. He could follow you silently for miles and you'd never know he was there." He leaned in and brushed Tomasz's floppy hair off his face. "I don't think he's angry, actually."
"Not at you. But me…" Tomasz said as he stood to pull on his drawers. "That's another story. I'm the common rabble."
"Tommy, he doesn't think that, trust me," Peter said, his hand idly stroking Tomasz's chest. "If he wants to look down on someone, he has me, and he's never once looked down on me. Come on, get your shoes on and let's go see him."
"Where are your shoes?" Tomasz asked as he sat to pull his socks and shoes on.
"I live here. I get to go barefoot," Peter said with a saucy grin. He sauntered down the hall, and jumped out of the way with a laugh as Tomasz tried to catch him around the waist.
XXX
Louis liked open, sunny windows, but as he entered his spacious living room with its floor-to-ceiling panes, he immediately drew all the curtains shut. Though it was midday, it was very sunny and warm outside, and no one passing by would think anything of it, not even his concierge, Madame Faucher. She'd know he was cooling the room down. And he was, in more ways than one.
He stood, examining a bottle of wine, as he waited for the boys. Burgundy was best for serious discussions, and this certainly qualified.
He wasn't exactly surprised to discover Pierre and Tomasz in bed together; he'd had the sense that Peter was hiding something. No, he was disappointed. Not disappointed that they were together; who was he to judge? But he was disappointed that Pierre had not confided in him and had not trusted him. Because Pierre had trusted him with everything else, and he had reciprocated.
He was certain that he know his frérot better than anyone alive. Better than Mavis, who knew everything about Pierre the boy, but hadn't really seen him grow into a man. Better even than Colonel Hogan, who was Pierre's father in every sense that mattered, because the Pierre who was born in London in 1925 was reborn in Stalag 13 in 1942.
As much as they knew, Louis knew more. He knew that Pierre had lived his life with enormous hurt and shame; and he didn't want that for him. Not at all, and definitely not in their relationship with one another. He wanted honesty and openness.
He wanted Pierre to trust him, and as far as he was concerned, there was nothing to hide. He'd seen for himself back in Stalag 13 that homosexual men found Pierre attractive, and he knew from experience that such things didn't happen accidentally. He'd seen little glimmers that the interest might go both ways. Maybe. Pierre was a born flirt, and he didn't seem to realize sometimes that he was flirting with a man.
And Pierre had fallen hard for several girls—particularly Anja, his first lover. Louis had assumed that his professed and demonstrated interest in females was stronger than any tug he might have felt toward men. But Louis was no fool. Men didn't enter lightly into liaisons with other men. The social risks were too high. His own brother was homosexual; he knew exactly how difficult life had been for Henri. Pierre was young; perhaps it was a passing phase. But he wouldn't bet on it.
XXX
"Sit, boys," Louis said as he waved them to a sofa in the living room. They sat side by side, and he handed each a glass of wine. "Some discussions require fortitude," he said with a shrug, pulling a chair up to sit facing them.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Monsieur LeBeau, I want you to know I got carried away and…"
"Tomasz, stop. I am not angry. I am concerned." He turned to Peter. "Pierre, how old are you?"
"What? You know how old I am, Louis."
"Humor me and say it, s'il vous plait."
"I'm twenty," Peter said irritably. "Twenty-one in December."
"Yes. December 22 is six months away. And you, Tomasz?"
"Ummm, I'm turning twenty-six next month," he replied.
"And what is the age of consent in France?" Louis asked.
"Fifteen," Peter said defiantly.
"Is it?" Louis replied.
"That's what Colonel Hogan told me. He said I have to stay away from any girls younger than fifteen," Peter said. "Which I wouldn't have trouble doing, by the way."
"Apparently not," Louis said. "But did he tell you the age of consent for homosexual relations?"
Peter was silent, and he was tugging on the tails of his shirt, as Louis had seen him do many times before. His cheeks were turning pink with embarrassment, and Louis knew at once that it was the rarely spoken word that brought on that reaction. He was looking away, ashamed. Shaming him was not Louis's goal, but Pierre was Pierre.
"The age of consent for homosexual relations is twenty-one, Pierre," he said softly. "You are a minor. Tomasz could go to prison for six months to three years simply for having sex with you." He turned to Tomasz. "Until he is 21, this is very risky, Tomasz."
"Are you going to turn us in?" Tomasz said fearfully. "Please, Monsieur LeBeau, I'll do anything you ask… I need my job…"
"Tomasz, stop. Of course I won't turn you in, and your job is safe. But you are older than he is, and that makes you responsible. You need to understand the risks you are taking."
"He'll be 21 soon."
"The law doesn't care about 'soon.' You boys need to be careful. Pierre…"
"Bloody hell, Louis," Peter snapped. "I waited and waited to be eighteen so I could put my bleeding life on the line for England. Now I have to wait again?" He licked his lips and looked at his friend. "I mean, we're j-j-j-just … ex, experimenting, right Tommy? J-j-j-just trying something fffforbidden to see what all the ffffffuss is about."
"That's right," Tomasz agreed eagerly. "We're not really…"
"No. Oh, no, no, that's not what we are at all. Blimey, Louis, is that what you were thinking? That we're actually, you know, queer? How do you say it in Polish, Tommy?"
"Ciotas," Tomasz laughed. "Dziwny. No, of course not."
Louis closed his eyes and heaved out a sigh. "You don't have to hide from me or from yourselves. And I don't like it when people lie to me. Whether you are experimenting or falling in love isn't the issue. This issue is that if you are seen together—through a window or a doorway, doing what you were just doing… Tomasz, you are a foreigner on a visa here in France. You know legal trouble will make it hard for you to stay."
Tomasz was nodding. He understood.
"Alright, we'll, we'll, we'll have to stop." Peter looked downcast. "I don't want Tommy to get in trouble."
"And do it somewhere else where the risks are even higher? No. You are missing the point!" Louis shouted. He calmed himself just as quickly. "Here is fine. But you must close the windows and doors. You must not be seen kissing and holding hands. You must be discreet while you ... experiment."
"It's alright with you, then?" Peter said hopefully.
"Yes, but you must also be considerate. I live here too. What is your place like, Tomasz?"
"I have a small bedsit and a nosy landlady," he replied.
"Then there can be no sex there, ever—do you hear me? I am very serious. It's too risky. And we have a nosy concierge, so you need to be scrupulously polite and discreet in front of her," Louis said firmly. He sighed, and then continued.
"Boys, the culture of war is not far behind us. People have had years of being rewarded for turning on one another. Betrayal can come from those we hardly know. France has a tolerant culture toward homosexuality, but involving minors… no. And there are many people—conservative people, devout Catholics—who don't want to tolerate what you are doing, who probably prefer the way the Nazis treated homosexuals, by locking them up. Do you understand what I am telling you?"
Peter looked at Louis with a pained expression and nodded without making a sound. Tomasz simply stared at his clenched hands.
Louis looked at the two boys, who were ashamed and embarrassed, awkwardly holding wine glasses in their hands. "Drink up," he said. "To authenticity," he added, reaching over to clink glasses first with Peter, then with Tomasz. Peter smiled back at him weakly, while Tomasz continued to look terrified. "Stop looking so worried, Tomasz," he said. "If you are careful, everything will be all right."
Peter, sitting in one corner of the sofa, reached his hand out to Tomasz, who was in the other corner, and nodded without saying a word. Tomasz shifted closer to him and they sat holding hands quietly.
Louis looked at them and smiled. He'd seen Pierre in an amourette de jeunesse before, and he realized he was seeing it again. Boy or girl, Tomasz or Anja, it didn't matter; it was gratifying to see him opening his heart.
Pierre was of an average height and slim but sturdy, with medium brown hair with golden streaks, and stunning green eyes that captivated everyone—man, woman and child. Tomasz was probably eight or ten centimeters taller, and broad chested and well-muscled like an athlete, with darker hair and eyes. They both still had some of the softness of youth in their faces, and both were on their way to being very handsome indeed. The little looks they exchanged were adorable. The little squeezes of their hands showed they were clearly enamored of one another, two fine, frisky boys in their prime.
"Vous êtes très mignons ensemble," Louis said softly. Both boys blushed instantly, but they looked at each other and smiled.
He finished his drink, then clapped his hands on his knees and stood up. "All right. I am heading back to the restaurant in an hour, and Pierre, you will need to come with me. We'll see you there later tonight, Tomasz." He walked to the doorway. "I'll leave you two boys alone to say goodbye."
XXX
"I told you he wasn't angry," Peter said as Louis left the room. He scooted closer to Tomasz and leaned his head on his shoulder. "He likes you."
"He loves you," Tomasz said. "He wants only the best for you. That is the definition of love." He kissed Peter's neck.
"Don't start that again," Peter replied, shivering. "You're going to get me all worked up."
"Oh yes, it's so easy to get you excited," Tomasz whispered in his ear, giving the earlobe a little suckle. But he pulled back. This definitely wasn't the time or place for another round of lovemaking.
Peter stood and made no attempt to hide what he was feeling from Tomasz. He stood directly in front of his seated boyfriend and reached an arm to his shoulder. Tomasz scooted to the edge of the sofa and Peter leaned forward. Both his arms were around Tomasz's shoulders. Tomasz held him around the waist and caressed him through his clothes.
Peter sighed at the warm sensation of arousal, but Louis's words echoed: "I live here too." "Alright, that's enough," Peter suddenly said, swatting a hand away. "If you keep this up, I'm going to have let you have your way with me right here on the floor," he added, in a seductive tone.
"You're the one keeping it up," Tomasz observed, delivering one last, tender stroke. But he stood and wrapped his arms around Peter. "Do you want to go to a film this weekend? Or go to the Louvre?"
"Football on Saturday morning, and then why don't we go to Bois de Boulogne and rent a row boat?"
"All the way across the city, Piotr? Will we make it back for work?" Tomasz asked.
"Of course we will. And we won't see anyone we know, and I can make my arms stronger, like yours," Peter said with a little growl. He stood on tiptoe and kissed Tomasz on the lips. "Come on, time for you to go. I need a shower after the afternoon we had," he said as he led him to the door.
"Stop teasing me with images of you in the shower," Tomasz said. In the foyer, he kissed Peter passionately on the mouth, grinding hips together, then separated. "See you tonight at work," he said, running his hands over Peter's forearms.
"Yeah. See you there, mate," Peter replied, breathing hard as he let go. He pulled open the door and watched affectionately as Tomasz descended the stairs. Then Peter pulled out his cigarettes, lit up, and wandered to his room, feeling the throb Tommy had brought on. If he got in the shower now and soaped up fast, he'd have just enough time to finish what they'd started, he decided. Then off to work with Louis.