A Ladder to the Sky(42)

‘Well, there you are. You met me for the first time twenty-four hours ago, Gore. Don’t presume to understand me. You don’t.’

‘All right. But you know what they say in Italy, yes? Quando dio vuole castigarci, ci manda quello che desideriamo.’

‘Which means?’

‘When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.’

A long silence ensued, one that neither man seemed keen to break. Gore could scarcely remember any of his writer colleagues over the years talking about children. Not even the women. Especially not the women.

‘Well,’ he said finally, unwilling to leave the room while he was still one game down. ‘You know, I stayed up late last night.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes, I decided to read your novel.’

Maurice sat down on the bed now and ran a hand across his chin, looking a little apprehensive. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘And what did you think of it?’

Gore glanced up towards the ceiling for a few moments as he considered his answer. ‘You write well,’ he said. ‘You’re very good on place. The dialogue rings true, even though it must have been difficult for you to recreate it from such a distance of time and geography. I struggled with that too on Burr and Lincoln, but you work through it successfully. Perhaps you’re a little too fond of alliteration and you’ve clearly never met a noun that you didn’t think would look better all dressed up in an adjective. But there’s a strong erotic element to the book that works very well. The moment where Erich and his friend go to the lake and Oskar strips off, it’s rather arousing on a purely physical level.’

‘I wanted to write Oskar G?tt as shameless about these things.’

‘I didn’t read him as shameless so much as proud. But also a little na?ve. It wouldn’t have crossed his mind that Erich wanted to touch him. I liked when they both woke up on the bank afterwards, tumescent, and were uncertain how to explore the moment. Yes, it’s a good book, I really can’t offer any major criticisms. I’m not surprised it’s doing so well for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Maurice, looking relieved. ‘It means a lot to hear you say that.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Why does it mean a lot?’

Maurice shrugged, as if the answer was so obvious it was hardly worth pointing out. ‘Well, because you’re you, of course. And I’m only me.’

‘And what does it mean for me to be me and for you to be you? What is it that you think separates us, other than forty years?’

‘You’re a significant figure in twentieth-century literature. You’ll be remembered.’

‘Will I?’

‘Yes, I think so. I’m certain of it.’

Gore smiled. ‘Dash said something similar to me earlier,’ he said. ‘Although to be honest, I couldn’t give a fuck whether I am or not.’

Maurice smiled too and shook his head. His teeth were gleaming white. ‘I don’t believe that for a moment,’ he said.

‘Sic transit gloria mundi,’ said Gore.

‘All glory is fleeting. Erich used the same line with me once. When we were in Rome.’

Gore’s smile faded a little now. He hadn’t expected the boy to know what the words meant. Nor did he enjoy repeating the lines of others. He needed to be first, always first.

‘Last night,’ he said.

‘What of it?’

‘It must have been three or four o’clock. I’d finished reading and switched my light off. And then the strangest thing happened.’

Maurice looked at him, his expression controlled. ‘And what was that?’ he asked.

‘Very quietly, the door to my bedroom opened and a figure stepped inside, dressed only in a red bathrobe. He closed the door behind him and walked across to the window before turning around and looking down on me. I opened my eyes and wondered whether I was lost in the midst of a dream. I’ve had such dreams in the past, you know. Of boys I’ve known, boys I’ve never known and boys I’ve wanted to know. Anyway, the moonlight was entering the room in such a way that the figure was only half illuminated but when he removed his robe, letting it fall to the floor, he was naked underneath, his body a work of art. Michelangelo might have sculpted it and failed to capture its beauty. The fierce definition of the pectoral muscles. The stomach so lean. The impressive member that lay between the boy’s legs, apparently ready to offer pleasure if given a signal of consent.’

‘And what did you do?’ asked Maurice.

‘I turned over,’ said Gore. ‘Not to invite the figure into my bed, you understand. But to make it clear that I had no interest in him.’

‘Perhaps you’ll live to regret saying no,’ said Maurice, standing up and gathering the remainder of his belongings, not bothering to fold them now, simply tossing them carelessly into his case. ‘One day it might feel like a lost opportunity.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ admitted Gore. ‘I’m not made of stone, so I considered it. But I resisted because I’m not a fool. I feel rather pleased with myself this morning that I said no. Something tells me that, had I lifted the covers and invited the figure in, my life would have taken an unhappy turn afterwards.’