Refugees

by Kim Fielding

  He put on blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a lightweight jacket. He hated wearing hats and hadn’t even bothered to bring one with him, so he’d been pleased to see Martin hatless as well. Maybe it was hard to wear one over those springy blond curls. Walter’s own hair was dark brown and as straight as broom straw if he let it grow long.

  The first order of the morning was breakfast, he decided. Under a zinc-colored sky, with birds chirping all around him, he crossed to the Kitee Café. Almost every seat was taken, and again the other customers stared at him openly, seeming curious but not unwelcoming. They were, he couldn’t help but notice, an oddly attractive group of people, as if the little restaurant had been filled by a movie casting agency instead of inhabitants of a real town. Maybe his perception of attractiveness was simply filtered through an unusually restful night.

  “Good morning!” Dorothy called when she appeared from the kitchen. She carried two heaping plates of food. “Take a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

  He sat in the same place as the night before, his table by the window—although jeez, it wasn’t really his. Dorothy hurried over with a cup of coffee and a menu. “Decaf,” she announced.

  “Thanks.” He looked over the menu’s typical breakfast fare. “Pancakes and sausage?”

  “You bet. Home fries with that? Or eggs?”

  He considered briefly. “Eggs, please. Scrambled.” Walter was a big man—tall and muscular—and he’d been underfeeding himself for years. His mother used to beg him to eat more, until she’d finally given up. He would end up big around the belly if he kept up like this without physical work. He wasn’t sure he cared.

  Although the café was busy and Dorothy was apparently the only person waiting on tables, she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave him. “Did you enjoy the inn?” she asked.

  “It’s fantastic. Um, thanks for putting in a good word for me with Martin, if that’s what you did.”

  “My pleasure. I hope you decide to stick around for a while.”

  The food wasn’t as exotic as the previous night’s dinner, but it was delicious. Dorothy gave him both maple syrup and something made from blackberries, and he used plenty of both. He was nearly through with his meal when he noticed something odd about the other diners—they were strangely quiet. Oh, they clattered plates and cutlery like anyone would have, but their speech was hushed and sparing. Like people at a funeral, only there were no hints of sorrow. In fact, most of them smiled if he caught their gaze. Maybe they were all immigrants and it was some kind of cultural thing. His travels had taught him that not everyone was as loud and boisterous as Americans.

  Another thing: the locals touched each other a lot. Nothing inappropriate. But as he watched closely, he noticed that they rested a hand atop their companions’ or briefly stroked an arm or shoulder. Children wiggled up against adults like friendly puppies, but when it came to the adults, age and gender didn’t seem to matter; people touched anyone within reach. Even Dorothy took part in this, briefly caressing her customers’ backs or brushing her fingers against their forearms whenever her hands were free. Watching all of the casual contact made Walter uncomfortable, but it also made him sad. It had been a long time since anyone had affectionately touched him.

  Breakfast was an even bigger bargain than dinner. Walter thanked Dorothy and then ventured outside. He felt a bit at loose ends. He’d spent most of the past year either driving or working, but today neither was on the agenda. Hell, he didn’t have an agenda. Pretty soon he’d have to decide where to go next, but for today, maybe he could just wander.

  There wasn’t much to see in what passed for downtown Kiteeshaa. Aside from the café and the motor court, the business district consisted of a little grocer, a gas station with a mechanic’s bay, a tiny shop that seemed to carry clothing and shoes, and an office space of indeterminate purpose. Nothing for tourists, and even the locals would have to drive to Newport for most needs. He was charmed to discover that the town boasted a plant nursery, its storefront crowded with pots of riotously colored flowers.

  In fact, as he continued his walk, he noticed that all the houses were fronted by carefully tended gardens. He recognized a few of the plants, such as the roses and lavender, but he knew very little about gardening, so mostly he just registered splashes of color among a thousand shades of green.

  He thought it was weird that every house had such a lush, well-tended garden. Walter knew quite a lot about construction due to his family’s business—even if his own role had largely involved pushing paperwork—and he could tell that the houses, although modest, were also in perfect condition. Not a single loose shingle, no peeling paint, no windows in need of repair. The sidewalks were free of children’s toys, and he didn’t spy a single scrap of litter as he walked down the road. Strange.

  As he walked, he passed three young children, and later a man and woman about his age. They all smiled and wished him a good morning, but there was something assessing in their gazes.

  Soon the houses ended and the valley narrowed, so that slopes thick with vegetation rose on either side of the road. The tall trees would have blocked most of the sun even if the sky had been clear, and the rich scent of growing things filled Walter’s nose. Although no cars went by, he saw living creatures: fluttering insects, cheeping birds, and scolding squirrels. Once a black snake with red stripes slithered across his path, making him jump. And for one almost magical moment, a deer paused in the roadway to stare at him before loping into the brush.

  Perhaps a mile past the town, a small stream burbled through a culvert under the road before continuing into a little canyon to Walter’s right. It appeared that a path—narrow and unpaved, thickly carpeted with pine needles—followed the stream. On a whim, Walter decided to follow the path into the woods.

  At first the trail led nowhere in particular, twisting lazily alongside the water. But when the stream headed down a steep embankment, the path turned the other way, rising uphill between ferns and trees. He expected it to peter out at any moment, but it continued even after it crested the hill and crossed a little meadow into another stand of trees. But then it stopped suddenly, right in the center of a ring of towering evergreens, and Walter peered around in bewilderment. Why would a trail lead here?

  A rounded boulder hulked invitingly, so Walter ambled over and scrambled to the top. It was less than five feet high and covered in moss, and it made a pleasant perch. He sat for what felt like a long time, simply breathing.

  This area was quieter than the woods near the road. He didn’t see or hear any birds, and the only insects were a few gnats and several wandering ants. It was as if even forest creatures were hesitant to disturb the stillness of the space. And God, it was peaceful. Deeply so, like a long drink of water on a hot summer day or a thick mattress after a hard day of toil. He thought that if he dropped dead right here, right now, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He’d seen firsthand what became of corpses when they returned to dust, and if his flesh became a part of this tranquil place, he wouldn’t very much mind.

  It was a good thing he didn’t have his revolver with him, although he probably wouldn’t have wanted to disturb the silence with a gunshot. Probably.

  Walter had stopped thinking—was just letting the stillness seep into his pores—when he heard the quiet fall of footsteps. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes, but now he opened them, blinked a few times, and saw Martin walking toward him. Martin moved slowly and carefully, less like an animal stalking its prey than a parent wanting to avoid disturbing a sleeping child. He wore khaki trousers again with a light blue shirt and tan jacket, and his lips were set in a hesitant smile.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you,” he said quietly when he reached the rock.

  Walter slid to the ground. “It’s all right. I was just sitting here.”

  Martin nodded. “It’s a good place, isn’t it? I come here sometimes when I need….” He let his voice trail off, then gave a small shrug. He continued to smile, but h
is eyes were sad. “Were you comfortable in unit three?”

  “It was great.” Walter couldn’t explain the sense of ease he’d felt last night.

  “I’m glad,” Martin replied, looking relieved. “Will you stay longer?”

  “A few days.” Walter hadn’t even realized he’d made a decision until the words left his mouth, and he didn’t regret it. If he could actually afford it. “Um, you haven’t told me the rate.”

  “Four dollars a night. But I can give you a discount, seeing as you’re staying more than one night.” He seemed to consider for a few seconds. “Two fifty?”

  Walter did some quick calculations in his head. If he ate at the café for breakfast only and fixed the rest of his meals in the cabin’s little kitchenette, he could safely afford a week before his funds became too thin. “That’s fair,” he said.

  Martin held out his hand for a shake, and Walter took it. But instead of letting go when the shake was over, Martin tugged with surprising strength, pulling Walter flush against him. Shocked but also instantly aroused, Walter stared into those astonishing blue eyes. And then Martin touched his lips to Walter’s.

  It was a delicate kiss, barely more than a faint brushing of skin. But it made Martin gasp and draw his head back. His lips were parted and his eyes wide. “Oh,” he breathed.

  “You don’t…,” Walter began, trying to talk his way out of this awkward situation. He expected Martin to be angry with regret—to hit him, or at least order him to leave Kiteeshaa immediately and never return.

  But Martin still held Walter’s hand, and now he leaned his head forward again for another kiss. Gentle at first, and then harder, and when Walter gave in to impulse and slipped his tongue into that warm, sweet-tasting mouth, Martin moaned and pressed his other hand against Walter’s back.

  They were both breathless when they broke the kiss. “I didn’t realize…,” Martin whispered. A flush had spread over his fair-skinned face, and his lips were moist.

  Walter pulled his hand from Martin’s now-slack grip. “I think we should—”

  But Martin pushed his chest to Walter’s, pressing him back against the rock. Walter could easily have fought his way free since he was much more muscular than Martin, but he didn’t want to. Being pinned in place like that felt safe rather than confining. Martin stared intently, as if he were trying to glean some deep meaning from Walter’s expression. “You want this,” Martin finally said. “You want me.”

  No sense denying it, not when Martin could probably feel Walter’s burgeoning interest against his hip. “Yeah. I’m queer.” He’d tried to ignore his attraction to men when he was younger in hopes that it would fade away. But then he’d joined the Army and found an atmosphere surprisingly—if unofficially—tolerant of homosexuality. Maybe it came of men living together in close quarters, usually with no women in sight. Maybe it came from the nearness of death, which put biases into perspective and made soldiers appreciate all the carnality of life. It had been easy enough to find willing short-term partners, men eager for a tryst in the darkness.

  Martin frowned. “Wanting me makes you unhappy?”

  “Not….” Walter sighed. “Life would be easier if I liked girls instead.”

  “I don’t understand. Sex, love, these are good things, right? They make people feel good. Not like hate or war. Why does it matter who you want?”

  Jeez. Martin might be a foreigner, but he couldn’t be that unaware, could he? “It matters to most people,” Walter said gruffly.

  “Not where I come from. For us…. We love a person, not a gender. And if that person loves us back, well, that’s a joyous thing.”

  “Where are you from, Martin?”

  Martin sighed and shook his head. “Far away. But right here, you can want me and I can want you, right? When it’s only the two of us.”

  That was true enough—the trees were their only witnesses. And God, it had been so long. When Walter first returned from the war, he’d been too shattered to desire anyone. And perhaps that had been just as well, because civilian Chicago was not as willing as his platoon members to turn a blind eye to two men together. Even once the yearning returned, Walter had remained celibate save for a few brief and emotionless exchanges.

  Martin must have sensed Walter’s acquiescence, because he pressed in close again and placed his lips tentatively to Walter’s jawline. Walter shuddered at the contact. For a moment he wasn’t sure where to put his hands, but then he grinned slightly and threaded his fingers through Martin’s soft curls.

  They kissed some more, Martin resting his entire weight against Walter, supported by the rock. Now Martin’s cock was hard too, a delicious solidity against Walter’s own, and whenever Martin could draw a breath, he made marvelous little gasps and whimpers. When Martin trailed wet lips over Walter’s neck and then sucked on a cord of muscle, Walter leaned his head back and tried not to come.

  “Wh-what do we do?” Martin panted.

  At the moment, Walter was universally willing. “Anything you want.”

  “But I don’t know how.”

  That made Walter freeze. “You’ve never done this before?”

  “No.”

  “With a woman?”

  “No.”

  Oh holy Christ. Walter dropped his hands to Martin’s chest and pushed lightly. “We shouldn’t—”

  Martin grasped Walter’s wrists and gently moved his hands to his waist. “Please?” Sunlight filtered through wispy gray clouds and the treetops. It illuminated Martin, making him look like part of that fresco in the bombed-out church where Walter had once spent three sleepless days and nights trying to keep some of his comrades alive.

  Then Martin’s expression softened too, and he leaned his forehead against Walter’s. “We need this, you and I,” Martin whispered. “It won’t make us forget, not for long, but perhaps it will chase the memories away for a little while.”

  Walter didn’t ask what memories Martin needed to evade. Instead, he gently worked his hands free and wrapped his arms around Martin, pulling their bodies flush. “We could go someplace,” he offered. Somewhere with a bed. Didn’t Martin have an entire motor court to choose from?

  But Martin shook his head. “Next time. This place is best for now. It’s a place of new beginnings, you see.”

  Walter didn’t see, and talk of next time and beginnings made him uneasy, as if he were about to make a promise he knew he’d break. But he tilted his head to brush his lips across Martin’s cheek. “Here, then.”

  “Can I see you? All of you?”

  Wisdom counseled against undressing in the open. But Walter held little faith in wisdom, and in any case, if he was going to be responsible for Martin’s first time, he ought to do it right. He’d never been anyone’s first.

  Walter unhooked his arms from Martin’s waist and pushed softly at his chest. Then he reached for his own jacket zipper.

  They were going to be cold, he realized as he undressed. Except excitement thrummed in his veins, warming his flesh from the inside. And then he gazed at Martin’s beautiful naked body, at the slender length of his rigid cock, and at the pure joy shining in his eyes—and the chilly temperature ceased to matter. Martin didn’t stare at him as if Walter were broken. God, nobody had ever looked at him as Martin was, and Walter hadn’t realized until just this moment how much he’d yearned for it.

  “I want to kiss you now,” Martin said solemnly.

  “I wish you would.”

  Skin against bare skin was glorious. Martin had very little body hair, and his muscles beneath Walter’s questing hands were lithe and strong. As they kissed, Martin explored Walter’s body too, groaning over the thick hair on Walter’s chest, the heavy build of his shoulders and arms, the firm roundness of his ass. They pressed their groins together, rocking gently at first, then with increasing urgency. That could have been enough, and Martin wasn’t demanding anything more, but Walter wanted to give him a fuller experience.

  He wrenched himself from the kiss by she
er force of will and dropped to his knees. As Martin gaped down at him, Walter grabbed a double handful of Martin’s delicious ass and began to nuzzle at the soft curls of his groin.

  “What do I do?” Martin asked. He was breathing hard.

  “Enjoy,” Walter replied, grinning up at him. Then he licked the length of Martin’s shaft.

  Martin’s gasp echoed loudly in the quiet of the clearing, a sound so primal and erotic that Walter’s own balls tightened. He wanted more of that. But he noticed that Martin’s hands were clutching uncertainly into fists. “Hold my hair,” Walter ordered. “Hard as you want. I don’t care.”

  He’d allowed his crew cut to grow out a little, more from apathy than desire, so the strands were just long enough for Martin to grasp. For a brief moment, Walter mourned the fact that he couldn’t reach the glorious soft halo on Martin’s head—but then, an equally nice prize was within reach. With a happy little hum, Walter slid his lips around the head of Martin’s cock.

  When Walter had performed this act during furtive moments in the Army, his partners had tasted of sour, salty sweat and grime—the taste of soldiers who marched often and bathed rarely. He hadn’t exactly minded. It was like field rations: not ideal, but far better than no food at all. Besides, he knew he was just as dirty, so they had to endure his reek when they returned the favor. The men he’d been with since, stealing a bit of time in tavern bathrooms or the backseats of cars, had tasted of beer and cologne and laundry detergent.

  Not Martin. He was salty, of course, but clean and sweet. Any soap smell blended completely with his own personal odor, which was a bit like woodsmoke and spring rain. It was wonderful. Walter devoured him, licking and sucking his length and swallowing him down, using Martin’s moans and whimpers to gauge what felt best. Martin did tug at his hair—just exactly hard enough—and that was lovely too.

  When Martin rocked his hips, his buttocks flexed in Walter’s grip. But Walter was looking up as he sucked, and what really made his nerves thrum was Martin’s expression. Martin stared down at him with pure wonder and delight.