African Nocturne

Part 1 page 4

It was already very cold in Paris in October. They had been walking for about forty minutes from the museum. Thanks to Haussmann's transformation of Paris, the path was almost straight.

The air was damp and the evening darkness was closing in on Arthur's chest. He followed the painter's back, trying not to slip as he walked through the marronnier leaves that had fallen all over the place. Bertrand had asked him not to tell the tutor, but he had explained to his tutor and he had readily agreed for this "walk." Arthur was a man with few secrets and no lies. He could not hide anything, especially from that tutor.

The painter seemed to be in a good mood and was singing a song.

"What song are you singing?"

By hearing Arthur's question, Bertrand turned around. He stopped, so Arthur catched up with him.

"This is "Sempre Libera" from the opera "La Traviata," means Always free. Ah, I think she is on a stage right now. Would you like to watch it? It's a bit like going back the way we came. Are you tired? I'm sorry to make a man of your class walk. I don't have a lot of money on me."

"It is Okay, I'm confident in my strength. I was in the boat team at university."

"I see. That's why you're in such good shape."

The painter patted Arthur on the back.

Arthur looked at him and asked, "You're slender, aren't you? Don't you exercise?"

"I never do. I've never done any exercise, only faire l'amour." Bertrand answered.

Bertrand pulled a tug on the back of Arthur's overcoat and brought his face unnecessarily close with a mischievous smile. Arthur turned his head slightly away from the painter, ruminated once on the meaning of the French words, and then blushed.

"I'm sure I didn't mishear you. But ah..."

"Yes, I get the most exercise when I have sex. Especially with a Woman. When I have sex with a man I don't have to move, but with a woman I have to work a lot harder."

The painter looked up at Arthur as if it was no big deal. Arthur didn't know what to say.

"That kind of talk is...eh, very irritating to me."

"Well, you've always liked your tutor, so you're a virgin."

"...Well, that's what I mean, but..."

It wasn't that he didn't want to admit it, but he was embarrassed to speak up. Arthur could feel his ears burning.

"It's a shame you'll always be a virgin, so why not experience it with me before going home?"

The painter, who was as happy as ever, seemed completely unconcerned. Arthur could not keep up with what was being said and forgot that he was completely cold. He found himself sweating on his back, which was still touched by Bertrand.

"Well, in my country, men who have sexual relations with other men are subject to detention..."

"This is Paris! The city of love, the Napoleonic Code has been in force for a hundred years. You are my type young master, I'll offer myself for free if you wish. Just think about it."

The painter then rose up and kissed Arthur on the cheek. Arthur's cheek was touched by the painter's cold lips, and his cheek instantly became hot. He feels dizzy. The meaning of the words he was saying was not comprehensible at all. The last time Arthur had been kissed on the cheek was by his mother when he was a child.

"Ah, we're here. This is the cable car that was built this year, and the church over there is the Sacré Coeur temple, which has been in the works for over twenty years. It's not finished yet, though. It's a landmark in this area. My Lord, welcome to my city, Montmartre, the hill of the martyrs."

The painter bowed to the confused Arthur with a theatrical gesture.

"Bert! Welcome home!"

There was a burst of children's voices from the stairs leading to the cable car, and children in dirty clothes came down. Some of them were barefooted in this cold weather, and Arthur suspected that they usually earned their living as beggars or baggage handlers. The painter did not hesitate to pick up the small children. The oldest is about 15 years old. A little boy, perhaps only five or six years old, clutched Arthur's arm.

"Is he a customer of the Bert?"

The oldest of the girls glanced at Arthur, asking. He looked away uncomfortably, feeling as if he were being judged.

"He's good-looking, isn't he?" answered Bertrand.

"I like him. Can you send him round for me later?"

"That's up to him, you know. He looks very innocent. Hey, how about a girl, young master?"

Arthur turned to Bertrand and asked what he was talking about. Because until then, he had given up following the rapid progress of the French conversation.

"So my question is this. Can you have sex with a girl?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about with such a children..."

He was about to say this, but he realised that prostition was what the girl was doing for a living. So he answered instead, "No, I don't want to buy love only physically."

"I knew it. I knew you would say that. But what about the girls? Do they excite you sexually?" Bertrand asked with a smile.

"...Not sure. I've never been in that situation." Arthur answered.

"I see. So you've always liked your teacher."

Arthur looked at Bertrand, who was smiling in the increasing darkness of the evening. "But I know I'm going to marry a girl," Arthur muttered secretly to himself.