1-5 / Sicily 1926

1 – The Sun of Sicily

I lived alone.

For years.

No visits. No conversation. No closeness.

The fields were my life.

The earth beneath my feet.

The smell of olive wood in the sun –

that was my everyday life.

Not more.

Less for a long time.

I hardly spoke.

Didn't like people.

Didn't like closeness.

The cats –

those were the only ones who came.

If they wanted to.

And there was one.

Black. Silent.

Shyness around others.

But not with me.

She kept coming back.

Whenever it suited her.

Not like a pet.

More like a shadow,

who returned,

because he knew where he belonged.

That day I stood in front of my front door.

Barefoot, as always.

The soles are dusty from the dirt road.

The sun was low.

The cat snuggled up to my leg.

I spoke quietly:

"Hey, bella. Who are you down there?

I should give you a name.

I am Giorgio.

I have no power over you –

but you always return to my feet.

Maybe you like me.

Are you hungry? A little milk, perhaps?"

I spoke it more into the dust than to her.

But she looked up.

And I felt that she understood me.

Then I heard footsteps.

Slow.

Not strange – but stranger than anything I had heard recently.

A boy.

Fine on the face.

Soft in movement.

A look that lasted too long.

But not demanded.

Rather…

There was something longing there.

He knelt down next to me.

As if it were a given, as if it belonged there.

“Doesn’t she have a name?” he asked.

I sat up.

His voice was different.

Gentle. Alert.

And something inside me reacted to that.

Not with defense.

But not with understanding either.

I couldn't name it.

2 – First touch

I saw his gaze slide downwards.

At my feet.

Slow.

Not stealthily.

Almost… reverent.

I said nothing.

But I felt it –

a pulling sensation in the chest.

Unknown.

Not unpleasant.

But strange.

A first knock from a door I had never opened.

I put my hand on his shoulder.

No invitation.

No threat.

Just weight.

A sign.

A contact.

“You’re good with wild beasts,” I said.

It should sound casual.

But I watched him closely.

He breathed shallowly.

I felt his tension.

His expectation.

As if my hand meant more to him than I intended.

I was good at reading people.

Not through words –

through bodies.

I continued:

“I think someone down there is hungry.”

He answered barely audibly.

But I felt it.

It wasn't the cat,

who wanted something down there.

His gaze lifted.

Only briefly.

A moment on my step.

And I saw it.

This desire,

that was not expressed in words,

but in posture, in breath, in gaze.

He wanted my feet.

Not as a picture.

Not out of politeness.

He desired her.

And something inside me –

something that had been sleeping –

began to awaken.

He stood up.

First, avoid my gaze.

Then he held out his hand to me.

“My name is Enzo.”

I took it.

“Giorgio. Nice to meet you.”

Our hands met.

His skin was soft.

Mine was hard.

And yet:

When our fingers touched,

It went through me like an electric shock.

A single, silent flash.

I didn't know that.

And I didn't like it.

But I felt it.

Deep.

Something was different.

3 – What can I offer you?

He pointed to the neighboring house.

That of his grandparents.

I knew her.

Good people.

Quiet. Unobtrusive.

Like him.

I liked how calmly he spoke.

No drama.

No pose.

Just a boy who had found a place

where his pain didn't have to scream.

Then he touched me.

His hand on my shoulder.

She was small.

Cautious.

But noticeable.

Normally, something like that bothered me.

But there was something mindful about his touch.

Something that did not take,

but asked.

I didn't like it.

That I liked it.

The feeling of having him with me was nice.

But dangerous.

The neighbors didn't have to see anything.

Don't assume anything.

Not understanding anything.

“Come in,” I said.

Not because I had to.

But because I wanted to.

He followed me.

And I saw him leave.

Nervous.

But controlled.

Too controlled.

I felt his insecurity like a current.

And I liked her.

She made him soft.

And me…

awake.

It was cool in the kitchen.

The shadow lay like a blanket over the tiles.

He stood there –

slightly tense.

I saw it on the shoulders.

On the jaw.

From the way his hands held each other,

as if they wanted to hold on to themselves.

“What can I offer you?” I asked.

I looked at his lips.

They said nothing.

They were just there.

Red. Open.

He looked at me.

Not demanding.

Just waiting.

I stepped closer.

Not much.

Just enough.

“I only have water,” I said.

“Water is good,” came the quiet reply.

His look said something else.

He had hoped for more.

Or something else.

And I didn't know what.

Or didn't want to know.

Not yet.

4 – Yes, I drink a lot of water

We sat.

I drank a lot, as always.

The heat took its toll.

The jug was soon empty.

My body demanded cooling –

after discharge.

“You really drink a lot of water,” he said.

Finally a few words.

I grinned.

I didn't want to increase his insecurity.

But I enjoyed having her there.

I enjoyed his attention.

I tried it playfully:

“I have to pee often too.

If you only knew how long I pee each time...

It’s enough to irrigate the entire field.”

I laughed.

Honest.

And he laughed along.

Hearty.

But in his eyes –

something flickered.

His gaze was not aimless.

He wandered.

And I let him.

I let him see.

I liked the boy.

Something about him…

attracted me.

Not loud.

But steadily.

I was talking about my apples.

“The best in the world,” I said.

Only half-joking.

He laughed.

“Doesn’t everyone say that?”

"No. Just me."

I had the best apples on the island.

I knew that.

Was it because of the special irrigation?

I thought so – and smiled inwardly.

I drank a lot.

And every tree had at some point…

well, yes.

A part of me was in everything out there.

Maybe that's why I liked her so much.

Then the cat came back in.

As always.

Like an answer.

She came to me.

Lay down at my feet.

As if it were natural.

As if she knew where she belonged.

I felt Enzo's gaze.

He followed her.

Or me.

Or both of us.

He bent down to her.

And came too close to me.

So close,

that I felt his breath –

on my skin.

On my toes.

I should have pushed him away.

I should have said something.

But I did nothing.

I didn't want him to leave.

I liked what I saw:

Him down there.

Small.

Hesitant.

And too close.

Something stirred in my crotch.

A pounding.

A pulsation.

Without touching.

For no reason.

That never happened to me.

I didn't understand it.

He was a man.

I wasn't gay.

Maybe he does. Sure.

But me? No.

I had to get out of the situation.

She overwhelmed me.

I no longer understood myself.

But I didn't want to let him go either.

5 – Do you want to come with me?

I had to get out.

Get out of the house.

Get out of me.

“A few olives are ripe,” I said.

"Do you want to come along?"

“Yes, of course,” came the quick reply.

Too fast.

We went to the stable.

Fed the donkeys.

I watched him –

how he treated the little one.

Tender.

But not weak.

Just... be mindful.

Like someone who has learned to love quietly.

We started running.

I asked:

"Are you hungry?"

He hesitated.

A wait.

An inner search for the right answer.

But I didn't let him finish thinking.

“I have the most delicious thing you can imagine for you.

When we get there, I'll show you what paradise tastes like.

You've never had anything like this in your mouth before."

His gaze flickered.

I noticed it –

but only later did I understand

what he had heard in these words.

We arrived.

The olive grove lay still.

The sun hung heavy on the branches.

No wind.

Just the breathing of the land.

I spread out a blanket.

Got bread.

Olives.

Apples.

Everything is normal.

Too normal.

“You have to try my apples,” I said.

He: “Apples?”

And I saw this disappointment in his eyes.

Barely visible.

But noticeable.

He had hoped for something else.

Something I didn't want to say.

Or couldn't.

He bit into it.

I watched him for too long.

How his mouth opened.

How his lips wrapped around the flesh.

I saw him chewing.

How he swallowed.

And I had to look away.

But the image remained.

His mouth.

His hunger.

Not like apple.