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 his 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.