A second later he realized how stupid it was to be jealous of a dead man. He could see how Gerard had helped Mathieu become the person he was—the person Sven was in love with.
He ought to be grateful to Gerard.
In the days that followed, Sven processed this new information and tried to understand who Mathieu was, whohe himselfwas, while continuing to work peacefully in the vineyard. No soldiers came calling, and the only people they saw were the Fosseys, the owners of Château du Boda, the vineyard next door, and their little boy, Jérôme. They visited regularly with news and food, and the families exchanged produce from each other’s kitchen gardens.
They also tried to keep up to date with the Allies’ successes. The Germans were still fighting, but there were frequent reports of increased aggression. They were taking more prisoners, arresting anyone and everyone. It was a dangerous time.
The days were unbearably hot, and during the hours when the temperature was at its highest, Sven and Mathieu rested in the shade behind the house, while Hugo and Juliette sought refuge indoors.
On one of those days, Mathieu asked Sven to draw a portrait of him for his mother’s birthday. They disappeared down to the cellar where it was cooler, and by the light of the flickering candles, Sven worked on Mathieu’s portrait. He drew those beautiful, characteristic features, spending a long time on the slightly crooked nose, that thick hair. The chiseled jawline was easy to capture, but the gray eyes with a hint of melancholy were more challenging. Sven loved those eyes—they held the joy of life, but that joy was edged with sorrow. This was something Sven had come to recognize in occupied France—the people were living under oppression, but no one could take away their hope and lust for life. Sven tried to encapsulate all this in Mathieu’s portrait.
They worked like this for three days. On the third day, when Sven had finished, he put down his pencil and asked Mathieu to take a look. Mathieu gave the drawing a brief nod.
He then asked, “Do you want to start a new sketch?” Mathieu’s voice was hoarse as he slowly took off his shirt.
Sven was dumbstruck at first. Did Mathieu want Sven to draw him without his shirt on? Should he do that? But then he stood up and carefully placed the portrait for Juliette on the wooden shelf. Fetched a clean white sheet of paper, laid it on the table, and picked up the pencil. He drew the first stroke, the line of Mathieu’s shoulder, then continued to work with focus.
Mathieu removed another piece of clothing, then another, until he was naked. Sven studied every shadow, every curve, every single hair. He drew frenetically, as if this were his first and last chance to see Mathieu’s naked body, even though he knew that this image would be etched on his consciousness for the rest of his life.
“I need a break,” Mathieu said after a while. He stood up and stretched. Took a step toward Sven. He wiped the perspiration fromSven’s brow with his thumb. Sven hadn’t even noticed that he was sweating, but now he realized that his shirt was almost soaked through.
Then Mathieu leaned forward. Kissed him. He tasted of salt, and something smooth. He played with Sven’s tongue, sucked on his lips, and Sven let himself be kissed. Waves of pleasure surged through his body.
This was what it was like to kiss someone you desired.
The unbearable heat continued. Early one morning a few days later, Mathieu was helping with the work in the field. Both men were sweating profusely.
“I need to cool down,” Mathieu said, glancing at Sven.
“In the house?”
“In the river.” He gazed at Sven for a long time, and Sven’s body immediately came to life. After the kiss in the cellar, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else, but they hadn’t had an opportunity to be together. He wanted to go with Mathieu now; hehadto go with him. As if he were under a spell, he put down his tools and followed Mathieu in the direction of the forest.
Mathieu confidently led the way along the forest tracks. They were hidden by the dense trees, Sven told himself. No one could see them. No one could see Mathieu. What would happen if someone did see him? If he gave himself away? People would start asking questions, wondering why the Latorres’ son was home. The Germans would hear about it, and Mathieu was already on their list.
This adventure was dangerous. A lethal game.
They kept going, and when they reached the edge of the forest, they continued down the riverbank. The water was shimmering, almost azure blue.
Mathieu pulled off his shirt, his pants. Then his underwear. With only a few strides, he was in the water. Sven remained standing on the bank. Mathieu beckoned him, and eventually Sven took a few hesitantsteps, then removed his shirt and pants. The sun was burning his shoulders. He hesitated for a few seconds, then took off his underwear. He made his way resolutely down the bank and waded out into the river, the reeds scratching his calves, then kept on going in the crystal-clear water that was so wonderfully refreshing around his ankles, cooling the blood pumping through his overheated body. He felt free. He could almost forget about the German soldiers who were just a mile or so away.
He heard Mathieu laughing out loud. It was a fantastic sound.
“What if someone sees us?” Sven said as reality suddenly caught up with him.
“It’s only for a little while,” Mathieu said. “I can’t stand being a prisoner in the house and the vineyard any longer.” He splashed the water all around him. “I want to breathe.” He turned his face up to the sky, spread his arms wide, and fell backward, allowing the water to embrace him.
Sven did the same, then dove and swam underwater with his eyes open. The fractured sunlight filtering down through the surface of the river danced in front of him until his eyes hurt.
When he came up again, Mathieu was spinning around and around, causing the water to ripple in wide circles around him. When he was done, he swam along the shore until he reached a tree trunk growing out across the river, then clambered up it.
“Come here!” he shouted, and Sven followed him. Mathieu jumped down and made a big splash, not graceful in the least. They kept on swimming back and forth, competing to see who could swim to the trunk the fastest. Sven won every time, until the last time. He was almost there when Mathieu seized his foot, pulled him back, and quickly overtook him.
“That’s cheating!” Sven laughed, grabbing hold of Mathieu’s bare shoulders, slippery from the water. He pushed him under the surface as Mathieu fought back and bounced back up, laughing too.
“How can you be so happy? You’re amazing,” Sven said as they breathlessly treaded water in the shade of the tree’s long branches. Hethought about how much he had laughed since he had gotten to know Mathieu. He hadn’t laughed like that for several years.
“You have to live, find happiness where you can.” Mathieu moved closer to Sven, tucked his hair behind his ears, gazed at him for a long time. They were close to the bank now, their feet touching the bottom. Sven felt the muddy, soft, sandy riverbed beneath his toes.
