Date: Sun, 3 Oct 2004 21:50:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: Thomas-Alexander Kind <thomasalexander_kind@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mihai-03

'The truth is out there.!'
And now here as well, as this is true and not all that
long ago...or maybe too long ago.!
No disclaimer, as the ones that hold the power do what
they want anyhow. Everybody else does not need one.
Storycode:M/b


Mihai-03

NOTHING NEW ON THE EASTERN FRONT...

The great adventure of agreeing to drive a
chase-vehicle for a good friend on a quest of flying a
micro-light airplane from airfield to airfield had
taken me to the East,... to the large city beyond the
mountains in the plains carved out by the large river
that went to a Black Sea.
In an orange VW-Camping-Bus with the incredible flying
machine on a tow-trailer behind, we were following the
route of the Habsburg kings, the expanding
Austrian-Hungarian Empire,... into that part of the
map of the known world at the time,  which used to be
marked with the customary: THERE BE DRAGONS.!
The term of the ancient cartographers for lands
unknown.
	*
After summer-adventures that had brought me to believe
that maybe my dreams could become reality here,( some
other time ...) we had come back and found a place to
live.
Shared a 2- bedroom flat in an apartment-block not far
from the great square in the center of the city.

Summer had passed into the beginning of winter.
My daring friend had found companionship of young
local boys.
Frightened me had not.
Had walked the streets and squares, filed the faces
and the places of the street boys in my mind... had
placed money in small grubby hands but resisted the
asking eyes.
Had haunted the center of town, the late night cafés,
walked in the shadows again and watched the boys
descend into the canals below the city for the night.
Had seen the effects of the aero-lacque in the plastic
bags, held against mouth and nose and inhaled, on
them.
Had walked by the same 2 little boys, maybe 9 or 10
years old, sleeping on the subway-grille, arms wrapped
around each other, next to the entrance of The Hilton
Hotel, too many nights.
Had seen the 'invisible' boys play and chase each
other.
Had let more than one talk me into giving more than
needed with those big eyes and soft melodic words in
the language I hardly knew enough words to fend for
myself.
Had walked home alone because I was too scared of the
reality of this place.
The reality of the possibility.
The reality of myself.
Had too much war left in my head.
A few too many close calls with life, lately.
	*
The flat was the place to come back to when business
demanded from us to be away in other parts of the
world for a while, so at times we were on our own
there for weeks or even months.
Good to find a separate peace for myself, finally able
to write again, to learn to live with myself.

To come to terms with the fact that I had been looking
for the same beggar-boy for some weeks.
I had found him one night next to my open car window,
thrusting his open hand and open smile at me.
10 maybe 11 years old with a mop of dirt-blond hair,
small and skinny even in the big dirty jacket he was
wearing.
Next night, same ritual. Except, he remembered my car
and his hand was in my face the minute I stopped at
the roundabout.
Next night, he simply walked up, smiled and asked to
come along,... waiting for me to open the door.
I hesitated ... too much thinking, too sacred,... and
the lights changed, horns being sounded...people
yelling...policemen looking.
Frightened, I drove away and never saw him again, of
course..!
	*
Relating the story to my friend upon his arrival back
in town and my
leaving for a few weeks,... I guess I offered a
challenge.
He realized the possibilities and invited them back to
the flat.
So when I returned, there were a couple of street boys
coming for the night with regularity.
This became our life with the 'mice'.
	*
Our flat is up 2 flights of stairs... a semi-darkness
even during the day.
This is a good thing.
Street-boys are not welcome in any self-respecting
Block.
They may be... what curse this would be... 'Gypsies'.!
So it is a minefield of sorts, the boys are walking
every night.
They are to arrive at 9pm... but often are early,...
winter is coming with cold and wet.
Are to ring the entry bell... we buzz them in and than
open the apartment door a crack...so they can sneak in
sliding through the smallest space possible between
doorframe and door.
	*
Mihai and Daniel are shedding their clothes in the
hall.
That strange transformation from plump, puffed up
small figures with small faces peering from hats and
jackets,...to very skinny boys in sweaters and
pants,...t-shirts and more pants that were beneath the
ones before,...undershirt and underpants,...skin,..!
It is something like pain I feel, when I watch
them,...their slightly lopsided smiles,...not really
embarrassed by their nakedness, no, more by the eyes
that see the hunger and the desperate moves.
The bones beneath the skin.
They know I do not really want to look at them,...but
also know I will never be able to turn away,...the
fascination of their sublime grace in all the need
that has emaciated their bodies.
No,...their bellies are not swollen,...this is not
Biafra or Rwanda...but nevertheless..!
I cannot turn away,...watch as Mihai skips naked from
the hall into the bathroom,... where the bathwater
steams..!
And Daniel,...graceful in his adolescent naked stride,
comes close, smiles up at me and takes the sweat-pants
and top that will cover him and wrap his body in a
layer of warmth as he curls up on the sofa.
Proudly holding the remote-control for the
TV,...although it always gets handed off to Mihai in
the end, who hides it close to his body in hopes for
another cartoon.
	*
Mihai in the bathtub,...scrubbing his feet,... another
dip into the warm water under the shower,...
tentatively fingering the bath-toys.
I motion to him to stand up and he does without
hesitation... he knows the drill... I lather my hands
and wash him from top to bottom...yes that too,...
before rinsing him off with the hand shower.
Than shampoo on his head... while he is winding up the
toy-boat.
Rinse and one more time... he is talking to
Rubber-Ducky..!
Than sighs as he slides completely under the now dirty
bubbly water.
Pushes up his penis through the bubbles and bursts
into giggles under water which makes him surface
really fast.
Standing in the tub... as I pull the plug and the
water drains away,...slick, smiling, skinny..!
Funny boy..!
I hand him the towel.
Shiny and new,...a small boy,...13 years old,. looks
like 10 and thin at that.
My red sweatpants are miles to big on him,... the blue
top comes to his knees.
	*
The boys are eating at the table in the small kitchen.

They never, ever forget to say 'thank you', in
English..!
Daniel throws the cross after the meal they inhale.
In my minds eye I see him serving at an orthodox mass,
in one of those old, small, square churches, full of
Icons, Gold and candles.
All incense and innocence, chants and hope of
salvation from what hurts.
His eyes are soft,... dark,...liquid..!
He walks past me towards the bathroom.
Smiles a tentative smile, sheds what clothes him and
slides into the foam that covers the water in the tub.

Only his smiling face remains,...framed by bubbles.
	*
They come from the street and stay the night.
Shed the skins they wear on the outside.
Scrub off the dirt that has settled into their pores
from the grime of this large city.
Eat to fill the hunger that has traveled with them all
day long.
Huddle in the corner of the sofa,... close and trading
soft almost whispered words in the melodic language of
this people.
Squabble as boys will over the remote-control or the
next cigarette,...but tentative only.
Always one eye towards us,... making sure that their
grace has not worn off,... that their welcome has not
worn out.
Are quiet like mice,...mostly.
	*
We have been told that one does not keep boys like
these too long in the morning either..!
So it is early mornings for the boys...and myself.
I am not a morning person,... but my friend is-due to
years in the military, and so it works out.

I stare with wonderment at the boys, as they sit on
the stools in the small kitchen their glasses with
milk in front of them.
Am holding myself upright by my coffee cup, as they,
all sleepyheads and tousled hair, are looking
wide-eyed at the feast of toast, bacon and eggs that
is being placed in front of them.
The kitchen is all warm and cozy like,... smelling of
food and coffee, the boys smell of bubble-bath and
apricot shampoo.
Maybe this is all a dream.?!
It is 6:30 in the morning, my friend is annoyingly
chipper, and the mice are ravenous.
Another 'thank you' from both,... a kiss for my
friend, in whose bed they slept all night.?!
Since one of the 'luxuries' the apartment has to
offer, is a washing-machine, they get to put on clean
clothes, dried over the radiators all night.
Both smell their underpants and socks, and smile to
each other.
Giggle and stand in the middle of the living room
dropping the sweatpants and tops we keep for them
here.
Slim naked boys, Daniel, the older one at 14, a little
more muscled, round butt and the proud owner of 3
hairs each side of his penis... bathroom secrets we
trade.
Mihai,... well, his ribs can be counted and he is not
slim but too often hungry I would guess.
Not so pretty, much too thin and small.
I learn much later that he does not beg at all... so
often goes hungry.
	*
So this then becomes the secret word when we talk
about them: 'mice'.
Mice,... coming into the house at night, after roaming
the streets during the day, stealing, begging, hiding,
making do,....surviving..!


More in Mihai-04