Date: Tue, 15 Nov 2011 09:48:32 +0000 (GMT)
From: Nexis Pas <nexispas@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: An Italian Landscape, with figures

An Italian Landscape, with figures

Nexis Pas

Copyright by the author 2011

The dawn wind stirred the curtains, and bits of Jason's dream merged with
the light flickering through the gap that opened and closed between them.
For a moment, he was in his flat in London, with Charles curled up next to
him. He was happy and content. Every few seconds, Charles's steady
breathing brought his chest into contact with Jason's body, comforting him
with this rhythmic proof of his lover's nearness.

There was a whisper of conversation outside the window and then a
half-stifled laugh. `Ciao, Angelo,' said a female voice.

`Ciao, Maria.' The voice was deep and masculine.

Jason rolled over and awoke in a hotel room in Italy. He turned his head
and gazed out the window at a narrow strip of sky that was quickly fading
from grey to the pale yellow of an Italian day. The breeze mingled the
scents of the Adriatic and country grasses and bread baking. Another
perfect day, thought Jason. Later, he and Charles would breakfast in their
room, sitting on the small balcony and watching the fishing boats on the
bay. On the crest of the hill behind the hotel, the bells in the church
would toll, followed shortly by those of the clock in the tower above the
town hall. Below them, the town would stir with activity as the market
opened. The trucks bearing crates of vegetables would arrive, and the
sellers would set up tables and erect awnings and then display their
offerings for the day in colourful mounds. The merchants would fold open
the shutters that covered the shop windows. Soon the parade of housewives
would begin, and the noise of joyous bargaining and gossiping would fill
the air.

Or perhaps they would sit at one of the tables on the terrace below their
window, drinking coffee as they paged through the guidebooks and planned
their day. They would choose that table that was half-hidden in the bower
created by the bougainvillea branches that tumbled over the walls from the
garden next door. The glow of sunlight filtered through red and purple
flowers would surround them. Later they might take the bus that ran along
the coastal road and explore one of the villages further south. They would
find a café and have another wonderful meal and then catch the last bus
back. In the gathering twilight they would climb the hill to the hotel.
They would get drinks at the bar and then sit outside on the terrace and
watch the reflections of the lights of the town ripple in the sea.

They would discuss what they had seen that day. Charles would again
surprise him with his sensitivity, both to others and to him. It's amazing,
thought Jason not for the first time, how accurately he knows my moods. He
can sense what I am thinking from the smallest clues. They would finish
their drinks and say goodnight to the hotel staff and climb the stairs to
their room. They would undress and sit in the dark in front of the open
doors to the balcony, sharing the peace of the night. Then they would make
love, quietly, gently, slowly, easing into their final raptures, letting
the climax happen without force or artifice or self-consciousness. It would
be another expression of their growing love for each other, an important
way of expressing it but not the only way.

Another enchanted day in San Andreas, the fifth. They hadn't spoken of it,
but for Jason, and he was certain for Charles, the trip was a trial
run. They had met five months earlier. Their relationship had progressed
from friendship, admittedly a friendship fuelled by mutual physical
attraction, to a convenient means of having sex with an agreeable partner
to love. Their joint holiday was a test. Could they live together? Or was
their limit a few hours a few times a week, dinner, a few drinks, bed,
perhaps an overnight stay?

On the whole, Jason thought the holiday was proving that they could live
together. Of course, it would have to be tested in London. A holiday with
no everyday responsibilities, an attentive hotel staff, scrumptious food
seemingly available on every corner, warm weather--those were hardly
normal conditions. But he was increasingly certain that the demands of
their schedules, domestic chores, cooking for themselves, and cold, rainy
weather would not dampen their relationship.

Jason eased himself out of bed and slipped on his robe, careful not to
disturb Charles. He closed the door to the bedroom behind him, and walked
into the small sitting room. He wanted a bit of privacy to think and get
his thoughts in order. He needed to plan how best to raise the subject of
inviting Charles to move into his flat. Luckily Charles was only renting
and his flat would be cramped with two people living in it. So it made
sense that Charles should be the one to move. But he didn't want to box
Charles in. Charles would have to get rid of his furniture and many of his
possessions. Jason's flat was big enough for the two of them, but they
wouldn't need another television set or a second sofa. It might be more
crowded than either of them was used to, and having only one bathroom could
be a problem. It was important that they be able to discuss the possibility
without committing themselves until both of them were ready and understood
the consequences. Haste might lead to a disaster that thoughtful planning
could avoid.

He had never thought he would be having this discussion with himself. At
32, he thought himself beyond a relationship and had resigned himself to a
lifetime alone. The realisation that he loved Charles had surprised him. He
hadn't expected that to happen. The sudden swelling of joy he felt when he
unexpectedly saw Charles approaching him along Douglas Street had startled
him into an awareness of his feelings. Further encounters had only deepened
his feelings. He was certain that Charles felt the same. Charles had
exuberantly acquiesced in his suggestion that they spend a week in Italy
together. Charles had scoured the guidebooks and found San Andreas. It was
proving to be the perfect place for--well, for a honeymoon. The sequence
of events might not be the customary one, but the emotion and the sentiment
surrounding this holiday in paradise fulfilled the definition of
honeymoon. Of course, Charles has his faults. So do I, thought Jason. But
as long as we are committed to each other, we can work out our
differences. And living together will make us even more willing to make the
relationship permanent.

Should I, pondered Jason, propose today? Or should I wait until the last
day of our holiday? Spending the last two days and then flying home
together would be awkward if Charles said no. I need a way of testing the
waters. There was that jewellery shop on the street leading to the market
square. Yesterday when they had walked past it, there had been a tray of
cheap rings in the window. The miniscule diamonds had sparkled in the
light. Perhaps we could just amble by it again, and I could point them out
and then speculate a bit on marriage in San Andreas. See what Charles says
on the subject.

Jason's reverie was interrupted by the scraping of a metal chair against
the flagstones of the hotel terrace. He stepped over to the balcony doors
and looked out. One of the hotel employees was cleaning the garden. The
young man's back was towards Jason. He had to be the Angelo of the
conversation that had awoken him. Angelo was kneeling down and reaching
under a table for a scrap of paper. He had draped the white tunic that all
the employees of the hotel wore over the back of one of the chairs,
possibly to keep it clean while he was sweeping up. He was wearing only a
string vest. It stretched tautly over his torso. His body glowed in the
early morning light. That's one problem with Charles, thought Jason. He
burns so easily that he has to keep his body covered up. His flesh is so
pasty looking. And it means he doesn't go outdoors and exercise. His body
droops, not like Angelo's. Jason had a sudden mental image of Charles lying
on his side in bed, his chest uncovered. His pecs sagged and his stomach
flowed down onto the mattress. That young man's muscles wouldn't sag,
thought Jason, and his ass is magnificent, worthy of Michelangelo. Jason
could almost feel it under his hands, firm and full. Charles couldn't even
begin to compete in that area.

Jason slid the door to the balcony further open and stepped outside. The
young man looked around at the noise. He smiled and waved a silent
greeting. Jason nodded and then looked away. He didn't want to be caught
staring but he was very conscious of Angelo and his movements as he
continued to prepare the terrace for anyone who might want to breakfast
outside.

Jason wondered if he should return to bed and awaken Charles with a
kiss. He mentally shuffled through the possible places where he could plant
the kiss, each succeeding option a bit more arousing than the previous
one. The young man tugged the bottom of his vest loose from his trousers,
briefly exposing his abdomen. Now that deserved a kiss, many kisses in
fact. Jason leaned on the railing of the balcony and looked down. The young
man was working directly below him. From above, his curly black hair
obscured his face. Poor Charles was going bald already. From above, the
bare spot on the crown of his head would have been very apparent. The young
man's shoulders were really very wide. They made his waist and hips look
even smaller. It would be lovely to be in bed with a body like that.

The quiet of the morning had a palpable weight. Somehow it magnified the
sounds of the birds calling in the hills and of the scuffling of the young
man's plimsolls against the garden tiles. It felt almost warm on Jason's
skin. It was really a perfect day. The boundless sky, the cloud of flowers
hanging over the terrace, the handsome hotel worker going effortlessly
about his task--Jason felt a wave of contentment and happiness infuse his
body.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of snoring. Charles must have rolled
onto his back. That was one of his annoying traits. Charles's snoring had
disturbed his sleep several times already. If they were going to live
together, he would have to do something about that. Even with the bedroom
door closed, his snores were loud enough to wake anyone within twenty
feet. It would be even worse in London, thought Jason. His flat had a lot
of charm, but the walls were thin. It would be impossible to escape the
noise if Charles lived there.

Jason glanced back into the sitting room. Charles's shirt and vest were
tossed over the arm of a chair. The rest of his clothes--the jeans,
pants, socks and shoes he had worn the day before--lay in a tangled heap
on the floor. That would have to change. Jason knew that he could be
irrational about neatness, but Charles went too far in the other
direction. His flat was a mess. It was impossible to sit down in a chair
without first removing several days' worth of dirty laundry. Every dish
Charles owned sat in his sink waiting to be washed up. When he needed a
clean glass or plate, he simply rinsed off the one with the least grime.

The young man finished straightening up the terrace. He walked towards the
chair where he had left his tunic. As he passed by the ironwork gate in the
wall, he stopped and peered out into the street, twisting his neck so that
he could see down the hill. He appeared to be entranced by whatever he was
seeing. He stood with one hand poised above the back of the chair about to
pick up the tunic. Jason held his breath. He wanted to do nothing that
would distract the young man and interrupt the scene below him. If this was
the Angelo that Maria had spoken to earlier, he was rightly named. He
looked like a young angel disturbed in his labours by a vision of
beauty. He was himself a vision of beauty.

Angelo turned suddenly and looked back towards the hotel. He grabbed his
tunic and put it on, buttoning it hastily. He moved forward and then
greeted someone coming out of the hotel. Jason heard murmured `buongiornos'
and then Angelo gestured towards the tables, inviting someone to sit. A
couple, a man and a woman, appeared on the terrace. They consulted briefly,
pointing first at the tables shaded by the flowers and then at a table in
the sun. They chose the table in the sun. The wife spoke to Angelo, who
nodded and then hurried away. He returned shortly with a tray laden with a
cafetière of coffee, a dish of melon slices, and a plate of rolls along
with a bowl of sugar, a pot of milk, and plates and silverware. Angelo set
the dishes on the table with quiet competence and efficiency. Every
movement was a note in an aria of assured gracefulness.

Jason suddenly wanted to sit in the garden and have breakfast. He would
choose the table under the flowers. He would nod to the couple but not
disturb them with conversation. Angelo would serve him the same meal he had
just brought the couple. They would smile at each other. One of the bright
red bougainvillea flowers would fall slowly onto the table, a gift of the
gods.

Jason went into the bedroom and dressed quietly. He would let Charles
sleep--Charles did like a lie-in. It was another difference between the
two of them. As Jason walked down the stairs, he decided not to raise the
subject of living together with Charles yet. It would be better to wait
until after they had returned to London and he could evaluate the
relationship soberly. It was too easy to get drunk on Italy. The country
tempted one into hasty decisions.