MOSCOW, Nov. 10, 2003 -- I went back to see Seryozh #1 in the hospital on Sunday.
He was filed away in Palata – ward, I suppose -- No. 6 on the second floor of Korpus (Wing) No. 1 of the sprawling Fourth City Hospital. Although there were a dozen people in the ward, he seemed quite alone.
His roommate, one of the other Seryozhes, still hadn’t been to see him.
The other Seryozh hadn’t been to see him, either.
Misha, their director at the school, hadn’t been to see him.
Only one other person had been to visit.
He was very glad to see me.
I found out what had happened, though he doesn’t know I know.
Before he left, Misha had told me that one of his schoolmates, a kid named Sergei, had slashed his wrist in an attempt to commit suicide, “and now he’s lost the nerves in his hand. He can’t feel anything.”
Seryozh’s arm was encased in a plaster cast.
“What happened?”
“I had an operation.”
“Why?”
“There was something wrong with the nerve. I couldn’t feel anything in this finger,” pointing to the index finger of his right hand.
“When did you first notice that you couldn’t feel anything?”
“About three months ago.”
Click!
It was over a love affair, Misha had said.
The suicide rate for orphans is substantially higher than for the rest of the population – even in America. And to be an orphan and a young gay in Russia is practically a death sentence. Misha, for instance, made at least a superficial attempt at suicide three times that I know of.
My heart ached for Seryozh. Here he was, recovering from his attempt at suicide because he wasn’t loved, and he’s still not loved. He’s still lonely and forlorn – and sad.
On his second visit to my apartment with his school director Misha, my ex-Misha’s ex-boyfriend Dima, and the other two Seryozhes, they had all suggested having a “Pam-yat-niy Den,” or “Memory Day” for Misha on the following Friday, which would be the 9th day since his exit to Prague.
When somebody dies in Russia, it’s customary for the friends and relatives to gather on the 9th day, “Memory Day,” to drink and remember him or her. So as a joke, we agreed we would have a “Pamyatniy Den” party for Misha.
At that party, Seryozh #1 and I played a lot of deep throat smacky mouth and caressed each other a lot. And then Seryozh #2, his roommate and former lover, got into the act with some deep throating of his own. They’re both very handsome. Heavens to Betsy!
We traded phone numbers and Seryozh #1 invited me to drop by their apartment.
So the following Saturday I was scheduled to give diagnostic tests to my potential class at the Institute of Diplomacy. It became obvious I would complete the testing rather early, so I called #1 and asked if I could drop by. Of course. So I called when the tests were completed and he agreed to meet me at the Vwikheno Metro Station, the last station south on the purple line, at 4:30.
We bought some beer and he escorted me to their apartment. There was a lot of kissy-face with both of them, and at one point, #1 invited me into the second bedroom – which they were actually renting out to two guys who were way for the weekend. But we didn’t get any further than kissing.
Then I had to leave to get back to the apartment, because Dima had flown in that day and was waiting for me. Yegor was also expecting me home.
“I thought you’d be able to spend the night,” #1 said, rather ruefully.
“I have to get back today; maybe another time,” I had replied.
But then on Monday Shurik had returned from his home in something-or-other Vodsk, and things had gotten rather busy, and I was getting a lot of static from Yegor about having sex with somebody when I didn’t know their HIV status; so I had sort of put Seryozh on the back burner.
Until the call out of the blue from the hospital.
I took him a bag of fruit and we talked some. When I said I’d have to go soon because I was expecting student Dima to come by and install a new fan on my computer, he offered to escort me out.
As it turned out, he was able to escort me all the way to the tramvai stop. We even stopped and had a beer.
“I’m thinking of renting an apartment on my own when I get out of the hospital,” he announced. And then we talked about some other things. A little later, he said rather wistfully, “do you always have a lot of people living with you?”
“Yes, I do.” I couldn’t say “I’m sorry,” because I’m not. At the same time, it seemed obvious that he was fishing, or at least wishing, for an invitation to come live with me. The best I could do was tell him that when he gets out, we’ll have another party for him and his friends. And in the meantime, if he’s able to get away from the hospital for several hours, we’ll have him over for a weekend meal.
I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind. He’s a sad, lonely orphan child who is desperate for love – the kind of love that I give so well. But the most I could offer at this point is occasional trysts. I couldn’t even invite him for a night of sex; there’s no place to put him. And I don’t want to jeopardize my relationship with Shurik by giving him the idea that I’m still angling for new sex partners. I’m quite content with Shurik. And I’m convinced he truly loves me. Yegor thinks so too.
That evening, after I had returned from the hospital and after student Dima had installed my new fan, there was an unexpected buzz from the house phone. It was a surprise visit from Ivan, my closet gay friend who teaches English at the Institute for Diplomacy and who had initially put me in touch with Beautiful Volodya, my Turkish souvenir, who had just been over to fix dinner the night before.
Ivan was in his own state of exhilaration. Enrico, the Spanish lad whom he has been seeing for several months now, has invited him to his home in Spain for Christmas to meet his parents. He will ostensibly be Enrico’s Russian translator. He is telling his family and friends here that he is going for a job interview. I’m the only one who knows what’s really going on.
I also agreed to give him basic Spanish lessons, since Slava, who knows Spanish much better than I, is too busy.
We talked a lot about Volodya. He’s made it quite clear to Shurik that he’s very curious, perhaps even interested, in homosexual relationships. He told him that he had kissed a boy, and asked about anal intercourse. After Ivan left, Volodya called, and during the conversation said, “I very miss you”!
Ivan thinks I should invite him to lie down – since he’s always exhausted from his grueling schedule – and then try to seduce him. It’s certainly an inviting prospect. Would it work? Would he be offended?
During our conversation on Sunday, Volodya said he could come for supper Saturday night after all. I had invited him when he was here fixing dinner for us, but he said he had a class early in the evening and couldn’t come till 9 p.m., which he would do. But it turns out his professor is going to be out of town so he can come earlier and have supper with us. He seemed bubbling and overjoyed at the prospect.
What am I to make of this? Could this vision of ethereal beauty that I’ve been lusting after since I first met him in Turkey four years ago actually turn out to be as fond of me as I am of him? Do I have the nerve to seduce him? Might I actually suck that lovely cock? Is there such a thing as fate? Is there a god?
Stay tuned. Change the channel; don’t change the channel!
Chapt. 24 - 1395 words
Columns :: A nerve lost and a nerve missing – maybe!
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