The Eternal City- Part II

T

The Eternal City- Part II 

As forewarned the previous night, Konrad returned to his flat to find a bigger disorder than the day before. However, the sight of a pile of dirty dishes didn't kill his exuberant mood, and he simply ignored it. He vaguely heard Ferdinand babbling very excitedly about two young actresses he had met at a party he had been with Armin, and that they wanted to meet Konrad.

“They are fantastic. Like Anita Eckberg, and they want to go on a date with us.”

“Good, take Albert with you,” Konrad answered distractedly, his attention focused on the two white shirts he was inspecting, trying to choose what to wear to go to the cinema with Fabrizio. “Which one?” he asked showing them to Ferdinand.

“Are you serious?” his friend asked looking at the plain, custom made shirts.

“Yes, of course. It's only to go to the cinema. Maybe I should take a sport jacket and a less formal shirt,” Konrad pondered.

“Those two are for drinking tea with your grandmother Konrad,” Ferdinand informed him. “And what is this?” he asked snatching one of the shirts to inspect it. “Did you have your initials embroidered?” he shouted and almost bended over himself with his laughs.

“Sure. So none of you can ‘borrow’ and use my shirts.”

“You are not coming with me wearing these things,” said Ferdinand. “You look like this guy, Michael Caine, in Get Carter. You'll scare the girls away!”

“All right, light blue it is,” Konrad mumbled as he picked another shirt, and Ferdinand snorted very loudly. “What is the problem with my clothes? You have been criticizing them since we got here.”

“Nothing if you want to look as if you are forty or a Londoner gangster.”

“What is your suggestion then?”

“Buy a ticket to watch the Hair or Tommy musicals.”

“And burn my passport down too? Or protesting against everything would do?”

“Nothing so extreme. A new pair of jeans, a colourful shirt, changing the lapels of your jackets, some flowers in your hair, and that should be enough,” joked Ferdinand.

“And join the Hare Krishna too,” mumbled Konrad. “Is it not a bit pathetic that our generation defines itself by the length of our hair?”

“They'll kick you out. You're a hopeless case of boredom and self-conformism, my friend.”

“I'm more rebellious than all of them together. I stand against their rebellion.”

“Good for you,” chuckled Ferdinand. “You take the reverse path. Now, a conservative; and an anarchist when you turn sixty-four?”

“Where would be the fun otherwise?” Konrad answered with a smirk as Ferdinand, defeated, mumbled, “Your loss, then. Two hot looking blondes, can't decide myself over them.”

* * *

The sight of Professor Teschi was a welcome change for Konrad. The man looked, as Fabrizio had described him, like a kind grandfather, who asked him several times, in German and Italian, if he was in the right class before starting his lecture on the hyperinflation of the Crisis of the Third Century.

“Are you still alive?” Fabrizio chuckled when he saw his friend emerging from the underground floor and courteously greet two of the very old men also attending the course.

“Yes, why not? Very interesting,” Konrad answered. “And you? Still in one piece?”

“Still unmanned. Who were they?” he asked looking at the men.

“One works at the Treasury at the Vatican and the other I don't know. Offered me a guided tour and I might take his offer.”

“Be careful, or you'll end up as a toy boy,” Fabrizio joked and Konrad looked at him sullenly. “Jesus, he could be your great great grandfather.”

“Don't swear,” Konrad said with a sombre expression, and the older boy looked at him in shock. “Even if you're an atheist, it doesn't give you the right to insult my Lord. I do not mock your beliefs even if I believe they're very mistaken.”

Fabrizio huffed and turned around. “Hope you think the same when your Lord kicks you out of Church when he finds you want to come home with me.”

“My Lord will not ‘kick me out’, as you say. Men, perhaps, will,” Konrad growled with a certainty that made Fabrizio shudder unwittingly.

“Let's don't talk about gloomy things, all right? I'm taking you to a bar. Some friends of mine are going too. They are showing Ludwig. I thought you wanted to watch it.”

“I thought we were going to a cinema.”

“It's like a cinema-club. Don't look so shocked. We watch the film, stay for a little while to the debate and go home. Nothing else.”

They walked as the sun still bathed the streets and the temperature was still suffocating. Konrad was glad to go inside the small underground bar near the central train station and, once his eyes got used to the darkness, his heart skipped a beat or two at the sight of the many political posters from the Brigate Rosse, the Black Panthers and Che Guevara.

A quick look at the patrons eased his fears as none of the young people sitting at the tables looked as if they would have any kind of fighting training remotely close to the one he received every morning or afternoon after work. The boys looked like university students more bent on spending hours in committees than on becoming a real version of their idolized guerilla fighters. Konrad eased his stance and truly felt out of place with his beige trousers, light blue shirt and summer jacket hanging from his arm, compared to the girls dressed in mini-skirts of striking colours and long flowery dresses, or the boys wearing long colourful shirts, flared jeans in different shades, long hair and headbands. 'Is that marijuana?' he thought when the sweet acrid smell from their cigarettes reached his nostrils, but kept silent as Fabrizio was lively speaking with some of the girls and another boy.

“These are Maria, from Philosophy; Giusseppe is in Sociology; and Laura and Caro are with me in Literature, surviving it. This is Konrad, from Switzerland, but he forgot the goats at home,” Fabrizio introduced him as the others warmly greeted him, and Konrad smiled uncomfortably sitting next to him.

“You're almost late. It starts in ten minutes,” Laura said. “Are you German?”

“Yes, I'm Swiss German. I'm visiting Rome.”

“Oh, you'll like this film. It's Ludwig. Very long.”

“I’ve wanted to watch it for a long time.”

* * *

As the talk and the smell of cigarettes grew louder and more aggressive, so did the headache pounding in Konrad's head. He watched the youths, women and men, all dressed alike in their colourful India-inspired clothes, their long and messy hair, and he felt more out of place than before.

He was unable to connect with them or lacked the will to do so. 'They must be a little older than me, but they look as if they were younger,' he thought. 'Could Ferdinand be right?'

“Konrad, was that your name?” one of the girls asked him, and he nodded. “You are German, what do you think about the film?”

“It was very good,” he answered and did a supreme effort to cast away the depression he had been plunged into after watching it. “It's the first time I see something from Visconti.”

“You look like the actor that plays the young king,” another girl commented with a smile. “Is he a real German?”

“Helmut Berger? I don't know. Maybe he's Austrian. He was speaking Italian, I can't tell.”

“It's a great film,” another boy said. “It clearly shows the decadence of aristocracy and how crazy they are. They're nothing more than the result of incestuous relationships and corruption.”

“I believe the Visconti family were the Dukes of Milan before the Republic, and they handed the government over to the Sforza family. This man is perfect to understand the solitude of power as he has seen it first hand,” Konrad said slowly. “I don't think this is a communist film as you are trying to categorize it.”

“It's about a mad king, like the rest of his family.”

“Was he mad or did they turn him mad? Do you have any idea of what is to be responsible for a country when you are sixteen?”

“Oh, yes, spending millions to build opera houses while his people were starving. Good he was killed.”

“His people cried for him when he died. He was well loved.”

“He was just a figurehead who got them into a war with the Prussians.”

“He had no other option than to go to war. Neutrality was impossible, and he vigorously opposed to the war. Do you have any idea of what it is to be surrounded by beggars the whole day? People begging for more power, favours, money, or simply adulating you because they want to keep their status quo?”

“You see how corrupt they were, then? A war because cousin Sissi wanted to keep her ass safe.”

Konrad grimaced at hearing the crude words, but only answered: “To understand power, you have to feel it. It is nothing at all to what you have read in your textbooks. Otherwise, you're nothing more than the sorcerer’s apprentice, and it finally devours you. Like Lenin.” Konrad fixed his eyes on his interlocutor.

“I do pity you,” the boy snorted. “You're nothing more than an alienated example of the dogs used by your capitalist masters. You work in a bank, but how much do you do?”

Konrad only gaped at him, and noticed how uncomfortable Fabrizio seemed to be with the new turn in the conversation. “Do you think so?” he asked softly.

“Sure, you're wearing your working clothes,” the young man said disdainfully. “As if you were in your beloved bank.” The look of compassion that flashed through Fabrizio's eyes didn't go unnoticed to Konrad.

“Enough Giuseppe!” Fabrizio retorted hotly, recovering from his momentary sadness as he had failed to see that the poor boy was in a direr situation than his own one. Obviously, his clothes were an inheritance from his father, another clerk in a bank. “Konrad is very young and has been brainwashed by years of capitalist education,” he said regaining his confidence. “It's not his fault to be like this.”

Konrad gaped at him but quickly hid his surprise at how he had been ‘catalogued’ in the “poor devils category” by the young radicals sharing the table with the next Griffin and Duke of Wittstock. “Yes, I'm a worker,” he said without blinking.

“There is nothing wrong with belonging to the working class. It's an honour,” one of the girls told him compassionately, and Konrad wondered why, if he was part of the blessed working class, the revolutionaries were looking at him with a mix of pity and disgust. “You just have to break free from their oppressive chains. Revolution!”

'Friederich should not bother to explain me any longer what “Kafkian” means. I'm living it,' thought Konrad as he nodded to the brimming girl as all the others choired their approval at her words.

* * *

“You're very quiet, Konrad.” Fabrizio said as he opened the door to his small flat. “Don't pay attention to Giusseppe. He's always like that and a bit hostile to the people I like.”

“Do you like me?” Konrad asked blushing.

“Sure, I do. Conservative, alienated, and poor as a rat as you are.”

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked dismayed.

“I'm no better. Maybe next year, I'll get a fixed income like you, and then, I'll live my own life. You're very intelligent and serious. I'm sure you'll be successful one day.”

“My father got me this job. He says I should know the value of money,” Konrad said, and Fabrizio nodded before he bent his head to kiss him tenderly. Without being told twice, Konrad deepened the kiss, lacing his hands over his shorter companion. 'For once, nobody is seeing the bloody castle or the bloody Mercedes.'

Fabrizio's kisses increased their passion, and older youth slammed the door close with a kick, almost stumbling with Konrad's legs in his hurry to get to the bed, almost driven mad by his friend's enthusiasm and ferocity at kissing. “You're incredible,” he mumbled between ragged breaths.

“I love you,” answered Konrad as he attacked the mouth in front of him again. “I really do.”

“I can't stop thinking about you,” Fabrizio said as they both collapse over the batik cover. “You drive me mad,” he whispered in Konrad's ear as he fought against his shirt's buttons while the younger man placed himself over him supporting his weight with his arms.

Fabrizio abandoned the buttons and with his arms attracted the body on top of him to deepen his kisses, mad with desire at the tongue mercilessly exploring his mouth with a vigour he had not felt in a long time. It was nothing that could compare to his previous encounters with other men, who would only kiss him perfunctorily for him to satisfy them. This was different, so different that the consequences of falling into a pit of lust terrified him.

The abyss was bottomless, dark, seductive and destructive.

“Stop,” he said to the youth now reverently kissing his flat stomach, one hand already playing with his belt. “Stop, please,” he repeated.

“Why?” Konrad asked feeling very hurt.

“I need some time before we do more,” he said embarrassed.

“It's not like you don't know what we are going to do,” Konrad protested.

“I don't want it to be just sex. I love you too much to let it as that.”

“I don't get it,” Konrad mumbled frustrated as he sat next to Fabrizio. “I thought you liked what I was doing.”

“I do like it, and I'm dying to do more, but I fear that this means nothing to you.”

“It means a lot,” Konrad protested earnestly. “For the first time someone looks at me for myself not for who I am.”

“I don't want that you go away tomorrow.”

“I'm not going away.”

“Yes, you will. We are so different from each other.”

“We are not different. We think different, but that's not a real problem.”

“I have no place for you in my life as it is,” Fabrizio confessed sadly. “I don't want to fall in love with you. It would destroy me in the end.”

“Why? I work and you can also do it,” Konrad said and began to kiss his lover's neck, slowly ascending towards the earlobe. “Please, Fabrizio, just a little bit.”

Still full of doubts, but infected by Konrad's self-confidence and boldness, the red-headed man let his conscience dissolve into the pleasure he was receiving, forgetting everything. The kisses became more insistent and fervent. Fabrizio had to grab the side of the bed when Konrad removed his clothes and decidedly began to lick and suck his member with achieved expertise. Moaning like he had never done before, his climax arrived too fast, and he felt slightly disappointed at his lack of control in the face of the desire he felt for the younger boy.

Still panting to recover from his orgasm, he watched how the youth discreetly cleaned his mouth with a handkerchief before kissing him again, this time tenderly and almost shyly. “You're so beautiful, Konrad,” Fabrizio said, and the young man looked at him shocked.

“I'm not,” he replied angrily, and it was Fabrizio's turn to gape.

“Why do you say that? It's not only that you look great, much better than Helmut Berger. It's your passion what makes you different to anyone I've met before.”

“I'm just average,” Konrad mumbled, feeling very uncomfortable.

“No, you're not,” Fabrizio denied with his gaze full of love. “I can tell it.”

Konrad closed his eyes in utter delight when he felt Fabrizio begin to replicate his earlier ministrations.

* * *

With great care, Konrad opened the door to his flat, sneaking in unnoticed, but the sight of a scantly dressed maid and his cousin kissing her, oblivious to everything, made him drop his precautions.

'The proletariat's working conditions have certainly improved without any help from the revolutionaries,' he thought as he noticed the pristine shirt the girl was wearing.

“Ah, you're back. Where were you? Ferdinand was looking for you,” Albert said when Konrad had crossed half of the room.

“At the cinema,” he answered. “I already had breakfast,” he announced and fixed his gaze on the girl's shirt, strangely looking like one of his. “Is it mine?” he asked.

“Certainly,” she answered. “There was nothing else.”

“Albert, don't be so cheap and buy her a good robe de chambre, will you?” Konrad snorted with deep disgust. “The lady shouldn't need to take my things to feel at home.”

Maria Chiara looked at the impassive blonde with true fury coming from her dark eyes, and a river of profanities, shouted in Italian, came out of her lips. Konrad watched her outburst in interest as he doubted the words could be found in any dictionary, while Albert tried to calm her down with hushed sentences and kisses.

Ignoring her cries, Konrad entered his bedroom and found Ferdinand sleeping in his bed.

“Ah, it's you,” he mumbled. “You have no idea what you missed,” Ferdinand greeted him, yawning and stretching all his bones.

“Aha.”

“I can't decide which one I should keep. Two Swedish girls could be too much in the end.”

“Take them both,” shrugged Konrad without paying much attention. “I'm out.”

“Good idea. We're going out tonight too. They don't have to film tomorrow. They're working in a western.”

“Sorry, I have plans.”

“Should we...?” began to ask Ferdinand, but Konrad was away before he could finish the sentence.

* * *

Konrad refused to go again with Fabrizio's friends. “No, let's go to your flat, mine is totally crowded,” he said when they met at the usual bar. “Let's have dinner here,” he suggested. “On me.”

Fabrizio smiled softly and said, “There's no need, let's go home.”

“Why not? You're always cooking, and I have no idea of how to do it.”

“It's expensive, and you have to pay for your school,” Fabrizio said with a smile, and Konrad gaped at him. “You can buy a bottle of wine for tonight and go tomorrow to the market.”

“Sure,” Konrad said distractedly as he paid for the two coffees and rose from his chair, wondering why Fabrizio kept thinking he had no money at all. 'Maybe this is a good beginning for us,' he justified to himself his decision of keeping his mouth shut. 'I'm not lying, just leaving a few facts out of the picture,' he told his conscience. 'Facts that could ruin my chances of having somebody getting close to me solely because of who I am.'

The ritual of the previous night—dinner, small talk interrupted by feverish kisses—took place with a familiarity neither of them could explain. Fabrizio spoke a bit about his thesis, and Konrad told him about his work and how he was kept every afternoon running between the first and the sixth floor, or going to other banks carrying papers and suffering bosses. Fabrizio laughed at his description of all the boring things he had to do and of how he was very happy to escape to Italy for his holidays.

“You escape from old, boring Swiss bankers to fall into the boring Italian historians' fold?”

“Italians are far more lively,” chuckled Konrad, and he began to kiss Fabrizio with more intensity than before, pushing him against the mattress.

“I still haven't figured you out,” Fabrizio said with a smile once Konrad left his mouth to gasp for air. “You look so formal and cold on the outside, but here you're almost like the Vesuvius about to explode.”

“I'm on fire for you,” Konrad confessed before he almost tore the embroidered, collarless linen shirt Fabrizio was wearing to kiss and lick his chest. “You're so good-looking that it's hard to resist you.” His mouth played with the other’s nipples, and he felt very satisfied with the pleasured sound he heard coming from his older lover.

“You know all this from school?” Fabrizio said, grasping from air.

“Swiss education ranks among the best in the world,” joked Konrad.

“Wish I'd been there,” he mumbled, green eyes darkening with desire as Konrad removed and threw his clothes to the side, revealing a well defined and developed torso, the result of hours of hard training.

“But we are here, now,” Konrad whispered in a low voice, devouring Fabrizio with his eyes. “Here and now,” he repeated slowly before his partner put his arm around his nape, attracting his head towards his mouth to resume their kisses.

Fabrizio arched his neck in pleasure when he felt Konrad's manhood over his, and their members touched each other. Unable to stand it any longer, he whispered, “Take me”, and Konrad looked at him shocked for a brief instant.

His uncertainty quickly faded as his hands began to pump Fabrizio's member, setting a strong pace and making him moan louder than before. Without removing his mouth from his lover's, he knelt on the bed to place himself between the young man's legs, accommodating his partner’s buttocks over his thighs and close to his member as the legs locked themselves around his pelvis.

“Do you have...?” Konrad began to ask, but Fabrizio's hand yanked his neck to silence him with a kiss, too excited as it was.

“Now,” he pressed. “I really want to really feel you, no fucking me like a doll,” he said.

Konrad put his strong arms behind Fabrizio's back to lift him and embrace him, penetrating him with a brutal push, knocking the air out of him in a cry.

Afraid he had severely hurt Fabrizio, he waited for the smaller man to recover, but the other only took several breaths to subdue the pain before he laced his hands around Konrad's neck to set a powerful and fast pace, rocking their bodies on the small bed.

Feeling constricted and slightly out of control, Konrad fought to recover the dominance over his partner, but Fabrizio easily distracted him with more kisses and words of love whispered in his ears, making him melt of pleasure as his partner increased the rhythm, unafraid of the pain or the feelings both were experiencing.

Exerting sheer steel willpower over himself, Konrad was able to stop before he would have had his release, as Fabrizio lost all coherence in a chaotic and violent climax. Seeing that the almost angelic looking man, turned into a wild lover, was losing his power over him, Konrad took the opportunity to quickly dismount him from his legs and force him to lie on his back to penetrate him once more, this time with Konrad on top.

His moves were more precise and powerful than before, and he reached his own release almost immediately after he felt Fabrizio surrendering to him with a laboured, “Please, do it now”.

“It was... intense,” croaked Fabrizio as he embraced Konrad lovingly. “I never thought it would be like this with you.”

“You're quite wild in bed too,” Konrad gasped for air. “I love you.”

“I also; you make me want to be wild. You drive me mad,” he whispered the last sentence, curling over the broad chest next to him and closing his eyes, feeling a deep contentment that was unknown to him.

Konrad slowly caressed the red, soft curls tickling his chest and also closed his eyes to sleep, completely exhausted.

* * *

The early morning sun woke up Fabrizio, and he sat on the bed to find Konrad, only in his trousers, sitting by the window and looking through it at the street that was starting to fill with the first market sellers. The sounds of a heated argument between two greengrocers and the resounding fall of some piled boxes made Konrad cringe in a way that the Italian found absolutely charming.

“It's not the chant of the lark, no doubt,” Fabrizio said with a smile.

“Nor the nightingale,” answered Konrad, smiling back with real love written in his eyes.

“Perhaps a crow.”

“Who got the cheese fully on the head,” chuckled Konrad as he approached the bed to sit on it and be kissed by Fabrizio. Normally, this was the part when he was gently invited to leave, but the Italian didn't seem to be in a hurry as his kisses became more pressing.

Engulfed by a strange sadness and shyness, Konrad returned them as he slid back in bed.

This time their love making was not hurried or frenzied like the past night. Both youths took their time with caresses, accomplice smiles and muttered soft words that made their confidence grow. With slow moves their clothes ended mothballed at the feet of the bed as Konrad climbed on top of Fabrizio, glad to be well received between his legs as he set a languorous pace.

“Was this your tactic to get a free breakfast?” Fabrizio chuckled once they had satisfied their desires.

“I was under the impression you wanted to send me shopping for tonight.”

“The vendors will skin you alive in less than two seconds,” he grinned back. “I have to go with you.”

“Still don't trust my housekeeping abilities?”

“Do you have any?”

“None.” Konrad kissed Fabrizio. “But I could learn with you.”

* * *

At almost nineteen years old, Konrad von Lintorff was for the first time in his life in a grocery market. He had been to Christmas markets when he was a child, but the loud shouting of the vendors was a novelty to him. To avoid making a stupid scene, he preferred to leave it all in Fabrizio's hands and pay the bill, surprised of how low it was.

Lunch was nothing more than a few cheese sandwiches eaten on the fence overlooking Trajan's Market, in the middle of the deafening noise and smog provoked by the fast cars and motorcycles driving at full speed.

“Do you like it?” Fabrizio asked as Konrad's gaze was lost on the ruins, oblivious to the smog or the noise.

“Yes, of course. What are we doing tonight?”

“Don't you have to go home?”

“I could pass by, but I don't think they miss me. Both of my friends have found girlfriends.”

“I have to study tonight, Konrad.”

“Can you not skip it? If not, I can bring my books and I promise to be quiet,” he asked puzzled as he was convinced that he had been invited for tonight too. Suddenly, Konrad remembered a phone call his lover had received when they had returned from the market, rendering his earlier good mood into a sullen one.

“No, not really. Tomorrow afternoon perhaps,” Fabrizio said, and the hurt look on his lover's face made him sigh. “I never thought it would be like this.”

“Why? Didn't you take me seriously?” Konrad barked.

“The truth is that tonight Carlo comes home. There is no place for you.”

“What?”

“I told you before. He has priority.”

“But you don't love him!”

“So?”

“So?” repeated Konrad. “So? Well, send him to hell!”

“It's not that easy. He's a powerful man and we've been together for five years.”

“For a powerful man he's not exactly very generous,” blurted out Konrad before he could swallow the words. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“No, it's all right. I don't want more from him. I'm not a very good professional, I know.”

“Why don't you work?” shouted Konrad, hitting with his fist the rail, furious and frustrated that for Fabrizio there was nothing wrong with his lifestyle.

“I'm almost done with my thesis. It's a matter of a few months more.”

“I don't want to share you.”

“It's not as if we have a choice. You're very sweet and young, but you can't compete or be at his level. I wish things were different but they are not. Go home now, Konrad,” Fabrizio said and turned around.

“When will I see you again?” Konrad asked desperately, grabbing the man from the arm.

“I'll look for you at the bar in two or three days. Not before.”

Three days later

Studying the thick volume on Roman history was an impossible task for Konrad. The Latin excerpts made no sense to him and all the Severan Dynasty could drop dead for all that mattered. Perhaps it was the noise, the smoke, or his own misery what prevented him to concentrate on anything. Perhaps it was the fact that he couldn't forget Fabrizio's eyes; and he kept coming every afternoon to the same dingy café where they had met for the first time.

He heard someone moving the chair in front of him and his eyes discovered the face of Fabrizio sitting in front of him. Strangely, the other man was dressed almost like he, nothing “hippie” or alternative as his usual style was; his curls were tied in a tight knot.

“Shocked? Carlo just left and he hates ‘lefties’ or ‘commies’. Pretty much like you,” the man said in a sad voice.

“I'm nobody to judge you,” Konrad answered seriously.

“Yes, you are. I couldn't stop thinking about you all the time he was with me.”

“I also. Why don't you...?”

“I can't. You don't leave a man like him just like that. He has to go away by himself. I'm getting older, and soon he'll get bored of me.”

“Bored of you?” Konrad asked in shock. “How?”

Fabrizio laughed with an empty laughter. “I'm not twenty-two any longer. I'm getting closer and closer to my thirties, and at that age, a male lover is not a source of pride for a man like him, but a pathetic dead weight. Come home with me tonight. I really need to feel you and think you still love me.”

“I do love you,” Konrad said without hesitations. “If you just...”

“No reproaches please, Konrad. Just take me as I am.” His hand travelled the battered green formica table to reach Konrad's and briefly squeezed it.

“No reproaches,” Konrad accepted as he silenced his secret once more. 'He's not a whore, not in the sense I know them. He's only misled.'

* * *

Still in bliss from his previous night at Fabrizio's, Konrad entered the flat, ignoring all the scattered clothes and the foul smell coming from the kitchen. Fighting against the disgust, he only needed to peer at the mountain of dirty dishes and abandoned trash to grimace. 'Glad I'm out.'

“Hi, you're back.” Ferdinand said, coming from one of the bedrooms only wearing pyjama trousers.

“Not for long. I'm going to change and go back to the library,” he answered and walked towards the bedroom, but Ferdinand blocked his way. “Ouch! Come on! Don't tell me there's somebody!”

“The girls are here.”

“In my bed?”

“Ours, Konrad. You refused to share.”

“Fine, have a great time with Helga and Inga, and while you're at it, can you get me a set of clean clothes?”

“I moved all your things to the cupboard at the bathroom.”

“Excuse me?” Konrad blurted out and noticed that most of the clothes scattered were too colourful to be theirs and certainly a lace bra didn't belong to any of them.

“The girls just moved in. They have no other place to go. Their landlord evicted them yesterday afternoon. I'm afraid you will have to move to the couch, Konrad.”

Konrad gaped at him and said, “Say again?”

“You can't expect two ladies to sleep on a couch.”

Konrad bit his lips to avoid telling out loud his opinion of the ladies, and only asked, “It's just for the weekend, right?”

“For a bit longer. They have no money left and have found no work at Cinecittá. I think they can stay with us until we leave.”

“Yes, of course they can stay here,” Konrad said with a sweet voice. “Please ask them to feel free to use my clothes too, as our Maria Chiara loves to do. Don't worry about me at all. I'm going back to San Capistrano where, at least, I'll get a decent meal and clean bedclothes.”

“You can't do that! The minute your father finds out you're there, we'll get the cavalry stomping in here. Can't you sleep in a couch for a few days?”

“A few days? We are here for three weeks more!” Konrad shouted outraged, making Albert come from the other bedroom to ask him to be silent.

“I had enough of you two. If you want to live in a pigsty, good for you, but I refuse to live under such conditions!”

“Konrad, please understand, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Albert whined, frustrated at his cousin's obtuseness.

“Ten thousand lire and you can repeat your ‘lifetime opportunity’. For Ferdinand it will be a bit more expensive,” he answered back, and Albert punched him on the face only to have his cousin react in a way he would have never expected. Hitting Albert back with full force on the face and stomach, Konrad almost made him fly across the room. Had it not been because Ferdinand stopped Konrad with his body, he would have continued to hit Albert.

Still in shock, holding a rag picked from the nearest pile of clothes against his broken and bleeding nose, Albert shouted, “Are you crazy? You could have killed me!”

“Do you always go for people's throats?” Ferdinand roared as he watched with concern how Albert spat some blood over the floor. “Jesus! What's the matter with you?”

“He started it,” Konrad said, and both friends looked at him in disbelief. “Don't fight if you can't stand it, Albert.”

“Fight, yes! But you almost killed him!” Ferdinand shouted enraged.

“That's how I was trained.” Konrad said. “And you too.”

“You're totally nuts!” roared Albert and all the women burst into the room, Maria Chiara screaming when she saw the tiny blood spots staining the wooden floor.

“I'm going to a hotel and you can keep your whores,” Konrad said very calmly. “It's not my problem if my father yells at you. Use some ice, Albert, and stop whining like a sissy.”

“Wait!” Ferdinand caught him by the sleeve. “Cool down, Konrad.” He removed his hand from his friend’s arm when he saw the murderous glint directed at him. “I know you didn't mean what you said, and Albert too. Please, understand that if you go away, we all are in great troubles.”

“Fine, I'll stay,” Konrad accepted grudgingly. “I'm sorry, Albert.”

“I shouldn't have punched you too,” his cousin mumbled from the floor as Maria Chiara started to protest loudly because the crazy German was staying.

“Get ice and you'll be fine. I've gotten worse from the Serbs,” Konrad answered with sympathy, ignoring her.

“Sure,” Albert grimaced in pain, rubbing his sore jaw. “Next time, you won't be so lucky, cousin.”

“I'm sure of that.”

* * *

Konrad made the solemn oath to himself that whatever was happening at his flat would not affect his relationship with Fabrizio or his general good mood. After the fight with his cousin and friend, he simply asked the doorman's wife if she would be interested in making some extra money by washing and ironing his clothes.

“Does Graziana not do it, sir?” the woman asked puzzled.

“Who?” asked Konrad in return.

“Graziana, the maid. She's very dedicated to her work, and she's here since the end of the war.”

“Was she born here?” Konrad inquired perplexed.

“No, in Calabria, but maybe age is catching up with her.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Konrad mumbled dumbfounded as the maid, Maria Chiara, was not older than twenty-five. As for her dedication to her work, Konrad had serious doubts, but he said nothing. He preferred to keep quiet as the pieces were finally falling into place. His aunt would have never let near them a young girl that would so happily jump into one of her children's bed.

'It's none of my business. Hope he's clever enough as to take precautions,' he thought before he went back to the flat to save his shirts from Maria Chiara.

* * *

No matter how much Konrad had tried to dig out some information about his competitor, Fabrizio had not told him anything more than that he was over his fifties, closer to his sixties, worked at an important company, was married with three children and that his name was Carlo della Francesca. He was in Switzerland at the time, doing some businesses, and was not expected to be back in Rome for another week or two.

'Nothing I can't beat in less than two minutes,' Konrad had evaluated, feeling very secure of his position. 'I only want to be sure he truly loves me before I get rid of the old fart.'

* * *

A week later

“Albert, haven't you noticed something different in Konrad?” Ferdinand asked once the boys were alone one scorching late afternoon.

“Different? How? He's in a good mood. Look, he didn't care Maria Chiara stole his shirts again.”

“That's what I mean. He's acting... normal.”

“He has a girlfriend somewhere. That's why he's out most of the time,” Albert shrugged.

“That's the funniest thing of all. Why Mr. Perfect Gentleman doesn't bring her here?”

“Konrad is Konrad. Who knows what's going on in his mind,” Albert sighed.

“I have a horrible doubt, Albert.”

“Use a condom next time, Ferdinand.”

“Not that! It's something else.”

“What?”

“I don't know how to say it, but...” He stopped embarrassed and Albert looked at him puzzled. “Would you not consider the idea that Konrad is...?”

“Is?”

“That thing... He used to spend a lot of time alone with Uwe.” He raised his eyebrow.

“You saw him getting to fuck a girl faster than you. He has been to Bijou's many times more than any of us—Heck, I guess he'll get the platinum membership very soon!” Albert laughed at the ridiculous idea.

“Why doesn't he bring her home? We have shown our girls!”

“He's the most reactionary person we will ever know! Probably he's waiting at her doorstep for her mother to invite him in! Or maybe he's trying to charm his way to her father! Do you really think he would bring her here? With your two dolls and my Maria Chiara? A hundred to one that he's dating Emperor Hadrian's great granddaughter!”

“What if she is a he?” Ferdinand pressed. “You said once that that was a possibility.”

“It's impossible! Don't take me seriously, will you?”

“Why?”

“Because it's not like that! He? Gay? Ferdinand, you're crazy.”

“What if it is so?”

“It's none of our business.”

“It's your business the minute he's out of the succession line. I don't care if he's gay or not as long as he doesn't ask me.”

“My cousin has taste, Ferdinand. Don't worry about that,” Albert huffed, but Ferdinand's serious stare drove him nervous. “Honestly, I don't know what we would do. He wouldn't be the first,” he mumbled miserably as he messed his black hair.

“Nor the last.”

“Our founding fathers were so. Enrico and Theodobald. If we have the figure of the ‘Lord Consort’ in the Council, it's because Enrico wanted a fixed position.”

“That was Venice in the seventeenth century,” Ferdinand pointed out.

“This is the twentieth century. Many people are like that. Besides, Theodobald married and had many, many children. San Capistrano belongs to us because Enrico had the decency to leave it to Theodobald's eldest... And there’s also, you know, the other one.”

“Uh?”

“Our current Hochmeister,” Albert hushed with an embarrassed and nervous smirk. “I've heard my father speaking with my mother,” he confided, as if afraid that his words could be heard in the empty room.

“You mean... The Duke? Come on! With whom?”

“Nothing said, nothing seen. Almost fifteen years together,” Albert said with a mischievous smile, recovering from the embarrassment but still blushing a bit.

“Come on! They're very good and close friends. That's all. I've seen them together.”

“None of our business as my mother says. He had children and is a good leader. The honorary Lord Consort does his job well and, according to my father, he has saved our hides more times than we can count. And Uncle Karl Heinz also visits Bijou on Mondays and Thursdays.”

“What do we do now, Albert?” Ferdinand asked overwhelmed at the news and evidence.

After long consideration, the young man could only whisper, “Free love, baby,” and Ferdinand nodded as he was also clueless.

* * *

The kisses in the aftermath were what Konrad enjoyed the most of their lovemaking. He felt loved, supported, content and happy each time Fabrizio's lips touched his skin reverently. He felt treasured like never before in his life.

He felt human and a part of something he had chosen.

He had not been placed there by his tutor, his father or God in order to fulfil a task or an obligation. Fabrizio made him feel free.

“Hey, stop,” Fabrizio protested trying to disentangle from Konrad's arms to answer the door. “You have as many hands as an octopus.” He grinned as he dressed in the old velvet robe that Konrad used as an excuse for joking about his Venetian heritage. “Tizian red hair and velvet? We should move back to Venice.”

Fabrizio opened the door, and his face paled when he saw his visitor: an old man elegantly dressed in a dark blue tailored suit, who moved him aside by lightly pushing him away with his cane. He entered the flat, leaving his bodyguard behind to block the entrance. One single, disdainful glance cast at Konrad told him all what he needed to know.

“When Rizzutti told me, I couldn't believe it. After five years of spotless behaviour, you got yourself a toy boy, Fabrizio.” The mature man used a cultivated voice. “Where did you get this punk?” He pointed at Konrad with his ebony cane.

“There is no need to resort to adjectives,” Konrad growled as he rose from the bed without showing any kind of shame of his nudity. 'About time we end all this nonsense.'

“Do you dare to speak to me?” the man said. “Do you have any idea of who I am?”

“Please Carlo, he's leaving,” an almost sick Fabrizio whispered, clinging to his patron's arm. “Go away, Konrad,” he pleaded, terrified of what Carlo's men could do to the young Swiss.

The young man looked at his lover incredulously and felt hurt by the tone he had used. Gathering his clothes, he dressed himself taking his time as the man huffed at his slowness. Somehow, the old man's face was familiar to him. As if they had met in the past, but he couldn't remember where or the occasion.

“Out,” Carlo growled. “I have to settle a score with a bitch.”

“As I said, there is no need for adjectives or nouns, sir,” Konrad growled again, his eyes adopting a feral glint. “Fabrizio, you have no need to stand this.”

“Please, Konrad, don't make it more difficult than it is,” he whispered, and Konrad looked at him truly hurt. “I'm staying with Carlo. He has always been with me. You're nothing but a sweet summer pastime.”

“Exactly, you've heard the bitch, boy. Go home,” Carlo said nonchalantly. “Take it as a lesson. Once you pay, they belong to you. You only have to show them their place,” he added and swung his cane at Fabrizio, hitting him on the face and making him fall to the floor with a howl of pain and bleeding from his nose.

Konrad jumped at the man and tore the cane from his hands to break it against the wall before he punched him on the face. The sight of the fallen man only increased his ferocity, and he would have clubbed him had it not been for the sturdy bodyguard who ran into the flat to help his boss.

The large man pushed the enraged boy as strongly as he could, but Konrad mechanically reacted as he had been taught many times over the years, hitting him on the neck and quickly disarming him.

“Stop it!” Fabrizio yelled from the floor watching horrified how Konrad was more than ready to break the bodyguard's windpipe with his elbow. “He owns a bank! He could kill you for this!”

Konrad's arm froze in mid-air when the stranger's name and that final piece of information fell into place. Carlo della Francesca was one of his father's associates, and they had been introduced three or four months ago in Zurich. One quick look at the broken cane showed him the small carved symbol of the Order.

Very slowly, feeling centuries older, the youth rose to his full height and looked at his lover in utter despair.

“Go home, Konrad. This will never work,” said Fabrizio.

“You have no idea how bad this is,” he answered totally devastated.

* * *

A small bar was still open at one in the morning and Konrad headed there, without caring much about the place. One look at him told the barman what was needed and, without asking, he set a small glass in front of Konrad and poured him some clear liquid.

“What's this?”

“Grappa. Best for a broken heart,” the old man shrugged wisely.

“So obvious?”

“Very. Forget it. You'll bite the dust many more times, boy, and you'll stand up again. We all do.”

“True,” answered Konrad and drowned the small cup contents. The man poured him another drink. “Hard but good.”

“The best,” he said, leaving the bottle next to him and returning to dry glasses in the almost deserted place.

'Excellent! Mario del Monaco,' thought Konrad bitterly when he heard Cavaradossi's lament sounding over the radio, washing over his own pain, mimicking it.

“Do you understand it, German?” the barman asked as he returned to take the almost empty bottle away. “L'ora è fuggita. E io muoio disperato!”'¹

“Yes, a melodramatic way to put it,” Konrad growled in misery. “‘Time has fled. And I die in despair’.”

“But true. We only live once. Don't throw away your life crying over someone. Finish the bottle, go home, sleep it over and start again. You're very young. Time flies away faster than you think, that's why we used to have a skeleton at banquets.”

“I fell in love with a whore,” Konrad mumbled, ashamed of his own weakness.

“It happens. Choose better next time. Think you'll get out of this wiser,” the man dismissed his sorrow.

“It's not that easy.”

“It's easier than you think. Remember the good times and forget the rest.”

'That's the best advice I've heard in years,' thought Konrad as he watched how the barman cleaned the bar and arranged the bottles. 'Fabrizio did love me, but he didn't have the guts to carry it on.'

'I don't have the guts to carry it on either. The scandal would be just out of this planet.' With slow moves, he took out his wallet and sighed at the sight of the notes. For the first time in his life, they felt like a heavy burden. 'Probably half of Fabrizio's tuition for this year is here.' He put the bills out and left them on the table, without counting them.

'At least I know how much I'm worth. A doctor's degree.'

Slowly walking over the deserted streets, the thought assaulted him: 'I'm worth a life project.'

'What will I do with my own life? Could I really be “normal” like Ferdinand and Albert? Do I want to?'

He wandered without direction, wondering what would become of his life, but the only clear thing for him was that nothing was so well organized as he used to believe. Fabrizio, with all his faults, had shown him that being true to oneself was the hardest thing to do. Sadness and emptiness were his sole companions that night.

'Will I ever forget him? Will I ever love someone as I loved him? Why didn't he love me enough as to send everything to hell? What would we have done in the future?

'Nothing. Because we would have never started anything on our own. Face it, Konrad, you are a coward too.'

* * *

At three in the morning, Konrad decided to return to the flat, feeling a hundred years older. He took the elevator and was glad to see his room was empty as Ferdinand was surely away with his two girls. 'Tomorrow all the sluts leave or I go to San Capistrano. I had enough of this,' he thought looking around in disgust at the filth accumulated over the place. 'Three women and none of them can pick up the slightest thing.'

'Fabrizio had everything very clean and organized,' he remembered, feeling another pang of sorrow stab at him. 'Perhaps it was because he was living with a man exactly as my father is.'

With his foot, he kicked a pile of clothes blocking his way to the empty bedroom and watched the unmade bed. Although all of his bones ached without any reason, he fought against the temptation of simply collapsing over it. He removed the sheets with the tips of his fingers and threw them over one corner, and then he went to the bathroom to get a fresh set from the cabinet.

Once he finished arranging the clothes and covers, he began to undress himself to go to bed, glad to have found a clean set of pyjamas along with his ironed shirts and trousers.

A noise at the entrance hall was easily dismissed as he was too tired to care. He was buttoning his pyjama top when one of Ferdinand’s Swedish girlfriends burst into the room, loudly laughing and with her dress partly removed. Konrad only glared at her and the laughter died in her rosy lips.

“Hi, you're here,” Ferdinand said sounding inebriated, with one arm around the other girl’s shoulder. “Time to bed,” he announced and snorted like an idiot.

“Could you please leave us alone, ladies?” Konrad asked with a dry tone, and the girls retreated back to the living room.

“What's the matter with you? We can share, it would do you good,” Ferdinand slurred through the dense gaze of alcohol clouding his eyes.

“Look, Ferdinand, I had a hellish night and already punched a man because of one whore. I have no problems to punch another because of other two whores,” growled Konrad, and his friend took a step backwards.

“Konrad...”

“Take your dolls away or ask Albert for a ménage à cinque. I don't care, but I will sleep in this bed tonight,” he said firmly before he pushed his friend out of the bedroom and shut the door in his face.

* * *

Konrad loudly swore when the insistent banging at the door was not answered by anyone in the flat. He sat on the bed and the world turned around as a headache mercilessly pounded his temples. Fighting against the dizziness, partly closing his eyes to protect them from the sun, he opened the door to find the doorman standing there.

“A disgrace, sir!” the man shouted. “The German!”

“What happened?” Konrad asked; he noticed his cousin was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Ferdinand was arrested this morning!”

Konrad only gaped at the man as he repeated several times that his friend had been apprehended by the police. “Signora Martorelli found him and the two girls at the lobby and she called the police!” the old man explained to him at full speed. “She's an old spinster who does not understand youth and she has troubles with your landlord because of a silly thing that happened some fifteen years ago. My wife tried to stop the police, but they arrested them all.”

“Why?”

“Well, because of you know what,” the man said looking very embarrassed.

“No, I don't know. What are the charges?”

“He and the girls were... expressing their love in the entrance hall. Very loudly. Against the wall. The ferns’ flowerpot is broken. I think one of the girls pushed it with her leg when she...”

“Enough, I understand the situation.” Konrad stopped the description of his friend's activities. “Where is he now?”

“At the police station at Piazza Cavour.”

“Thank you, Carlo, I'll dress and go,” Konrad said and shut the door in his face.

Feeling very lost, he had no idea of his next move and finally decided to do the most sensible thing, even if his friend and cousin were likely going to kill him. He picked up the phone and when he was about to dial his uncle's office number, his finger froze as he imagined the old man's righteous fury that would undoubtedly explode over his head. 'Friederich is best.'

The phone rang several times before Konrad heard his tutor's voice. “Ferdinand has been arrested,” he blurted out and immediately added, “He was arrested at our building's lobby. The doorman just told me.”

“Where are you, Konrad?” Friederich asked after a silence that felt like a century for Konrad.

“At home. I was sleeping, sir,” he confessed shyly.

“At this hour? Don't you have lectures to attend?” Friederich asked sharply, and Konrad felt at a loss. “What are the charges brought against Ferdinand?”

“Indecent exposure, I think,” Konrad said miserably and could hear the gasp at the other end of the line.

“I'll speak with Hermann von Lintorff and Mrs. von Kleist. Stay in the flat and wait for our instructions,” Friederich said very coldly and the youth shuddered.

“Very well, sir.”

“And I will like to hear your side of the story when you return home,” his tutor said before he hung up the phone. Sighing his relief, Konrad turned around and went to shower and dress as it was certainly late, already over ten in the morning.

Still wondering where his cousin might be, Konrad sat on the rococo couch and mussed up his wet hair. The sight of the kitchen's state was a good deterrent against his hunger, and he preferred to forgo breakfast.

Alone in the empty flat his mind restarted the macabre dance of thoughts, regrets and memories. 'I'm sweet but useless. How more demeaning can it be? The minute Friederich finds out I punched della Francesca, I'm dead. Literally. My father would never understand, no matter if he and Friederich are together.

'Together as friends and perhaps as lovers. Nobody truly knows.

'If Fabrizio would have been braver, he would have been as good as Friederich is to me and my father. Somebody generous and selfless. I'm sure he loved me for myself.

'I'm not the ugly toad my mother tells. I'm not a robot or an abomination. I can be loved, and someone would have spent the rest of his life with me. If only...'

The sound of keys jingling at the door stopped his lament and he dried fast his tears, composing himself in less than a second. “About time,” he mumbled when Albert and Maria Chiara entered the room. “Ferdinand is in trouble.”

“You should congratulate us,” Maria Chiara said with a triumphant smile, ignoring his words, and Konrad gaped at her.

“Did you finally decide to do the dishes?” He poured all his fury, frustration, desolation and despair in the sentence.

“We are getting married, cousin. Watch your boorish manners in front of the future baroness.”

“Marry?” repeated Konrad in total disbelief.

“We are expecting a baby. We went to the Civil Registry to ask about the papers,” she said, keeping her triumphant smile.

“Are you pregnant just after one month?” Konrad asked, all his suspicious flaring to life. “Who's the father?”

“I am,” Albert answered. “If you ever say something like that again, I'll beat the shit out of you.”

“Your father is coming here to get Ferdinand out of prison. He will beat the shit out of you, cousin, when he finds out you're planning to marry a... cleaning lady.”

“My father is coming here?” Albert blanched. “To Rome?”

“By train or car. I don't know. Someone has to bail Ferdinand out and return his girlfriends home. The best would be if you do the same before he gets here.”

“No, I'm marrying her. You keep your mouth shut, Konrad. We got a date in two weeks time.”

“Forget it, cousin. I won't let you make the biggest mistake of your life. I'm speaking with Uncle Hermann the minute he arrives here. Get rid of her,” Konrad shouted in German and stormed out of the flat.

* * *

Three days later

Konrad's gaze was lost in the large plain dotted with slopes that surrounded the old castle. The battlements had always been his favourite place as he could be alone there, away from all the people that were always around him, but never with him.

“Albert has gone back to Milan.” The voice of Ferdinand drove him back to Earth, and he watched how his friend leaned his body over one of the crevices in the stone wall. “Quite a view.”

“Certainly,” answered Konrad as he noticed how tired his best friend looked. “Don't worry, my father will shout at you for being so stupid as to be caught with your pants down, literally, and then will forget the whole story in less than a week,” he added with sympathy.

“All is well deserved.”

“At least you were not almost running to marry the maid,” Konrad said with a shrug. “Aunt Elisabetta almost killed Albert. She was more upset than Uncle Hermann.”

“How about you? Are you going back to Rome?”

“No, it's over.”

“Really?” Ferdinand asked in shock. “I thought you were in love with her.”

For a second, Konrad was tempted to tell the truth, but the words died in his throat. What could he tell? What would they think? Nobody would understand a thing, and all what he had worked for would be lost because of the three weeks when he had believed that paradise on Earth could exist.

“There was someone before me, and I was kicked out,” he mumbled.

“Come on! Competition is nothing for you!” Ferdinand protested.

“This one is. The other suitor was Carlo della Francesca. Can you believe it?”

“Your father's friend...?” Ferdinand asked dismayed.

“He almost recognised me. Can you imagine the scandal? Anyway, he had priority as I was clearly told. After all, I'm nothing but a poor student with an office-boy job. I can't pay lodging,” Konrad added bitterly. “I'm the sweetest creature, but you can't live from love.”

“She's right about that, Konrad. Babies cost money,” Ferdinand said, and Konrad stared at him gloomily. “Your name and ‘sweet’ together in the same sentence?” Ferdinand joked, and a smirk appeared in his friend's lips.

“I played the knight in shining armour and hit della Francesca because he was nasty to my love.”

“Excellent move, Konrad. You beat the shit out of one of your father's friends. You surpassed Albert with this one.”

“He will not tell a thing if we ever meet again. He has much more to lose than I. Shit! His wife has tea with Aunt Elisabetta now and then.”

“I think we all have learned a lesson this month,” Ferdinand said. “Albert, not to believe in the first pair of pretty eyes he sees. I, that one girl is enough for any man. And you... to ask for a certificate of provenance next time you fall in love. I'm very sorry for you, my friend.”

“No, I learned that I can be loved for myself and not for all what I have. I learned that I will not settle for less, no matter what my father or anyone else tells me to do. I will not marry the first stupid cow that comes along to live in complete misery like my father did, and I will not give a damn about people's opinions or social conventions.”

1“Time has fled. And I die in despair.” Aria “E lucevan le stelle”, Tosca. Act III