A Charm of Finches

by Suanne Laqueur

  I’d just be a hole to him, Micah thought. I’m good for nothing else. He’d fuck me and kill me and no one would know the difference.

  But if Schultze’s golden smile were true. If he had a heart beneath that uniform, a scrap of conscience or decency. If he’d led a lonely life of lying and hiding. If he’d seen his kind shunned and jailed and killed. If he identified, just the slightest bit, with the camp inmates because it could just as easily be him. And if he were willing to risk his life for human connection…

  Micah turned the problem over and over.

  Does he want a hole? Or a heart?

  Does he want to fuck me or know me?

  His survival goals had shrunk to hours. He never thought about tomorrow. Next week ceased to exist as a concept, as did the words “one day.”

  I only have here and now.

  I have no power here or anywhere.

  Die now or die later, that’s the one choice I can make. Death is inevitable in this place. I’d rather march to the gas chamber knowing I tried everything I could. Rather than trudge along wondering if I’d let Schultze fuck me, could he have done something for me? But it’ll be too late to un-ring that bell.

  Bribery was a way of life in the camps, yet it remained a dangerous business. In just a short amount of time, Micah learned it was best not to give up the goods until you had what you wanted. These goods could get both him and Schultze killed.

  And what do you want anyway? he asked himself.

  The answer was simple: A chance.

  The word was luscious in his thoughts, like honey dripping between layers of phyllo in a slice of baklava.

  I want a chance to survive. When I march off to the gas, or stand on the stool or look at the gun, I want to be able to say I did everything I could to survive.

  Schultze took him to the kitchen the first time. Micah went willingly. He wasn’t afraid of shame or pain. Only that Schultze would kill him afterward. Bent over some boxes and slicked up with lard, he thought about nothing and waited for either the fucking or his life to be over.

  “This is unfortunate,” Geno said, pretending to write on a clipboard. “But it’s not our concern.”

  Schultze zipped up, handed Micah a rag and allowed him to live. A fortnight later, he took Micah back to the kitchen. The third time, they were interrupted by one of the cooks. Possibly coming down to steal provisions. Schultze kept one hand on Micah’s hip. The other drew his service revolver and shot the cook dead between the eyes. He resumed fucking Micah and afterward they tossed the body into the furnace. Schultze gave Micah a brick of margarine and two salamis to take back to the barracks.

  Micah knew the game by now. He turned over the margarine and one of the salamis to the Blockältester, Lazar Nadelman, the kapo in charge of the barracks.

  “Mean little prick of a Jew,” Micah said to Geno. “Drunk on power for lack of anything to eat.”

  Micah gave the other salami to his block mates, taking only a slice for himself. If letting Schultze fuck him came with privileges, he’d take enough to survive and share the rest, because getting drunk on his own meager power would get him killed when that power was taken away.

  And it’s when, not if.

  This could end tomorrow.

  “Did it?” Geno asked. “How long did it go on?”

  “Eight months,” Micah said. He looked at Geno a moment, then down at the work surface. “Don’t knead so angry, habibi.”

  The morning was chill and rainy. Geno cinched his hood up and aimed for awnings and overhangs as he walked back to the warehouse. He had a breakfast sandwich, but didn’t feel hungry. Micah’s story sat in his gut and he didn’t know how to digest it. Other than the knee-jerk Holy fucking shit. Under the surface horror, though, he was sure a deeper message was lurking. But what?

  He speaks as one who knows, Geno thought, crossing Jane Street.

  Micah let an SS officer fuck him in return for a chance. Little privileges that let him live another day.

  He did it willingly, because things like ego didn’t matter anymore. Only survival.

  Analisa died when Geno was fifteen but the world had already ended for Micah Kalo by that age.

  He did it willingly.

  So does he really speak as one who knows?

  Is he gay?

  His eyes squeezed shut and he flicked the thought off hard. Shut up. Shut your mouth because you have no fucking idea. None. You, baby boy, would’ve been dead five minutes after getting to Auschwitz. You speak as one who knows jack shit, so shut up.

  He arrived at the art room in a confused state of self-recrimination. Stef sat at one of the long tables, sketching his empty coffee cup. This was usually the time he worked with Max. Max, however, was sitting under the table, scowling like he’d been told he couldn’t have a rocket ship.

  Respecting that Stef was technically on duty, Geno took a seat at a neighboring table.

  “How was work?” Stef said.

  “All right. You want this?” He held out the sandwich.

  “Don’t offer the beast food if you don’t mean it.”

  “You can have it, I’m not hungry.” Geno unzipped his jacket and peeled it off. It was muggy in here. The rainy morning leaned on him like it was exhausted, smothering him with complaint. Meanwhile, Max hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “Gee, Stef,” Geno said loudly. “Max sure looks mad at you.”

  “Because Max is mad at me, Geno,” Stef said in the same tone.

  “Why, Stef?”

  “I’m afraid that’s confidential, Geno, but you could ask him.”

  Geno leaned out of his chair to look under the table. “Max, why are you mad at Stef?”

  “He won’t marry my mother.”

  Geno straightened up and raised his eyebrows at Stef. “Now I’m mad at you too.”

  “I know. I suck.”

  The minutes passed in silent attrition. Stef sat eating and drawing. Max sat doing nothing. Geno got some pastels and newsprint and tried to freestyle some of the shit in his head. Finally, Max came out and made a show of leaning on Geno’s shoulder, showing Stef who the new best friend was.

  “Dude, breathe through your nose,” Geno said as he blended grey and black with his fingertip, making long rectangles in a row. Like cattle cars, he guessed.

  Max closed his mouth and moved closer. Then closer. Until he was sitting in Geno’s lap. Thumb in his mouth, head tilted against Geno’s chest. Warm, solid, trusting weight.

  “Is this allowed?” Geno said.

  Stef looked up. “He came to you. You’re the one who says if it’s allowed.”

  “I know, but...”

  “Is it making you uncomfortable?”

  “No.”

  A little. Yes. Because it feels so good.

  Unconsciously his head lowered, his nose skimming Max’s head. It wasn’t the baby smell he remembered from Matthew. It was dirtier. No, not dirtier. Earthier.

  “He’s asleep,” Stef said.

  “Is he?”

  “Mmhm.”

  Geno shifted the boy a little more comfortably. Muscle memory from long-ago days when he could deftly hold Matthew on his hip while cleaning house or cooking. The thrum in his limbs. Warm serenity in his chest.

  It feels so good. Why does it feel so good?

  Is this how it starts?

  Anxiety wasn’t coming over the horizon, but Geno could hear the rumble of it in the distance. His arm around Max tightened a little.

  Great, I’m using him as a shield.

  “You’re good with kids,” Stef said.

  “My half-sister had three. They were sweet. Two girls and a boy. The boy was eleven months, just starting to walk. He was my buddy.”

  “Are you a Cancer?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “I don
’t know much about astrology but I read somewhere once that Cancers were all home, hearth and family. Not that I believe any of that stuff, but interestingly, every Cancer I’ve ever met has been that way. Loves to be at home. Loves to be in the kitchen. Loves to…” He indicated Geno. “Be a haven.”

  Stef’s attention and tone were so different out of sessions. He answered the questions this time, talking about his own relationship to kitchens and houses and food. How the idea of having his own family was an appealing, but not driving force in his life.

  “And I’m getting on in years, of course,” he said.

  “How old are you?”

  “Forty-one last December.”

  Geno shrugged the shoulder Max wasn’t leaning against. “Both my parents said they had no idea what they were doing until they were forty.”

  “I know I’m not far in, but it feels different somehow. It’s like you corral the energy of your twenties and the learning of your thirties, throw all the bullshit over the side and what’s left is…” He smiled, shrugging his own shoulders. “Pretty great.”

  The hour was up and Max’s mother arrived. Max gave Geno a dramatic hug and walked off without a word to Stef. Mrs. Springer caught Stef’s eye and smacked her palm against her face. Smiling, Stef put his palms together and shook them a little.

  “You ruined his life,” Geno said.

  “Apparently he had it all planned out. Made room in the closet and everything.”

  “He wants you to be his dad. That’s kind of awesome.”

  “Mm.”

  “It’s called transference, right?”

  “I see we took Psychology One-oh-One.” Stef turned a page of his pad, then slid one of his rings off and set it on the table, like he was going to draw it next. He got up to sharpen his pencil and Geno picked up the ring. It was made of heavy silver. A pair of feathered wings crafted to wrap around the wearer’s finger. He hefted it in his palm a few times, liking the weight, then put it down again. When Stef came back to sit, Geno hesitated, not sure if they were in a session now or still hanging out as buddies.

  “So, I kind of did some transferring to you.”

  Stef smiled. “I guess I am old enough to be your dad.”

  “It was more like a brother thing.”

  “Ah.” Stef nodded over his sketching.

  “Like you and Jav were brothers,” Geno said, getting it out before he could change his mind. “And Stav was a sister. We all lived together in that little house of mine. Actually I thought Jav had a thing for Stav so they were sharing the bedroom before I figured out what the real arrangements were.”

  “You were making a home.”

  Geno’s throat grew warm. As usual, Stef knew how to bypass the bullshit and find the nugget of gold. “Yeah,” he said. “Just… Yeah. I guess.”

  Stef looked up now, his blue eyes gentle. “Are you waiting for the ceiling to collapse?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Dude, if what happened to you happened to me, I wouldn’t build a little house. I’d build the freaking Taj Mahal and fill it with everyone who was minimally nice. I’d be making the window washer my brother if he waved at me.”

  Geno’s heart kicked up a few beats as a small chill went through him. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you ever slept with a woman?”

  Stef laughed. “I was married to a woman for three years.”

  “Oh. But you’re gay now?”

  “I identify as bisexual. At the moment I’m in a relationship with a man. For the first time, actually.”

  “First time being with a guy?”

  “Being in a relationship with one.”

  “Oh.”

  Stef glanced at his watch. “Not that I’m not enjoying this conversation but I think you have group therapy in five minutes?”

  “Oh crap.” Geno pushed back and started putting pastels back in their slots.

  “I’ll take care of those,” Stef said. “Go on.”

  The rest of the day didn’t sit well with Geno. He couldn’t put a finger on what was wrong, only that something was not all right. Around eight o’clock, he went up to Stef’s office to get the coffee can. Oddly, the light was on. As Geno walked down the hall, the light turned off and Stef came out.

  “You’re still here?” Geno said.

  “I forgot my power cord, I had to come back. What’s up?”

  Why was it so much easier to say “nothing”? The word formed itself on Geno’s tongue, ready to jump out and not be a bother.

  “What’s wrong?” Stef said.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You feel okay?”

  “No. Not all day. I can’t figure out why. I was coming up here to get the can and try to sort it out.”

  “You want to talk?”

  “I don’t want to keep you. It’s late.”

  Stef reached back into his office and got the Chock Full o’ Nuts can and gave it a shake. “Let’s go in the art room.”

  Before they even reached the stairs, Geno was letting it out. “You know, the night I got…taken. I was at a party at this girl’s house. A girl I really liked a lot. It was her birthday and a bunch of people were over. We were cooking out and swimming and I was trying to work out a way to kiss her. Anyway, that’s not where I was going. My best friend Chris was there and he came out to me that night. Told me he was gay.”

  “What was that like?”

  “On its own, it would’ve been blindsiding, but he accidentally outed my brother, too.”

  “He was dating your brother?”

  “No, no no. He said he saw Carlito with a guy, around the side of Target, making out. So he knew. He said if he told anyone about himself being gay, it would be me, because he figured I’d understand. Instead I was totally knocked out again.”

  Stef snapped on a couple lights in the art room. “Have you been thinking about your friend lately?”

  Geno sat at one of the tables. “I was thinking about not knowing many gay or bisexual people. I thought of him and the party. It seems so long ago. I wanted that girl so much. Now I can barely remember what she looks like. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know who I like or who I want or how to be with…”

  Across the table, Stef tilted his head. “How to be with girls?”

  “I don’t even know how to be with guys.” Geno dropped his head in his hands. “I don’t know how I feel about guys. I don’t know how to act with guys anymore. I’m suspicious all the time. I want…I just want…” He lifted up his head and exhaled hard. “When I build that little red house and fill it with people, I’m filling it with more men than I am with girls.”

  “You lost your father and your twin brother,” Stef said. “You didn’t get to say goodbye. You didn’t get a say at all. You have a tremendous hole in your life that anyone would be wanting to fill back up.”

  “But at the same time, I don’t know what to do with guys I meet. I don’t know how to be friends with men anymore. When I found out you and Jav were together, I wanted to… I was so fucking pissed. I don’t know why. All that shit I said about your lifestyle making me sick, that was bullshit. That was me trying to cover up how fucking confused and…and…jealous. Jesus Christ, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “Keep going,” Stef said. “It doesn’t have to make sense, I just want you to talk.”

  Geno put his burning face back in his hands. “I feel fucking ridiculous telling you this.”

  “This isn’t about me. I know how to separate me out of it. With transference, the person you’re focusing on isn’t the issue. It’s how it makes you feel.”

  “I forgot what I was saying.”

  “You were confused when you found out Jav and I were together. You felt jealous. You felt angry.”

  A beat of
frustration as Geno flailed around for whatever the hell was bothering him right now. He wanted to talk about how it felt to hold Max, instead it came out as, “When did you know you liked guys?”

  “Me?” Stef said. “I was crushing on guys in middle school.”

  It was either the wrong answer or the wrong question. Geno let his elbow slide sideways until he was sprawled on an arm. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  “In terms of being straight or gay, you mean?”

  Geno nodded, wanting to hide, at the same time grateful it was out there.

  A scrape of chair legs on the floor as Stef hitched a little closer to the table. “Listen. You would not be the first straight male rape survivor I’ve worked with who is questioning everything he thought he knew about his sexuality. Wondering if you were asking for it. If you put out a gay vibe. If it now makes you gay. None of those things are shocking to me. None of that offends me personally. All of those things are real and valid reactions. All of those things can be confusing on a good day, terrifying on a bad day.”

  “It’s a bad day.”

  “I can tell.”

  Geno pulled a long, deep breath in and said, “I think I need to tell you something.”

  “All right.”

  Geno peeled the lid from the coffee can and spilled it onto the table.

  A time comes in a man’s professional life when he knows he’s done some of his best work. Looking back later, much later, Stef knew he’d surpassed his finest hour. In the thick of it, though, he felt he barely got both of them out alive.

  He was prepared for one single bombshell revelation. Instead it was a firestorm. Geno opened the coffee can and spilled pieces of hardware onto the table. At the same time, he opened the bomb bay doors and unleashed his private hells. It all spilled out in a mess, sloshing and dripping over the table and onto the floor.

  Geno talked about his attachment to his little nephew. Then something about pizza dough, the feel of it in his hands. A call to a rape crisis hotline that went badly. Needing to leave his sister’s house because it wasn’t safe. He recited parts of the Model Penal Code. He talked about his roommate Ben. Someone named Jason, whose boyfriend was Seth. He talked about the girls he slept with in school and never being able to come. A night at a bar and seeing a girl come close to being drugged.