Last Winter's Snow

by Hans M Hirschi

  “I don’t want to go home tomorrow, but I had already bought the tickets, and my parents will be furious if I don’t make an appearance for Christmas.”

  “I kind of look forward to going home. It’s so dark and depressing here. I’d much rather see the stars and the moonlight reflect in the snow. I don’t know, somehow it feels as if we have more light back home than here, even though the days are so much shorter. Plus, I miss my family.”

  “I’d love to come see that part of the country one day. I’ve only ever seen photographs. I’ve never been north of Uppsala, and that’s barely a third of the country. My parents were always more interested in going south, to Denmark and Germany, for vacations.”

  “Well, I’m sure I can bring you home someday, if you like. I mean, my parents know I’m gay, and they’re okay with it, which is kind of odd, given that I’ve never had a boyfriend or anything.”

  ”When did you tell them?”

  “I didn’t. Not really. I just kind of answered a question incorrectly when I was sixteen, and well…”

  “What? I don’t understand? What happened?” Casper looked concerned.

  “Well, one day, after I finished eighth grade, my parents sat me down, to have, you know, ‘the talk.’” Nilas made air quotes to underline what he was trying to say. “Mom talked about girls, how they develop in puberty, with breasts and getting their first period, and Dad tried to explain what had happened to me, with pubic and facial hair, that it was the male equivalent of basically growing up to be an adult. Then they went on to talk about how they had met, fallen in love and well, how they had me.

  Nilas took a deep breath. “You know, we’d talked about some of that already in social studies in school, but Mom and Dad added the whole emotional aspect of it—love, being horny, the whole desire to have sex, masturbate…” He began to blush, “I don’t know how they did it. I thought it was the most embarrassing night of my life, and I couldn’t help picture them going at it. It was gross.

  “But then Mom asked me if I had already felt like that for a girl, you know? The whole butterfly thing, and erections? I must have been completely confused and kind of fucked up royally that night and basically told them I hadn’t fallen for a girl, but I had a big crush on the son of our town priest who was in the same class as me.”

  Nilas had to laugh at the memory, as embarrassing as it had been. “The silence in the house was eerie. You could hear the mice breathe under the floorboards. I had no idea that what I’d said was strange, somehow. In school, the teacher had said that some people were homosexuals and that it was considered a mental disease, but at the time, I just didn’t connect the dots. I thought that was only about sex. Mom and Dad were talking about emotions. I was so naïve… I always assumed that homosexuality was about—you know—fucking, and that being in love was something else entirely.”

  Casper had stopped walking and began to laugh. “So, basically, you told your parents you were in love with a guy at the age of sixteen? That you had a crush on him? Man, to have been a fly on that wall… How did they take it?”

  Nilas was blushing a deep crimson. “I know, I’m nuts. Obviously, I realized that what I’d said was really, really awful, because Mom began to cry, and Dad was sort of resting his head in the palms of his hands, just staring at me incredulously. He was the first to speak and asked me if we didn’t have any sex education in school. Then he asked me if I was gay. I remember shrugging, telling him I didn’t know. It was a nightmare. They sent me to my room, and I remember Mom crying for a long time downstairs, arguing with Dad.

  “The next days were really awkward. I was home all day because school was out. Dad didn’t want me to help with the farm or join him and the family as they tended to the reindeer, and Mom cried as soon as she saw me. I mostly stayed in my room, reading. After about three days, Mom came up to my room and we talked, for hours. She explained what homosexuality was, asked me again if I had always felt attracted to boys, told me about her brother, my uncle Lars-Sjul, and why he had never gotten married. I guess that was why they weren’t, you know, angry and didn’t try to change me? They already knew someone who was gay, and my uncle is the nicest guy I know. But Mom was sad, sad about what my life would be like, afraid that I would be lonely and bullied.”

  “Wow, you’re lucky…” Casper’s voice had taken on a ponderous quality. “I don’t think I could ever tell my parents. They’re super conservative, Pentecostalists, and since my dad is also politically active back home, for the conservatives, I think the mere thought of a gay son would be enough to give him a heart attack. Not to mention my mom. She’d die.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Nilas didn’t know what else to say and they resumed their walk.

  After a while Casper continued, “I’ll be fine, but I’ll miss you. Can I have your phone number back home? I’d like to be able to talk to you, even if I have to go out and find a phone booth.”

  “Sure. I’ll miss you, too. These past couple of months have been amazing. I never thought I’d meet someone like you. Remember that first morning? When we made breakfast?” Nilas blushed, unsure how to proceed. “I, uh, I dreamt of what it would be like to live with you. Just standing there, in the kitchen with you felt so amazing, so domestic in a way, just like my mom and dad. I’ve dreamed of finding someone like you for years…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

  “Do you want to move in with me?” Casper asked. “I mean, not in my dorm, but would you like to move into an apartment with me? This will be my last term as an undergraduate, and I’ll continue my postgrad after the summer. I won’t be able to stay in the dorms, anyway, and I just heard about this cute one-bedroom apartment on Södermalm. The house is owned by an older gay man, so it wouldn’t raise any concerns if two guys moved in there. The previous tenant passed away last month, and Göran is looking for someone who’s gay, too. He’s kind of old school, and trying to help family wherever he can.”

  Nilas was stunned. Was he dreaming? To leave the dorm, move in with Casper. It all sounded too good to be true. Maybe it was? “How much is rent? I don’t have a lot of money.”

  Casper made a dismissive hand gesture. “Don’t worry about money. First of all, the rent is really okay. Göran isn’t in this to make money. He’s loaded. He just doesn’t want to live alone in the house. He occupies the first floor, and he’s all alone. He’s almost eighty years old and has no family. Besides, my parents aren’t exactly poor, and once I get into my postgrad program, I’ll be earning money from the teaching hours. I’ve already got a position lined up with my professor. So, what do you say Nilas Jonsson? Do you want to live with me?”

  Nilas smiled, happier than ever before in his life. “Yes! Of course I do. Wow, Casper, that is the best Christmas present, ever!” He jumped his boyfriend and hugged him tightly before whispering in his ear, “I love you, Casper!”

  Casper held him tight in his arms, and laughed. “I love you, too, Nilas. I think I have from the moment I first saw you in that bar.”

  For the first time since they’d been together, they held hands, as they slowly walked down a deserted alley in the old town toward Skeppsbrokajen. They found a bench to sit down and just admired the harbor of Stockholm, the lights along the shores, the small ferries coming and going to Djurgården, and the cars passing by.

  Nilas was contemplative, as he looked out over the harbor. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could get married, too?”

  Casper’s voice took on a hard tone as he responded coldly, “Hah, like that’s ever going to happen…”

  * * * * *

  I Think He Might Have,

  You Know, AIDS…

  Nineteen-eighty-three began well for Nilas. He made progress with his studies, and after they’d moved in with each other, he enjoyed the daily routine of waking up next to Casper, making him his disgusting coffee, and trying to force him to eat at least something. Casper would always refuse the porridge, making funny noises at him—“You’re just like my mo
m”—but every now and then, Nilas could entice his man to at least eat some crispbread and processed cheese with shrimp from a tube. He hadn’t been able to convince Casper to give the sandwich caviar a try, nor the dried reindeer meat he’d brought back from his trip north, at least, not so early in the morning.

  They loved spending their free time outdoors, and sometimes went to the gay clubs of the city. There was a panic spreading in town, due to the AIDS thing that had begun to pop up in gay circles. The first article in the papers in the USA had been published a year ago, and while most of the general public knew nothing about what was going on, Stockholm’s gay men knew. Word spread quickly, and they were livid. There was this fear of not knowing what it was and how you got it, and even though it seemed to affect almost exclusively gay men, there had also been recent news of women and even children who’d gotten sick and died.

  Nobody knew what caused it, but the working theory seemed to be sexual transmission. In order to protect themselves, some people had begun to abstain from sex; others tried to stay clear of men who were showing signs of sickness—even a cold—while some simply stopped going out altogether.

  Göran’s house had long ago become a gathering place for his closest friends, and as the tenants in the house, it was natural for Nilas and Casper to often spend time there, too. Göran was a very social older man, with a flair for the dramatic, often inviting people to lavish meals with expensive wines and champagne. He’d inherited a lot of money and didn’t know what to do with it. Before he’d fallen badly on an icy patch outside his house a couple of years ago, he’d often traveled abroad to see the world, but ever since that accident and a botched hip replacement, he was reliant on a walker, something he despised, as it made him look so much older than he felt.

  Göran was thrilled to have young, strong tenants in his house, people he could call on if the need arose. He was very tactful and would only ever call—he never walked upstairs to knock on the door—if he really needed urgent help. Otherwise, he would simply ask for help with chores, shopping, or a visit to the doctor when he saw one of the boys in the hallway. The circle of Göran’s friends mostly consisted of much younger men, but he was also very close to Clara and her partner Ingrid, a lesbian couple in their early fifties. Apparently, Clara had worked with Göran at some point at the city’s Royal Library, and they had hit it off.

  Casper was out at the nearby Systembolaget, Sweden’s very own liquor monopoly store, to buy champagne for Göran’s seventy-seventh birthday party tonight. He’d need at least two cartons, and the wine cellar was empty. Meanwhile, Nilas was with Göran, helping him set the table in the dining hall for the dozen or so friends expected to arrive for the dinner party.

  When the phone rang, Nilas called Göran, whose hearing wasn’t as good anymore, but who refused to wear a hearing aid; “They make me look old!” he’d said.

  “Göran, the phone is ringing. Do you want me to get it?” No response, so Nilas ran to the hallway to pick up the phone. “Göran Andersson’s phone, this is Nilas speaking.”

  “Nilas, hey. It’s Tom. We met last month, at one of Göran’s soirées…”

  “Tom, hi, yes, of course, I remember. I recall you and Björn were such a sweet couple. Is everything all right? You are coming tonight, aren’t you? We’re just about to set the table…”

  On the other end of the phone, Tom’s voice cracked. “I’m afraid not. Björn is sick. He’s got a really bad fever. I’m taking him to the hospital. I think he might have, you know, AIDS…” After saying those words, Tom began to sob, and the next thing Nilas heard was the click. Tom had hung up.

  Nilas froze, unable to move. Yes, of course he’d heard of AIDS, and he and Casper had talked about it at some point, but they were both in excellent health; they’d barely had a cold in a year. To have this thing creep up so close, it was as if he was in an alternate reality of sorts. There was this life he was living, with normal student activities: studying, attending lectures, writing essays, tests. Then there was his domestic life: his relationship with Casper, grocery shopping, long walks, going to the movies, watching TV every now and then.

  Lastly, there was his social life, which pretty much only circled around Göran and his friends. They were still so “new” as a couple that they preferred to spend most of their time alone, just the two of them, getting to know each other, exploring each other. And since both of them still were relatively new to Stockholm, neither of them had developed any deeper relationships beyond the occasional coffee after school. And none of them had any previous gay friends. Yes, Casper had met a couple of guys, but nothing had ever led to anything beyond a quick blow job in a dark backroom or an awkward hand job at a public restroom. As for Nilas, Casper was his first in that department, period.

  All their gay friends were somehow connected to Göran, and that man knew a lot of people. They had already met about fifteen of them, mostly guys their own age. They had only met Tom and his boyfriend Björn a month ago. He’d hardly consider them close friends, but they were all friends of Dorothy’s, family of sorts, and the news struck Nilas to the core. It felt as if their bubble had burst, at last, as if that protective shield that surrounds all new lovers had finally given way, letting reality come crashing in with all its smelly rumors and dirty secrets. Nilas suddenly felt nauseous, and he had to rest his arms on the wall to steady himself.

  “I hope your hands are clean. I really don’t want any stains on that wallpaper. It’s silk, Nilas. Silk!” Göran had hobbled into the hallway with his walker. “Who was on the phone? I was momentarily indisposed.” A shard of the bubble, Nilas chuckled to himself, Göran and his big words.

  “That was Tom. They’re not coming. Björn is sick.” Nilas turned around and looked at Göran, and watched as the old man paled, right in front of his eyes, aging years in just seconds. He’d realized instantly, understood the deeper meaning of those words, and Nilas was spared from having to give any details.

  Quietly, Göran turned around and hobbled back into the dining room.

  The evening turned out to be a somber affair. As delicious as the food was that Göran had catered from the Opera Basement—one of Stockholm’s famed restaurants—as cold, bubbly, and dry as the champagne had been, the mood in the house never recovered after that phone call. Göran didn’t want to remove the settings where Tom and Björn were supposed to sit, and as they ate their meal, mostly in silence, only ever interrupted by the smallest and most basic forms of small talk, every one in the room knew that in at least on one of the two empty chairs, the Grim Reaper sat, enjoying himself immensely. And everyone in the room knew what he’d have for dessert.

  That night, in bed, Nilas cried himself to sleep in Casper’s arms. They didn’t talk; they simply held each other. Not like they usually would, after an evening with Göran, when they’d brush their teeth, laughing at some of the antics, or place mock bets on who would end up in whose bed that night, and what the chances of those two forming a couple were. They’d rehash up some of the stories told, try to remember the best jokes and revel in the fact that they—even though they’d only lived with each other a few months—were already the big oddity, the only two sharing an apartment, living together, like an old married couple. Except they weren’t married. Couldn’t get married. Ever.

  Yet tonight, as they tried to find sleep, if felt as if Death himself had crept into bed with them, wedging himself between them, a cruel reminder that their lives, their love, had indeed a best-before date, and that said date might be sooner rather than later.

  * * * * *

  Confirmation

  “Have you heard from Tom or Björn?” Casper asked Göran as they were helping the old man to stow away the groceries.

  “No, I haven’t, not since he was officially diagnosed. He’s still being treated for his pneumonia. It doesn’t look good. From what I understand, they all die, sooner or later.” Göran’s voice was subdued and downbeat.

  “Have they figured out how he got it?” Nil
as asked.

  “Not yet. They suspect a virus that is somehow primarily transmitted within the gay community, maybe through sex. We just have to wait and see. I’m glad to be too old for sex…” Göran managed a weak smile, shaking his head. “You boys are careful, aren’t you?”

  Casper blushed. “Of course we are. We haven’t been with anyone else since we met, but how do you know how this transmits? We hug each other when we meet, or we shake hands. I’ve touched Björn, so has Nilas. We could all have AIDS, for all I know. Heck, I even kissed him on the cheeks when they were here last.”

  “I don’t think it is that easy, Casper. I know at least three boys here in Stockholm who have died already. I ‘touched’—” Göran made air quotes “—all three of them, in more ways than one, and I’m still standing, despite my age. I think it takes a little more than just touch to transmit this thing.”

  Casper shrugged. “I don’t know. This whole thing is a nightmare. What if I have it? What if I’ve already passed it on to Nilas? I don’t think I could live with that.”

  Göran looked at Casper and put his arm around his shoulder. “Things were certainly easier when I was younger, at least, from this point of view. Then again, we were illegal, and the only places we could meet were parks and public restrooms. You’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. Just love each other and be faithful to each other. I think that’s the key.”

  Nilas began to cry as he listened to their discussion. The recent weeks had been very difficult. Not only had Björn been quarantined at the local hospital, but Tom had also fallen ill, and through the grapevine, they’d heard of several more men falling ill, all over the city, young and old. The papers were full of angry letters to the editor, talking about the wrath of God and how homosexuals were finally getting what they deserved. In school, some of his peers had begun to avoid him, crossing the hallway to stay out of his way, and many left at least one empty seat in between him and themselves in the lecture halls. Panic slowly began seeping into society at large, ostracizing gay men everywhere.