Last Winter's Snow

by Hans M Hirschi

  That afternoon, after their first real dive, Nilas and Casper sat in their sun chairs outside their bungalow. Nilas felt elated. “It was amazing. Did you see all those colors? It was absolutely amazing. And all those fish, crabs, shrimp, corals… Was it what you’d hoped for?”

  Casper had his eyes closed and seemed to be elsewhere in his thoughts. “Honestly, I don’t know. I certainly never expected to see so many different species so close to the island and the hotel.”

  “I know, I mean we saw some of them already, when we were just snorkeling, but to be able to just hover and watch them, without having to go back up for air all the time, that was a very different experience. And in a weird way, it reminds me of home.”

  “Home?” Casper opened his eyes and turned to look at Nilas. “How does this remind you of home?”

  “Not the island itself, but the ocean,” Nilas responded, chuckling. “You know when we’re on the mountain, particularly in the winter, and you sometimes can’t make out the horizon? Because the clouds are almost the same color as the snow? And you have that very faint wind making this grinding sound as loose snow crystals are blown across the surface.

  “When we came down to our starting depth this morning, I heard a similar sound in the water, and when I looked out into the blue, away from the reef, I couldn’t see anything but water, an endless amount of water, all blue. It was so calming, almost Zen-like. And then you turn around and see the corals, with all those fish and the colors. It’s pretty amazing. But I still prefer to stand with both feet on the ground.”

  “You don’t like diving?” Casper seemed saddened by Nilas’s response.

  “Oh, I do. I love it, but still, I think I prefer to stay above water, to hike. What about you?”

  Casper seemed to consider his response for a while. “I agree. It’s amazing, and I think we were right in coming here, to see this, at least once. But I think you’ve had a greater impact on me than I could’ve ever thought possible. I miss the mountains, too, and I think it may have to do with all the equipment, all the preparations it takes to go for a dive. I don’t know. This may sound strange, but I’m kind of homesick.”

  “Aww.” Nilas put his hand on Casper’s shoulder. “We’ll be home sooner than you think, but for now, why don’t we enjoy the sun, the water, and the amazing hospitality of the staff? I have a feeling we’ll be longing for cloudless skies, warm temperatures, and azure waters the moment we get off the plane in a cool and rainy Gothenburg.”

  “Probably.” Casper smiled. “Speaking of water, what about a swim? Last one in is a loser…” He jumped out of his chair and raced to the lagoon and out into the water, laughing and splashing. Nilas quickly ran after him.

  ***

  It was their final night on the island, and Casper and Nilas had just returned from dinner and a drink at the bar. They’d be leaving after breakfast, and their bags were already packed, but Casper wanted to take one last swim before bed.

  “Come on, beäjvviebájttuo, let’s take one more dip in that amazing water. When we get home, it’ll soon be fall and cold… Besides—” there was a mischievous smile on his face “—I still haven’t kissed you in public.” He planted a quick kiss on Nilas’s mouth, right there, outside their bungalow.

  Nilas was shocked. “What if someone sees us? You know that it’s illegal to be gay here.”

  Casper shrugged. “Well nobody did, and I don’t think they’d care. They haven’t touched our beds all week, even though they were joined. I think they got the picture and just don’t think it’s that big a deal. Come on, let’s go swim. I want to make out with you in the water…”

  Casper quickly went into their bungalow to change into his swim trunks, and Nilas followed suit. He had no real defense to offer and secretly agreed with Casper. He, too, longed for some intimacy, not just at night, in bed, but out in the open, where love should be celebrated, even if it meant stealing a kiss in the darkness under the starry skies above the Indian Ocean.

  When Nilas came back out of the bungalow, he saw that Casper was already floating on his back, probably looking up at the stars. That was another similarity he’d noticed between this place and home: the amazing night skies, with stars from horizon to horizon, unhindered by light pollution, mountains, or buildings. The firmament looked unfamiliar here, so close to the equator, the Milky Way seemed to be positioned differently, and Nilas was unable to find the Big Dipper.

  But it was impressive nonetheless, and once again reminded him of home. He joined Casper in the water and he, too, began to float on his back, watching the sky, holding Casper’s hand. After a while, Casper stood up in the water and pulled him close, tilting Nilas’s head as he came down to kiss him. They engaged in a close hug and deep kiss.

  “This has been an amazing vacation, and a great honeymoon, don’t you think?” Nilas smiled at the face just inches from his. Under the surface of the water, their bodies ground against each other. Casper only mouthed a quick “uh-huh” before kissing him again. They stayed in the water for a long time, until Nilas began to shiver.

  “Are you cold?” Casper asked.

  “I guess. We’ve been out here forever, it seems. Go to bed? You can warm me up.” Nilas smiled and pulled Casper by the hand, slowly wading toward the beach.

  He was shocked when he saw a dark figure sitting in the sand, watching them. It was Jawish, their room attendant. Nilas didn’t know what to say, but he’d instinctively let go of Casper’s hand. He was scared. He knew of the severe laws against homosexuality in the republic. He’d read up on the local law—here and on their stopover in Dubai—in Spartacus, the only reliable travel guide available to gay travelers. He’d bought a copy at the gay book store in Gothenburg when they’d booked the trip. It warned of public displays of affection and the death penalty.

  Jawish got up and brushed the sand off his mundu, the traditional sarong-like garment worn by the men of the Maldives. No women were allowed to work in the tourist resorts, and the only women they’d seen on their vacation had been the ones in the village island they’d visited one day.

  Jawish put up his hand to assuage Nilas. “Please, do not be afraid,” he said in his broken English. “I am like you. I understand.” Jawish was whispering to Nilas, who stopped, and allowed Casper to catch up with him.

  “Please,” he said again, “do not be afraid.” He pointed to Nilas, Casper, and then to himself. “We are the same.”

  Casper seemed confused. “You’re gay?”

  Almost instantly, Jawish raised his finger to his mouth, gesturing Casper to be quiet. He whispered again, barely audible, “Yes. Please don’t tell. It’s very dangerous here.”

  “I understand,” Nilas said quietly. “But why were you watching us?”

  Jawish lowered his head before he spoke. “I, uh, I noticed how you moved your beds. In your room. I see you. And I understand. Sorry. I was curious. I’ve never kissed a man.” He looked up and stared directly into Nilas’s eyes. Jawish was shorter, probably not more than five feet four, with black hair and dark eyes only visible due to the whiteness around his irises.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Every man deserves happiness.”

  “I am happy. I am married. I have a boy in the village. He is two years old.” There was a proud smile on his face when he spoke.

  “Does your wife know?” Casper asked.

  Jawish shook his head. “Nobody knows. It’s dangerous!”

  Nilas put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with us. I trust you won’t tell anybody what you’ve seen?” Jawish shook his head. Nilas was shivering again. “I need to go in and dry off. Good night, Jawish, and thanks for not moving the beds.”

  Jawish smiled. “I understand. Good night!” With that, he walked away along the beach.

  “That was close,” Nilas said, as they crossed the short distance from the beach to their bungalow. “Makes you think again, just how far we’ve come back home, by comparison.”

&n
bsp; Casper merely shook his head, not really knowing what to make of the situation. But the romantic and loving mood he’d been in just a few minutes ago was gone. They dried off, hung their swim trunks up to dry, and went to bed to sleep, lost in thoughts about what they’d just heard, what awaited them back home, and memories of two weeks that had gone by faster than they could’ve ever imagined.

  * * * * *

  1997

  The End Of A Dream

  “Casper, remember that conversation we had a couple of years ago, about having kids?” Nilas and Casper were sitting at their kitchen table, having a leisurely Sunday brunch.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Did you see the ad from child protective services in today’s paper?”

  “No, you haven’t relinquished that section of the paper to me yet,” Casper teased.

  Nilas handed him the paper, folded, and pointed to the ad. “They’re looking for foster families.”

  Casper took the paper and examined the ad. Then he put it on the table and took a deep breath. “And you still want to do this?”

  “You don’t?” Nilas was afraid of the answer.

  “Beäjvviebájttuo, that’s unfair. Of course I want kids. Just like you, I spent my childhood assuming that one day, I’d get married and have children. But then I realized that I wouldn’t, and I’ve come to terms with that. I’m not sure society is ready for gay parents. I’m not sure I am ready. We’ve had one serious conversation about this. I’m almost thirty-seven. I need some time to think.” He put his hand on Nilas’s, who almost instantly withdrew his.

  “I know, I know. It’s just frustrating, you know? We would be able to offer a child such a perfect home, loving parents, a great family, a good future. It’s been on my mind ever since we talked about it, and when I see an ad like this, it positively kills me.” Nilas’s voice was laced with raw emotion, and he was close to tears.

  “Please, Nilas, don’t get yourself worked up over this. Why don’t we contact them? See what they say? I’m pretty sure there is a lengthy process to becoming foster parents. Let’s get it started, and I promise you that I’ll start to contemplate it, to see if this is something I really want to do. I know this is important to you, and I want to be supportive, but this is the best I can do right now. Not closing any doors, just keeping our options open, okay?” He reached out for Nilas’s hand again, and squeezed it tightly. Nilas didn’t move it away this time.

  “Okay. Let me see if I can reach them tomorrow.” Nilas tore the ad out of the paper, folded it, and put it in the pocket of the shirt he was wearing. He’d call them first thing in the morning.

  ***

  Sitting at his desk at work Monday morning, Nilas stared at the ad in front of him. There was a phone number and a postal address. Cautiously, he picked up the receiver and dialed the number. After a couple of signals, he got through to voice mail: “Welcome to the city of Gothenburg, unit for foster families. Our offices are closed right now. Our telephone hours are Mondays through Thursdays, ten a.m. to twelve p.m. Please try again later.” The last thing he heard was the clicking sound of the line being disconnected.

  At ten-thirty, after returning from a staff meeting, Nilas closed the door to his office, and dialed the number again, but was instantly greeted by the beeping of a busy line. He tried again a few minutes later, with the same result. After attempting to call five or six times, he gave up. There just was no way of getting through. It seemed as if the ad had produced enough results to keep them busy for a while, and he didn’t have the time to sit all day at the phone, trying to reach them. Instead he decided to write them a letter.

  To whom it may concern:

  We are a gay couple, married since 1995, but we’ve been together for almost fifteen years. We live in a house in Änggården, a house that is empty, a house that would certainly feel more alive if it was filled with the laughter and the running footsteps of children.

  We noticed your ad in the paper yesterday, and we would like to show our interest in becoming foster parents, “we” being myself, Nilas Jonsson, I’m a civil engineer, working in a management position for a large engineering firm here in Gothenburg, and my husband, Casper Jonsson, professor in data linguistics at the University of Gothenburg. We’ve both dreamed of having and raising children of our own, but for obvious reasons, that dream has eluded us.

  We think we have much to offer a child. We are both academics; we have stable positions and make decent salaries; we live in a beautiful house right next to two of the best parks in the city, close to schools and hospitals. There is a room in our house, or two, waiting for children to be loved and nurtured.

  We understand that there are many children out there who suffer because their biological parents can’t give them the love and nurture they deserve and require, due to problems that aren’t the children’s fault. We feel that every child deserves a shot at happiness, a chance to get a good education, to be unconditionally loved and encouraged.

  We look forward to hearing from you.

  Yours faithfully,

  Nilas Jonsson

  Nilas wrote the address on an envelope, signed the letter, and posted it on his way home. He told Casper about it, and then they waited. Days became weeks, and after a month, there had still been no reply from social services. No response, no call. Nothing.

  Finally, Nilas grew tired of waiting, and one Tuesday morning, five weeks after he had sent the letter, he dialed the number again. This time, there was no busy signal, and after four rings, someone picked up.

  “City of Gothenburg, foster care unit. This is Maja Andersson speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Good morning, Maja. My name is Nilas Jonsson. We sent a letter to you, about a month ago, about our interest in becoming foster parents. We still haven’t heard back, so we were wondering…”

  “Nilas Jonsson, you said?” Maja asked. “Please bear with me for a moment, I’ll have a look.”

  Nilas was almost biting his nails, he was so nervous. What if they flat out refused them? What if they were accepted? What—

  “Nilas, are you still there?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  There was a short pause, and Nilas could feel the tension rise on the line. “I remember your letter now.”

  “Oh?” He didn’t know what else to say.

  “Yes. We do get letters from homosexuals every now and then. Yours is the first from a married couple, and the first one we didn’t just throw away.”

  “Throw away?” Nilas was stupefied. Why would a government agency, even a local one, throw away a letter from a citizen?

  “Well, yes. You know…”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t.” Nilas had the strangest feeling in the back of his mind, as it slowly began to dawn on him what the social worker was trying to tell him. There was no response, so Nilas figured he might as well say it. “Surely, you must understand we are no sexual predators…”

  There was a long sigh on the other end of the line, then he heard her take a deep breath. “Well, yes, we do. And that is also why we didn’t just throw it away. Again, for the first time, ever.”

  “But you also didn’t respond to it.” Nilas was getting upset and was working up a rage, while at the same time, his heart broke.

  “We didn’t know what to say.” The woman was obviously in distress, Nilas could hear that.

  “Could you at least meet with us? Investigate us?”

  Pushed into a corner, the social worker pushed back, aggressively. “To what end? You are a homosexual couple. Children need real parents, a mother and a father. Clearly, you must understand that the kids we work with, they’re traumatized. Some have been through the most horrific experiences. Some have been abused, physically and sexually. Others have watched their parents die. These kids need a mother!” There was a short pause. “And a father!”

  “I see.” Nilas didn’t know what else to say, and hung up. His world was shattered, his heart broken. Had he not been in his office, he’d
have probably howled out his grief, but he couldn’t, not here, not now. Instead, he focused on his work, the tasks at hand, customers, suppliers, staff needing answers for this or that.

  By the time he got back to the house, he had no recollection of anything that had transpired after the call. Casper was already home, sitting at his computer in the office, typing. He must have noticed something was wrong with Nilas—the office had a good view of the short path leading from the street up to the house—because he was standing in the doorway when Nilas opened the door.

  “Is everything okay?” Casper asked, his head slightly cocked, as if he might better gauge Nilas’s emotional state. Those three words were all it took to open the floodgates, and Nilas began to howl like a wounded animal, dropped to his knees and threw his arms around Casper’s legs, sobbing, uncontrollably.

  Shocked, Casper knelt down, taking Nilas into his arms. “What happened? Are Mom and Dad okay? Anna? The kids? Jyönna Lars-Sjul?” Nilas kept crying and didn’t respond. “Beäjvviebájttuo, please tell me. Talk to me, Nilas!”

  But Nilas couldn’t speak, not for several minutes. Casper managed to kick the front door shut and sat down on the hallway floor, holding Nilas in his lap, stroking his hair, rocking him, and trying to comfort him.

  After a while, Nilas’s sobs subsided. Casper decided to try again. “Beäjvviebájttuo, tell me, what’s wrong? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

  “Pedophiles,” Nilas managed to say, before renewed sobs overpowered him.

  Casper was confused. “Pedophiles? Nilas, what are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

  “They think we’re pedophiles.” It was followed by even more sobs.

  “Who?” But there was no response, and the realization of what Nilas was talking about dawned on Casper. “Did you talk to social services?” Nilas nodded. “Why would they think we’re pedophiles?” Casper’s voice said the words even though in his mind he already knew the answer. Clearly, there must be something wrong with a man who wanted to raise a child. Two men—two gay men—wanting to raise a child must’ve had every single alarm bell going off in the minds of the social workers who read their letter.