Hidden Away (16 page)

When he was quiet, I took a small step back. “I’ve not behaved poorly, uncle. I’ve done all that you’ve asked. The concert tonight will show you how hard I’ve worked to be worthy of these other musicians.”

He shook his head. “Other musicians. That is what you concern yourself with? There will be important people in the audience. You should concern yourself about being worthy of
them
.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. I will show you tonight that I am. My friends and I have—”
“You’d better watch it with these
friends
of yours.
You
are not well-connected. Now is not the time to flaunt oneself.”
A chill ran through me. The way he said it left no doubt that he knew what I’d been up to with Peter. My skin grew hot as the blood flowed cold through my veins. Intimidated and frightened, I remained quiet, regretting my decision to speak up in the first place.

We stood there in the sitting room for far longer than I had wanted, but finally, he gave me leave. After cleaning up, eating, and avoiding my uncle, I found myself at the Musikverein with the other musicians. I was the last to arrive. The others were on stage as I paused in the aisle.

Peter stood talking to Herr Weber, his violin dangling almost carelessly from his fingers. At times when he spoke, it swung out, then back in to tap against his leg. If I hadn’t seen what care Peter took in hiding the instrument in the evenings, I would have thought he had little concern for it.

His other hand was up, pointing at a paper Weber was holding. The sight of his strong hands made my mind flood with images of the night before, which mixed with images of all the nights I’d spent with Peter since meeting him. Last night was the first time we’d lain in his bed together. It was the first time I’d let him touch me in the way he’d been wanting.

My flesh began to tingle at the thought of it, and my skin began to prickle with heat. All of this was new. I’d never felt anything like it in all my life. My uncle’s words of warning were all but forgotten as I stared at the man—my lover—on stage. Heart beating fast, breathing uneven and quick, I hoped I’d never feel anything else ever again.

“Kurt Klein!”

I jumped and brought my eyes up to meet Peter’s. The mischievous look in his was enough to make my insides flutter. Laughing just a little, I propelled myself to the stage, counting the rows as I did. Once I was next to him and Herr Weber on stage, Peter’s smile widened. “Nice of you to join us, Herr Klein.” Licking his lips and narrowing his eyes slightly, he added, “You look tired, Kurt. Were you up late?”

The blush was quick to rise. I studied their shoes as I tried to figure out how to respond. He obviously knew that I
was
up late. Peter was the cause of my lack of sleep. Raising my head, I took a peek at him, then shook my head at his knowing smirk. The devil was enjoying my discomfort. I could come up with nothing in reply, so I focused on Herr Weber and said, “My apologies for being late.”

He clapped me on my shoulders. “Nonsense. You are right on time.”
Rehearsals started directly, but I could feel Peter watching me throughout. Fifteen minutes before the concert was to begin, I was in the wash closet, vomiting from nerves.

“You have nothing to fear. You are a fine musician and these people are honored to be here to see you play.”

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I looked up at Peter and tried to smile. I shook my head as I stood, then moved to the sink and rinsed my mouth. When I straightened, the image in the mirror taunted me. There I was, pale and sweating, nothing more than the frightened child I’d always been. The worry assaulted me from within, telling me that I wasn’t enough, that I’d
never
be enough, that I’d always be the outcast child no one wanted to hear.

Warmth surrounded my right hand. A glance down showed me it was Peter holding it. I looked back into the mirror, shifting my posture just slightly so he was framed within as well. “You’re terrific, Kurt,” he whispered. “You’re better than all the others out there.”

With a sharp inhale, I said, “I’m not better than you.”

He replied in a smooth voice, “And I’m not better than you, but together, we’re a hundred times the caliber of the other musicians performing tonight. That’s why
we’re
featured and they’re accompaniment.”

With a squeeze of my hand, he tugged me toward the door. “I know how close you like to push it, but this is something for which we should be on time.”

I brought my free hand up to run down my face, then up to run through my hair. I moved toward the door, but Peter stopped me. Tousling my hair, he held a serious look upon his face. “There. Better. Can’t have you stepping out there looking less than delicious, can we?”

“It’s only you who finds me pleasing.”

Peter brought me close until I was pressed against him. Instinctively, I darted my eyes to the door, but no one came in. The sensation of his body’s caress of mine created a conflict within me. I was nervous still, about the performance and about being like this in a public area, but the heat driving in waves within me was calming. I hadn’t known it possible to be both anxious and serene.

“Whoever made you feel as though no one could find pleasure in you is a liar. I am lucky you find contentment with me, otherwise some other man would have the satisfaction of being able to touch the most delightful person I’ve ever met.”

He had a way of causing such a stir within me that I held my breath.

With his lips close to my ear, he whispered, “I like leaving you speechless. This evening, after all this is over, I am going to make love to you all night until you can no longer recall the deceitful words of people of your past.” He took the lobe of my ear into his mouth, and when he withdrew, he said, “Everyone wants you, Kurt, if you’d only let them in, you’d know it.”

The nervous tickle deep in my belly Peter created was no different than usual, but tonight, it transformed my anxiousness about the concert into something more enjoyable. The promise of his touch after was enough to get me out of the wash closet, onto the stage, and through the performance. My thoughts weren’t on the audience, they were on him. The music flowed through me and danced about the hall, swirling around in a seductive ballet. I could hear the sounds my fingers created, just as I could feel the music Peter’s violin sang to me. While I knew intellectually the others were helping to create the sounds the audience enjoyed, I could only see Peter.

H
AVING
no idea what to expect after the concert was given, I was shocked to see the number of Nazi officials milling around the reception hall. Forced to interact with so many people, without Peter close to me, I drained of energy quickly. I would’ve preferred to give a twelve hour performance onstage to the marathon this was shaping up to be.

Across the room, Peter was smiling his winning smile and chatting up important people. The important officials always conducted themselves the same way: crisp uniforms and impeccable posture. The straighter the back, the higher they rose, and the more distance they put between themselves and the common man.

I didn’t envy Peter’s role in all of this, but I did envy the men with whom he spoke. He was so charming. I could tell how amazingly impressive he was to them all the way over here. Trying to will him to look at me, I lost focus in my own conversations more than once.

“Herr Klein? What were you saying?”

Pulling my eyes back to the balding man and his wife, I pushed my lips into the best grin I could muster. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember,” I replied honestly. “It seems my mind is a bit soggy from the performance.”

I impressed myself by channeling Peter’s charm. Once away from the couple, I lingered close to the refreshment table. I wasn’t hungry, but it was easy to look occupied with food and drink, so I used it to my advantage.

Scanning the room, I found my uncle in the midst of deep conversation with a man in uniform. His body language and gestures indicated he was in the middle of a fuming diatribe, most likely on one of his hot-button issues. My uncle’s motions seemed to mimic our Führer. Everyone wanted to be like Hitler.

When I could take the noisy, bustling room no longer, I hid in the wash closet, leaning back against the wall with my eyes closed for long minutes. I wanted to leave. I wanted to be with Peter. At the sink, I splashed water on my face and braced myself on the vanity. Perhaps I could stay here for the rest of the evening. Despite what my lover said, no one but him would miss me.

The air shifted as the door behind me opened and shut. My eyes remained closed. I felt arms around my waist. Startled, I struggled only for a moment until I saw his beautiful face in the mirror. Then I settled into his arms even as my eyes moved to the reflection of the door.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. His breath against the flesh of my neck simultaneously calmed my nervous body while driving me mad with desire. “Will this night ever end?”

I shook my head, then turned in his arms and nuzzled my face into his neck. He was solid and warm. I felt loved just by his mere presence. It had been a long time since I had felt this way. I felt safe with him, like I’d felt in my mother’s arms.

Peter took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “You are my sanity through all this.”

Just as I was relaxing into his embrace, the handle of the door jiggled. Immediately we separated, and I turned to the mirror and sink once more. I began washing my hands as Peter made a show of drying his.

A
S DIFFICULT
as the preceding hours had been, the rest of the night passed with gentle ease. My short time with Peter in the washroom energized me, giving me the necessary strength to see the evening through until I could be alone with him again.

In his apartment, I had wait to even longer for time alone with him. Leo and another friend, Diedrich, stopped by for drinks. Everyone was inebriated except me. Despite this fact, the conversation was quite intelligent.

Well, it
was
until the discussion turned to sexual matters. As I stayed silent, my face burned during the conversation. For the most part, I kept my gaze on Peter. Since I left this morning, all I’ve wanted to do is get my hands back on him. My thoughts turned completely to last night, to how he felt beside me, how he felt in my hands, how he felt inside of me.

I was lost in memory and fantasy until I was completely jarred out of it by one word: castration. It was obvious the conversation had turned from explicit sexual speak to something horrifying. Clearing my throat and my mind, I brought my attention to the conversation. “They have lists now,” Diedrich said. “
Pink
lists, and they’re offering a choice. Prison camps or castration.”

“Not much of a choice,” Leo added. “That’s ridiculous,” Peter said, weighing in. His face was red with anger. “I’d
never
do that!”

Not aware that I wanted to participate, I opened my mouth and asked, “What if they pointed a gun at your head?”

Peter’s dark eyes turned to me as his expression calmed minutely. “I’m a homosexual, Kurt. It’s not a changeable fact, even if they cut off my balls.”

“Besides,” Diedrich continued, “I’ve known men who’ve taken that option. All of them have been re-arrested and never seen again.”

I’d been aware of the dangers my thoughts and feelings put me in, but since finding Peter, I’d lost sight of it. Now, with words of camps and castration, my heart began to race. What I was doing with him felt natural to me, but this conversation served as a reminder that the Reich did not feel the same way. My uncle was right. Now was
not
the time to flaunt myself.

“It’s not as though
you
have much to fear, Peter,” Leo said. I looked from the violist to my lover and back again. “Your father—”

“My father nothing,” Peter said. “The men he works with—”

 

I interrupted, “Who does your father work with?”

 

Leo’s voice drew my gaze back to him. He was looking at Peter. “You haven’t told him?”

“My father is an Oberführer in Berlin. He cares nothing for me.” His gaze burned hot, but there was a glimmer just below the surface of his expression. He was embarrassed to have such a high-ranking Nazi as a father.

“He cares enough to keep the fact he has a queer son hidden,” Leo pointed out. Peter looked away from me, seeming to focus on the gramophone next to the wall. I wanted to go to him, pull him into me, and make the sad lines on his face disappear. “Tell him the best part about your father’s ‘
good German
’ men.”

Finally my lover turned his eyes to me. “I’ve made love to three of them. One of which is his right-hand.”

I dropped my eyes away from him. I didn’t want to know that. In my heart there had been no doubt that Peter was vastly more experienced than I, but hearing it was like putting my heart in a vise. As I wanted him only for myself, the verification that he’d made love to others hurt.

I wasn’t sure if the conversation had continued as I looked down at my lap, but when I finally drew my eyes back to Peter, he gave me a small smile, as if hoping to offset his previous words. “They only hate us because they wish to have a nice stiff one to hold onto.”

I asked, “Then why do they hate the Jews?” No one in the room had an answer for that.

Remaining quiet until the others left, I felt odd when Peter came to sit next to me. He put his hand on my thigh while his other arm extended behind my shoulders. The earlier conversation had left me uncomfortable. Not only was I doing something illegal with Peter, he was so much more experienced that I was left diminished. How could I compare to the many men he’d felt this kind of pleasure with? Perhaps I was nothing more than the latest in a series, and he would leave me when he grew bored. How could I keep him interested if I knew next to nothing? Did I even want to know more? Was I willing to risk castration or incarceration to explore the feelings I’d kept hidden for so long?

I remained quiet. There was much to think about. While I’d been anxious many times in my life, this was a particular sense of apprehension.