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Youssef knew that the kids loved to post pictures of him, looking … well, like he always looked. Unhappy? Grumpy? Pissed-off with the world and all its workings. Call it what you like – he couldn’t help it. That was just his natural expression. Well, it had been, for as long as he could remember.
He didn’t have many photos of himself as a child – his parents had been rural folk; few people had cameras or mobile phones, and there had been nowhere in his village to process photographs. But in one of the few photos he did have, the little boy that looked back at him wore a big beaming smile on his face.
Where was that little boy, now? When had he forgotten how to smile? It was physically possible for him to do it - there was the proof. But somewhere along the way, he’d just lost the urge, and now his facial muscles seemed to naturally resist the impulse.
~~
When he was about seven years old, a dog belonging to one of his Christian classmates had given birth to a litter of ten puppies, and he had been promised one of them. She was the smallest of the litter, with one ear permanently cocked, while the other flopped over one eye, giving her a quizzical look, and he’d fallen hopelessly in love with her at first sight.
He’d been so excited, thinking about it … the day when she would be old enough to bring home with him. He’d spent hours imagining the games and adventures they would have together. His parents, while not well off, never denied him anything they could afford, so it didn’t occur to him that they would forbid him to keep her.
So he walked proudly through the door, with Aisha - the name he’d already given the puppy – and said “Look!”
His am’ma sighed, and shook her head slightly, and as for his father ...
“Get that filthy animal out of here, right away!”
“But Baba, she’s not filthy – look at her!”
“Who told you, you could bring that home? Take it back!”
“But I will look after her, Baba.” Youssef felt his lip begin to tremble, and he hated that his voice came out so thin and whiny. “I will earn money to feed her, and take her to the animal clinic, you won’t … you won’t have to …”
The look on his father’s face brought him to a faltering halt.
“I will not have one of those creatures in the house. That is the last word on it.”
“But why, Baba?”
“Don’t give me any ‘whys’ or ‘buts’. Take it back to wherever it came from.”
Youssef hung his head. “I’ll take her back tomorrow, Baba.”
Surely Aisha would be able to charm baba overnight …
His father drew himself up to his full height. “You will take it back tonight, Youssef, or I will throw it out of the house myself. Is that what you want?”
Youssef swallowed, and shook his head. He didn’t meet his father’s angry gaze. “No, Sir.” He quickly gathered up the puppy in his arms, and ran out of the house, his eyes blinded with angry tears.
Why was baba being so cruel? Youssef felt like running away from home – just him and Aisha. But he was only seven years old. Where could he go? How would he live?
Why was his father so mean?
It was so unfair.
He went the long way back to his friend’s house, holding Aisha close, and making her fur all wet, as she, in sympathy and confusion, whimpered pitifully.
Youssef’s friend soon found a new home for Aisha, and sometimes Youssef would see her playing with her new owner. He tried to be happy for her, but he found it very hard. At least she seemed well cared for. He knew that was all that should matter to him, and slowly, with time, the pain grew less.
But his trust in his father was shattered. He couldn’t even bring himself to smile at baba for weeks after that, and when he did, he had to force himself. Youssef knew, now, that baba didn’t care at all about what he wanted.
Well, that was fine. He didn’t care about what baba wanted any more, either.
~~
Holding hands was one thing Youssef missed deeply as an adult, living in this cold, sterile western society. By the time he was thirteen, he’d held hands with other boys of his own age many times. It was a totally normal part of life in arab society, for boys, and indeed men, to hold hands with people they regarded as friends. But deep down, he’d always known that it meant more to him than it did to the boy whose hand he held, whoever he might be.
Until one day, in his innocence, he had made friends with a darker-skinned boy, a Nubian, and when their hands met, especially that first time that Hammid had put his hand in his, Youssef had felt an un-looked for spark between them. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither could look away. He knew that Hammid felt the way he did – a bone-deep connection. They became inseparable, and Youssef made no effort to hide their friendship. Why should he?
Then, one day, he went home to find his am'ma waiting stony-faced at the door.
“Is it true?” she demanded.
Youssef frowned slightly. He couldn’t recall having done anything wrong. His sleeping area was tidy. His teachers had no complaints against him, that he knew of.
“Is what true, Am’ma?”
“You know very well.”
Youssef shook his head. His mother was clearly very angry, and it was so unlike her that he could feel tears coming to the corner of his eyes.
“Who is that boy you have been seen holding hands with? That …” she breathed in sharply through her nose. “That black boy?”
Youssef flinched. “His name is ‘Hammid’, Am'ma.”
“Well, you are not to have anything more to do with him, do you understand?”
Youssef’s mouth twisted into an unhappy shape, and he blinked hard. “But why, Am’ma?”
“I will not have you seen with those low people.”
Youssef felt his heart break a little, but his misery was mingled with outrage. “But why, Am’ma? He is Muslim, just like us.”
“I don’t care. If I hear you have been seen with him, you will be in trouble. Do you understand?”
Youssef didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded his head, and kept looking at the floor. He understood that the world was unjust, and would deny him anything he wanted.
“Now go and do your homework.”
~~
When Youssef told Hammid what his mother had said, Hammid looked as upset as Youssef felt. He grasped Youssef’s hand, and begged him not to end their friendship, and Youssef had felt his heart swell with love for his friend. He couldn't give him up.
So after school, they would leave separately, and meet up again in another part of town, and walk together, and buy sherbert to share, in shady back streets. One day, Hammid moved in closer to him than ever before, and kissed him, and Youssef wanted the moment to last forever.
They say it takes a village to repress a child.
A few days later, he came home to find am’ma waiting for him, with a blank look on her face. “Do you know what our family name means, Youssef?”
He shook his head. “What does it mean, Am’ma?”
“It means ‘The one who distinguishes between right and wrong.’ And you are not worthy of that name, Boy. How dare you defy me?”
“I didn’t, Am’ma.”
She caught him a stinging slap across the face. “Don’t lie to me! My friend Fatima saw you with that boy. Doing something I can’t even bring myself to speak about. If your father knew -”
“Please don’t tell him, Am’ma!”
She nodded her head. “So, as I thought, you knew you were doing wrong, filthy things. Well, you won’t see this boy again, he is a bad influence.”
“But he’s in my class, Am’ma.”
“Not any more. I am going to stay at my sister’s house, and I am taking you with me. And when I come home, you will stay there, where you won’t be able to get into any more trouble.”
~~
This was how he had learned a hard lesson.
Never let anyone know that you want something.
The more you want it, the greater the importance of keeping it a closely hidden secret.
If you don’t, they’ll stop you getting it; if you get it, they’ll take it away, and then they’ll take away even your hope of ever having it.
Better to never expect or want anything at all.
~~
Perhaps that was why he had turned to science. Maybe he was searching for the reason why the world was … like this. Full of prohibitions and lost chances.
Or maybe it was because chemicals and calculations didn’t judge anyone by the colour of their skin, or by who they loved. Add an acid to an alkali and, whoever you were – whatever race, sex or preferences - you got salt and water.
But chemical reactions in a test tube hadn’t given him the answers he craved, and calculations hadn’t made him happy.
~~
It was economics – not cupid - which had decided the head of the school to send chaperones of the same sex on the Paris trip. A male and a female teacher would have had to be given a room each, so it made a kind of sense.
But Youssef Farouk was having a hard time understanding why a girl who was clearly very drunk, along with her almost equally afflicted friends, would choose to run through the corridors of a strange hotel in order to vomit on their male teacher’s eiderdown, instead of puking in the nearest toilet, as any reasonable teenage miscreant would, and then keeping very quiet about the whole sorry business.
He might even have been inclined to report the lot of them for their sheer stupidity, were it not for the fact that their lack of good sense had given Nathan Ajayi the perfect excuse.
~~
“I mean, you could just share my bed. No, sorry, stupid idea. Look, Youssef -”
Though Youssef’s throat felt as dry as the Sahara, he somehow managed to mutter, “No. I don't think it's a stupid idea.”
He turned away, suddenly gripped by a nameless, amorphous, and incomprehensible terror. He felt his heart pounding as if it would leap out of his chest. He was going to share Nathan Ajayi’s bed. But what did it really mean? What was expected of him?
Did Nathan mean, ‘share my bed’, or “share my bed, and everything it contains’? Youssef was almost sure he meant the latter, but then, Nathan made everything he said sound like flirting.
What if he didn’t mean that at all?
While Nathan was brushing his teeth, Youssef quickly rummaged through his case, and found a clean tee-shirt and boxer shorts, and when Nathan came out, Youssef took a shower, then got dry, and put them on.
He made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror, and saw a boring, grumpy and inexperienced fool, with a weird arrangement of facial hair, looking back at him. Why on earth would someone like Nathan – out, proud and in possession of eyelashes that could cut right to your heart - want to sleep with him?
He must have been mistaken. It was just Nathan’s habitual manner that had given him hope, but now, in the cold, tiled hotel bathroom, he realised the truth. He’d got his hopes up for nothing. He sighed, and returned to the bedroom, fully prepared to share the bed, half the bed, and nothing but the bed.
Nathan was lying back on the pillows – on the side near the window – reading, ‘Brideshead Revisited’, and shaking his head.
Youssef cleared his throat. “Your book no good?”
Nathan looked up. “Have you read it?”
“No.”
“Don’t bother.” Nathan plonked the volume down on the bedside table. “You spend the first half expecting these guys to get together, but they never do, then one of them goes and marries the other one’s sister! It’s outrageous!” Nathan threw back the covers. “Don’t just stand there – get in! I promise I won’t bite … unless you want me to.”
Youssef gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t know … I mean - I haven't -”
Nathan smiled. “Don’t worry about anything. Just come here to me.” He held out his hand.
Youssef took a deep breath. He sat down on the bed and took Nathan’s hand. Nathan leaned towards him, and their lips met.
~~
Nathan liked a snuggle in the morning, so when he woke to find himself alone, he felt a pang of disappointment. But he didn’t worry about it.
Until Youssef came out of the bathroom, fully dressed. Glancing across at him, Youssef cleared his throat. “Erm … I’m sorry about last night. You must think me a complete idiot.”
Nathan shook his head. “Not at all – why would you think that? It was your first -”
“My first and last, I think.”
Nathan blinked. “But -”
Youssef picked up his suitcase, which had been waiting, already packed, out of Nathan’s line of sight.
“I’ll see you at breakfast.” And Youssef abruptly left the room.
Nathan sighed.
~~
Youssef was sure he had made a complete fool of himself. What must Nathan think of him? A grown man, crying … He hadn’t been able to help himself. Nathan had been so kind and patient, and he, Youssef, had been a clumsy, nervous, emotional fool. If only he drank alcohol. Then he could have pretended this was a drunken mistake … But the feel of Nathan’s lashes against his cheek …
But it wasn’t a mistake. This was what he’d been waiting for, since … since Hammid. And he was so afraid of something going horribly wrong, again, that the idea of everything working out well was just inconceivable.
~~
Youssef pushed open the doors, and was immediately assaulted by the racket that passed for modern music, and the smell of teenage sweat, cheap aftershave, and … was that poppers? He shrugged, and approached Nathan Ajayi. Better get this embarrassing situation over with.
He cleared his throat. “Nathan.”
“Youssef … You came!”
Nathan looked … happy to see him?
“You said you needed more chaperones,” Youssef said warily.
“You know, that ... that night in Paris ...”
Youssef knew what was coming – better to get in first. “Pretty stupid thing for us to do.”
Was that disappointment on Nathan’s face?
“Well ... I was gonna suggest dinner and drinks next time?”
Youssef felt his eyes widen; his heart leap. “Next time?”
~~
Youssef smiled – he couldn’t help himself. “You know, it can be good when the universe keeps telling you ‘No!’ all the time.”
Nathan wrinkled his nose. “How so?”
Youssef swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Because when it says, ‘Yes’, it’s wonderful!”
~~