07-11-2025, 12:58 PM
Bund
Tack... Pause. Tack... Pause. Tack...
I was wide awake. A quick but quiet hand movement and the alarm clock was switched off. How I loved it... a marvel of technology. Thank you, Mom. Not one of those electric ones that everyone had, with horrible beeping sounds that spoiled your day before it even started. Brass and glass, with two shiny bells on top and a clapper in between. Every evening, you had to wind it up noisily. It almost never went wrong, ticking very precisely. But the best thing about it was that the bells were almost never used. The alarm clock started with a soft tic, one per second, with the clapper always stopping just before the bell. If that didn't work after 12 times, it continued in the same rhythm, only up to the bells: tack became clong. A nice, deep tone, but it rarely came to that. If that wasn't enough either, the rattling started. But it only came to that on vacation, when I wanted to listen to that sound. Somehow, this daily repetitive sequence of sounds had quickly programmed me: the first tap was enough to wake me up. There's no point in sleeping when the rattling is about to start. And there is no gentler way to be woken up than with a soft tap. Except for a kiss, maybe. But who has that...
Actually, I didn't need an alarm clock here. In a quarter of an hour the rumbling would start, and the running and the clattering with locker doors, and anyway you can't go on sleeping when the one in the bunk bed above shimmies down sleepily and still steps into my bed. But I like to be the first in the bathroom. No crowds, no rush and no stupid comments about my pot belly. Oh yes, I forgot to introduce myself: Helmut, 21 years old and in the army. 1 meter 90, and an impressive 105 kilos. And it would keep getting more: I like food, and unfortunately it is well evaluated. But even a few years ago, when my weight didn't cause every doctor to give well-meaning advice, I already had a pronounced pot belly. What was that called? “Pyknic”? Well, these body types are actually from the field of psychiatry, but if you're lucky enough to call your body ‘athletic’, you probably don't care. What was scary was that when I was bent over (e.g. over the sink), you could almost make out something resembling female breasts. Don't let anyone see it. But somehow I always had a little more fat than the others, even when my weight was not yet alarming. When I bowed my head, I had a double chin, which unfortunately my classmates soon figured out. And you're not supposed to hang your head...
Okay, I'm no beauty. And somehow I hate the stories on the internet where handsome guys meet handsome guys, come out bravely, have understanding parents and friends, and everyone eats pancakes. (Without gaining weight!) Okay, so sometimes there's a big fight, but afterwards it's all clear and everyone is happy. But on the other hand: the internet has helped me a lot to believe in myself. It's funny: on the one hand, people are so fundamentally different, no two are the same, and you wouldn't believe all the things. And on the other hand, you find out that you are not alone with your interests that others consider weird (boys, bondage, diapers, tickling, and a few more). There are forums where people talk openly about everything. And at least sometimes in such a way that you can enjoy it: not hurtful, not boastful, not professional. It's strange that a few situations like that are stimulating for many people. And also when it comes to clothes: who doesn't find everything cool about dungarees. But dungarees and belly don't go together. Dungarees are for the pretty, slim boys from the internet. Well, thank God there are hoods too. Anything with a hood is twice as nice. If there were underpants with a hood...
Oh, to be clear... I don't live out all of this. When I was 15, I often wrapped myself in the duvet and tied the strap of the bathrobe around it. That was my bondage. I've had the opportunity to use a diaper twice, and tickling: who would want to tickle me? Or who would want to tickle me? Not to mention boys. Oh yes, I haven't said that yet, in case you haven't noticed: I'm... I'm not at all. It's not that easy for me to say that. Others even find it a nice word, but me? Well, to be honest: I'm more interested in boys than girls. But not alone. Every now and then a pretty girl crosses my path. But strangely enough, I always find the girls pretty who aren't really anyone's dream. Small, delicate creatures who have something of a prepubescent boy about them. A hint of a chest, but it doesn't have to be, a crew cut, boy clothes, in short: girls who might have preferred to be boys. Yes, I am now... I'm not. Only if you've done it. I haven't. I won't.
Done. It was nice: long showers, no one pushing you, no one watching. Towards the end there was someone there, but he was struggling with his stubble, which took up all his attention. Thankfully, I only need it every other day. Back in the room. Two-way traffic. Ha, the room was almost empty. Second advantage of a good, quiet alarm clock. Only Den was lying on the bed reading. Reading in bed in the morning while on duty. “Crazy guy.” I don't see it that way. I've done it a few times myself. During basic military training, it was enough to persuade my dear roommates to empty my locker into the yard once. I'll just say: budgie and sparrows. (For those who know Gerhard Schöne; otherwise, search for “Fünf Soldaten auf der Bude” on Google. Great song.) Well, I'm not a troublemaker, I didn't complain, but on the other hand I'm tall, heavy, and probably rather strong, so it worked out in the end. And he had nothing to fear here: I was big, heavy,... And the others had already realized that there were two of us here who occasionally read in bed. Two are more than one. Besides, they weren't as stupid as those in basic military service.
His name was actually Dennis. But everyone called him Den. I'll write that here in small capitals, because otherwise you can hardly read the text. He only read for five minutes at a time. Today he had probably dawdled a bit before he started. I also knew what he was reading: the Bible. A psalm every morning. Well, now it's getting even crazier. Not only reading in bed in the morning when you're in the army, but then also the Bible. But again, objection: I've already read that too. Yes, really, from cover to cover. At school, I was in a Bible study group with deeply religious, somewhat fundamentalist Christians. Well, it's clear why: they were nice and handsome guys. There were a few girls too, but I had a crush on one boy in particular. And if he had gone bungee jumping, I would have become a bungee jumper. But as you can see, beautiful people do beautiful things. It was not a mistake to join the circle. I did not become deeply religious (at least I do not go to church every Sunday), but I got to know a great book. The favorite book of Bertolt Brecht. Really. (I'm becoming a poet...) However, I've read it once, so why should I read it again? He, on the other hand, read a psalm every morning. Okay, if it meant something to him.
And with that he was already out to shower. He had to hurry a little now. But basically he had the same advantage as me: empty showers, only not as the first, but as the last. He didn't have to shy away from any looks. He was handsome. Maybe 1 meter 75, slim to almost scrawny, athletic, if not strong, ash blonde, snub nose, three or four freckles. Gray-blue eyes, with a totally loving look, and such a friendly smile. Well, hopefully he wasn't a bungee jumper, because I was a bit nervous about that. Maybe he was shy in front of other people: after a few months without their girls, the glances of some heterosexuals increasingly strayed to handsome boys. Even if no one would have admitted it. But I know what I see.
Breakfast. I was the first to arrive. Great alarm clock. Well, the choice of food wasn't really worth getting up early for. But I could choose the table and that's important: after all, I wanted to see something without being seen myself. And there was a good place. Otherwise, it was a boring and wordless experience, also in terms of the food. But with a good seat, you at least had nice views. Because there were a few pretty boys, even if not many. By the way, he wasn't there, I mean, since he was the last to shower, he was also the last to come to breakfast, just when I left. No, just sitting around to watch, well, I didn't want to arouse suspicion right away.
Getting ready for the start of duty. Blue uniform: desk. We were lucky: not with the tank drivers, but behind a desk. I hadn't seen that yet, because in the first week we had only been shooed around, briefings here, briefings there, class rooms, clothing store, and often waiting around pointlessly, pleasantly lined up in formation. They mistake it for discipline. It's mindless bullying. Today we would be assigned to our departments. I quickly figured out how to wear the tie. I can't understand how some people struggle with it for minutes. You learn it once, do it three times, and then you know how, right? I went outside, in front of the barracks, where we would have to line up. I love fresh air. It's a shame that Den wasn't there yet. He would be among the last again. But never late, he had that down pat.
Line up, some kind of speech, assignment. I hadn't paid much attention, just where I was supposed to go, I got that. Barrack F, I knew where that was, and now I was supposed to go there on my own. That they trusted me to do that... There was still some time to spare, so I could have gone back to the hut, but you know me: better too early than too late. So once again I was the first at the hut, and was greeted... by a nice colonel with a handshake. I wonder if he does that on purpose, secretly making video recordings of the jaws dropping? Well, he was unlucky with me: my self-confidence is not low, so I was a little surprised, but it wasn't enough for a lockjaw. He introduced himself in a friendly manner and then referred me to a lieutenant, who greeted me just as warmly and took me to my future workplace.
A bleak room with dried-up flowers (but at least!), three desks, and lots of clutter. The lieutenant explained to me that one of the desks was his own, but that he was often not there, so we had to do everything ourselves. However, he would try to be there for the first two weeks (wow, they're going out of their way for us), mostly until we knew what it was all about. He assigned me my desk and left. Now, my first task was clear even though he hadn't said anything: the desk was dirty, and the little stuff lying on it was so optimally distributed as to make it unusable for further work. So I started cleaning up without looking at anything in detail. Nothing in the file shelves, who knows why that was lying around out here, but a little stacking couldn't hurt, and then a damp cloth (there was also a sink in the room), and I really cleaned the desk.
Then the friendly lieutenant brought my work colleague for the next six months. Yippie... Den. I didn't know what was happening to me. Thank God no video camera was pointed at me this time, because they certainly didn't expect me to drop my jaw. But nobody saw it, except maybe Den, and he was happy too, I saw that. The lieutenant gave my newly polished desk an appreciative smile, and then he pulled it out again. Who knows what he needed it for.
My desk was tidy, so there was nothing more to do. Or what could I do that was useful? Try the phone: Wow, even an outside line (with a zero). They had confidence in me. Or itemized billing. Clean the windowsill? Nah, I don't feel like it, not today. I'd have to spruce up the flowers too, but I can't do everything on the first day. Shelves? First of all, I had to get an introduction to the organization system (ha ha) they had here. Ah... Dennis' desk was just as messy as mine. Would he mind? Certainly not. Or would he notice that I liked him? He should. Is the lieutenant worrying? I want him to think that I was bored. I was, after all. So I had to act quickly before they came back. And I can be efficient at tidying up. Besides, I no longer had any qualms about stacking the files: if that had been wrong, the lieutenant would have said something. And in no time at all (well, three times), Den's desk was just as tidy as mine. I quickly sat down on his chair. Oh dear, it was a wobbly chair. Mine was much better. Swap? No danger: He hadn't sat on his chair yet, and the lieutenant certainly didn't know exactly which chair wobbled and which didn't. No sooner said than done. (Hadn't I just said, “He should realize that I like him?” Yes, but he shouldn't realize it that much. I don't want to scare him.)
Whistle inconspicuously and look at the ceiling... No, that won't work. I'm sure whistling is forbidden here. And besides, that's inconspicuous. So it's the windowsill after all. Do it slowly, then you'll turn your back on them when they come in again. And indeed, footsteps in the hallway, don't look, the door opens, and... Pladeradatsch. Startled, I turned around. There was Den on the floor, on a mountain of files that he had probably carried, and behind him stood a perplexed lieutenant, who started laughing heartily, and then Den and I had to laugh too. That stupid threshold at the door, sure, when you're carrying a mountain of files, you don't see it. He had tripped over it (he was carrying a lot of files), and then we all helped him pick it up. The files were randomly placed on the two free desks, and shortly afterwards they looked worse than before. Do I need to mention that the files were terribly dusty and that the dusting had been in vain?
But by the end of the morning, everything looked better. The files had been dusted and put back on the shelves, the lieutenant had explained to us which system was used (yes, there was one), and the desks were free and clean again. In the afternoon, we would be told what this job was about. Well, I had already gathered that much: somehow it had something to do with procurement. We all went to lunch together (the colonel, a few lieutenants, and eight corporals), well, at least to the canteen. Then the colonel and the lieutenants went to the officers' section, and we to the section for the lower orders. The lunch wasn't too bad. I often have the suspicion that those who complained the most about the food were the ones who got the worst food at home. Of course, when you cook the same thing for everyone, it tastes better or worse sometimes. For example, I don't like peas. They're awful. Almost an obsession. But others like them, most people do, and that's what they have to go by. It's really strange how different people can be... oh well, we've already been over that.
During the meal, our troop was in high spirits. Nobody complained about the food. Everyone was happy about these nice bosses. Well, and that was the case with me, too. With lively conversation about our new jobs, time flew by, and soon we were sitting in the room again. The lieutenant explained to us what the files were all about. Procurement, yes, but not directly. We would control the procurement, and not only of our barracks, but of the whole regiment. He showed us what the forms looked like and how to read them. And then you became something of a detective: does it sound plausible? Or does something smell fishy? Too much for this unit? Yes, how much did they have last year? And how much did a comparable other unit order? Too expensive? Price research on the Internet. Oh yes, I had forgotten: there was a computer workstation in the room. But it was more for the lieutenant, and anyway: it sounded quite nice with the detective, but that's what he was. We were file sorters, file movers, file dusters... Well, now and then we would help him with a search. (It certainly depended on how we approached it: once he realized that we weren't stupid, it would certainly become more.)
Every now and then he had to go to the colonel, but we already had a bit of an overview, so we were able to continue cleaning up. The day was not boring, not stressful, friendly, and (thanks to Den's constant presence) also stimulating... At some point, duty was over. So I wasn't exactly sad; love doesn't go that far, but I hadn't been longing for it either. I wouldn't exactly love serving in the military, but if it goes on like this, I wouldn't be ungrateful. We went back to the barracks. Since Den and I worked in the same room and slept in the same room, it was only natural that we left together. The others were either already gone, had to go to another barracks, or whatever, so we were soon alone.
“By the way, thanks for cleaning up my desk...“ Oops.
”...well, unfortunately it was in vain, due to my stupidity, but it was nice. Thanks.”
Was he lying on the floor, admiring the beauty of his desk? Oh, I see, he must have done that when we were storing the files on it. And before that, during the 10 seconds in the room, he must have noticed how dirty his desk still was. Good observer. Great for being a detective.
"Gladly. I was just bored.”
A mischievous smile flitted across his face, I saw it out of the corner of my eye. But he didn't elaborate.
"Are you going to the canteen for a beer after dinner?”
Den hadn't been in the canteen much during the first week. I, on the other hand, had been there every evening. Not with others, mostly alone, and that was a good thing, because then you could supposedly brood in front of your beer and still had the opportunity to observe people. It's better than television, it's real. If Den asked me now, it was certainly because we had completed our first day of work together.
“Sure. Gladly. I'm almost always there.“
”Okay, see you later, I have to go out again.” And he disappeared into the canteen barracks, which was on our way. We still had half an hour until dinner, so it was too early to eat, but there was also a small shop, a post office, and telephone booths in the barracks.
In the barracks, a few of them were actually hanging in front of the telly. For half an hour. I can't understand it. I wrote a postcard to an aunt who had a birthday, I'd wanted to do that anyway. Then I went to eat. He wasn't there yet and only came when I was almost finished. Since there was no space at my table, he sat down somewhere else. When I had finished, I called to him, “See you later,” and went out for some fresh air. It was a calm, mild autumn day, not sunny, but pleasant. It was a bit windy, but I like that. I went for a little walk: there was a sand pit on the barracks grounds that was probably no longer in use, and which we would certainly get to know better for occasional hazing (if my experiences from basic military service did not deceive me). I had already walked around there last week, in the rain. Fresh air fanatic. Now it was much nicer. A few pine trees coped well with the sandy soil, and every now and then a rabbit dared to come so close to armed people. Ha, an apple tree, I hadn't seen that recently. Small, shriveled apples, but edible (proof: I'm alive). That was probably a wild sowing. Otherwise rather boring, most of it flattened, but still some green, because that will prevail.
So, and there I was again between the barracks, and went to the canteen. There was already a lot going on, but there was also a lot of space, and since Den was not there yet, I could choose the table. You know my criteria. In the evening in the canteen, however, there is also: far away from the loudspeaker. It's not turned up disco-style (which some people probably regret), but for me it was still rather too loud. Quieter is better.
“Nice to see you. Have you ordered yet?”
“Nah, order me a wheat beer.”
Den was back at the counter again, and then came back to our table. In a few minutes, the keeper would call us, and then we could get it. He was a very polite person. “Nice to see you.” That could have been a mere courtesy formula. But he had smiled really nicely when he said it. Well, he always did that. But somehow I believed him. He was happy to see me. Nice to meet you.
"Lucky you.”
“Really."
Sure, we were back to our topic of the day: acceptable job, great bosses. We had already had lunch, but now there was even more material to go over. We had also gotten to know the other lieutenants a bit. We soon agreed that we were lucky: maybe not the best, but one of the best. With a great sense of humor.
“The way he laughed when you were on the floor... well, I was pretty scared.“
”Well, maybe he does it on purpose. He knows the threshold, and every newcomer has to go through it.“
”You don't mean that. Come on, he's so nice. He wouldn't do that.”
“Nah, I'm just kidding. But he's just bright. He immediately saw that my jaw didn't fall because it was off, but only from shock."
And so it went on. A relaxed, friendly tone. I didn't know how good that was for me. Fat students have a hard time. Fat apprentices too. I had never had a really good friend. And I was never in a clique either. Okay, there was the Bible study group, but they were all a bit too serious. I hadn't had a nice, relaxed conversation like that in at least two years, and certainly not with a really cute boy.
"Carpenter, nice job. But you don't want to study?”
Yes, I did. But my parents were poor and had insisted that I first “learn a proper trade” before I... studied philosophy. They were certainly right. And the two years didn't matter to me. Now, however, I was a little older than the rest of my comrades in the army, but somehow I always looked a little younger, so it worked out quite well. Like I said: shaving every other day is still enough.
“And you? What are you doing after the military service?“
”Theology...“
Wow. And the way he said it. Just like business administration. And he didn't even look up to see if I was surprised. I was. Well, I tried my best not to show it.
”...for a degree. I want to become a priest.”
But... he didn't have to join the army. I told him that. (Stupid. He would know that already. But I was just so surprised.)
"Yes, but I don't want any advantage. And besides, I still have some time. I'm not so sure about it.”
Okay, I could understand that. It's not just any degree program. Celibacy and all. But I had pulled myself together and no longer blurted out.
“It's not an easy decision. Responsibility... a lot. It can be pretty intense. I don't know if that wouldn't put me off.”
“Celibacy is not a problem...”
Could he read minds?
“... I'm not into girls.”....
(not even ‘Wow’, not even in his thoughts... just silence... and emptiness)
... slowly my brain started to work again. Why had he said that so casually? Did he have so much trust? Because I read books in bed? Because I wanted to study philosophy? He definitely didn't sound like he had any ulterior motives. I didn't say anything for the time being, just tried to look as friendly and at ease as possible. Just the good guy you can tell stuff like that to.
“With boys, yes, but I don't do it.“
Of course, that wouldn't be so compatible with celibacy.
”I know, it's a classic cliché: gay priests. But I'm not gay. I don't do it.”
That's how I saw it too. I'm not either... well, I still have trouble with the word. I'd have to get out of the habit. If he could say it so easily, and to a stranger, no less...
“And... when someone says: Still, it's shit, priests should rather be chaste heterosexuals...” and now he looked straight at me, and you could see that his eyes sparkled (if that's possible), ”... that makes me furious. Yes, but can I help it what I like? That's how God made me, and that's how he wants me. Homosexuals are valuable people, and a chaste homosexual can become a damn good priest.”
I didn't know if his superiors would see it that way. I was much more relaxed again. The element of surprise was gone. (Well, I'm a quick study
But that doesn't mean I knew what to say to him. It took me a while to say,
“Thank you...”
Now it was his turn to be surprised.
“...for so much trust."
I see. He was really in the swing of things and had only just come to a stop, and not yet ready for a sequel, but with his eyes he said, ‘Sure.’ No, it wasn't clear. Maybe for him, but not for me. I mean, that he was into boys, okay, and also that he wasn't, somehow it seemed familiar to me. But that he told me that, I hadn't yet digested. Had he told that to many others so easily? No, he didn't look like an offensive gay. He wore no sticker and nothing.
I told him my concerns about his future superiors. He had already thought about that:
“It starts even before that, during your studies. They want to know where they stand. But I'm under no obligation to disclose my sexual orientation. After all, I'm not even sure what I want myself. Every now and then I like a girl. What I do, yes, but what I like is my business.”
Man, we were on the same wavelength. He also liked a girl now and then, and his resolution not to do it... well, I hadn't made that resolution as strong, but at least I could live with the idea of never doing it. Only his career aspiration was different...
Being brave when coming out? I don't know. Sure, standing in front of the class and shouting, “I'm gay” (Ha, now I've said it), or wearing a sticker that's unmistakable when you're in the military, that would be brave. But I've often told people in private. There are people I know won't repeat it. I've never had a “good friend you can tell everything to”, but I have done so from time to time in a trusted environment with a trustworthy person... I wouldn't tell my parents, no way. My father once said something about it being hereditary. Was he trying to tell me something? Had he noticed something? Otherwise, he was quite negative, so I tend to assume that he hadn't noticed anything, and that sentence didn't mean anything. And that it had to be wrong, at least as far as our family was concerned. So telling Den, “Hey, me too...” would have been no problem now... But right after his confession?
“Hey, me too... I mean, it's all exactly the same. More likely guys, but I don't do it."
There it was. But that's how I usually felt. Sometimes I suspected that it came too easily for me and that I had to be careful who I told. But so far I hadn't experienced any failures. And I certainly wouldn't experience one with Den.
“Maybe if I find one, and if I like her, who knows, maybe I'll get married. Have kids... that would be nice. But who knows...”
That wasn't a long-held dream, that was just how he felt. And it was quite illusory too. As I said, pot-bellied. “But not for me”... that's how a line goes in a Gershwin song. (Google: “They're writing songs of love”).
He looked at me. Scrutingly, it seemed to me. I didn't look back directly. He took his glass and raised it in a toast to me. I drank a toast with him. That probably meant, okay, I believe you, you're not making fun of me. And he must have been pleased, too, that we had such similar views. Just as I was pleased.
"I like you.”
Me? With a pot belly? Unsporty, as I was? Or had he sensed that I was missing something like that? Was it sympathy out of pity? I'm just a pretty big doubter, and not without reason. I've had my experiences with how often I'm liked. Almost never. It all seemed so unlikely... so I blurted out:
“Why?“
”You have clever eyes. And you can listen. I think you're a very nice person."
I didn't blush. I rarely do that, and I can't even say when it happens and when it doesn't. Most of the time I don't blush, only my heart beats fast when I'm the center of attention or something. So it was now. Did he hear that? That was nice, sweet news. Someone had found something good about me. And honestly... he wasn't entirely wrong. If there was one thing I liked in the mirror, it was my eyes.
"Thank you.”
With a shy smile, at least that's how it seemed to me. If you can judge from the inside what a smile looks like. I don't know myself as being that shy. But then again, you don't get told things like that very often. And then it slipped out of my mouth: I wasn't looking at him (I lacked the courage to do so), but only half in his direction, and I started babbling.
“I've had a crush on you since day one. You look good and you're smart. You read, and you're friendly. I'm so glad you're in my room. And now in the office too...“ I was able to look at him gradually... ‘I wish we could be friends.’
”We already are. Have you swapped chairs?”
What? How would he know that? I looked guilty.
“I thought so. One of them has a crack in the backrest, and it was mine in the morning. And later it was yours. I didn't know what it meant until I sat on your chair.”
Well done. The detective. The lieutenant would be very pleased with him. I asked:
“Do you know Chesterton?“
”...Oh, Father Brown? He's my kind of guy."
He laughed heartily at my association. And we were back in safer waters. It was ingenious how he had turned the corner. His question about the chairs came so abruptly after all our mutual confessions, somehow a harmless topic, and yet related, and from then on we had said everything to each other without falling into an embarrassing wait for a reaction. If he was always so good with people, then he would surely do well in his job.
We soon got through the crime novels that we both read (because he didn't just read the Bible!), our hobbies (no, not the one mentioned above; I don't know if that ever came up), clothes and music. We were excited and rattled off all the easy topics that came to mind. Just nothing difficult that evening, there was already enough going on. We each had two beers and didn't want a third. We paid and made our way to the accommodation. No holding hands (that would have been a little dangerous, someone might have seen), but not even “accidental jostling” when paying or something like that, nothing except maybe a rather small distance when walking together, just so that you occasionally touched. And even on the footpath, only light muse, except just before entering the barrack (and he had already looked around to make sure that no one was within earshot):
"Well, I wouldn't say I had a crush. But I'm really glad I know you.”
He would have to get out of the habit of speaking like that if he wanted to end up in the pulpit. But it sounded genuine, and he looked it, too. He was beaming from ear to ear. Then he turned to the building and practically hopped up the stairs like a little kid who had been given a present.
I stood still for a moment and then followed him at a more leisurely pace. I felt great too. He was in the booth, so I went to the TV room. If two guys with beaming faces come into the booth one after the other, it could arouse suspicion. A movie was playing, but I have no idea what it was about. I looked at the screen, but only saw him. If the screen had had any shred of decency, it would have smiled back at me, just as I was smiling at it. Fifteen minutes later, I went into the booth. Normal hustle and bustle, except for the fact that someone was lying in bed reading. Then there were two of them: I picked up my English crime novel (I love English crime novels in the original language) and immersed myself in it. Well, what it means to immerse myself in a book when there are a thousand Ds on each page. I would have to start again tomorrow where I left off yesterday. I was already in my pajamas, so I just put the book down, turned on my back, and studied the underside of the upper mattress, which was discreetly decorated with Ds. Gradually, the others were also in bed. He had fallen asleep with his book in his hand. It wasn't the Bible, but an adventure novel that he had also read yesterday. Someone turned off the light, but it didn't get dark for me. A mattress underside can shine quite a bit. But eventually my eyes closed too, and I slept deeply and soundl
Tack... Pause. Tack... Pause. Tack...
I was wide awake. A quick but quiet hand movement and the alarm clock was switched off. How I loved it... a marvel of technology. Thank you, Mom. Not one of those electric ones that everyone had, with horrible beeping sounds that spoiled your day before it even started. Brass and glass, with two shiny bells on top and a clapper in between. Every evening, you had to wind it up noisily. It almost never went wrong, ticking very precisely. But the best thing about it was that the bells were almost never used. The alarm clock started with a soft tic, one per second, with the clapper always stopping just before the bell. If that didn't work after 12 times, it continued in the same rhythm, only up to the bells: tack became clong. A nice, deep tone, but it rarely came to that. If that wasn't enough either, the rattling started. But it only came to that on vacation, when I wanted to listen to that sound. Somehow, this daily repetitive sequence of sounds had quickly programmed me: the first tap was enough to wake me up. There's no point in sleeping when the rattling is about to start. And there is no gentler way to be woken up than with a soft tap. Except for a kiss, maybe. But who has that...
Actually, I didn't need an alarm clock here. In a quarter of an hour the rumbling would start, and the running and the clattering with locker doors, and anyway you can't go on sleeping when the one in the bunk bed above shimmies down sleepily and still steps into my bed. But I like to be the first in the bathroom. No crowds, no rush and no stupid comments about my pot belly. Oh yes, I forgot to introduce myself: Helmut, 21 years old and in the army. 1 meter 90, and an impressive 105 kilos. And it would keep getting more: I like food, and unfortunately it is well evaluated. But even a few years ago, when my weight didn't cause every doctor to give well-meaning advice, I already had a pronounced pot belly. What was that called? “Pyknic”? Well, these body types are actually from the field of psychiatry, but if you're lucky enough to call your body ‘athletic’, you probably don't care. What was scary was that when I was bent over (e.g. over the sink), you could almost make out something resembling female breasts. Don't let anyone see it. But somehow I always had a little more fat than the others, even when my weight was not yet alarming. When I bowed my head, I had a double chin, which unfortunately my classmates soon figured out. And you're not supposed to hang your head...
Okay, I'm no beauty. And somehow I hate the stories on the internet where handsome guys meet handsome guys, come out bravely, have understanding parents and friends, and everyone eats pancakes. (Without gaining weight!) Okay, so sometimes there's a big fight, but afterwards it's all clear and everyone is happy. But on the other hand: the internet has helped me a lot to believe in myself. It's funny: on the one hand, people are so fundamentally different, no two are the same, and you wouldn't believe all the things. And on the other hand, you find out that you are not alone with your interests that others consider weird (boys, bondage, diapers, tickling, and a few more). There are forums where people talk openly about everything. And at least sometimes in such a way that you can enjoy it: not hurtful, not boastful, not professional. It's strange that a few situations like that are stimulating for many people. And also when it comes to clothes: who doesn't find everything cool about dungarees. But dungarees and belly don't go together. Dungarees are for the pretty, slim boys from the internet. Well, thank God there are hoods too. Anything with a hood is twice as nice. If there were underpants with a hood...
Oh, to be clear... I don't live out all of this. When I was 15, I often wrapped myself in the duvet and tied the strap of the bathrobe around it. That was my bondage. I've had the opportunity to use a diaper twice, and tickling: who would want to tickle me? Or who would want to tickle me? Not to mention boys. Oh yes, I haven't said that yet, in case you haven't noticed: I'm... I'm not at all. It's not that easy for me to say that. Others even find it a nice word, but me? Well, to be honest: I'm more interested in boys than girls. But not alone. Every now and then a pretty girl crosses my path. But strangely enough, I always find the girls pretty who aren't really anyone's dream. Small, delicate creatures who have something of a prepubescent boy about them. A hint of a chest, but it doesn't have to be, a crew cut, boy clothes, in short: girls who might have preferred to be boys. Yes, I am now... I'm not. Only if you've done it. I haven't. I won't.
Done. It was nice: long showers, no one pushing you, no one watching. Towards the end there was someone there, but he was struggling with his stubble, which took up all his attention. Thankfully, I only need it every other day. Back in the room. Two-way traffic. Ha, the room was almost empty. Second advantage of a good, quiet alarm clock. Only Den was lying on the bed reading. Reading in bed in the morning while on duty. “Crazy guy.” I don't see it that way. I've done it a few times myself. During basic military training, it was enough to persuade my dear roommates to empty my locker into the yard once. I'll just say: budgie and sparrows. (For those who know Gerhard Schöne; otherwise, search for “Fünf Soldaten auf der Bude” on Google. Great song.) Well, I'm not a troublemaker, I didn't complain, but on the other hand I'm tall, heavy, and probably rather strong, so it worked out in the end. And he had nothing to fear here: I was big, heavy,... And the others had already realized that there were two of us here who occasionally read in bed. Two are more than one. Besides, they weren't as stupid as those in basic military service.
His name was actually Dennis. But everyone called him Den. I'll write that here in small capitals, because otherwise you can hardly read the text. He only read for five minutes at a time. Today he had probably dawdled a bit before he started. I also knew what he was reading: the Bible. A psalm every morning. Well, now it's getting even crazier. Not only reading in bed in the morning when you're in the army, but then also the Bible. But again, objection: I've already read that too. Yes, really, from cover to cover. At school, I was in a Bible study group with deeply religious, somewhat fundamentalist Christians. Well, it's clear why: they were nice and handsome guys. There were a few girls too, but I had a crush on one boy in particular. And if he had gone bungee jumping, I would have become a bungee jumper. But as you can see, beautiful people do beautiful things. It was not a mistake to join the circle. I did not become deeply religious (at least I do not go to church every Sunday), but I got to know a great book. The favorite book of Bertolt Brecht. Really. (I'm becoming a poet...) However, I've read it once, so why should I read it again? He, on the other hand, read a psalm every morning. Okay, if it meant something to him.
And with that he was already out to shower. He had to hurry a little now. But basically he had the same advantage as me: empty showers, only not as the first, but as the last. He didn't have to shy away from any looks. He was handsome. Maybe 1 meter 75, slim to almost scrawny, athletic, if not strong, ash blonde, snub nose, three or four freckles. Gray-blue eyes, with a totally loving look, and such a friendly smile. Well, hopefully he wasn't a bungee jumper, because I was a bit nervous about that. Maybe he was shy in front of other people: after a few months without their girls, the glances of some heterosexuals increasingly strayed to handsome boys. Even if no one would have admitted it. But I know what I see.
Breakfast. I was the first to arrive. Great alarm clock. Well, the choice of food wasn't really worth getting up early for. But I could choose the table and that's important: after all, I wanted to see something without being seen myself. And there was a good place. Otherwise, it was a boring and wordless experience, also in terms of the food. But with a good seat, you at least had nice views. Because there were a few pretty boys, even if not many. By the way, he wasn't there, I mean, since he was the last to shower, he was also the last to come to breakfast, just when I left. No, just sitting around to watch, well, I didn't want to arouse suspicion right away.
Getting ready for the start of duty. Blue uniform: desk. We were lucky: not with the tank drivers, but behind a desk. I hadn't seen that yet, because in the first week we had only been shooed around, briefings here, briefings there, class rooms, clothing store, and often waiting around pointlessly, pleasantly lined up in formation. They mistake it for discipline. It's mindless bullying. Today we would be assigned to our departments. I quickly figured out how to wear the tie. I can't understand how some people struggle with it for minutes. You learn it once, do it three times, and then you know how, right? I went outside, in front of the barracks, where we would have to line up. I love fresh air. It's a shame that Den wasn't there yet. He would be among the last again. But never late, he had that down pat.
Line up, some kind of speech, assignment. I hadn't paid much attention, just where I was supposed to go, I got that. Barrack F, I knew where that was, and now I was supposed to go there on my own. That they trusted me to do that... There was still some time to spare, so I could have gone back to the hut, but you know me: better too early than too late. So once again I was the first at the hut, and was greeted... by a nice colonel with a handshake. I wonder if he does that on purpose, secretly making video recordings of the jaws dropping? Well, he was unlucky with me: my self-confidence is not low, so I was a little surprised, but it wasn't enough for a lockjaw. He introduced himself in a friendly manner and then referred me to a lieutenant, who greeted me just as warmly and took me to my future workplace.
A bleak room with dried-up flowers (but at least!), three desks, and lots of clutter. The lieutenant explained to me that one of the desks was his own, but that he was often not there, so we had to do everything ourselves. However, he would try to be there for the first two weeks (wow, they're going out of their way for us), mostly until we knew what it was all about. He assigned me my desk and left. Now, my first task was clear even though he hadn't said anything: the desk was dirty, and the little stuff lying on it was so optimally distributed as to make it unusable for further work. So I started cleaning up without looking at anything in detail. Nothing in the file shelves, who knows why that was lying around out here, but a little stacking couldn't hurt, and then a damp cloth (there was also a sink in the room), and I really cleaned the desk.
Then the friendly lieutenant brought my work colleague for the next six months. Yippie... Den. I didn't know what was happening to me. Thank God no video camera was pointed at me this time, because they certainly didn't expect me to drop my jaw. But nobody saw it, except maybe Den, and he was happy too, I saw that. The lieutenant gave my newly polished desk an appreciative smile, and then he pulled it out again. Who knows what he needed it for.
My desk was tidy, so there was nothing more to do. Or what could I do that was useful? Try the phone: Wow, even an outside line (with a zero). They had confidence in me. Or itemized billing. Clean the windowsill? Nah, I don't feel like it, not today. I'd have to spruce up the flowers too, but I can't do everything on the first day. Shelves? First of all, I had to get an introduction to the organization system (ha ha) they had here. Ah... Dennis' desk was just as messy as mine. Would he mind? Certainly not. Or would he notice that I liked him? He should. Is the lieutenant worrying? I want him to think that I was bored. I was, after all. So I had to act quickly before they came back. And I can be efficient at tidying up. Besides, I no longer had any qualms about stacking the files: if that had been wrong, the lieutenant would have said something. And in no time at all (well, three times), Den's desk was just as tidy as mine. I quickly sat down on his chair. Oh dear, it was a wobbly chair. Mine was much better. Swap? No danger: He hadn't sat on his chair yet, and the lieutenant certainly didn't know exactly which chair wobbled and which didn't. No sooner said than done. (Hadn't I just said, “He should realize that I like him?” Yes, but he shouldn't realize it that much. I don't want to scare him.)
Whistle inconspicuously and look at the ceiling... No, that won't work. I'm sure whistling is forbidden here. And besides, that's inconspicuous. So it's the windowsill after all. Do it slowly, then you'll turn your back on them when they come in again. And indeed, footsteps in the hallway, don't look, the door opens, and... Pladeradatsch. Startled, I turned around. There was Den on the floor, on a mountain of files that he had probably carried, and behind him stood a perplexed lieutenant, who started laughing heartily, and then Den and I had to laugh too. That stupid threshold at the door, sure, when you're carrying a mountain of files, you don't see it. He had tripped over it (he was carrying a lot of files), and then we all helped him pick it up. The files were randomly placed on the two free desks, and shortly afterwards they looked worse than before. Do I need to mention that the files were terribly dusty and that the dusting had been in vain?
But by the end of the morning, everything looked better. The files had been dusted and put back on the shelves, the lieutenant had explained to us which system was used (yes, there was one), and the desks were free and clean again. In the afternoon, we would be told what this job was about. Well, I had already gathered that much: somehow it had something to do with procurement. We all went to lunch together (the colonel, a few lieutenants, and eight corporals), well, at least to the canteen. Then the colonel and the lieutenants went to the officers' section, and we to the section for the lower orders. The lunch wasn't too bad. I often have the suspicion that those who complained the most about the food were the ones who got the worst food at home. Of course, when you cook the same thing for everyone, it tastes better or worse sometimes. For example, I don't like peas. They're awful. Almost an obsession. But others like them, most people do, and that's what they have to go by. It's really strange how different people can be... oh well, we've already been over that.
During the meal, our troop was in high spirits. Nobody complained about the food. Everyone was happy about these nice bosses. Well, and that was the case with me, too. With lively conversation about our new jobs, time flew by, and soon we were sitting in the room again. The lieutenant explained to us what the files were all about. Procurement, yes, but not directly. We would control the procurement, and not only of our barracks, but of the whole regiment. He showed us what the forms looked like and how to read them. And then you became something of a detective: does it sound plausible? Or does something smell fishy? Too much for this unit? Yes, how much did they have last year? And how much did a comparable other unit order? Too expensive? Price research on the Internet. Oh yes, I had forgotten: there was a computer workstation in the room. But it was more for the lieutenant, and anyway: it sounded quite nice with the detective, but that's what he was. We were file sorters, file movers, file dusters... Well, now and then we would help him with a search. (It certainly depended on how we approached it: once he realized that we weren't stupid, it would certainly become more.)
Every now and then he had to go to the colonel, but we already had a bit of an overview, so we were able to continue cleaning up. The day was not boring, not stressful, friendly, and (thanks to Den's constant presence) also stimulating... At some point, duty was over. So I wasn't exactly sad; love doesn't go that far, but I hadn't been longing for it either. I wouldn't exactly love serving in the military, but if it goes on like this, I wouldn't be ungrateful. We went back to the barracks. Since Den and I worked in the same room and slept in the same room, it was only natural that we left together. The others were either already gone, had to go to another barracks, or whatever, so we were soon alone.
“By the way, thanks for cleaning up my desk...“ Oops.
”...well, unfortunately it was in vain, due to my stupidity, but it was nice. Thanks.”
Was he lying on the floor, admiring the beauty of his desk? Oh, I see, he must have done that when we were storing the files on it. And before that, during the 10 seconds in the room, he must have noticed how dirty his desk still was. Good observer. Great for being a detective.
"Gladly. I was just bored.”
A mischievous smile flitted across his face, I saw it out of the corner of my eye. But he didn't elaborate.
"Are you going to the canteen for a beer after dinner?”
Den hadn't been in the canteen much during the first week. I, on the other hand, had been there every evening. Not with others, mostly alone, and that was a good thing, because then you could supposedly brood in front of your beer and still had the opportunity to observe people. It's better than television, it's real. If Den asked me now, it was certainly because we had completed our first day of work together.
“Sure. Gladly. I'm almost always there.“
”Okay, see you later, I have to go out again.” And he disappeared into the canteen barracks, which was on our way. We still had half an hour until dinner, so it was too early to eat, but there was also a small shop, a post office, and telephone booths in the barracks.
In the barracks, a few of them were actually hanging in front of the telly. For half an hour. I can't understand it. I wrote a postcard to an aunt who had a birthday, I'd wanted to do that anyway. Then I went to eat. He wasn't there yet and only came when I was almost finished. Since there was no space at my table, he sat down somewhere else. When I had finished, I called to him, “See you later,” and went out for some fresh air. It was a calm, mild autumn day, not sunny, but pleasant. It was a bit windy, but I like that. I went for a little walk: there was a sand pit on the barracks grounds that was probably no longer in use, and which we would certainly get to know better for occasional hazing (if my experiences from basic military service did not deceive me). I had already walked around there last week, in the rain. Fresh air fanatic. Now it was much nicer. A few pine trees coped well with the sandy soil, and every now and then a rabbit dared to come so close to armed people. Ha, an apple tree, I hadn't seen that recently. Small, shriveled apples, but edible (proof: I'm alive). That was probably a wild sowing. Otherwise rather boring, most of it flattened, but still some green, because that will prevail.
So, and there I was again between the barracks, and went to the canteen. There was already a lot going on, but there was also a lot of space, and since Den was not there yet, I could choose the table. You know my criteria. In the evening in the canteen, however, there is also: far away from the loudspeaker. It's not turned up disco-style (which some people probably regret), but for me it was still rather too loud. Quieter is better.
“Nice to see you. Have you ordered yet?”
“Nah, order me a wheat beer.”
Den was back at the counter again, and then came back to our table. In a few minutes, the keeper would call us, and then we could get it. He was a very polite person. “Nice to see you.” That could have been a mere courtesy formula. But he had smiled really nicely when he said it. Well, he always did that. But somehow I believed him. He was happy to see me. Nice to meet you.
"Lucky you.”
“Really."
Sure, we were back to our topic of the day: acceptable job, great bosses. We had already had lunch, but now there was even more material to go over. We had also gotten to know the other lieutenants a bit. We soon agreed that we were lucky: maybe not the best, but one of the best. With a great sense of humor.
“The way he laughed when you were on the floor... well, I was pretty scared.“
”Well, maybe he does it on purpose. He knows the threshold, and every newcomer has to go through it.“
”You don't mean that. Come on, he's so nice. He wouldn't do that.”
“Nah, I'm just kidding. But he's just bright. He immediately saw that my jaw didn't fall because it was off, but only from shock."
And so it went on. A relaxed, friendly tone. I didn't know how good that was for me. Fat students have a hard time. Fat apprentices too. I had never had a really good friend. And I was never in a clique either. Okay, there was the Bible study group, but they were all a bit too serious. I hadn't had a nice, relaxed conversation like that in at least two years, and certainly not with a really cute boy.
"Carpenter, nice job. But you don't want to study?”
Yes, I did. But my parents were poor and had insisted that I first “learn a proper trade” before I... studied philosophy. They were certainly right. And the two years didn't matter to me. Now, however, I was a little older than the rest of my comrades in the army, but somehow I always looked a little younger, so it worked out quite well. Like I said: shaving every other day is still enough.
“And you? What are you doing after the military service?“
”Theology...“
Wow. And the way he said it. Just like business administration. And he didn't even look up to see if I was surprised. I was. Well, I tried my best not to show it.
”...for a degree. I want to become a priest.”
But... he didn't have to join the army. I told him that. (Stupid. He would know that already. But I was just so surprised.)
"Yes, but I don't want any advantage. And besides, I still have some time. I'm not so sure about it.”
Okay, I could understand that. It's not just any degree program. Celibacy and all. But I had pulled myself together and no longer blurted out.
“It's not an easy decision. Responsibility... a lot. It can be pretty intense. I don't know if that wouldn't put me off.”
“Celibacy is not a problem...”
Could he read minds?
“... I'm not into girls.”....
(not even ‘Wow’, not even in his thoughts... just silence... and emptiness)
... slowly my brain started to work again. Why had he said that so casually? Did he have so much trust? Because I read books in bed? Because I wanted to study philosophy? He definitely didn't sound like he had any ulterior motives. I didn't say anything for the time being, just tried to look as friendly and at ease as possible. Just the good guy you can tell stuff like that to.
“With boys, yes, but I don't do it.“
Of course, that wouldn't be so compatible with celibacy.
”I know, it's a classic cliché: gay priests. But I'm not gay. I don't do it.”
That's how I saw it too. I'm not either... well, I still have trouble with the word. I'd have to get out of the habit. If he could say it so easily, and to a stranger, no less...
“And... when someone says: Still, it's shit, priests should rather be chaste heterosexuals...” and now he looked straight at me, and you could see that his eyes sparkled (if that's possible), ”... that makes me furious. Yes, but can I help it what I like? That's how God made me, and that's how he wants me. Homosexuals are valuable people, and a chaste homosexual can become a damn good priest.”
I didn't know if his superiors would see it that way. I was much more relaxed again. The element of surprise was gone. (Well, I'm a quick study
But that doesn't mean I knew what to say to him. It took me a while to say,“Thank you...”
Now it was his turn to be surprised.
“...for so much trust."
I see. He was really in the swing of things and had only just come to a stop, and not yet ready for a sequel, but with his eyes he said, ‘Sure.’ No, it wasn't clear. Maybe for him, but not for me. I mean, that he was into boys, okay, and also that he wasn't, somehow it seemed familiar to me. But that he told me that, I hadn't yet digested. Had he told that to many others so easily? No, he didn't look like an offensive gay. He wore no sticker and nothing.
I told him my concerns about his future superiors. He had already thought about that:
“It starts even before that, during your studies. They want to know where they stand. But I'm under no obligation to disclose my sexual orientation. After all, I'm not even sure what I want myself. Every now and then I like a girl. What I do, yes, but what I like is my business.”
Man, we were on the same wavelength. He also liked a girl now and then, and his resolution not to do it... well, I hadn't made that resolution as strong, but at least I could live with the idea of never doing it. Only his career aspiration was different...
Being brave when coming out? I don't know. Sure, standing in front of the class and shouting, “I'm gay” (Ha, now I've said it), or wearing a sticker that's unmistakable when you're in the military, that would be brave. But I've often told people in private. There are people I know won't repeat it. I've never had a “good friend you can tell everything to”, but I have done so from time to time in a trusted environment with a trustworthy person... I wouldn't tell my parents, no way. My father once said something about it being hereditary. Was he trying to tell me something? Had he noticed something? Otherwise, he was quite negative, so I tend to assume that he hadn't noticed anything, and that sentence didn't mean anything. And that it had to be wrong, at least as far as our family was concerned. So telling Den, “Hey, me too...” would have been no problem now... But right after his confession?
“Hey, me too... I mean, it's all exactly the same. More likely guys, but I don't do it."
There it was. But that's how I usually felt. Sometimes I suspected that it came too easily for me and that I had to be careful who I told. But so far I hadn't experienced any failures. And I certainly wouldn't experience one with Den.
“Maybe if I find one, and if I like her, who knows, maybe I'll get married. Have kids... that would be nice. But who knows...”
That wasn't a long-held dream, that was just how he felt. And it was quite illusory too. As I said, pot-bellied. “But not for me”... that's how a line goes in a Gershwin song. (Google: “They're writing songs of love”).
He looked at me. Scrutingly, it seemed to me. I didn't look back directly. He took his glass and raised it in a toast to me. I drank a toast with him. That probably meant, okay, I believe you, you're not making fun of me. And he must have been pleased, too, that we had such similar views. Just as I was pleased.
"I like you.”
Me? With a pot belly? Unsporty, as I was? Or had he sensed that I was missing something like that? Was it sympathy out of pity? I'm just a pretty big doubter, and not without reason. I've had my experiences with how often I'm liked. Almost never. It all seemed so unlikely... so I blurted out:
“Why?“
”You have clever eyes. And you can listen. I think you're a very nice person."
I didn't blush. I rarely do that, and I can't even say when it happens and when it doesn't. Most of the time I don't blush, only my heart beats fast when I'm the center of attention or something. So it was now. Did he hear that? That was nice, sweet news. Someone had found something good about me. And honestly... he wasn't entirely wrong. If there was one thing I liked in the mirror, it was my eyes.
"Thank you.”
With a shy smile, at least that's how it seemed to me. If you can judge from the inside what a smile looks like. I don't know myself as being that shy. But then again, you don't get told things like that very often. And then it slipped out of my mouth: I wasn't looking at him (I lacked the courage to do so), but only half in his direction, and I started babbling.
“I've had a crush on you since day one. You look good and you're smart. You read, and you're friendly. I'm so glad you're in my room. And now in the office too...“ I was able to look at him gradually... ‘I wish we could be friends.’
”We already are. Have you swapped chairs?”
What? How would he know that? I looked guilty.
“I thought so. One of them has a crack in the backrest, and it was mine in the morning. And later it was yours. I didn't know what it meant until I sat on your chair.”
Well done. The detective. The lieutenant would be very pleased with him. I asked:
“Do you know Chesterton?“
”...Oh, Father Brown? He's my kind of guy."
He laughed heartily at my association. And we were back in safer waters. It was ingenious how he had turned the corner. His question about the chairs came so abruptly after all our mutual confessions, somehow a harmless topic, and yet related, and from then on we had said everything to each other without falling into an embarrassing wait for a reaction. If he was always so good with people, then he would surely do well in his job.
We soon got through the crime novels that we both read (because he didn't just read the Bible!), our hobbies (no, not the one mentioned above; I don't know if that ever came up), clothes and music. We were excited and rattled off all the easy topics that came to mind. Just nothing difficult that evening, there was already enough going on. We each had two beers and didn't want a third. We paid and made our way to the accommodation. No holding hands (that would have been a little dangerous, someone might have seen), but not even “accidental jostling” when paying or something like that, nothing except maybe a rather small distance when walking together, just so that you occasionally touched. And even on the footpath, only light muse, except just before entering the barrack (and he had already looked around to make sure that no one was within earshot):
"Well, I wouldn't say I had a crush. But I'm really glad I know you.”
He would have to get out of the habit of speaking like that if he wanted to end up in the pulpit. But it sounded genuine, and he looked it, too. He was beaming from ear to ear. Then he turned to the building and practically hopped up the stairs like a little kid who had been given a present.
I stood still for a moment and then followed him at a more leisurely pace. I felt great too. He was in the booth, so I went to the TV room. If two guys with beaming faces come into the booth one after the other, it could arouse suspicion. A movie was playing, but I have no idea what it was about. I looked at the screen, but only saw him. If the screen had had any shred of decency, it would have smiled back at me, just as I was smiling at it. Fifteen minutes later, I went into the booth. Normal hustle and bustle, except for the fact that someone was lying in bed reading. Then there were two of them: I picked up my English crime novel (I love English crime novels in the original language) and immersed myself in it. Well, what it means to immerse myself in a book when there are a thousand Ds on each page. I would have to start again tomorrow where I left off yesterday. I was already in my pajamas, so I just put the book down, turned on my back, and studied the underside of the upper mattress, which was discreetly decorated with Ds. Gradually, the others were also in bed. He had fallen asleep with his book in his hand. It wasn't the Bible, but an adventure novel that he had also read yesterday. Someone turned off the light, but it didn't get dark for me. A mattress underside can shine quite a bit. But eventually my eyes closed too, and I slept deeply and soundl