Read Online SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - U.S. Edition by Akif Pirinçci - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Akif Pirinçci
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Antonio replied distantly, without stopping his meditative observation. »I still need a red one for my collection!«
I opened my snout to disagree but suddenly noticed that my jawbones were locked like an open steel trap. For a long moment there seemed to be a quiet wind blowing inside my head. Then the feelings of disbelief, horror and, even more, disgust made a dead set at each other like people who are leaving a burning house in panic. Antonio was no Marcello Mastroianni, more like a whiskered Helmut Berger . ( 2 ) Could this be real? Did I know anything comparable from my rich experience? Had I seen anything like this on Discovery Channel?
Meanwhile the lovers had left the alley and entered the big lightened street again. The emptiness that they left behind now seemed like a sad place in which something had gone astray beyond retrieval. According to his bitter face, my »partner« shared this impression.
»Now pipe down, Francis, before you say something rash.«
Next to me, Antonio shot an awkward glance at me.
So I piped down. Because I seriously needed a break to stomach this unexpected turn. The thought of homosexual love amongst us guys nauseated me so much that I didn’t only throw up my just eaten dinner but also my whole rhapsody of Rome. Of all things, why did I have to end up with someone like that ? I thought. And how could guys enjoy something like that ? In our modern sophisticated times it was bon ton to have a pretty laid back attitude towards this very issue. Apparently, people didn’t make a distinction between lovers of chocolate and lovers of this specialty. Only apparently though! In reality they secretly struggled to control their revulsion as much as needed in order to put up a brave front.
And I, being known as a true freethinker everywhere, how did I manage to change my revulsion into neutrality? Then suddenly, a spectacularly sensitive solution crossed my mind: taking a powder, screaming bloody murder!
» Et tu, Brute ?« Antonio eventually said, in reference of my knowledge of Caesar having been murdered also by his best and closest friend Brutus. Saying that, his face wasn’t boastful like someone who belongs to the politicall y correct camp, but deeply sad.
»Well, uhm, I believe, uhm, you jump at conclusions ...« I started.
»You don’t need to keep talking, Francis! Or should I say keep lying?«
»Okay, smart ass, you’re absolutely right: I’m not a fan of such tight friendships. I frankly admit that. But at least I know now why you were abandoned.«
Even though my imagination refused working when faced with love among guys, I was still able to picture the consequences it had caused. In my mind I saw the pithy Roman again. The man in front of the mirror wasn’t just a ridiculous macho. Behind the chic suites and accessories hid bigotry and adamantine views on the right character of male sexuality. That the guy was keeping a real felidae-adonis as his mascot was part of his swank, hunky self-display. (I could almost hear the jokes about Antonio’s with velvet fuzz covered balls at these terrific parties.) But just as long as the mascot played by the rules and, like his mirror image, dutifully performed the macho en miniature.
So while Signore had splashed expensive aftershave at his face and tried on cufflinks in front of the mirror, he hadn’t just joked with his »little man«. No, he had kept an eye on him, and probably his cigarillo had dropped out of his mouth and burned a hole into his shirt, when he saw which gender Antonio had chosen for his acquisitive desires. The whole thing didn’t just seem disgusting and filthy too him, but like betrayal on their bromance. Mamma mia , my pet is gay! might have been his scream of terror. And with this scream he had dismembered the »little guys« in the middle of their flirtation, had grabbed Antonio by his neck and had given the pervert a permanent boot out of the door. Ever since Antonio had been homeless. Strange
I opened my snout to disagree but suddenly noticed that my jawbones were locked like an open steel trap. For a long moment there seemed to be a quiet wind blowing inside my head. Then the feelings of disbelief, horror and, even more, disgust made a dead set at each other like people who are leaving a burning house in panic. Antonio was no Marcello Mastroianni, more like a whiskered Helmut Berger . ( 2 ) Could this be real? Did I know anything comparable from my rich experience? Had I seen anything like this on Discovery Channel?
Meanwhile the lovers had left the alley and entered the big lightened street again. The emptiness that they left behind now seemed like a sad place in which something had gone astray beyond retrieval. According to his bitter face, my »partner« shared this impression.
»Now pipe down, Francis, before you say something rash.«
Next to me, Antonio shot an awkward glance at me.
So I piped down. Because I seriously needed a break to stomach this unexpected turn. The thought of homosexual love amongst us guys nauseated me so much that I didn’t only throw up my just eaten dinner but also my whole rhapsody of Rome. Of all things, why did I have to end up with someone like that ? I thought. And how could guys enjoy something like that ? In our modern sophisticated times it was bon ton to have a pretty laid back attitude towards this very issue. Apparently, people didn’t make a distinction between lovers of chocolate and lovers of this specialty. Only apparently though! In reality they secretly struggled to control their revulsion as much as needed in order to put up a brave front.
And I, being known as a true freethinker everywhere, how did I manage to change my revulsion into neutrality? Then suddenly, a spectacularly sensitive solution crossed my mind: taking a powder, screaming bloody murder!
» Et tu, Brute ?« Antonio eventually said, in reference of my knowledge of Caesar having been murdered also by his best and closest friend Brutus. Saying that, his face wasn’t boastful like someone who belongs to the politicall y correct camp, but deeply sad.
»Well, uhm, I believe, uhm, you jump at conclusions ...« I started.
»You don’t need to keep talking, Francis! Or should I say keep lying?«
»Okay, smart ass, you’re absolutely right: I’m not a fan of such tight friendships. I frankly admit that. But at least I know now why you were abandoned.«
Even though my imagination refused working when faced with love among guys, I was still able to picture the consequences it had caused. In my mind I saw the pithy Roman again. The man in front of the mirror wasn’t just a ridiculous macho. Behind the chic suites and accessories hid bigotry and adamantine views on the right character of male sexuality. That the guy was keeping a real felidae-adonis as his mascot was part of his swank, hunky self-display. (I could almost hear the jokes about Antonio’s with velvet fuzz covered balls at these terrific parties.) But just as long as the mascot played by the rules and, like his mirror image, dutifully performed the macho en miniature.
So while Signore had splashed expensive aftershave at his face and tried on cufflinks in front of the mirror, he hadn’t just joked with his »little man«. No, he had kept an eye on him, and probably his cigarillo had dropped out of his mouth and burned a hole into his shirt, when he saw which gender Antonio had chosen for his acquisitive desires. The whole thing didn’t just seem disgusting and filthy too him, but like betrayal on their bromance. Mamma mia , my pet is gay! might have been his scream of terror. And with this scream he had dismembered the »little guys« in the middle of their flirtation, had grabbed Antonio by his neck and had given the pervert a permanent boot out of the door. Ever since Antonio had been homeless. Strange
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