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The problem was—Gaunt was miserable. Not all the time. Ellwood had his good days and then when he looked into Gaunt’s eyes there was such joy and tenderness there that it was all he could do not to look away, to snap something angry.
On his really bad days, Ellwood wouldn’t care to look at all.
But the morning after, when a little light had come back into Ellwood’s world, he would wake early and look at his sleeping lover and know. There was a tenseness in his jaw, and when he blinked awake, the thin veil of misery in his gaze wouldn’t quite recede in time.
Ellwood had seen this before, of course. During the height of things with Sandy. Only now he realized that even then, it had still been Ellwood making Gaunt miserable. It seems he could inspire a unique form of misery in the one he loved.
Though he never said it, Gaunt hated Brazil.
It was funny. It had been Ellwood who had always loved England.
England is magic, Gaunt had said, when Ellwood wanted to leave. But Ellwood had known that what he’d really meant was the Ellwood I knew would never leave England.
And so Ellwood had thought I’m not the Ellwood you knew and better you find that out now, so you can leave me .
And so they went to Brazil.
Maybe he’ll leave me now, Ellwood had thought viciously, for months, as he was cruel—avoiding Gaunt, careless of him, cruel about Gaunt, cruel to his face. He’ll leave me , Ellwood thought, bitter, as he couldn’t make the words he needed leave his lips.
But he hadn’t left. And little by little, Ellwood found a small part of the joy that used to fill his days.
***
Maud wanted Gaunt to move to Germany.
Gaunt wanted to go. He wouldn’t say it, but he did.
“Go visit,” Ellwood said, “See how you like it.” His stomach roiled but he pasted on a smile.
“You wouldn’t come with me,” Gaunt said, more statement than question.
“You’d be back soon enough,” Ellwood said, “And she’s your sister.”
So Gaunt went after all.
***
Gaunt wrote him:
My Dearest Sidney,
It is strange being here–without you, and without the war. Maud, I can say, is very happy, though she’s hard at work trying to convince me to turn my visit into a plan for us to move here. She also wants me to pass on strict instructions for you to write more. Apparently your letters are still better than mine.
It’s spring here, and rainy. Even still, I’ve missed this season. Maud is busy with her work–she lives with 3 other nurses, 2 German, and 1 other Brit. There is much to do, and Maud seems to be doing and organizing much of it. I help where I can. At other times I walk the city. Much has been destroyed, but some remains, and much is being rebuilt.
What other hidden parts of our city have you discovered in my absence? I wonder if by the time I return you will have charted every street and house.
In a week, I go to England for a while–to see my mother. I’ll visit Preshute too–it will be so strange without you.
All my affection,
Gaunt
And:
Dear Sidney,
Hayes seems quite domestic with his new wife–though I guess you have heard that as well because he says he has been writing you. Devi’s well enough too.
Preshute is unchanged, though this time I dodged Mr. Hammick. What would he have to say, now that the war is over?
The students look so young now, and of course there are fewer of them than there used to be. It made me think of Gosset–and what you said of that poor little fool.
My mother is well, though she still doesn’t know how to speak to me. I think sometimes she prefers me far away so she can imagine me how she wishes. So it’s for the best I’m back to Germany soon.
If you sent me a letter, I’ve missed it. I’m hoping to find one care of Maud when I get back to Germany. Don’t write to me in England, it will miss me..
Affectionately,
Gaunt
the third:
Sidney,
Is this how you felt at the beginning of the war when I wouldn’t write back? Did you fear I’d died? I fear many, senseless things. The war is over, after all. Please write back.
Sidney, you said I could keep you. Did you change your mind? I’ll be home in 3 weeks. Will you be there at the dock to meet me?
My love,
Henry Gaunt
The fourth was just a telegram of his return ship.
***
Ellwood didn’t reply to any of them. It was good, he tried to tell himself. Gaunt was too far away to be destroyed by him.
He still waited at the port the day Gaunt was due home—hours early, because he couldn’t stop himself. He wouldn’t be there, Ellwood tried to tell himself. But hope was pernicious.
And then there he was—that dear face tired, and more lined than when Ellwood pictured him—his memory still caught up in their boyhood. There was tension in Gaunts jaw and his shoulders. A stiffness in his walk.
Ellwood caught Gaunt’s eye. The other man’s stride hitched. Then some of the tiredness fell out of his face—there was a moment of softness. And then anger welled up, visibly, as he stalked towards him.
How much worse must it have been, Ellwood thought, shame pooling in his belly, to cross an ocean not knowing what you’d find waiting for you on the other side.
Gaunt stopped in front of him. Even here they wouldn’t touch in public. But would Gaunt touch him now if he could?
“You didn’t reply to my letters.” Gaunt said shortly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
He couldn’t say anything. He was frozen.
“You said I could keep you!” Gaunt said, too loud. That’s how Ellwood knew he really was angry.
Ellwood couldn’t say anything for a moment, and then “Henry you hate Brazil. And I don’t know I’ll ever be ready to go back to Europe.”
Gaunt looked back at him, flabbergasted, “But I love you, Sidney . I was happy with you in a war. I’ll learn to like Brazil.”
“Oh,” Ellwood said, and Gaunt just huffed.
Hesitantly, Ellwood continued, “they are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them.” He paused, “As You Like It.”
Such tenderness in Gaunt’s eyes, in Gaunt’s voice as he said, “Let’s go home.”