Our paper crowns, p.12
OUR PAPER CROWNS, page 12
Before anything else happens, I return to my place with Zilé.
On the way home we talked about the possibility of having our own home.
“Does that mean you’ll say goodbye to your parents and your sister? Do they know about this?”
“They haven’t the slightest idea,” he answers, thoughtfully. “But I think it would be best now that we have our own plans. Besides, you yourself told me that your mother’s plan to make that house your personal study was a good idea. Therefore, you and I can live in a house or an apartment that is more centrally located or in a place further away from everything, depending on the opportunities.”
“Any option seems perfect to me, Zilé.”
“Okay, then tomorrow we’ll go to a real estate agent. Don’t worry about the money, I have that under control.”
His excessively confident tone makes me hesitate a little, but I don’t say anything so as not to ruin the emotion. I’m not saying anything about not rushing either. Surely, he is afraid of my loneliness, of how empty that house will feel without my mother, and rigorously work-oriented. That’s one thing I can handle perfectly or learn to handle in the process. However, there is the flip side: living with him, in our safe spaces, is what my soul craves more than ever right now. So I can’t say no.
Even though I only spent that afternoon sleeping, the feeling of loneliness, of a cold silence that has permeated those walls, is undeniable. Before it was familiar to hear the sound of her kitchenware, smell the sugar in her desserts, hear her sing a song... Now, however, the silence is overwhelming. I can’t come towards the end of the day after lessons and get used to this new atmosphere where everything brings back memories in one way or another.
So, Zilé’s proposal is the most correct.
In the end we decided on an apartment near the city center.
In the first days one of his friends helps us transport our belongings.
That block of lonely white walls is gradually filled with rugs, cushions and paintings.
We make it look as welcoming as possible.
In fact, Zilé and I organized a housewarming party and several of our friends from university came and gave us gifts that would help us in our new life. That expression gave me the creeps: in reality this was not a new life as such, it was just a slight change of location. We remained the same. Nothing had changed. We thanked them for their gifts and had a joyful evening. Of course, without going overboard with the drinks. We didn’t want to scare away the neighbors.
In that small meeting they told me something that took me by surprise.
It was about Picaza.
Gosh, my old friend would never stop surprising me.
Why had she become so revealing in her secrets for some time now?
The person who told me this was a very reserved friend, and from there I knew the seriousness of the issue and that he was not telling me lies or simple gossip. It was trustworthy.
“I was surprised too. Doesn’t it happen to you that you see people and think that they will hide secrets, but not these big ones? And boy, this was great. Picaza’s clandestine romance with that professor was aired. Even his wife went to put on a scene at the school checkpoint and everyone found out. They had to call the guards.”
A certain resentment settled in my chest. What had happened to Picaza who seemed dissatisfied with everything around her, including me? Why did she seem to attack herself? I felt devastatingly sad that I couldn’t be her friend like in the old days, when we told each other the smallest details and nothing surprised us about ourselves because we already knew it by default. We knew our versions even before the other. And now all that rapport is gone. What happens to us will reach our ears through the words of others.
That night I tossed and turned on the mattress so much that Zilé asked:
“Are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I just can’t fall asleep.”
Then he hugged me close—his chest against my back—and everything seemed calmer there. I fell into a deep sleep within a few minutes.
I keep in my memory the first time we went to the supermarket together, our first laundry, the first time we painted the walls, the first time we cooked..., because everything feels like the omen of a future that surpasses us, in a good way.
It feels like my dream movie.
The protection I had always wanted to have.
How small I felt with that dream and now how overwhelmed I am by so much happiness and reality.
One day, when Zilé is at work and I have finished my work (I have been looking at the almost empty musical stave for about half an hour), an envelope slips under the door.
It is in Zilé’s name.
I know I shouldn’t open it, so I leave it on one of the bureaus.
I only know that it is from a financial institution.
What has Zilé done to guarantee us this serenity?
Has he sold his soul to the devil?
I bring it up over dinner.
“Oh, it’s from the bank,” he says carelessly. “I didn’t tell you so as not to worry you, but I took out a small loan to pay the rent deposit.”
“How small is it?”
“I assure you that I will be able to pay it. Furthermore, with what you contribute I promise you that it is not an exorbitant amount.”
“If something happens...”
“Don’t worry, nothing will happen. I’ll know how to manage. Escaping my parents’ maniacal control was a priority, and living with you too. To be clear. These days living together have been… a dream. What’s happening? Not convinced?”
“Of course, I am. It’s just that, considering today’s monstrous interests’ rates and what the banks are like, I would feel enormously sorry to condemn you to something for life. Leaving one prison to enter another.”
“Oh, I see. Don’t worry. We both have a job and our future tour coming up, so there’s nothing to fear. I will pay everything in order, as stipulated, and I will soon get rid of that debt. Believe me, growing up with such demanding parents made me have a good financial education.”
“Alright. But if something happens, if for some reason you are late, I want you to tell me, okay? I would never leave you alone with something like that. Remember that I can be more than your half when you require it. In this and in everything.”
Zilé stops washing the dishes and kisses me on the forehead.
I will never get tired of loving him or seeking the best for both of us.
Regarding the tour, we met with an agent from Amsterdam called Tess. She has red hair and has a sharp wit when it comes to logistical matters. He practically knows all the theaters in the world, and has been behind true piano legends. Some of those concerts have been recorded by Netflix and HBO. She is a tycoon.
“I love the name of your duo, I love the concept, I love you as a couple and the outline of your tour. I am objectively excited by how you interpenetrate in those essays..., the way in which you seem like one. Yes, one plays the piano and the other dances, but you both feel like one person. And I had not seen that in any other artist or in any other group of any kind. I can connect you with the best theaters in Europe and we can start in my land when you feel ready and I have the dates confirmed.”
Her words seem like another dream to us.
We thought we would have to meet with at least ten more people, but she has accepted the percentage of royalties and our project without changing anything.
In the end, she concludes:
“We will start by making them known to the public. Billboards, online ads, street posters, collaborations with influencers. I make sure that a real noise is made.”
So, days later, before our trip to Italy, we go to a photo shoot. It’s in a theater in the city, with a classical piano in the background, Zilé in his ballet outfit and me with a concentrated expression wearing a black turtleneck sweater. This is us. The Astronomers. Music and dance touring some cities in Europe, seeking to make a name for ourselves, seeking to move people with our art, longing to create a temporary dream where the chaos of the world goes away.
We took some more photos on the way to the airport with the posters stuck on the walls, in the stores and even in the shopping center, on a long banner where our faces are and some upcoming dates with their respective headquarters.
I’ll never fully believe it.
All this.
The turn our lives have taken. The fact that dreams come true, that in the right hands you can take the path you always planned and that it is not that difficult. That someone else will believe in you like you always hoped to believe—and sometimes it seemed impossible. That conquering the world is not always an arduous path riddled with pain, but a close possibility when you touch heart by heart through your talent, a lifelong vocation.
We are ready.
We are ready for this.
I remember that a few days before the trip we met Picaza. It was in a paint store; we needed some boats and we found it there by chance. I talked with her for a moment. She seemed embarrassed.
“Hello, Rob. I guess someone told you what happened.”
“Yes, Picaza, why lie to you. I’m surprised that that time you asked me to keep it a secret when you had another one, but I can’t judge you. I guess you had your good reasons.”
She remains silent. I fear that my words have taken on a recriminatory tone.
“There are people for whom managing love is very difficult. On the other hand, you seem to be doing very well,” she commented while Zilé searched with the clerk for the shades we wanted. “Someone told me that you already live together. I’m glad for you.”
“Yes, we already live together.” The distance between us felt unbridgeable. What could I ask her at that moment? How to return to the old trust without feeling it as something sharp? “How have you handled everything since that happened?”
“I knew that at some point it was going to happen. I was prepared, in a way. And what I do will not fix things in any way.”
It hurt me to leave her in that circumstance, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t overcome the barrier. It hurt me not to tell her for that once that she could count on me. Because it felt like a lie. Because she felt alien. Because I felt closer than far from resignation.
Sometimes you have to leave people alone with their storms.
And sometimes they can’t even save themselves.
Before the trip I also agreed on some things with Szymon.
Zilé liked the plan and he also had my mother’s full support. The project was to arrange the rooms in my new studio for university students, especially exchange students. They would pay a modest monthly fee for those rooms that neither Mom nor I would occupy; that would be what I would have liked to find if I were a student, given today’s exorbitant prices. Better that they served some.
When I saw Szymon again he seemed less interested in me. He accepted everything with that professional attitude of his. It was the Szymon from the photos on his Instagram profile.
I liked that behavior better. With his other character, although he showed me a flattering side, everything felt like a cold threat, and I didn’t like him at all. So, in this calm and professional way, we get along much better. Even jokes arise.
“If you see that any of your tenants may be compatible with me, do not hesitate to share their profile with me,” he instructed me. I promised him it would be that way. “Have a safe trip, Rob. You deserve it.”
I thanked him. The next day Zilé and I would take the flight.
CHAPTER 16 | ZILÉ THORN
Zilé has always been the more forgetful of the two. He can’t learn his plans like the well-executed choreographies he does, where he doesn’t miss a single movement. So before leaving the apartment, he goes through his things for like the tenth time. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”
“Don’t worry, if you forget something I’m sure we can buy it there. It’s okay,” Rob replies.
At the airport everything passes without any major mishap. They buy hot chocolate and donuts to soften the morning chill on their bodies. They have arrived with more than an hour to spare.
While waiting near their corresponding terminal, they review their itinerary.
“There will be surprises?” Rob asks.
“Yes, more than one,” he answers, ruffling Rob’s hair tenderly.
Time passes by.
Also, on the plane; Zilé has fallen on Rob’s shoulder exhausted. This was reading Maurice for the second time. The pages disappeared left like water when the loudspeaker already announced the descent.
Szymon makes a video call to Rob when they are waiting for their taxi at the Venice airport.
Rob moves away from the noise a little so he can hear him properly.
He doesn’t believe what he’s seeing.
Szymon is half naked, talking to him as if it were nothing.
Can beauty make you suffer like that? That’s what Rob thinks. Because he is suffering. Szymon’s skin is bronze and both his chest and abdomen have heart-stopping lines.
“Can’t you put something on top?” Rob urges him.
“Can’t you concentrate? It’s my way of being comfortable. Come on, I just wanted to show you some progress. So you don’t think I’ve rested on my laurels.”
Szymon shows him the arrangements. The rooms are being left exactly as requested. He has only made this video call to destabilize him, but he will not succeed, he tells himself.
Nothing can ruin what he and Zilé have been dreaming of all these months.
“Good. Keep up the good pace, Szymon. And don’t make a video call to me again under those conditions!”
Szymon says goodbye with the most mischievous smile in his arsenal. A smile that indicates that he has not given up yet.
Zilé notices that Rob is a little upset, so he proposes something.
“Honey, what do you think if we make this trip like one from yesteryear, from the eighties or there? Without today’s devices, just you and me.”
“OK. I love the idea.”
Rob knows that no one else will bother them other than that hormonal menace that is Szymon, so he has nothing to lose. Except jot down some melody ideas on his phone, but that can be done with a simple pen and a simple notebook.
The first activity in Venice is to go to eat.
“Travel always whets my appetite in a brutal way,” Zilé describes, while his views are lost among the architectural majesty of the city.
They find a restaurant with the best wine in Venice and the best bread. They eat their fill and recognize the quality of the place. Further in the distance you can hear the music of a cellist.
“If you want to record or take photos of something, that’s no problem for me, love.”
“No, don’t worry,” Rob answers. “There’s no need.”
And, in reality, it is not, because that newly discovered beauty —like a new sound, a new color palette, a new feel of sun-drenched sidewalks—remains etched by itself in memory. It doesn’t need gadgets. This way it remains intact.
After eating they visit a small market parallel to the gondolas. Zilé is very sure that the bridge in the background has appeared in a few movies, but he doesn’t remember its name.
A photographer who takes snapshots approaches them and asks if they want a little session. He speaks to them in broken English.
They pose as if they were in one of those booths and the photographer smiles, delighted.
He gives them their printed photos in a manila envelope.
“My God, I would never get tired of this sun,” Zilé confesses, after kissing him on the neck.
“Me neither,” Rob says, laughing out loud. He will never be able to express so much joy. The canal, the sun, this summer, the sea air, the roads so beautiful to walk on. And Zilé, the most important of all. He is sure that this city without him would be just like a gloomy city. The color he gives to everything is inexplicable, magical, indescribable and beautiful. “You are the best painter of all,” he tells him as if he understood the context from the tone of his words. He gives him a wide smile and with that he tells Rob everything.
Then, they stand in a short line to have one of the painters make a charcoal portrait of them. Rob positions himself on one of the benches above him, with his legs forming a right angle over Zilé’s body. The painter’s strokes are forceful. Meanwhile, they kiss, and that kiss, there in Venice, feels like the longest kiss in the world. A kiss that never breaks. The painter gives them his work and they are both moved. They are in black on white and yet they feel the explosion of all their colors, in a swell that surrounds them.
Next, they go to a bookstore called Acqua Alta. This is a surprise from Rob to him. Luigi, the owner of the place, explains the history of his place. That is an area where the tide is highest and, therefore, there is an extreme need to save as many books as possible. Although sometimes this goal is not achieved, as seen on the walls and decorations, and as happened in November 2019.
“It’s a shame,” Zilé tells his boyfriend. “Sometimes beauty can also produce catastrophes. But have you seen it? His purpose has made me tender. In fact, in this place you feel that cozy longing for protection.”
“Totally agree. I knew you would notice.”
They observe the books accumulated in a bathtub and even in a gondola. They both think that, if it came to that, they would invent a thousand and one ways to escape the damn tides. That they would not let the book of their history atrophy and be lost. They would defend themselves tooth and nail. Nothing could against them. Their paper crowns would be safe.
Zilé notices with a start of love a pair of cats sleeping on a pile. They observe them with attention and veneration.
“Now, here’s my surprise. You have one minute to choose the books you want. I will count in my head while you choose them. All that you want.”
“You’re sure? Won’t we be stranded in Rome if I overdo it? Don’t you want to set a limit amount?”
“Don’t worry, it’s a gift from me to you.”
