The Days of Bluegrass Love Read online

  “I love you too,” Oliver murmured and slid around until he was in front of Tycho. He let his arm and his hand dangle down and, in passing, he—accidentally, invisible to everyone else—brushed it against Tycho’s crotch.

  The whole evening was charged with electricity. Ordering sweet tea, a beer when the staff wasn’t watching, walking back and forth to the bar to get meat and onions, the barbecuing itself, the oil and the grill and the hot coal, the conversation—Oliver and Tycho were sitting next to each other, but Donna was there too, and Carol and Adele—the things they talked about and the words they said, all of it was electric, even just speaking in English instead of Dutch—“wow” and “great” and “sure” and “wonderful.”

  And then there was the music. The Marc McKinley Bluegrass Band started playing when they’d almost finished dessert. Tanned men wearing cowboy hats, Western shirts, and jeans, all five of them dressed the same—a guitarist, someone playing the mandolin, someone with a banjo, someone on bass. And the singer: Marc McKinley himself. “So nice to be here folks—with you, tonight—it’s Saturday—Saturday night—the perfect time for a little dancing—but before all that—we’ll get into the spirit—with some fine old tunes—some happy tunes—so on behalf of me and all the band—enjoy the show!” And over the “ow” in “show” the guitar kicked in, playing the first notes of the first song.

  It was as if they were rockets launching up into the sky—that’s how much fire and energy these old men were giving off. Tycho had never heard this kind of music before. Music? It was like heat with a voice. The superfast rhythms and the explosions of banjo were like the waves of heat coming off the barbecue, except turned into sound. Pleasant waves. Tycho was glowing. From the fire, the wood, the ribs, the coleslaw, and the shining faces of his campmates, his friends—yes, his friends—and Oliver, his Oliver, those green eyes (which saw him) and that small, straight nose (which tonight he would feel pressed against his own), that beautiful mouth (which tonight …)—all of that, it was all those things taken together, heightened, deepened by the music, as if the music was lifting every feeling, every sensation, to the next level—Having fun, folks? Having fun!

  * * *

  LATER THAT NIGHT, THEY finally got around to dancing. Square dancing. Everyone was on the dance floor—Gary had corralled them over there—arranged into some sort of geometric figure, arms linked with the person on either side of them. McKinley was giving directions. The double bass and the banjo were playing, and they had to split up into pairs and touch hands with the couple across from them (“Up to the middle and back!” Marc shouted) and then pass around each other back-to-back (“Go forward again and do-si-do!”). The rhythm took care of the rest.

  Tycho did as he was told, letting it all happen, swinging around arm in arm with an elderly lady. She smiled at him and he smiled back. Another beer? Another beer! And would the Marc McKinley Bluegrass Band be playing an encore? Sure, why not—and the whole camp gathered in a circle, arms around each other’s shoulders, Tycho gesturing at Oliver, come on, come stand next to me. Booing because the band had left the stage, and then, later, another circle, right in the middle of the dance floor, holding hands, right arm over left, learn a lesson, make a friend.

  * * *

  THE DRIVE BACK TO the hotel. The two of them going back up to their room. The sky-wide bed. And Oliver saying, “Let them talk—let’s make bluegrass love …”

  Let them talk? Oh yeah, there’d been the banging on the door, the shouting, “All right, guys … have a ball!” followed by loud laughter.

  And then Oliver saying, “Let them talk—let’s make bluegrass love …”

  * * *

  WOW, THIS IS THE first time we didn’t have to set the table,” Donna laughed. The four of them were sitting together. Tycho wasn’t that hungry—he just ate a pancake with maple syrup. Sherilynn wanted cornflakes, Donna wanted bread. Oliver wasn’t eating anything. He kept up the conversation. He said he’d already watched TV and there were more than forty channels. He’d even found a Swedish church service. And he’d watched a few minutes of a baseball game.

  “And what about you?” Sherilynn suddenly asked Tycho. “Did you watch TV too, by any chance?” There was an odd sharpness to her voice, and Tycho glanced up at her before answering. She looked back at him with hard eyes, though she pulled her mouth into a smile.

  “I took a shower.”

  “You took a shower! Oh, and what about you, Oliver, did you take a shower too this morning?”

  Oliver started laughing. “Yes, I took a shower too, right after watching TV. Happy?”

  Sherilynn shrugged. “I thought maybe you guys got in the shower together.”

  “No,” Oliver said, “we didn’t. But we might have.”

  Carol asked if she could join their table. “Girls,” she asked Sherilynn and Donna, “Did you sleep well?”

  “Sure, great,” Sherilynn said. Her voice sounded normal again.

  “And you guys?” Carol said, turning to Oliver and Tycho. “How was your night?”

  Tycho wondered if something was up. She looked so serious. “Yeah, fine,” Oliver said.

  “What about yours?” Tycho said.

  “Oh, fine, just a little short. John wanted to have a quick meeting.”

  “What, this morning?”

  “What about?”

  That last question came from Sherilynn.

  “It’s not important,” Carol said. “By the way, we’re leaving at eleven, so make sure your bags are packed on time. And prepare some lunch. I’ve got paper bags. Oh, and we’ll be in the same vans on the way back.”

  * * *

  THEY WERE BACK AT the camp and Tycho thought: It’s like it got ten degrees hotter in just one day. He ran back and forth getting suitcases, backpacks, and duffel bags out of the vans. He was sweating. There was a thermostat hanging from the school building, but it gave the temperature in Fahrenheit. How much was that in Celsius?

  Someone placed a hand over his shoulder—so warm! Tycho turned around in a single motion and saw the camp director. “Tycho,” Director John said, mispronouncing his name—“tie” instead of “tee.” “Can I have a quick word?”

  “Sure,” Tycho said hesitantly, surprised. “But what about the luggage?”

  “The luggage …” the camp director said. “We’ll take care of that later. First we need to talk.”

  How strange, Tycho thought. What was there to discuss? Last night, had he …? Bluegrass love! Was it about the pounding on the door? Where was Oliver? Or did Director John want to talk about something to do with his junior assistant duties? A private evaluation? Was someone sick? Maybe Gitte from Denmark? Did he want Tycho to take over one of the delegations?

  Director John strode off and Tycho followed along behind him. They stopped in front of the staff room—the camp director held the door open for Tycho. That was when he understood: this wasn’t a meeting about sick leaders, kitchen duty, or the Little World T-shirts in the juniors’ camp shop being way too expensive.

  Inside, on a chair in front of the desk, sat Oliver. “Hey,” Tycho said. Shit. That sounded way too meek. Too hoarse. Too intimidated.

  “Hi,” Oliver said, giving him a reassuring smile.

  “Take a seat,” said Director John.

  Tycho picked a chair next to Oliver. The camp director sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk. He took off his cap. Clicked a pen. Crossed his arms. Heaved a deep sigh.

  “This isn’t going to be an easy conversation,” he began. “I’ve been a part of seven Little World camps. I’ve been a participant and I’ve been a junior assistant. I was a delegation leader twice, and this is my third year as camp director. In each of those camps, I’ve watched people fall in love. In fact, I didn’t just watch it happen—I met the woman I’m now married to in France, where she was the leader of the Philippine delegation. So I don’t want you to think I don’t get how this sort of thing happens. You’re far away from home, you feel free, anything’s poss
ible, and suddenly it hits you. We’ve seen it in this camp, too. But now I understand that—how shall I put it—the two of you have found each other. Am I right?”

  Tycho glanced at Oliver, who didn’t react.

  “Come on,” said Director John. “I see the way you act around each other, and last night we all saw you guys on the dance floor.”

  Tycho thought: I have to say something, and then he said: “Well, what does it matter?”

  “Right,” Director John said. “What does it matter? … Wow, this is new to me.” He rubbed his hands over his face from top to bottom, pausing halfway down. He peered at Tycho over the tips of his fingers, just for a moment. The boss figuring out his next move. Then he let them slide on down his cheeks. They ended up clasped together, as if in prayer, his fingertips touching his lips and his nose. They stayed that way for five or six seconds. Then they flew apart and landed flat on the desk. Bam. No more hand choreography. Back to words. “I have a friend who’s gay.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Tycho saw Oliver moving. Shifting his foot. Shifting in his seat.

  “So that’s not the issue. The Little World Organization is open-minded. We don’t close our hearts to minorities—no one is excluded based on their ethnicity or sexual orientation …” Tycho wanted to stop listening. Stop, he thought. Stop. He looked at Oliver, who was staring out the window. Was he smiling?

  “… but we’re not here alone. We also have to think of our fellow campers. And I’m sure you understand that not everyone will find it as easy to accept your—what should I call it?—relationship, as we do. There may be people in this camp who have a hard time with it. We have to consider them too. I’m sure you’ll agree. And that’s why I’m asking you to think about what I’m saying. Talk to each other about it. I can’t tell you what to do—you’re both eighteen, after all—but maybe you guys could cool it a little. Be a little less obvious.”

  Chair legs scraping the floor. Oliver got up and walked out of the room.

  The camp director looked up and said, “I wasn’t finished,” but Oliver was gone.

  Tycho thought: Now what? What do I do? He rose to his feet too. He thought: I need to go after him, but Director John grabbed his arm and stopped him. Tycho let himself be stopped. Director John said, “Just let him be—he needs time. You’re a smart boy, I like you. You know what’s best for him, and for you. And maybe you need to give him a nudge in the right direction. He’s gotten into some scrapes before. With Sherilynn for example. I’m sure you know about that. But you can help your friend, and you will—I’m sure of it. Carol tells me you can handle it. She has a very high opinion of you, you know.”

  All Tycho could do was give a taut nod and leave.

  * * *

  TYCHO WENT AND LOOKED for Oliver. He wasn’t in their supply closet, he wasn’t in the kitchen, and he wasn’t in the leaders’ room. Tycho walked and thought and searched. The common room? No—he saw Carol, poring over the evaluation forms with Gary. Carol looked up at him. He didn’t ask her anything. She has a very high opinion of you, you know.

  He went outside. He saw movement on the field. Four people with their shirts off. Four torsos. Oliver and Gary and Brahim and Yoshi. They were playing football and Oliver was standing in the goal. Tycho headed over. Oliver saw him and shouted, “Wanna join in?”

  No, Tycho thought, no. Too hot. Too much to think about. He shook his head.

  “Okay!” Oliver shouted, preparing to defend. He motioned for Yoshi to shoot, beckoning with the fingers of his right hand: come on, come on, go for it.

  Tycho sat down under a tree to think. I’m experiencing something, he thought. An adventure. A movie in 3-D. I’m the protagonist. I’m looking at myself. I need to do something. I need to have an opinion. I have to figure out how I feel about Director John. I have to figure out if it’s true what he said. I have to not be thrown by those words. I have to turn them into new words. Words that don’t make me think of something else, something I’m not.

  He looked at Oliver. We have to be together, he thought. We have to take each other by the hand, take a running start, and dive into the ocean. Break the surface together. Operate together. “Scalpel,” I’ll shout, and then he’ll bring me what I need. “Oxygen!” he’ll shout, and I’ll be ready.

  We should have gone over to the staff room together. We should have walked out together too. And when one of us said something, the other should have nodded. From now on we have to talk as one. Finish each other’s sentences.

  Oliver dove after the ball, punching it away with all his might.

  The ball rocketed across the mouth of the goal, missing the far post, flying over the line and out of play. Oliver got up to get it, and so did Tycho. They both made a beeline for the ball. When they got to it, Tycho said, “Are you mad at me?”

  “What? Of course not! Why?” Oliver asked.

  “I wanted to walk out with you, but he stopped me.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. Did you see that save?”

  “Yeah—you were great. Let’s talk about this later?”

  “Yeah. Later.”

  Tycho headed back inside, looking over his shoulder at Oliver. The lines of his body shone with sweat. He snatched balls out of the air, hanging in the netting for a brief moment like a comet with a tail. The three others looked so awkward and lumbering next to him! Gary, huffing and red all over, Brahim with his chest hair, as if someone had doodled on his body, Yoshi, lean and tall and as cheerful as ever. But in the midst of them, standing and sprinting, dribbling and falling, and so exactly as he should be—as if the air was inventing perfect shapes for him and he constantly, dazzlingly, filled in those shapes—was Oliver. No, the camp director had it all wrong. There was nothing Oliver needed to be helped with. There was nothing at all. There was sun, there was a tree, and there was a view.

  * * *

  HE HEARD DONNA SHOUTING. She was waving. She came running over to Tycho. She crouched down in front of him, grabbed his elbows, and panted, “Everyone’s talking about it!” She let go and dropped onto the ground. She said they’d come and given her the third degree, but she hadn’t told them anything. Ask Tycho, ask Oliver, she’d said. But a little later, in the leaders’ room, she’d overheard them all talking about it. One person had shrieked in surprise and another had shrugged her shoulders. One person had mumbled something and another had gotten grumpy. Adele hadn’t reacted, but Gary, who’d been moving tables around with the camp director, had made a weird joke. People had laughed, and that was when she’d run off to find him.

  Tycho listened. He listened to Donna, but his eyes wandered down, to Donna’s breasts. They seemed bigger and rounder than Nina’s pointy ones. He wished he knew why he liked Oliver’s flat chest better. Was it because a boy’s chest was more modest somehow, more vulnerable? And girls’ breasts too out there, too in-your-face? The things you liked … did you come to like them over time? Or were you born with a preference?

  Donna said, “Sorry, but I thought you’d want to know.” She looked at him and Tycho looked back at her and he realized just in time that he was supposed to say something. He didn’t want to. Suddenly he was sick of talking about him and Oliver. Wasn’t there something else they could talk about?

  “Oh, of course!” he said. “Thank you. You have to keep me updated. But tell me more about your brother.”

  Donna raised her eyebrows, but then she started talking. She loved him. He was her older brother and, oh, she just adored him. Whenever she had a problem or a weird question or wanted to complain about school, he’d tell her to sit down and he’d drop everything he was doing and let her talk until she got sick of herself. He lived in an apartment in the city and she always went there to see him. And he wasn’t married and he didn’t have a girlfriend because he was gay. So yeah. That was the story. And that would all be just fine if he didn’t have a problem with it. But he did. No one was allowed to know. Not at his job, not in church, not at home. Half of his life was a giant secr
et. Donna knew. She saw how he went quiet when people asked certain questions and how he made every effort to avoid the subject. And she didn’t know what to do.

  But with them, with him and Oliver, everything seemed to be going so well, and she didn’t want everyone to know and for everyone to have an opinion about it and for him and Oliver to … Shh, Tycho wanted to say, shh, it’s okay, but suddenly he remembered Sherilynn. “You haven’t mentioned Sherilynn yet.”

  A bitter little laugh. “I’m afraid she’s the one who’s spreading the news.”

  * * *

  THE FOOTBALL GAME WAS over. Oliver went up to them. The others were looking for their T-shirts.

  “The best thing you can do is sweat!” Oliver said. Tycho laughed. And finally Donna laughed too.

  She looked at her watch and got up. “It’s almost three o’clock. The meeting’s about to start.”

  “I have to go change first,” Oliver said. “Are you coming?”

  As they walked over to the boys’ dorm, Tycho talked a mile a minute to try and catch Oliver up. He started by telling him everything he’d realized and everything he’d heard. But then doubts and speculations reared up, what if this and suppose that—

  “Stop!” Oliver said.

  He was tying his shoelaces. He looked up and said, “Listen! I don’t want to be gay. At least not like that. I’m just Oliver Kjelsberg from Norway. That’s all. And Tycho Zeling from the Netherlands is the person I want to be with, and even if I spend every minute of my life with you, I don’t want anyone to bitch and moan about it—and if they do, they better watch out, because I know a few ways to knock that crap right out of their heads!”

  Oliver the gangster. Tycho hadn’t seem him like this before. He chuckled.