Guillaume had done well for himself by renting an apartment in this particular area. People here do not usually poke their noses into other people’s business. Provided that you take precautions and don’t go overboard, you can do pretty much anything you want. Even so, every time I’d come to visit Guillaume, I’d feel beset by worry and concern. Experience has taught me to stay on my guard. Sometimes you may get the impression that the police are not interested or ignoring you completely, whereas in reality the noose is gradually tightening. That’s why I’m being more and more cautious; I watched every single step I took before following it with the next one.
Upon reaching Guillaume’s apartment complex, I texted him to open the door and leave it ajar, a precaution that we had always taken. Pushing the door open, I snuck inside. The whole place had a wonderful quiet about it. A soft aura of music pervaded the lounge, just like the floral scent that filled the space. At that moment I had a prickly sensation, a feeling of regret that I had decided to come. However, it vanished as quickly as it had first manifested itself. I could hear Guillaume humming to himself in the bedroom and realized that he was setting the mood. He was waiting contentedly, just like a baby about to get a present. Once he realized that I was there, he rushed over and gave me a big, nervous kiss that revealed the extent of his passionate love. We sat there in the lounge for a while and drank a cold beer to celebrate our reacquaintance, but then sheer desire pulled us toward the bedroom.
For some reason, I grew tense and fidgety on the bed, but I did my best to put things right and not spoil our reunion, not only because Guillaume was so good, but also because I was completely broke — I urgently needed the hundred euros he had promised me. At the end of our sessions together, Guillaume would always feel jubilant. When he felt that happy, he would become incredibly generous as well; that hundred euros could turn into 120 or even a bit more.
Guillaume let out a long sigh and bellowed like a slaughtered ox. His huge body was taking up most of the bed, and he looked totally satisfied as he let it cool off. For a while we both lay spread-eagle side by side on the bed. He rested his head on my chest and I started using my fingers to play with the abundant hair on his chest, the way he liked me to do. Then I went back to the lounge while he stayed in the bedroom.
After making love, Guillaume liked to be left on his own; at that point he felt a kind of momentary depression. He spread his body out on the space between the bed and the large wardrobe that occupied the entire wall.
Guillaume was an extremely stylish man; he kept an impeccable collection of suits and shoes. Extending his back to the edge of the bed and stretching his feet to the front of the wardrobe, he leaned back and slowly smoked a cigarette before heading for the bathroom and surrendering his body once again to the seductive temptation of water.
I lay out on one of the benches in the lounge, listening to the hiss of the water from the bathroom. If I were in a better mood, Guillaume would invite me to share the shower with him. We would repeat the same game there, relishing the feel of the water as we had done several times before. But today he had noticed that I was a bit on edge, so he made do on his own.
Guillaume was a good person who worshipped money because it could make all roads lead somewhere; as he often told me with a wink, he could open all doors, and windows as well. But he worshipped the body even more, especially if it was male, hairy, and of a light-brown color.
My acquaintance with Guillaume was a genuine gift. When I first met him I was just emerging from a grim and rough experience with another Frenchman — old and skinny, a real miser. Every time I thought back to him, I couldn’t help laughing and feeling sorry for him. It took him forever to emerge from the airport that first day. Just as I was about to leave, the arrival gate spat out yet another traveler, walking slowly and dragging a ridiculous antique suitcase behind him. He looked totally oblivious to his surroundings, like someone who had lost his way. I was the only person still waiting and he moved in my direction, staring hard at the sign I was holding and audibly sounding out the name written on it. With that, his features relaxed a bit, and he came rushing over like an aged penguin that had fallen behind its colony. In the photograph that he had sent beforehand, he still possessed a vestige of his youthful glow, but the man now standing in front of me extended a leathery hand, veined and marked with blotches.
After swallowing this bitter pill, I decided to exploit this old man and fleece him for all he was worth. But he proved to be an intolerable skinflint, only ever putting his hand inside his wallet under duress. For three whole days I put up with him, like a sack of garbage that weighed me down, but eventually I got rid of him with no regrets.
He was really ugly. When he was naked, he resembled a snail without its shell. He tried long and hard to arouse in that old body of his a desire that had died ages ago. Eventually, I discovered that what he really needed was someone of the same sex to sit with him, stay with him at the dinner table, and sleep alongside him in the same bed, only touching each other occasionally. In the best of circumstances all we did was exchange frantic kisses which tasted like dust.
You poor old man, dragging your feeble body and sallow spirit around and traveling so far to get here; and then only to strip naked in front of me! He was shivering from old age more than he was from passion, uttering fake, pleading sighs, and then going back the way he had come.
“Till next time!” he told me as he waved goodbye at the airport. He was smiling happily, as though he had successfully completed an important project. And with that he went on his way, dragging his silly suitcase behind him. As I watched him disappear slowly into the distance, I could only think again of the lost penguin. I laughed.
Guillaume emerged from the shower a totally different person, revived and smiling as though his soul had taken a shower with him. Rubbing his thick gray hair around the temples with a towel, he came toward me and stretched out his neck to give me a kiss. Once again, I was struck by how disgusted I was by his eyes; their green coloring made me nauseous. It was only with difficulty that I stopped myself from pushing him away. After he kissed me, I closed my eyes, not because I was thrilled, but because I could not stand having that same glance so close to me.
Ever since I first glimpsed those eyes, I had loathed their soft, limpid green. For ages, I’ve had an overwhelming desire to plunge into their depths, fathom their secret, and then relax. But I could never look at them for very long. More than once I found myself staring at him intently, but without even meaning to do so. On one occasion, Guillaume snapped, “Stop staring at me like that. You’re making me nervous!”
I watched as he went into the bedroom. At precisely that moment, and without any prior intention or clear motive, I found myself heading for the kitchen. My right hand was shaking as I went over to the drawer to take out a large knife with a wooden handle. No sooner had I clasped the knife and taken a look at its sharp blade than my hand stopped shaking. As my feet guided me toward the bedroom, my outstretched hands went ahead of me. I didn’t even see Guillaume in front of me, only those hateful green eyes with their sleazy look.
He was standing by the table, rummaging through a box. I approached him cautiously. When I drew close, he became aware of my presence and turned toward me. It was then that I stabbed him with a violent thrust — it was both treacherous and utterly unexpected. Guillaume reeled, let out a loud cry of pain, and put his hand over the gushing wound. After that, I couldn’t remember the details exactly. All I came up with were a few fragmentary images — pictures and sounds intermingled, as though I were dreaming or delirious with fever.