Title In Progress

Chapter 4


Night wind blew in through the screened window, and he dreamed of the one he dreamed of. Impatient and fervent, sticky, confused and sweet, unwilling to break free. It was already noon by the time he woke up, the scorching sun high up in the sky, the cicadas crowing hoarsely. He turned over, there was sweat on his nape and the dimples on his back, and his bedsheets were as damp as a marsh.

Weekends lost their original importance during vacations. He went downstairs to wash up, his parents had both gone out, one to physiotherapy and the other to meet with friends, so they left a note and breakfast in the kitchen. He didn’t have an appetite, so he drank a glass of cold milk and gnawed on half an apple, unfolding the note and reading his father’s handwriting: Wash the car for me this afternoon, I’m going on a business trip tomorrow.

Washing the car had always been his job. He knew that almost all his friends of the same age relied on chores like these to earn pocket money. If they saved up, they’d have enough to go to parties and music festivals during vacations.

He had no complaints about this, or rather, it would be better to say he was looking forward to it. He changed into a loose sleeveless shirt and airy sports shorts, put the keys into his pocket, then carried a bucket filled with cleaning rags, scrubs, and a rubber hose as he went to the garage.

The faucet for garden water stood alone outside, so he needed to attach an extension to make it easier to draw the water for cleaning. He screwed the joint onto the tap, secured it, and, thinking it was firm enough, dragged the five-metre long rubber hose in a circle around the car. He first poured water over it and used a scrub to go over the whole body, then took a cleaning rag and focused on cleaning the places where dust and dirt had accumulated.

“Hi.”

Surprised by the voice coming from behind him, he suddenly turned his head and, not being able to pay attention to everything at once, the stream of water clashed against the car window, splashing up into a high arc and completely drenching both him and the man who’d just walked over.

“……”

He hesitated to speak, the water that flowed into his mouth had a rusty mineral taste, and it was a long time before he spoke up, “…hi.”

“Sorry… I just wanted to help.”

The man laughed as he walked to the water faucet to close it a little, wiping the water from his face and combing away the hair that was hanging over his forehead, his tone apologetic, “Won’t it be a little hard for you to do it alone?”

“It’s fine!”

He simply didn’t care about this.

The laughter was hard to contain, and he had to turn around to return to normal. His clothes and underwear were completely soaked, but it was actually extremely refreshing in this weather. The only thing was that his trousers felt a little uncomfortable.

He curled his lips, switching the water hose to his left hand and continuing to rinse the tires, then touching the base of his thighs with his right hand. He hooked two fingers around the legs of his shorts and lifted, then stretched two fingers inside from the raised edge, pulling on the briefs that were sticking to his body. It was stuck to his outer pants, heavily.

The man looked away both naturally and intentionally, turning his gaze elsewhere.

“Do you want to change clothes?”

“No need,” He waved his hands straightforwardly, “I’ll go clean up once I finish washing the car.”


The good thing was that, with the man standing next to the faucet and turning it on and off for him, he only had to yell “go” and “stop” and save himself the time it would take to run back and forth.

The bad thing was that he was absent-minded and could do nothing to focus, watching the man smoke out of the corner of his eye, and occasionally saying a few words.

“You’re on holiday today.” He wrung the cleaning rag, turned it over, and wiped the glass again to avoid his father’s criticism in hindsight.

“Yes. I have nothing to do.” The man flicked the cigarette ash into the empty matchbox in his hand.

“You don’t have any… dates to go to?” He spoke brazenly.

“No.” The man shook his head, his tone still gentle, “I don’t need to.”

“Me neither.” He smiled, his meaning somewhat pointed this time.

“Chatting with kids is just as fun.” The man raised his brows.

“Hey, I’m not a kid!” He argued, clearly really caring about this, “I’m eighteen.”

“That is a kid to me.”

The man turned off the water as indicated and stubbed out his cigarette, putting his hands in his pockets and muttering after a moment, “…Alright, maybe not.”

“Then, do you want to keep chatting? About your things, or mine.”

He packed his things into the bucket and held it with the keys in his hand, then patted his already mostly sun-dried clothes, which were emitting an unpleasant smell, “Wait for me to take a bath and come out? My parents aren’t home today.”

It was only after thinking back on the words he’d just spoken that he realised their inappropriate context. Damn it, that sounded like some kind of suggestion.

“Good idea.” The man nodded, dispelling his minor awkwardness, “I’ll go too.”

He returned home, went into the bathroom, locked the door, and stripped completely naked.

Light came in through the small cracks on the blinds, jumping over the surface of the water and the white tiles, the reflection of the ripples filling the room. The ceiling fan spun over his head, there was a rolled-up towel pillowed at the back of his head, and his four limbs soaked in the water. When he thought about the fact that, at this very moment, that man might also be taking a bath, water poured down from his head and dripped over every place on his body, and a peculiar burning heat emerged in his lower abdomen.

He stuck a leg out of the water and placed his ankle on the edge of the bathtub, closed his eyes, and took a deep, heavy breath.


The man looked for him for a long time after getting out of the bath. He wasn’t at his door, or on the lawn, so the man went to the back garden to take a look and found him sitting by the side of the abandoned pool, his head bowed as he peeled a pomegranate.

The pomegranate was very big and a little heavy, it was ripe, and its bright red fruits were shiny and plump, falling down one by one onto the plate he’d placed on his lap.

The man approached, parted the wildly-grown surrounding weeds, and sat next to him. Nearby were his exposed ears, slightly rosy cheeks, and his occasionally parting and pursing lips. The skin on those places was thinner than in others, so it would be especially clear to see if he was hot or had increased blood flow.

He should always stay at this beautiful age, humming an out-of-tune song, swinging both legs, casually, carelessly, occasionally slipping and letting the pomegranate seeds bounce into the pool, not bothering to pick them up.

His heel was burnt by the side of the pool heated by the sun. He suddenly lifted his leg and the man quickly reacted by taking the fruit plate leaning on his lap, the back of his hand brushing past the front of his thigh as he saved the fruits of his labour just in time, speaking softly, “Careful.”

He let out a sigh of relief and bent his leg, stepping on the back of the man’s foot.

The man didn’t reject him, he didn’t smoke, either, just grabbed the pomegranate grains and ate.

He gazed at that profile, curiously and mischievously thinking that, since the man had already been married and stepped into a world he hadn’t, loving a person entirely different from him, how did he treat her? Had others once sat in the same position, with the same closeness, enjoying the same treatment, and that word, “careful”, freely giving tenderness and generosity, letting her have without holding anything back?

Hypothetical jealousy, irresponsible imagination, he’d never had feelings that left him not knowing what to do. He also ate the pomegranate, the sweet and sour juice overflowing between his lips, swallowing the little bit of pulp and wrapping his tongue around the seeds.

The two people’s knees touched, they weren’t stuck too close to each other, they just rubbed lightly together.

“It’s really strange, mister.” He said, “I clearly don’t understand a lot things, but I also really like them.”

“Like catching the wind together?”

“Yeah.”

The undersides of his fingernails were stained pink with juice, so he put his fingertips in his mouth and sucked.

He didn’t know where the man was looking, but he felt the arch under his foot stiffen a little.