Chapter 5

“Seriously, Pierre! Your room’s a disaster. We’re cleaning, and then I think you should fix up your environment,” Leon said as he aired out the room.

He ducked out and then returned with a mop and broom. They tidied, then took the sheets to the washerwoman down the road. On the way back, they stopped at a flea market to get some things for Pierre.

“Let’s see...You need something to liven up the place,” Leon said as he examined some paintings in one of the stalls.

Pierre looked at the paintings with him but couldn’t see any that he liked. Dejected, he sorted through some of the trinkets on the table in front of him. He picked up a pair of ivory cufflinks and examined them in the light. They looked how he felt—plain and stark. He decided to buy them. When he looked at the rest of the jewelry on display, he noticed a locket. He was curious, so he opened it to look at the portrait inside. He was shocked to find an old daguerreotype of Antoine. What?!

He rubbed his eyes, thinking that drawing all night had made him hallucinate. But when he looked at the image again, it was definitely his Antoine. He was wearing outdated clothing and looked very serious. Pierre turned over the locket. The date etched on the back said 1870. It must have been a mistake because Antoine hadn’t aged at all in 25 years!

“Do you like that?” The stall keeper asked. “It came with some clothes and furniture. Here, look at these postcards that belonged to the same person.”

Pierre looked through the postcards from all corners of the empire. When he turned one over, it was signed by Antoine. His eyes widened.

“I’ll take them,” he said to the stallkeeper. Before Leon could see what he was holding, he paid for the cufflinks, the cards, and the locket, which he then pocketed.

“Pierre, do you like this?” Leon said as he held up a painting of a field of sunflowers.

“Ahh...Yes!” Pierre said as he walked over to examine it.

He did like it...He thought that it might lift his mood at home. They bought the painting and returned to the boarding house. Pierre stumbled on the steps on the way up to their rooms.

“Get some sleep, silly twit,” Leon said as he ruffled Pierre’s hair, then closed the door behind himself.

Pierre quickly pulled the locket out of his pocket. He flipped it open again. Yes, Antoine’s image was still there. Pierre stroked the picture, then used his pocket knife to edge the paper out of the frame.

The back of the image had the name Antoine Araki scrawled on it. He repeated the name to himself. Antoine Araki. He felt a tear roll down his cheek—he must be really tired. He carefully replaced the portrait, then curled up on the bare mattress to get some rest. He missed the brief thrills that he had experienced with Antoine as he drifted off into a daylight sleep.

When he woke up, he pulled on a coat and stumbled down to the studio, clutching the box of postcards. He spread them out on the bench to read them. They were all sent by Antoine, dated in the 1860s and 1870s, from before when Pierre was born. Just how old was he?! The postcards talked of his travels, and it seemed that whoever received them seemed to be a cherished friend or a lover. They were all addressed to someone named Yuu. Who was this person of unknown gender?

Pierre rifled through the box for more information. He found a small painting of two men. One of them was clearly Antoine, but in clothes that were even more old-fashioned. He was standing with a taller man who looked a bit older than him, with broad shoulders, curls in his bangs, and handsome eyebrows. Pierre found some more letters addressed to the Yuu person from different people, but he wasn’t interested in Yuu. He pinned the postcards up next to his easel.

Leon came in a few hours later, carrying a box of clay. He looked at the postcards.

“What is this? A new muse? About time!”

Pierre just nodded as he showed Leon some scenes he had painted of women in darkened corridors of buildings, hidden partially from view. He was trying to capture that feeling of fleeting glances and of chasing down a transient lover. Leon liked his work. He critiqued some of them with helpful advice, then sat down at his desk to fashion clay into his own ideas. Pierre snuck a look at his locket, finding strength and inspiration for his paintings from it.

He thought about it as he painted...He had heard stories about men developing strong, life-bonded friendships, especially during wartime. Antoine had kissed him many times. What did that mean for him? Was he confused? Did he flirt with men, or was this what those deeper friendships were like? He had even felt aroused from Antoine’s kisses. Forbidden feelings—those same urges were only known to him as what some of his friends did with the prostitutes that frequented their gatherings. He sighed. He wouldn’t know the answer if he never saw Antoine again.

***

It was late on a Tuesday night. Pierre surprised himself by having an enjoyable evening—Leon had been trying to drag him out for months. He prepared his third glass of absinthe from the fountain in the middle of the table as Leon told stories about his adventures at Josephine’s brothel. The others teased him about it, and then the topic changed to prizefighting. Pierre suggested that Leon start fighting.

“I couldn’t do that... I’m an artist. I need to protect my hands! But there’s no way I would miss attending the fights. Come with me next time!”

Pierre didn’t really want to...He didn’t like violence, and he didn’t like blood. He shook his head as he took a sip of his drink. When he looked up, he saw the person he had been dreaming about at night for months; Antoine had just entered the cafe. When he saw Pierre, he nodded a greeting before walking up to the table.

“Well, hello again,” he said.

“Again?” Pierre said with a frown. “Yes, I see you around, but not in reality. I only see you in my dreams, anyway.”

Antoine pulled out the chair beside him, sat down, then leaned in close.

“Is that a pickup line?”

Pierre blushed. Men never picked each other up, so what was he talking about? Leon waved to Antoine to ask him how he had been. Pierre felt mildly jealous because he had been obsessed with Antoine’s existence for so long, and he didn’t want to share him at all. He grabbed Antoine by the hand.

“Come to the gin palaces with me,” he said as he picked up his coat.