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The boy I pledged to love and live
for is now a middle-aged man
The boy I pledged to love and live for is now a middle-aged man
dealing (or has dealt) with AIDS living (or dead) in Berlin. For
a brief time when I first got a computer I thought we might finally
have a chance of teaming up again. I lived for years with that
prospect in the back of my mind, but its really over now.
I was trying to put stuff into the computer and thought that maybe
it was a good time to finally relegate Ulf to my past. We hadnt
had much contact in years, just an occasional telephone call on
my part, only hearing from him when he seemed to have been drinking
and wanted to criticize me a bit more. But we did share in an
odd sort of way, and in spite of everything the bond had somehow
resurrected itself and endured. Yes, he said when I tentatively
asked, it would be fine for me to put him into my computer. He
didnt have one, so it wasnt for email or anything,
just symbolic: me bringing him into the new millenium with me.
So I started writing a few letters but then he got critical again
and ended up saying our contact was too painful and
for me to stop calling. He returned a letter unopened and that
did it for me. End of story. Some months later Budd sent me a
photo of him that made me realize he wasnt the same beautiful
boy any longer, and I threw it quickly in the trash not wanting
it to corrupt the files of him stored in my head.
Ulf was always smarter than me, more realistic, and
his perceptions more validated by people and events than mine,
yet his intelligence left him hard and cold and raw. Sure part
of it was being Swedish, but not all Swedes are so. Anyway, I
dont want to get into subjective stuff about him, cause
after all this time I still just have a big question mark when
it comes to him.
But you can read the diaries and my letters. It was a love affair
like in the movies. It had me by the throat and any damn love
song lyric you can sing applied. It was meant to be. But his not
wanting to even be my friend now has balanced out the passion.
Hes history. But since youre reading this, he keeps
living in the present.
The story I always tell is about us sleeping together in his
parents apartment. In the morning his Mom and Dad came in
with coffee and sweet rolls knowing full well we had made love
during the night and early morning. It was further from home than
the moon. I was humbled, I was grateful, I was enraged with the
morality I had been raised with and I was forever changed. Being
with Ulf was sometimes a lesson in how idiotic Americans were.
I learned painfully, but surely, how much needed to be changed.
Now Im somewhere in between, not patriotic anywhere. Brazil
is my latest love, the antithesis to Swedish reserve and American
gluttony. Well see where that road leads.
Ulf was my lover, my brother, my hero. Little by little it dawned
on me that he was more mature than me, perhaps to his being Capricorn
and Swedish. I was ten years older but not really any wiser. Softer
for sure, but arent all Pisces? I gave him free rein and
it was a wonderful ride. Our compatibility sex wise was better
than anyone I had (have) ever been with. We moved as one. Everything
he liked to do or have done I liked to have done and do. We talked
sex openly on buses and subways, not caring at all who overheard.
In the National Museum of Art he lay on the floor while I massaged
his head while the public passed by staring. We practiced choreography
in the subway stations and shopped together for food. We never
sensed a lack of anything, even money, although we had very little,
the time was ours alone and there were no problems.
There were intervals when we were apart which only heightened
the times together. We trusted in fate and in ourselves and we
found in each other a source of pride in being gay. Together we
broke through the walls separating us from our families.
Ok, so the diaries are complete about 1973 and early 1974 because
my house fire left them intact. Only them, I might add, as everything
else went up in flames. The letters Mom had saved. If youre
reading them maybe its because they were meant
to be saved. For a long time in my life I was thinking about destroying
all traces of my past, float free, leave no footprints. I still
have misgivings about burdening you with all this info. Yet, some
part of me feels compelled to do it. And do it now, so I can get
on with the next part of my life or die without wondering should
I.
Moving on, summing up. Stockholm, winter 1973: after an intense
period in the city complete with turmoil, routine, training, and
soul searching, a Swedish batik artist invites me into her family
and home, even taking me along for a months trip to Sicily. But
the coup-de-grace is passing the audition to be a dancer in the
world famous (Id never heard about it at the
time) Casino du Liban, in Beirut, Lebanon.
To add spice to the soup I fell madly in love and brought my Swedish
friend on to Paris during the rehearsals. Then he followed on
to Beirut where we lived together till his departure at Christmas.
As it turned out I was the male star of the show, but it was not
a bed of roses. But as they say, I wouldnt have missed it
for the world. In 1974 I decided to stop living two lives and
come out to my family. Ulf had already done so with
his, so here's another example of the a sixteen year old Swede
being way ahead of a twenty six year old American. So inspired
and encouraged by him, I write home and wait to hear, but somehow
relieved that now all the cards were on the table. What I didnt
expect was their letter saying that it was all unacceptable to
them and perhaps I shouldnt come back home. Nice. So I regroup
very fast and write back fine, I am leaving you all forever, bestwishes,
farewell. I meant it too. It was going to be a new chapter. When
I reread the letters and diary it seems I was a little melodramatic
maybe, but all in all I took the high road, bolstered along by
two books, The Prophet by Kahil Gibran and Journey to Ixtland
by Carlos Castaneda. Creating a scandal, I broke my contract with
the Casino and headed back to Stockholm and the unknown.
Ulf welcomed me with open arms and we went about conquering the
world. First it was Copenhagen. Bud was doing a show there, and
we went down, took off our clothes and performed. The show was
created by as sick a little mulatto as you could find.
We were later to find out he was loathed by most of Copenhagen,
but in his own mind he was the darling of the theater there. We
tried making a go out of it, but after only two weeks sneaked
out of town, missing the pastries but not much of anything else.
Back in Stockholm Ulf got work and supported us. I kept taking
dance classes and then got invited to Finland to take over a dance
studio while the owner delivered her first baby. Igor was the
Russian father, and it was a cold but good time I had there teaching
jazz. Then Ulf came over too, and taught the children ballet.
When I had first arrived in Stockholm that spring, I had expected
to not deal with my family for a long time, if ever, but not too
long afterwards a letter came to Fagelangen and then on to me.
They had come around. We were a family once more. Proof of it
came when Mom&Dad said they would visit the two of us in Tampere.
We had such a good time together. I was so proud of Ulf and they
could see why, and once again I got the feeling everyone liked
him more than me. Good feelings all around. They got to see Stockholm
too, and the ferries and archipelago. But the really special part
was Igor taking us by car to Leningrad, now St. Petersburg once
more. Stories are about how we cheated our way into the ballet
performance to moms horror, and the suspicion that we were
being watched and recorded and wondering if Igor was really a
spy. I remember especially the Hermitage and the Summer Palace
and the metro, and how tourist and locals were so separated by
the system.
Ulf and I go back to Stockholm during the Christmas break, but
it turns sour as Ulf seems to lose interest and Im left
to wonder why.
I could cry at the drop of a hat, but Ulf never did except one
cold February night. Hed been touring Sweden with the best
dance company they had, and had started an affair with a hot Spanish
guy with whom I might have done the same. In tears he told me
he didnt think he loved me anymore. I wasnt hurt as
much as relieved to know why he had been so introverted in the
past weeks, and didnt want to do anything stupid to jeopardize
our long-term chances. During this time I was wondering what I
would do next and had written to the Casino du Liban saying I
would like to come back. So it was perfect timing when in March
I got their letter saying the plane ticket was being sent. We
parted on good terms, I wished him well and was gone. I loved
being back in the sun. They welcomed me sincerely and it was like
none of the former incidents ever took place. I wrote teasing
notes to Ulf and in a matter of weeks he showed up. We just liked
being with each other. But he wouldnt say he loved me and
it began to drive a wedge. It was my turn to get infatuated and
I did, a sexy South African white guy. Id spend time with
him leaving Ulf unattended. When the whole cast got evacuated
because of the Israeli invasion (forever placing my sympathies
on the invaded) I gave Ulf an ultimatum: either tell me he loved
me or I was going with Norman. The stubborn little goat didnt
say it of course, and I still dont know if it was out of
sincerity or spite. In bed Norman and I were pathetic. His body
was even more muscular than mine was and anyone would have thought
the sex would be great. It wasnt. It was lousy. Still we
decided to travel together. I wanted to go to Tunisia, somewhere
I'd not been. So we catch a train out of Paris heading for the
Italian port where wed catch a boat across. First though
we planned to stop in Monte Carlo where Normans best friend
was a dancer at the Lowes Monte Carlo, a swanky place if
ever there was one.
When Ulf and I traveled there were never any problems. But Norman
complained and whined about everything. Its not that far,
really, from Paris to Monte Carlo, but by the time we got there
I was having a lot of doubts about going any further. We watched
the shows, and I sat and listened to the astounding list of implants
and surgeries that his friend had had: cheek implants, calf implants,
nose job, chin job, capped teeth, and of course he was heavily
made up and wearing a wig. I left them asleep in the apartment
and headed into a soft rain to find the train station intent on
going on to Italy alone. The music is worth the trip. I searched
out songs I had heard in bed with Ulf in Beirut, and then kept
going south towards the port city. But the boat only went every
4 or 5 days and I didnt want to hang around and wait. So
I went back to Florence and stayed some days in that beautiful
city of adventures and art. Eventually I ended up back in Paris
at the same hotel and a few days later Norman walks in. You wont
believe his story. In spite of everything he must have wanted
to be with me because when he found me gone he waited a couple
of days in case I reappeared and then took a flight from Nice
to Tunisia, hoping to find me there. The problem was was that
a South African needed a visa to enter the country and no one
had told him this in France. He spent two miserable days in the
airport, not being either allowed to enter or leave until finally
the embassy cleared up the matter. You might think he would have
been ready to kill me at that point, but he was a sweet guy. That
was probably our biggest problem: we were both sweet guys. It
was a muddled up sort of thing. We shared a bottle of wine and
then I left for Stockholm. Loved or not, I just wanted Ulf. He
went home to NC with me for Christmas, loaded down with crystal
vases and other gifts for my family. He played the flute with
Kim, charmed everyone. While in NYC we saw several Broadway plays.
It must have been a very black year; every show had a black cast.
Hello Dolly with Pearl Bailey and Cab Calloway was the best.
On New Years Eve, about to begin 1976, were tired and hungry
and cold in a German train station waiting hours for our connection
north. We glide into Stockholms T-Centrallen glad to be
back. The same night I head on alone for Tampere to begin a second
7-week contract at the Kabanov School of Dance. This time it was
even colder and a lot lonelier, but I got to read a lot. When
I returned to Stockholm Ulf had bought me a piano. It was a good
time, fun jazz classes with Herman, who had us laughing constantly
with his stories and expressions, doing wax batiks, building apartment
furniture, swimming, and going out to the local bars.
In May a friend from Beirut now dancing at Le Lido phones to tell
me they are auditioning at Le Sexy, a cabaret on the Champs-Elysees.
So I take the train to Paris, audition, and come back. Ulf meanwhile
is touring with the Cramer Balleten: Yugoslavia, Iceland, north
of Sweden.
I am accepted for the cabaret and in August return to Paris to
begin there. Its a different life completely. I liked it
a lot. Ulf had always wanted to live there and I could see why.
They thought I was very handsome in France, moreso than anywhere
Ive ever been. It has something to do with their fondness
for big noses Im sure. Looking back I realize I was in my
prime, and besides at that time even the French were beginning
to like Americans. I had everything going for me. The diary pages
elaborate on my part in the big fashion extravaganza at the famous
George V and then getting cast for a movie part. But one night
getting caught showering nude with the girls ended it all too
soon. The cabaret director was already pissed because I was doing
other things than her show. She also didn't like it at all that
I would shower with the girls. This was rather odd to me, as we
were all performing nude together on stage. Well, I had on the
smallest little g-string, but yes the girls were totally nude,
cunts totally in my face. Why Carole freaked out about us soaping
up together, considering the limited time and the fact we were
so covered in glitter that you needed someone to wash your back
for you, Ill never understand. She told me to stop doing
it and I did when she was around. But of course she showed up
unexpected to find us bubbly and laughing and fired me on the
spot. Except, the other boy dancer pointed out, she couldnt-
I had a contract. For a month I fought it, against most everyones
judgement. It seems the Mafia ran the club, and everyone said
it was crazy to make trouble. Eventually they settled and paid
me something like 4 months wages. But at 3 in the morning, on
the long. walk down the Champs-Elysees, across Place du Concorde,
thru the Tuilleries and across the Seine to my little hotel room
in the Quartier Latin, I started looking over my shoulder in case
i was being followed. But the men i would find following had nothing
sinister in mind, and those warnings of danger only made things
more sexually arousing.
Anyway, one more job was over, and since I had enough money to
get by until something else opened up, the nights were unbounded.
Dark parks, under the bridges, crowded smoky bars, onion soup
at night and a beer and boiled egg for breakfast, paris was anything
i wanted it to be. But i still loved Ulf.
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