Love In A Time of War

As they walked to the Browning School, Adam would have normally thought that they looked like two guys in a band: Ephraim carrying his violin for his Philharmonic practice and Adam juggling his tuba for band practice. He knew it was giving him muscles, but his mind was distracted, his heart low, but he had a plan.

He never disobeyed them, never left school, never spoke to strangers, and as of yet, had never ventured off on his own. However, as he had walked into their hallway that morning, after his talk with padre, and past the Renoir, he knew what he had to do to save his dad. Padre had also told him, that since his dad couldn’t apply for citizenship, living under the assumed name of Bernardo Van Dam, in the almost two years he had worked for Mr. Morgan, first as a draftsman, then as an architect, he had told Mr. Morgan it would be wrong for him to be paid as he was working towards his citizenship. Therefore, he had worked for free, and they had lived off of the money his grandfather had left him, what padre was paid, and with help from Adam’s adopted grandparents, Nonna, and Philip, who were helping pay for his education.

All those years he had done it for them, never complaining, always making sure Adam had all he needed and now he had a way to save him.

He answered padre’s questions; he was okay; he knew dad would pick him up; he had his homework; he had the change padre had given him in case he wanted a snack. He went inside and almost collided with his friend Timmy Schaefer.

“What’s the matter with you? Dreaming about that Cynthia Frazier? Let’s hook up for ball Saturday?”

Adam just nodded, returned the tuba to the band room, and ducked into the nearest boy’s room. He tried to calm down. First period was Algebra, then Art, then break, then Social studies. He heard the first bell and glanced at his watch. He knew Sotheby’s was on York Avenue. They had walked by there before either coming or going to Carl Schurz Park. If he took his time, he could get there by nine. He hoped they opened at nine. He opened his pack, took out a pen and paper, and using his notebook, wrote a note that he had to go because of an emergency and that his grandmother was meeting him outside. He cautiously looked out in the hall, ducked out, ran by the office, leaving both the note and his homework. His only fear was if they tried to call Nonna. Running out the door, he zipped up the block and turned towards York. He tried to remember Nonna’s schedule. Today was Friday. Was today her meeting with the Met guild? He was feeling kind of sick, but he kept thinking of his dad. “I am doing this for dad. I am doing this for them,” he kept repeating as he prayed no policeman would come.

It was a beautiful day, but he still had his jacket on. It was silly, but he wished he was holding Kringle, as his security blanket, but he kept on. No one spoke to him. Ladies were out doing shopping, some men appeared to be going to work, a lady pushed a stroller with a baby in it.

He came to the door of the building, as an imperious looking older woman was about to go in. She turned her glance on him.

“May I help you?”

He was the second tallest boy in his class, but he wished his voice was deeper. It was coming along, but still cracked a lot, as it did now. He stood up straight and took off his cap. “Yes, Ma’am, I’m here to sell a Renoir.”

Nonna and Philip had artwork from Sotheby’s and she once dragged him into the gallery, which was open to the public, so he knew he was in the right place.

She was still holding the door opened and glared down at him. “Young man, it is far too early in the morning for jokes and you should be in school.”

He nodded his head in agreement and drew from his wallet the picture of the Renoir padre had taken when they hung it in the apartment. He hoped his hands were clean and handed it to her. “You see, ma’am, I have to sell it to help my dad.”

A tallish man came to the door. “Miss Treadwell, what is this all about?”

She looked down at him again. “Where are your parents, young man?”

The man standing by her at the door, said, “why don’t you come in?”

Adam looked very scared but Miss Treadwell led him in to a sofa and two chairs. “I am Mr. Barrett. This is Miss Treadwell. What is your name?”

“Adam Stein, sir.”

“Have you ever been to Sotheby’s?”

• He nodded his head. “Sir, my grandmother is Luisa Garibaldi.” The two exchanged glances, but Adam was looking at his cap, he was twisting in his hands. “You see, sir and ma’am, I have to save my dad.” The man raised his eyebrows.

“Why do you feel you have to do that?” Miss Treadwell asked.

“We come from Italy, you see and he saved us.” With a trembling hand, he gave Mr. Barrett the picture. “Something has happened and I want to sell this. He will need money and I don’t want him using his money anymore. You see he got it for us when my family was taken away to Risiera. They didn’t come back you see and it is mine and I want to use the money to save him. They are my family now.” He was crying and stood up to retrieve his handkerchief. He nodded his head. “It’s a Renoir.”

Mr. Barrett smiled at him. “Yes, I know. Miss Treadwell, let’s find the boy something to drink. A Coke, perhaps?”

“No, thank you. That would not be polite. Could I please have some water?”

Miss Treadwell went to a pitcher on the table and pored some water, all the while thinking she never met a more enchanting young man.

Adam thanked her and took a sip. Mr. Bartlett adjusted his glasses. You said Luisa Garibaldi is your grandmother?” He nodded his head. “Who is your father? Your mother?”

Miss Treadwell coughed and Mr. Barrett met her eyes and she shook her head.

“Where do you live?”

“East 66th. Street. I’m in the fifth grade at the Browning School. My grandfather went there.” He reddened. “Although, I’m not there now.”

He stood and extended his hand to both of them. “Thank you very much for the water. Will you buy it?”

“Adam, I’m afraid it doesn’t happen that quickly.”

He looked as though he would be ill. Miss Treadwell reached out and took his hand. “Why don’t you come to my desk give us your address and phone number and then I’m sure Mr. Barrett would love to come and see your Renoir.”

Adam walked reluctantly over to her desk, fearing with every step he was getting deeper and deeper into trouble. In his fear, he blurted out, “I’m not sure my dads would like that and I wanted to sell it by Thursday.”

“I understand. Just give me your information. As smart as you are, Adam, we cannot even buy a painting if we don’t have it.”

He grinned, showing a mouth full of metal. “Once you write your information down, I’ll walk you back to school.”

Adam colored again. With those eyes, that hair and skin she knew he would be driving girls crazy some day. “l’m sorry, ma’am, I have to go to the Brill building. It’s kind of a walk from here,” he admitted.

“The Brill building on Broadway? What on earth for?”

“Well you see, that’s where my dad works. He works for Mr. Morgan and I have go there to talk to them both. You see, he’s going to tell Mr. Morgan,” he stopped and covered his mouth with his hand. He stood a little taller. “I just gotta go there.”

She smiled. “Have to go there.”

He grinned again. “Sorry, ma’am, have to go there, to...”

...”I know to save him,” she broke in.

Miss Treadwell had a conversation with Mr. Barrett and they promised to look at the painting and Adam agreed to leave the photograph with them. Adam then found himself on the street with Miss Treadwell, as Mr. Barrett was getting them a cab. “I think I’m probably wrong in doing this, but at least I am taking you to one of your dads. What does the other one do?”

“He’s the first violinist with the New York Philharmonic and he teaches at Juilliard.” He looked afraid for a minute. “You won’t tell anyone I have two dads. People don’t understand.”

Miss Treadwell, who was tired of people who did not understand, crossed her heart. She wondered if that was the trouble. That someone who did not understand was trying to make trouble for this boy and his dads.

Mr. Barrett had found a cab and as he and Miss Treadwell said something quick to each other, Adam pulled out his wallet. He only had two dollars, including the change padre had given him for a snack. He hoped that would be enough to go the Brill Building.

As they rode along Miss Treadwell asked questions.

“You have no siblings?” She looked down, “sorry brothers and sisters?”

He smiled, that incredible grin, in spite of the braces. “I know that word. You see when we first got here, for the first year we had a tutor. We were staying in Nonna and Philip’s apartment on Fifth Avenue. We would also listen to the radio and do crosswords to learn English.” He got silent a moment. “I had a sister, but she...”

...”I’m sorry, that was foolish of me to ask,” she interjected.

“We found out through UNRRA and UNICEF, I have an aunt Eleanor. She lives in Paris, but she is quite frail and she wanted me to be with daddy and padre. She was estranged from my mother. I never knew her, till after the war. Grandmother and grandfather, Nonna and Philip, have legal custody of me.”

They had reached the Brill Building. The fare was $1.50. He would give the driver the whole $2.00 like he had seen the dads do.

Miss Treadwell brushed aside his wallet. “Never you mind, young man. It is my intention to see you to your father, so I shall pay.”

Adam looked worried again. “Ma’am that wouldn’t be right.” He whispered. “My dads wouldn’t like that.”

They stepped out on the sidewalk. “Here’s what we’ll do. If we take the painting,” and Miss Treadwell knew Sotheby’s would never do that without the consent of his dads, “we’ll take $2.00 off the price.”

He nodded his head. “That’s called a commission.”

“You really are a smart potato.” He blushed. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“An astrologer,” Adam admitted.

She took his hand to lead him into the building. “Then we need to get you even closer to the stars.”

Bernardo had gotten to the office early. He liked to do that anyway, to look over drawings and plans. He was one of the chief architects on a new apartment building on the West side, and he had been very excited about the plans and progress. He loved this job and had been promoted from draftsman up to his current position; at times his English and confidence a bit rusty, but he had moved ahead. He thought the world of Mr. Morgan, and knew he didn’t understand why he wouldn’t take a salary. He kept telling Mr. Morgan it was an immigration issue, and he did not want to cause any trouble for the firm, living off of his inheritance and being grateful for the job and the opportunity.

He moved from his draft table to his desk. He kept one drawer in his desk locked. Taking his key chain from his jacket, he opened the drawer and took out the picture. It was of the three of them on his birthday, the first in New York. The two were his reason for living and what now? He would have to tell Mr. Morgan the truth.

A Nazi, a member of the Gestapo; a man hiding under a fake name, and a liar. Perhaps he should pack up his things now? He went to the window of his ninth floor office. He liked the city, but right now he needed to employ an old trick he used when he got stressed or afraid. He would use it now that he wasn’t with him and the future so unclear. He would often go back to a sexual encounter with Ephraim and it would calm him down. Arouse him, but steady him.

It had been a week since they had brought Adam home from the hospital, back to Nonna and Philip’s glorious Fifth Avenue apartment. It had been, he knew, the worst time of their lives, that tremendously gnawing fear that they would lose him, the lack of sleep, the stress of being in a new land, not knowing the language, and not seeing each other, having taken shifts at the hospital; had all taken its toll. The nurses and Dr. Peterson, had been amazing, clearly knowing these two men, were more than friends. They had shown no disrespect or disgust, but helped them with the phone, and food and drinks, and constantly supported them, and with Nonna and Philip, helped them to understand what was going on; translate for them, and had given him back to them.

When Adam had been strong enough to come home; they still split their time with him at night, until they together felt he was well enough to be on his own, in the bedroom next to theirs.

Bernardo had kissed him goodnight. “Good night, my schnucki.” He told him to ring his bell if he needed anything or to have Kringle come and get them.

In private sometimes he still called him Klaus. “KLAUS, you are very silly.”

Bernardo went into the bedroom, to have the door shut for him and to be pinned against it, a mouth ravaging his. They finally broke apart after a spit filled tongue duel.

“Who the fuck are you?” He whispered with his mock huff he did so well, waggling those eyebrows.

Ephraim first ran his cheek against his stubble, then man handled his dick through his pajama bottoms. “I’m the doctor whose going to take care of you.”

He reached down and stroked his lover’s long rod. “Really? Looks like we have the same problem, doctor.”

“Then maybe we can compare notes on the treatment.” He pulled him towards the bathroom. The bedroom they were staying in was small, with just a double bed, but the bathroom had a nice tub and shower. They knew they could still hear Adam if he rang his bell, but he had been sleeping through the night for the past two nights.

Ephraim took off Bernardo’s pajama top first. He moved his tongue around the stubble on his face, then down to his collarbone, then into his forest of hair. Lifting his arm, he drank in his acrid smell. “God, I love the way you smell.”

Bernardo pushed his face into his armpit, purring like a kitten, his blue eyes, clouding over, but still fathoms deep.

Ephraim stroked his prominent marble like pecs and abdominal hair. He loved to put his little finger in his bellybutton and swirl it around. He glanced down at the major tent in his pajama bottoms. “I see you have a problem there?” Emerald green eyes were just as blurred with lust.

“You think so? It might go off.”

He undid the pajama bottoms, thwacking his lumber back and forth, easing the hood in and out, Bernardo’s muscular arm on his shoulder. “I’ve seen it go off. Very impressive, like a fire hydrant. It can make a terrible mess.”

Bernardo hurriedly stripped him naked, grasping his prick. He leaned down, to skim back the hood and run his penis all over his face. “See a mess. Just depends on where it goes.”

Ephraim lowered him to a towel on the edge of the tub. “Seems like you need a trim and a shave.”

Bernardo gave a throaty laugh, sending frissons up Ephraim’s spin. What a fucking hot specimen he was and boy did he love him. Bernardo grabbed his head in his hands. “A barber and a doctor. I’ve come to the right place. I can get it at both ends.”

Ephraim displayed his perfect teeth. “I bet you will.” Ephraim reached for a pair of scissors and a razor.

“Hey,” he huffed, “I just came in for an estimate.”

He licked up its length and pulled back the hood. “Well, I estimate it’s about eight inches long.” He took the scissors and trimmed his golden bush, like harvesting wheat, he thought, stopping to lap up the pre cum that was drooling out of the sleeve. He then sprayed some shaving cream in his hand and lathered it all over his hen egg sized balls, rolling, squeezing, and stretching them. Gently he began to shave them, applying more shaving lotion, and yanking them down further.

Bernardo looked down at his man with wonder. He loved every inch of him. The little hairs by his ear, the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating, his flat pectorals, taut abdomen, covered in that dark hair, his spectacular dick, which he was sure was of equal length, his flawless ass, and it all belonged to him. In a husky voice, he told him, “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand how lucky I am.”

Ephraim about to take his sack in his mouth, moaned, “me, too.”

His mighty truncheon was bucking and swelling as Ephraim pulled down on his balls with his mouth, causing Bernardo to shake and grasp the side of the tub.

“Start the shower and get it warm. I’ll check on our boy, and then we’ll continue.”

Bernardo leered at him. “You better tape that colossus down to go out of here.”

He laughed, threw on his pajamas and tip toed into Adam’s bedroom, advising both the boys, Adam and Kringle, were sound asleep. Bernardo pulled him close, cocks fighting each other. “Eph, you are very silly.”

They stepped into the warm spray. Turning him around, Ephraim spread his granite cheeks, running his fingers, in the cleft, teasing and massaging. Spraying more shaving cream on his hands, he carefully shaved away the yellowish hairs, then washed the hole, before burying his face in the beautiful opening, ramming nose and tongue in, relishing in the taste and smell. He moved to fingers, first one, then two, plunging, sawing in and out, ramming that precious button, that would cause more of a delicious output, when finally the torrid heat of it all became too much for Bernardo’s engorged sword and he turned the water off, spun around and with three assured, fast swipes up and down, unloaded a torrent of cream all over Ephraim’s face and curls.

He pulled him up. “See a mess.” He grinned, that heart stopping smile and licked his ejaculate off of Ephraim’s face, so they could drink it together.

Bernardo came back to the present, checking the front of his pants to make sure there was no seepage and tried to bring his mind back to the building plans.

A few minutes later, there was a tap at the door and Mr. Morgan’s secretary appeared. “Mr. Van Dam, Mr. Morgan can see you now.”

Bernardo stood, trying not to appear too nervous. The walk to his office, normally a short distance, seemed today as long as the journey from Milan to New York and just as treacherous.

As they walked down the hall, Sally Ransom, Mr. Morgan’s secretary, thought of the man walking behind her, as he did with all the women in the office. Tall, broad, devastatingly handsome, and so kind. Always a word about anyone’s children, birthdays, encouragement; he was like that with everyone. They knew little about him; there was the boy, they knew he shared guardianship with his grandparents. The boy had visited the office just once, last Spring with Luisa Garibaldi, his grandmother, but if there was anyone else, and rumor was that he was that kind, living with a man, Sally just knew here, he was adored by everyone who worked with him.

He thanked her, in that charming accent of his, knocked on the door and went into Mr. Morgan’s office.

Timothy Morgan, was fifty-seven, a father of three, who ran a strict company, but was very generous with his employees. He studied the tall, broad figure, approaching and noted the worried expression on his face. He had been impressed with him from the start. Totally dedicated, very smart, and never a moment’s dissatisfaction. Mrs. Ransom had not known why he wanted to meet with him. Timothy hoped he was not going to leave.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Sir. Thank you for seeing me with no notice.” He hesitated.

“Certainly. Won’t you sit down? Coffee?”

“No thank you, Sir and I’d prefer to stand. It will make it easier.” Timothy looked puzzled, but nodded. Bernardo was at a loss, walking back and forth. He longed for Ephraim, his strong arms around him. He took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology, Sir. You’ve given me such an opportunity and I am so greatly,” he stopped as sometimes English, particularly when he was nervous, was still difficult. He took a breath and continued, “I am sorry, grateful for everything you have done for me,” he took a dive and went there, “and my family, but you see I have been living a lie, ever since I came here and to New York. So many people I have hurt, my grandparents,” he voice was shaking, “Ephraim, Adam, the people where we now live, and you. You see, I am not Bernardo Van Dam, that’s been the lie I’ve been living since we arrived in New York, but really Klaus Jager.” He ignored the tears and continued. “You knew we came from Italy, but I am also German, was a Nazi, in the Gestapo. I was what you call a double agent. I tried to help the Jewish people. You know Adam, my,” he stopped again, “our boy is Jewish. I’ve also lived with a man, my partner, since Milan. He is Jewish, too. Ephraim Katz. I got them out.” His voice shook again. “They are my life. You see some men came to search for me, for Klaus, yesterday at our building. My brother, who was also a Nazi, and in the Gestapo, was part of the end of the Nuremberg tribunal. For less of a sentence, he has named me as Nazi war criminal.”

Now Klaus fell into the chair, burying his face in his hands. “I am so sorry.”

Before Timothy could reply, there was a commotion in the hallway, and a knock at the door. Timothy went to the door, to see Adam Stein and a billowy, middle aged woman standing there.

Ignoring protocol and he knew bad manners, Adam broke free of Mrs. Ransom’s hands on his shoulders and yelled: “Where is my dad? I have to see him.”

Klaus leapt from the chair, and he himself forgetting, called: “Schnucki?”

Adam darted past the adults, went tearing into Mr. Morgan’s office, to throw himself into his arms, those grey wanting eyes, taking in his distraught countenance, and tear stained cheeks. “Dad, you’ve been crying!” He turned angrily and addressed the adults. “My dad is innocent. He’s big hero. He’s perfect. I have to save him.”

As stunned as Klaus was, he knelt in front of the quaking boy; drew him close and whispered in this ear. “Adam; your manners and what are you doing here?”

Adam drew back and addressed everyone. “I’m sorry. You see my dad, is everything to me. This morning my padre told me we had to save him.”

Timothy took charge. “Mrs. Ransom, please hold all my calls; cancel my appointments, and could you bring us some coffee, milk for Adam, and I believe we have some Danish he and we might want to have? Before you go, everything that has been said thus far in this office is of the strictest confidence and if I hear so much as a whisper or conjecture; heads will roll.” Mrs. Ransom nodded her head and left. With that said, he drew the mysterious lady into his office and closed the door. “Perhaps you will explain your presence in these developments of this morning?”

Klaus grinned at her. He was, she thought, the most extraordinarily beautiful man she had ever seen. His English, like the boy’s was very peppered with an accent? Italian, German? She was not sure. “You are from Adam’s school?”

She shook her head. “No, I work at Sotheby’s.” Adam knew he was getting deeper in trouble, but still crowded around Klaus.

“Sotheby’s?” Both Klaus and Timothy had spoken at the same time.

Adam looked down at the floor. “I am Thelma Treadwell and young Master Stein showed up at our door to sell a painting.”

Klaus sank back in the chair and drew his name out as long as he could. “Aaaadddaaammm. The Renoir. That is your painting from your family.”

Adam tentatively went over to him. “Dad, let’s not prevaricate. It is ours. We are a family and I thought you might need a lawyer, and, we might have to leave the city. You see, padre and I love it here, but we have to save you. You love to talk about a house. Do you remember that time we took the train up to Hastings On Hudson? That house we saw? You loved it. We could buy it. You and padre could bring me into school on the train, and go to work, we could maybe have a little boat on the river, I could have the guys up and play some ball. Wouldn’t that be great? You see, then everything would be okay.”

Klaus pulled him in and Timothy and Miss Treadwell looked away. “Oh, schnucki, you are so your padre’s child.” He took a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped their eyes. It was as if no one else was in their world. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t even know who I am anymore. Am I Bernardo? Am I Klaus?”

Adam shook his head. “I know who you are. You’re dad! Do you remember Xenos? He can be a friend or some other guy who may be in the guise of a guide, a messenger, or an attendant, but whoever he is, he’s in the right place and time, and plays an essential role in the place of events. That’s you.”

Miss Treadwell felt like an interloper, but couldn’t move. In her 45 years, she had never experienced so much love. She was beginning to understand, as if an elusive puzzle found its needed last pieces. She involuntarily sniffed and reached for her own handkerchief from her pocketbook.

Klaus heard her sniffle and drew Adam back to look into his eyes. “Wait a minute. How did you get to Sotheby’s? Padre, didn’t take you there?”

Adam drew back. “Oh boy,” he thought. “No, dad, he dropped me off at school. I went in and left the tuba, wrote a note that there was an emergency and walked there.”

“Aaaddaamm! Anything could have happened. This is very bad. We have to talk about this later. You can’t walk around the city, alone. You are only 12. Whatever may be going on, we couldn’t live without you.”

He shuffled his feet. “I know, Sir.”

“How did you get here? With Miss Treadwell?”

Adam nodded his head. “We came in a cab. I didn’t have enough money, so Miss Treadwell paid, but dad, you see, Sotheby’s will take it out of the sale of the Renoir as a commission.”

In spite of himself he huffed, then laughed. They all did.

There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Ransom came in with a trolley with Danish, coffee, and a glass of milk.

They all went to wash their hands. Klaus was kind of quiet as he led Adam to the men’s room. “Dad, I’m sorry, but you see I love you more than anything.”

Eating their Danish, and having their coffee and milk, Adam still looked sad. “Mr. Morgan, is my dad going to lose his job?”

“Adam, what are you doing? You’ve never behaved like this. Apologize to Mr. Morgan.”

He hung his head, a milk mustache decorating his upper lip. “I’m sorry. I was rude.”

Mr. Morgan shook his head. “Not at all and the answer is no. Actually, I was thinking of making him a junior partner. I like the way you both say, you see, so you see I think your dad is one of the finest men, I’ve ever met.” He reached over and patted Adam on the arm. “We will work all this out. I think maybe your dad, if he wants to, should go back to Klaus. He could become a citizen, and I can rightfully pay him back all the money he has refused.”

Adam beamed at his dad.

Klaus leaned down. “Wipe your mouth, schnucki.”

Miss Treadwell was reluctant to leave. She hardly knew them, but felt a bond already.

The telephone rang, and not realizing the intercom was on, Timothy picked it up to address Mrs. Ransom. “I thought I made it clear, we didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“I know but, Sir, but it’s Mrs. Luisa Garibaldi. She’s had a call from both the Browning School, and then from a Mr. Barrett, at Sotheby’s, from the principal of Browning, saying Adam left school, then Mr. Barrett saying he was en route to his dad in a cab, with a Miss Treadwell. She is most upset, Sir.”

All eyes went to Adam, who slunk down in his chair.

Miss Treadwell took this as her cue to leave and Timothy suggested they all go out into the reception area, to leave Klaus to talk to his grandmother.

Adam thanked her; shook her hand, and not helping herself she pulled him into a hug. “I’m going to give you my number. She wrote her name and address on a piece of note paper. “You’re quite the young man.” He blushed. “You know what I think?” Adam looked up at her. “ You’re already an astrologer. You’ve taken us all to the stars already.”

Later that night the three were walking back from Bemelman’s Bar. Ephraim’s head was swimming. So much had happened. They had picked him up at rehearsal, Adam spouting away that Mr. Morgan had taken them to lunch at the 21 Club. “I had a hamburger. It was expensive.” He learned Mr. Morgan had paid and given dad fifty dollars for dinner for them at Bemelman’s; there was Sotheby’s, and Miss Treadwell, and Mr. Barrett, and Nonna, who was worried and upset.

Ephraim met Klaus’s eye. “You’ve had quite a day, young man. We will have to talk about all of this.”

“But, padre, you said we had to save dad.”

It was fairly dark, so Klaus put his hand on the small of Ephraim’s back for a moment.

They reached the building, and Ephraim stopped and pulled Klaus and Adam back. “It’s the two men who were here yesterday.”

Adam, ever helpful, suggested they go around the block and go in the Service Entrance.

Klaus looked down at him. “We will go inside, ask them upstairs, and you will go to your room. I’ve hidden long enough.” He sighed and took each of their hands, not caring anymore how it looked.

The doorman seemed more nonplused by two State Department men in his lobby, then two men holding hands with a boy. Klaus nodded to the doorman. “It’s fine, Tony. They walked over to the two men. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“You are Klaus Jager?”

“Please, may we have this conversation upstairs?” Once they were in the elevator, he acknowledged his boys. “I believe you have met Ephraim Katz, my partner, and this is our boy, Adam Stein.”

Adam backed closer to his dads, but said nothing. Once they were in the apartment, Ephraim guided Adam to his bedroom. He kissed him on the top of the head, went out and closed the door, to join the men in the living room.

Klaus had gone to stand by the window and balcony door and Ephraim’s heart was breaking. Everything they had been through. He would become Klaus Jager to save him.

The older man repeated. “You are Klaus Jager?”

Ephraim took a chance and walked over and took his hand and looked up at him with all the love he had to give. “Come sit down.” He led him to the divan.

Klaus heard him speak in a tone he had never used before. He kept his hand in his. “Please, one judgment for tonight is enough. While you are telling us first who you are, because, he does not know you, may I get you each a scotch? A fortifying drink will help with the investigation.” Ephraim squeezed his hand and stood and moved to the open hutch window to the kitchen where they kept some bottles on a silver tray.

The two men who had been seated in the wing chairs by the fireplace stood. “First, this is not an investigation. We are just getting some facts before the investigation. I’m Fred Walsh and this is Scott Polyczyk. He spelled his name. We work for the State Department. This is not normally our purview, but since the war, there have been immigrants who have come into this country.”

Ephraim brought over two glasses. “Water?” The younger man nodded and the older man took the glass as is. Ephraim added water to the younger man’s glass and brought his and Klaus’s. They had only had one glass of wine at dinner. He knew they needed all they could.

Klaus raised his glass. “To a happy outcome and he took Ephraim’s hand “and my family. Yes, I am Klaus Jager. I was for 28 years. I don’t like him much anymore, but that is my legal name.”

Mr. Walsh cleared his throat. “We, umh, told your friend...”

“...Partner,” Klaus interjected, pointedly.

“Yes, that your brother Gunter Jager named you as a Nazi, part of the Gestapo, and a war criminal. Are those things true?”

Klaus tightened his grip in Ephraim’s hand. “Yes, I guess you could say that. I killed two people, if that makes me a war criminal.”

“We’re they Jews?” Mr. Polyczyk asked.

“No, they were Germans. I was what was known as a double agent.” He took another sip of his scotch, and as he did Ephraim heard the unmistakable squeak of Adam’s door. He knew he must be listening, but he also knew he couldn’t leave Klaus. “You see, I did everything I could to,” he hesitated, “your American word is flummox?” Mr. Walsh nodded his head, “the Germans, even before the war began, the group I was part of in Berlin, started helping the Jewish people, with secret messages, fake documents, and passports. Ways to get out of Germany, before the world totally fell apart.” He stood up and just missed Adam ducking back down the hall to listen. “If you are not German it is very hard to understand. Mein Kampf was our Bible. Well not my grandmother’s Bible. She is part Italian, as is my mother,” he huffed, “although my mother has chosen to be all German. I grew up just wanting to draw and build things. My brother was all war. Hitler mesmerized and brainwashed many Germans to believe Jewish people and Communists lost us the First War. My father enlisted us both in Hitler’s Youth.”

“How old were you?” Mr. Polyczyk asked.

“Twenty, but then I was in Italy. Thank God for Luisa, my grandmother, she insisted I go to university in Italy and study architecture. At that point I loved my family,” he blushed at Ephraim, “until I found my real family, but then I knew there were dangers, if I tried to resist my father. The Jager boys they are soldiers. My cousin”, his voice broke, “Luigi, and I started meeting, in and around Milan, with those known as Freedom Fighters, against Mussolini and the Fascists, then when I was in Germany, for holidays and breaks, I secretly joined FAUD, a group of Germans,” he laughed bitterly, “there were Germans who were, against Hitler, and could spread anti Nazi propaganda and try and help wherever we could. Anyone. After I finished university I went back to Koln, and found work as an architect, and still, seeing where the world was headed, helped the Jewish people. When war broke out, I did go with the Nazi party, and the Gestapo, as a double agent, but to help the Jewish race, whom I knew to be good, innocent people.”

“What was your role with them and how did you end up back in Italy?”

“I was an officer in their secret police. They knew of my knowledge of maps, and buildings, and Italian language. I was assigned to Milan to capture a group of Italian Jewish people who were fighting against the Fascists and Germans, but my intent was to try and save as many as I could.”

“You were still Klaus Jager, then?”

He nodded.

Mr. Polyczyk asked his second question, following the first. “What was your relationship with your family then?”

“In a war, there is not much contact. They believed, Gunter, and my father, particularly, that I was loyal to the party, although there may have been doubts, I suspect. Luisa knew. It put her at terrible risk. I’ve put so many at terrible risk. Luisa is everything to us. You see, my grandfather died when I was ten. She was devastated, but when I was 12, she came to Lake Garda on holiday and met Philip Garibaldi, an Italian American, who had a chalet at Lake Garda. They fell in love, married and divide their time between here and Lake Garda. I left that family except for them,” he walked over and drained his scotch, holding Ephraim’s eyes, “and found another.” He sat down again and took his hand again. “Ephraim Katz was part of the group in Milan. I was assigned to him, to take him, and others to Risiera, a death camp in Trieste, but something happened. I fell in love, not once, but twice, with man and boy. You see, the Stein parents were part of the group. I couldn’t save them, but Ephraim and Adam are mine now. I would die for them.” He wiped away his tears. Ephraim pulling him close. “You see, I was guilty of two sins. I knew I was different, I didn’t want to be with girls, I had only ever been with two men, one in Germany and one in Paris,” his voice trembled, “but this is absolute love, and how you say”, he went for an Italian word, and Ephraim helped him, Klaus nodding his head, “yes, eradicating them from danger to save them and we escaped. I chose the sin of nature and love and not the sin of killing and war.”

Mr Walsh finished his scotch. “You left Milan and became Bernardo Van Dam?”

Klaus nodded. “I would have been hunted you see. There was a young boy, who was killed, we think by the Fascists, that we tried to save; he had fake documents, with a first name of Bernardo. It was thought with my coloring, Van Dam, part Italian, part Dutch, would be safer. There was a forger among the group who changed the documents and I have been Bernardo ever since, until now.” He dropped his head, Ephraim lifting it to be against his.

“And you’ve lived here, living and working under that name?”

“Yes, but never taking any money for it. We have lived under the large amount of money my grandfather left me. My grandmother and step grandfather have helped us too, and of course, Eph. I couldn’t make it without him and Adam.”

Mr. Polyczyk gave him a long look and put down his notebook. “You want to be a citizen?”

“UNRRA and UNICEF helped Eph and Adam to be citizens. I love it here. I want to stay here with them forever, but you see all my proof of who I really am is gone. We said Klaus Jager died in the war.”

From Mr. Walsh, “but how did you get here?”

Ephraim tensed and gripped his hand harder.

“There was a plane,” Klaus’s voice broke and he removed his hand from Ephraim’s and buried his face in his hands.

Ephraim took charge. Enough was enough. He stood and spoke for the first time. “I think we’ve enough for one night. Please can you tell us about Thursday? The time, the place, what will happen?” He sat back down, and put his arms around Klaus.

No one spoke for a minute and Mr. Polyczyk gave them both a long, leveling glance, and then spoke. “Sorry, just one more question.”

Klaus raised his head and those extraordinary eyes.

“How many Jews, Jewish people would you say you saved?” He asked.

Klaus huffed. Ephraim loved so many things about him. His eyelashes, longer than sea grass, damp now with tears, his perfect skin, and golden blonde hair, his nose, a tiny bit crooked, the cleft in his chin, his height, build, muscles, long stunning legs, his feet, his absolute goodness, tenderness, compassion, love, and almost above anything, they way he huffed. Klaus rose, so they were shoulder to shoulder, as he knew they always would be. “You see, you don’t keep a journal about such things.”

Gently, Mr. Polyczyk implored. “I think it’s very important. Can you please try?”

Ephraim answered first. “At Lake Garda there were 20, including Adam and myself. They didn’t all make it,” he added softly.

Klaus looked at Ephraim; into his eyes that were the windows to his unconditional love. “Between Italy and Germany, maybe 50. Perhaps more.”

There was silence, then Mr. Walsh gave them the time and address of the court building downtown. “This really is a fact gathering hearing. We will give our report and there will be a judge, who will make a decision that will be passed on to Berlin.”

The two men gathered and put on their coats and hats and walked to the door. They shook hands and went out.

Ephraim led him to the sofa. They had just sat down, when there was a knock at the door. At the same time, they heard Adam’s door. Ephraim sighed and went to the door, to finding a blushing Mr. Polyczyk standing there.

“Mr. Walsh went down in the elevator and is waiting in the lobby. I left my notebook.” He came back and Klaus stood. “I left it on purpose, to say two things. I understand about you two, as I am too. I served in the war, had a buddy at Pearl Harbor. He didn’t make it. Should I have told him I loved him, you bet, but I didn’t. My folks keep pushing me at girls, but it doesn’t feel right. Sometimes, I go to this bar downtown and try to talk to guys, but I get afraid. Seeing you two together and your love, makes me believe maybe I can find that too.” He leaned it, “but brother is it fucking difficult.” He shook both their hands, picked up his notebook and winked. “I’m a Polish, Jewish boy from the Bronx and I know had I been there, you would have saved me, too.”

They returned to the sofa and Adam came into the living room, holding Kringle in front of him. He walked over to Klaus. His voice was beginning to change and he was almost up to Klaus’s chest now.

He tried to deepen his voice. “Dr. Kringle is checking on his patient.”

Ephraim felt Klaus soften. Whatever the ills of the world were, Adam would always be his elixir.

“It’s pretty bad, doc. You see, it’s terminal.”

Adam took one of Kringle’s paws and put it on the side of his face. “Oh, no.”

Klaus reached out to tickle boy and bear. “A terminal case of love.”

Adam lowered the bear, those haunting grey eyes, looking into Klaus’s. Quietly he asked, “can I say it, dad?”

He nodded his head and Adam threw himself onto him on the divan. “KLAUS, you are very silly.”

Klaus huffed again, causing Ephraim’s heart to race. “Oh, yeah. You think so?”

He picked him up and they went wrestling to the floor, rolling around, into the coffee table and two armchairs, Adam laughing with glee, till suddenly Klaus broke away and started to sob.

Ephraim helped him up, guided him into the bedroom, got him on the bed, knelt and took off his shoes, and covered him with their duvet. “It’s all right my greatest and only love. You lie here and I’ll get our boy into the shower, then I’ll be back. He leaned down and kissed his eyes. “I could trip over those eyelashes of yours.”

In answer Klaus reach up hugged him tight, and kissed him hard. “I love you more than anything in the whole world. You must never forget that.”

“And I love you more,” he whispered back.

Ephraim found Adam in the living room holding Kringle. The grey eyes were misty. “I was bad today. Is dad upset with me?”

At the gym, Klaus and Ephraim were lifting 200 pound barbells, so he could still manage to pick his boy up. “Dearest, you’re getting so big and tall I can’t do this much longer. Together you and Kringle must weigh what dad and I lift at the gym.”

“Padre, you are very silly.”

He was glad it wasn’t a long stretch to his bedroom. “No, you’re father is not mad at you. He loves you more than anything.” He deposited boy and bear on the bed. “It’s just been a bear of a day, no offense Kringle.” He sat beside him. “What you did was so beautiful. So beautiful, but you must never wander off like that again. Never. I know you just turned 12, and are becoming our big man, but we couldn’t live without you if something happened. You are our everything. The reason we breathe.”

The light in the hall shone down on the Renoir. “He’s right you know, that Renoir is yours. It’s your legacy. One day when you have children of your own, you’ll want to tell this story, about your funny old dads, and you’ll want the Renoir to still be yours.” He leaned his head down to touch his forehead. “We will survive.”

“But...”

Ephraim shook his head. “We will survive. As long as we have each other, we will survive.”

“But,” his voice shook, “what if the judge makes dad go away?”

“You were listening. Darling, that man in there is no more a war criminal then Nonna and Philip.” He sighed. “You heard then, 50, even if they didn’t all make it, that’s a hero, not a criminal. Now, you, you have had a very tiring day. Into the shower, wash good and clean behind your ears, brush your teeth, clothes in the hamper. I’ll turn down your bed, and while you’re doing all that, I’ll check on dad.”

“Will he come in and say goodnight?” Ephraim pulled him in close. “Yes, dearest he will. Don’t you worry now.”

Ephraim heard the taps, turned down the bed and going into their bedroom, was pleased to see Klaus, was in his pajamas, sitting in the wing chair, having one of his rare cigarettes. He stubbed it out and stood.

“I’m sorry.”

He went to him and took him in his arms. “Dear, perfect, perfect man, what the fuck would you be sorry about? Being a hero? Helping that many people? I dare say most people, myself included, can count on one hand, the number of people they may help in one lifetime, but you? Do you know how proud of you, I am?”

Klaus huffed again. “Can’t imagine why?”

Ephraim laughed, a sound Klaus adored. “Do you know that journal Mr. Polyczyk was writing in?” Luminous blue eyes looked down at him. “I could fill a thousand and still need more room for all the reasons why. Go and say goodnight to your boy. He needs you.”

Another huff. “What did you say to him about traipsing all over the city?”

“Come and sit with me a minute.” He took his hand and led him to the cedar chest at the foot of their bed. “Every time you huff like that you remind me of a train. Long, sleek, and powerful.”

“I don’t huff. I thought you were supposed to be cosseting me tonight, new crossword by the way,” he pinched his nose, “not comparing me to some old train and I asked you a question.”

“I told him what he did was beautiful, that we will survive, he must keep his Renoir, he must never, must never wander off again, that he was our everything, but why do you think he did all those things today?” He kissed him. “Because you have always saved us and I did tell him we had to save you. He loves you more than anything and so do I.”

He stood and walked to the door, then turned, “a train hunh, would you ride the train?”

Ephraim was turning down their bed. He blew him a kiss. “For the rest of my life conductor. For you have just the fare that I need.”

Klaus found Adam in bed, reading a Hardy Boys mystery. “Tomorrow, schnucki, homework for what you missed.” He pushed him over and climbed in beside him. “You are getting so big, I can’t do this much longer.” He put his arm around him.

“Dad, guess what? Padre carried me down the hall. Isn’t that great?”

“He’s the one that’s perfect.”

“Dad, are you worried about Thursday?”

Adam was leaning against him, but he could tell he was shaking his head. “Not as much now, because I know you’ll both be with me.”

Adam shot bolt upright. “You mean I can be there? Oh, dad, I can save you again!”

“You did a fair share of saving today. Poor Nonna.”

“She was pretty cool about it and understood, when I apologized to her. Dad, tomorrow it’s supposed to rain. After my homework, let’s just spend the day, doing the Saturday crossword and listening to the radio. We can work more on our English, like we’ve done. I thought of playing catch with the guys, but I’d rather not.”

“As a surprise I was thinking we could see if we could get tickets and go and see padre play at Carnegie Hall tomorrow night. He’ll be in rehearsal most of the day.”

“You mean, like together?”

Klaus huffed. Maybe he did huff? “Well, you are not wandering over there by yourself.”

Adam looked at him with a worried expression. “Would it be okay?”

“We are a family. It’s time to act like it, even where we work. Deal?”

Ephraim came in and they both kissed him goodnight. In their bedroom, Klaus kicked the door closed. “I need to see your ticket to ride that train.” He reached down and fondled his dick. He ran his tongue around his lips. “Looks like you’ve got the Super Chief, there.”

Ephraim leaned in and devoured his mouth, breaking after a few seconds, enjoying his still cigarette tinged breath. “That’s my baby. Fuck me through all the stops.”

They tore off their pajamas, running hands all over each other. Muscles, biceps, hairy bodies cemented together.

Klaus leered at him. “All aboard, sir.” He thrust his erect penis against his leg. “You might have to help the engineer, with his dining car, before we move onto the stops.”

Ephraim knelt, to skin back the hood, inhaling deeply and teasing his head, collecting his early fluid. “Looks like you have everything I need to eat and drink on the menu.”

He sucked away, on his mighty prize, rubbing his tennis sized balls between his hands. Klaus did huff and pulled him up to push him face down on the bed. “There’s a new tunnel on this line. We better see if the train will fit.” He pulled his cheeks apart. “ Holy fuck, if I have this ass till I’m 80, I’ll be happy.”

Turning his head, Ephraim snickered. “If you had this ass till you were 80, there would be no ass left.”

He swatted his cheeks. “Shut up. I’m driving this train.” Klaus knelt and first took languid swipes up and down the crack, then taking each ball in at a time, then moving up to the pink pucker, and moving in for the kill, stabbing his tongue in and out, his eyelashes and hair fluttering against his hole. He loved owning that hole. Small and brown and pink. He could study it, eat, and love it forever. The black hairs, his scent, the way it winked open at him, as he bathed and tortured it with his spear like tongue. Then wetting his index finger, rubbing against the pucker, teasing back and forth, moving in as his sphincter grabbed hold of his finger like quick sand, as he pushed against his nub, gliding back and forth. Ephraim was glad his head was down on the mattress, to keep from moaning too loudly.

Klaus lathered his tool with Vaseline and aimed at the hole, his hole. He began to push in, thrilled by the still tight entry and heat. He reached up and pulled his curly hair. “Moving in”, he announced, “first stop, curly hair.” He pulled back, and slid in further, “next stop, stunning back.” He ran his hands down his back, to rub and grab his cheeks, and he began moving in faster, “next stop, hairy, fucking, hot ass.” He grabbed his feet for balance, running his hands up and down his furry legs. “We’re, coming into hairy leg stop,” he grunted, beginning to thrust even harder. He poked his prostrate repeatedly, causing Ephraim to roll his head from side to side, on sheets, already starting to be soaked with his honey. Klaus pulled out and flipped him over, his shiny, long saber slick with Vaseline. The head out; an angry, purple, dripping down onto him like candle wax. “How do you like the train ride, so far, baby?”

Ephraim stroked Klaus’s golden rod and added the goo to his own, with his own hood distended. “I’ve heard tell there’s some rough terrain ahead, which will cause the train to have to go faster and rougher.”

He bent down and captured Ephraim’s tongue with his own, rolling on top of him. “You better fucking believe it, love of my life.” He swept an errant curl from his forehead, his cerulean, azure eyes, drilling into him. “Whenever I get low, in my mind, we’re rutting away. It fucking turns me on, but steadies me.” He ran a finger down his face and his voice became choked with emotion. “You save me every day of my life, every time I breathe.”

They swept their arms around each other, sweating, hairy bodies rubbing against each other, till Ephraim cleared his throat and whispered, “mister conductor man, the train seems to have stopped.”

Klaus raised himself up on his elbows and yes, he huffed. “Why that’s just to take on more cargo.” He reached down and gripped Ephraim’s flared penis with both hands, creating a tight channel, pumping his fists up and down, with the pink head, peeking out. “You see it’s an extra big load of semen, we have to unload when we reach the terminal.”

“Well all right then, I think we can both contribute to that, so let’s go.”

They started again, Klaus using his fingers and mouth as they moved along their route. “Eyes,” he whimpered, “mouth”, he gurgled as their lips, then tongues connected, “nipples”, he was mercilessly pinching them, causing Ephraim to buck up and squeeze tight around the log that was mutilating his ass. Klaus leaned forward and drew one greasy finger down his engorged, thickening tool, tickling right under the beautiful pinkish purple head, moving his finger and nail right under the crown, the sound of his balls slapping against his ass, like the wheels of a train, causing Ephraim’s already quickened breathe to accelerate even more. He tugged on Ephraim’s tightened nut sack, gave two violent lunges, ran a free hand down the muscles of his arm, swooped and took his prick in his mouth. He popped it out, waggled his eyebrows, pulled almost all the way out, plunged back in and expelled his labored breathe. “Terminal”, and swallowed him whole as they both exploded ricochets of cream into each other.

Panting Klaus pulled out and fell beside him, kissing him endlessly. He broke away, to beam down at him. “Thank you my everything, for everything.”