Colm Tóibín - The Blackwater Lightship

They crossed the stream at Ballyconnigar and continued walking. Without thinking, she asked another question. 'Is your boyfriend Irish?'

'No, he's French, but I met him in Ireland.'

'How did you meet him?'

She did not know why she was so curious, and she promised herself that, if he put her off this time, she would ask him nothing more.

'We were on an exchange scheme when we were both fifteen.'

'And did you…?' She hesitated, and he looked at her as though he did not understand what she was asking. 'Did you…?'

'I think I know what you mean,' he said. 'No, no, not until four years later.'

'But did you know?'

'I knew I was, but I didn't know he was, and vice versa.'

'And what happened?'

They sat down against one of the small sand dunes. He put his arms around his knees and stared out to sea. 'A lot of French students came to the town,' he said, 'and they all joined the tennis club so we were all down there day and night. There were hops and tournaments and all sorts of things. The way all of us – I mean the Irish boys – the way we dealt with each other puzzled the French people, but I didn't realise that until much later. We were all surprised at how they shook hands with each other and kissed each other, and they were amazed at how we slagged each other off all the time. Looking back on it, that was, I suppose, how we communicated. If anyone got a haircut, or was caught holding hands with a girl, or had any weakness, it could be anything, they'd all jeer you and slag you and it could go on for days.'

'That's what you and Declan do to Larry,' she said.

'He deserves it,' Paul said.

'Sorry, I interrupted you.'

'You'd have to know my father,' he went on. 'He's an engineer, and he's really interested in problems in maths, and he's also big into logic. All my brothers are engineers. From the time we could talk he had us solving problems. And when we were older, if we had to decide anything, like how to spend your Confirmation money, or whether to watch television or study, he'd make you write out the problem and then the pros and cons, and then the decision. We all had slips of paper for this, and he'd love if you showed him how you worked something out. So the winter before Francois came to stay with us I wrote on a slip of paper: "I am gay. I feel about blokes in my class the way they feel about girls." And then I hid the piece of paper. I read an article in the Irish Times about a couple where the husband was gay, but they didn't talk about it until they had two children. They were going to try and stay together, the article said, but she knew that he didn't really fancy her.

'I used to take out the slip of paper and write down options: I could ignore it. I could try and forget about it. I wrote down the most outlandish things I won't tell you about. One night I wrote down the option that I should look out for someone my own age who was gay too. I remember I underlined it twice because it was less drastic than some of the other options.

'And very soon someone came along, or I thought he came along. I used to play rugby then, until I got sense, but our club was tiny and we had no showers or anything like that. We used to put our clothes back on after the game and then go home and shower and change. The first time I played in an away-game there was a communal shower and we all noticed that one of the guys on our team \a151 he's a big barrister now \a151 got an erection in the shower. I stupidly decided that he had to be gay. He was a really good-looking guy, so I watched him, and then one night I managed to walk home with him after a debate, and I don't know what I said to him, but whatever it was he understood my meaning. He said he would be interested, but just not tonight, and we left it like that, and I went home happy. I had met somebody. I wouldn't need to consult the slip of paper again.

'The problem was that I never got to be on my own with him properly again, even during the day, and I tried everything: waiting until he was leaving, trying to find him during the breaks in school. I even called around to his house once, and every time I was about to bring up the subject, he would do something like leave the room or zap the television. It was all hopeless. But I didn't realise he had told everybody. I didn't realise that until Francois was staying and we were sharing a room. Francois' English wasn't great then. Anyway, one night, we were all in the tennis club, it was too dark to play but too early for the dancing to start. So we were all just sitting around. And there was the usual jeering or banter going on. Somebody said that Francois was looking for a transfer to another house and everybody sort of cheered, including the girls who were there. Is it the food, someone mockingly asked. No, someone else said. Is it Paul's oul' ma? No, someone said again. It all sounded like they had planned it. What is it then, someone shouted. It's because Paul's a queer, one of them said, and they all laughed and cheered until one of them said to Francois \a151 who hadn't a clue what was going on \a151 "Isn't that right, Francois?" and Francois, who is very polite, said "Yes" in a French accent and they all fell around laughing.

'My father's system of logic didn't mean much that night. I went home and I was already in bed when Francois came in. "Those boys are not your friends," he said. He tried to explain that he didn't understand what the question was, but I knew that anyway, and I told him so. He turned the light off and got into his bed. I started to cry and he came over and sat on my bed and tried to comfort me and then he lay down beside me and he said that he was my friend and we wouldn't go to the club any more. Anyway, slowly, as he lay against me, I realised that he had an erection. He put his hand inside my pyjama-top and touched my shoulder. But I'd had enough of boys with erections, so that even when he kissed me I lay there frozen. Nothing happened and he didn't do anything more. After a while he went back to his own bed.'

'And what happened then?' Helen asked.

'We became very close, especially when I went for a month to his house in France. His parents were young and he was an only child and they treated us like adults. They had a lot of time for us and they were so polite. Francois thought my father didn't like him because he used to banter with him all the time. But Francois' father always said what he meant and normally that was something quite gentle and straightforward. I loved how straightforward they all were. And Francois was like that too, he was loyal and serious and polite. Sometimes he was also very funny, he wasn't a drip. I loved how clear he was, and how careful about everything he did and said. And I knew he liked me as well and that was amazing. His parents rented a house by the sea in Normandy and we swam and played tennis. We never touched each other, but we did things in France that we didn't do in Ireland, like we stripped off in front of each other, rather more perhaps than was necessary.'

'It sounds like true love,' Helen said.

'It was a sort of pure happiness, yeah it was,' Paul said. He stared out to sea and closed his eyes.

Helen wanted to ask him what happened next, but felt that a single question, phrased badly, could stop him now, and she desperately wanted him to go on. When he did not speak, she decided not to prompt him. Then he began again:

'Francois came back to Ireland when I was going into my third year in Trinity. He had changed a lot, he was taller and stockier. His face was thinner. He had new gestures and was funnier. We had corresponded over the years, but less as time went on. I had a bedsit in Dun Laoghaire but he had rooms in Trinity for the month of September, and the first night we met we found ourselves in the city with the last bus gone. I took up his offer to use the other bed in his room. It was like the old days except we were both nearly twenty. I knew that I was gay, but I had done nothing about it, except wank myself to death, if you'll excuse the language. He'd been with a guy, but only once. Anyway, that night in Trinity, we were half drunk and we made a big play of stripping off and wandering around the room. Someone had to make the first move, but it wasn't going to be me. After we'd been in bed for a while there was a silence, and then he asked me in French if he could come to my bed. I still remember the words and we often laugh at them. But I was too nervous. It was too much, I wanted him too badly, and it was all too real. I said no, but he could tomorrow. I made sure he understood that I meant yes, that I wasn't just putting him off. He stretched his arm out towards me in the dark and we held hands for a while between the two beds. And then the next night we went to bed together for the first time.'