The Boy On The Beach 4h4a4p

The boy on the beach

Marcelo Briem Stamm

Published by BOOKTIME, 2020.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE BOY ON THE BEACH

First edition. December 8, 2020.

Copyright © 2020 Marcelo Briem Stamm.

ISBN: 978-1393980339

Written by Marcelo Briem Stamm.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

The boy on the beach

Also By Marcelo Briem Stamm

About the Author

THE BOY ON THE BEACH

IT’S RAINING IN BUENOS Aires. Even though it is winter, it is no longer as cold as before. In fact, nothing is the same as it was before. The downtown corner is teeming with executive secretaries and istrative employees seeking refuge beneath the elegant awning of the winery store, waiting for the storm to calm down a bit, to cross to the other corner where the metro station is located. Only when they are coming back home will they feel the weekend has officially started. Mariano does not mind getting soaked. Nor does he mind getting his expensive suit spoiled, even when it is just the working clothes he has to pay the bills and indulge himself. As soon as he leaves the store, he puts the bottle of wine in his briefcase and gets excited about the leather cover notebook his office mates gave him for his thirties, which he takes everywhere and remains blank. This time he is going to write. He has the story already. No matter if there is not a final title yet. Mariano is aware it is just a matter of sitting down and letting his hand go. Besides, it is raining.

THE CELL PHONE IS OFF. Not even in silent mode. The light of the kitchenette, where the bottle of wine is already open, will remain on. Along with the light of the lamp in the living room, they will both create the perfect match. Once Mariano finishes showering, he will sit on the comfortable couch in front of the large window overlooking the quiet street where almost nobody walks at this hour. Much less in this weather. His notebook awaits on the coffee table next to the couch, and already has its first sentence:

Last night I dreamed of you.

THE APARTMENT HEATING gives him the chance to dress as comfortable as if we were in summer. Short pants and a shirt would be ideal. Short pants go well. The shirt does not. Mariano has chosen to wear a sweater. Not just anyone, but the red one. He doesn't care about how long it takes to look for it, nor the mess of a closet turned upside down. Mariano finds the sweater and slips into it. Just like that, with nothing underneath. Tonight he needs to feel the warmth of the wool on his skin. It only takes a first sip of wine for Mariano to let himself be embraced by the soft easy couch and get carried away. The tapping of the raindrops on the window announce the countdown. He then clenches his fist and the words pour out:

Last night I dreamed of you and our beach. The dream seemed so real that it made me feel I didn’t want to wake up. Even though I had the power to unfold myself and to select purely the moments that were worth reliving, I found myself captive to all the details, and I recalled how I got to you. The day you came to me.

AT NINETEEN, MARIANO was Nano. He had shortcut, almost shaved off hair and was much thinner than now. He loved to wander alone down the streets of the small coastal town where he was born. He walked slowly and ungainly along the road until he reached the desolated bus terminal where he had once had his only job, helping out at the bar. He used to spend hours at the bus station thinking about what the day would be like when he would dare to finally escape that hell and start living the life he knew he deserved. On several occasions he got enough money to buy a ticket to Buenos Aires, and every time he was about to get on the bus, he pulled out at the last minute. The voices always came up at the decisive moment when Nano was about to flee, and reminded him that he would never, ever, thrive out of his hometown. He then would give up, settle, and pull out again. Reading and imagination were his way out. Even if it was a catalog, he would read it. He would sometimes spend the whole afternoon in the bar drinking a cup of coffee and milk and pretending that this time the horoscope would be right and a surprise would change his life forever. On his way back home, at sunset, he would climb the dunes standing just there very close from the bus station, and read on the sea shore. When he had nothing to read, he dreamt of another life. He once had his old friends, his pals. They were once inseparable and belonged together. As they grew older and the differences among them began to emerge, Nano had to step back. At nightfall, when he arrived home, he would go round and round before getting in, until, resigned, he found the courage to face the violence inflicted by that guy. Nano's mom died when he was born. And his father had always blamed that on him. As soon as Nano walked into the house, he found himself the victim of claims, humiliations and accusations, which became repeated arguments between them and always turned into a screaming match, lately followed by beatings that Nano learned how to survive. Even when he already had the strength to fight back, this guy knew how to hurt him and reminded him how unfortunate his birth was. The guy would then render Nano defenseless to beat him up until his rage of the day was released. He would then continue drinking until falling asleep.

That would become the worst of all nights. In the rush to search the house for some money for his next whisky, the guy ended up finding some faggots’ magazines his son had hidden under the mattress. That night he hit him so much that he didn't stop until he saw blood. He kicked Nano out of the doors forever, just as the piece of shit he was. After crying and begging to be let back in and swearing he would change, Nano resigned himself and left with nothing but the clothes on his back. He walked for hours around the town and thought about going to one of his friends’ house, but it was quite clear that he could no longer count on any of them. He ed by the bus station and the only option that came up to him was to share the room with that greasy truck driver who drooled over him every time he called him a kid. Just then Nano thought he would rather sleep on the street than with that guy, which he did. Nano climbed the dunes and curled up in a sheltered nook. He could hardly sleep throughout the night. Whenever he seemed to sleep for a while, he was haunted by the voices of his demons until they caused him to freak out and drove him to a crying spell. All it could soothe him, one might say, was to watch the only photo he possessed of the mother he had killed the day he dared to be born.

Inevitably I had to recall that beach before it was ours. When I was hollow, worn-out, with no one, sunk.

THE DAY AFTER, WHICH would be tomorrow, found him with his eyes cast towards the sea. Certain and determined, he pressed the photo until he felt his nails thrust into his skin. Stubbornly willing to delve deep to stop suffering and be able to finally meet his mother, he forbade himself to swim. He had no other hope than to find forgiveness and peace with her. The voices began to screech to an unbearable level and then Nano rushed in and got into the ocean. —Cheese, salami and bread, just for ten! These are the best. Be my guest. It was a shock. An invisible blow that squeezed his heart and left him immobile. Nano felt a paralyzing shiver that came neither from the water reaching his waist nor from the golden-skinned boy that was approaching him breezily without even caring that the tide could ruin his sandwiches. —The sea is rough, don't get it mad. Juan's look had a calming effect that filled Nano with a refreshing air of peace. —I’ll give you one if you help me sell the rest.

You simply rescued me, or did you always know you ought to do so?

JUAN LIVED ALONE WITH his dog Can in a rustic cabin hidden among some dunes Nano had never got to, with a magnificent view of the most glorious sunset that he had never thought it might exist. —Please, take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. —Thank you, but this is your home. Just take the bed. I will sleep on the couch. —Take the bed tonight. The shore has no linens. —Where do you get those trivial lines? —If art can’t save you, it is worth nothing.

You naturally saw my wounds were still open and sore, and that I needed time, and company and distance too.

THUS, WITH A SNAP OF his fingers, Nano's life was filled with light. Nano and Juan had breakfast while watching the sea. They used to spend the whole morning making one hundred and twenty sandwiches, which they packed to then go out and sell them on the beach. When they had some unsold, they came to the bus station, and on a bad day, they would walk all the way to the town stores.They would not stop until they sold everything out. Never. On a good day, they would walk along the beach and talk about everything until it was five in the afternoon when the stores were open. They went to the supermarket to buy fresh stuff for next day’s sandwiches. They also ordered the local baker the necessary freshly baked bread to be delivered in the early morning. As they were in town, they could choose what they would have for dinner that evening, and by sunset they were already home. They took turns cooking as well as sleeping on the couch. Juan used to make two or three jokes and suddenly fell asleep. Almost every night, not to say all, Nano had to concentrate to his utmost to manage to fall asleep.

THE VOICES ALWAYS STALKED him.

ON A FULL MOON NIGHT, the voices became louder than ever and cried out in his ear that he would never, ever, be happy. Curled up and imprisoned by the demons that inhabited that hell that he could never leave, Nano did his best to silence the crying and not to wake Juan up, who was watching him quietly. —Let's swim for a while. The moon is our hostess. As soon as they got to the beach, Juan began to do ridiculous pirouettes and told Nano the most delirious stories of his adventures when he worked as a juggler in the streets of the city. When Nano begged him to stop speaking nonsense, Juan challenged him to run to the sea.

You gave me my laugh back and you never knew how much I owe you.

THE ADRENALINE RELEASED with the race that Juan won cheating became a balm for Nano, who floated silently, overtaken by peace. Juan and the sea had offered him the calm he needed that night. Needlessly to say anything when all was said, they let the sweet tide bring them face to face, and they kissed just as the moon implored.

MARIANO FOUND THE RIGHT pause to pour the last glass of wine and also to enjoy the tear that rolled down his cheek to his nostalgic smile.

You gave me the love I did not know I deserved and the honesty I needed to talk to my fears.

—I NEED TO GO. I WILL never be happy here. But I want to stay with you, too. The night of ion gave way to a morning of love, the kind of love so pure and giving that knows how to let go. —Go your way. Now is the time. You will do very well. I know. —I’m scared to death. —Take me with you. The red woolen sweater that Juan gave Nano was the talisman that helped him silence the voices that turned unbearable when he got to the bus station, and which also caused him to get on the bus that would take him to the new life he had always longed for, thus leaving all his demons caught up in that town.

You taught me to accept myself and gave me the confidence to get back on my feet and build my path.

SO POWERFUL THE TALISMAN was, that every time Mariano wore it, he relieved that last embrace of a farewell that was brief and eternal.

You made me so strong that I had no choice but to take the look in your eyes and your smile with me. All these years they have accompanied, protected and guided me, until I could become the happy man I am today.

THE RAIN STOPPED AND so did the time. It was an instant in a profound silence filling his heart with peace. When the tapping of the keys announced Fran’s arrival, Mariano felt the balm of the sea. —Hello honey, what are you doing awake so late? —I’ve been writing. Did you have dinner? —Yes, at the University cafeteria. Mariano and Fran met in the narrative course that Fran taught on Saturday afternoons. They liked each other just in the first class. By the third class, they were making silly jokes, and they had their first date at the fifth class. By the time the course ended they were living together. —This looks very good. Be careful with any formal corrections; they are used to kill the soul of the text. What is it? —It is a story. A story about my first love. —The boy on the beach? —Yes... Now I’ve got the title. Thank you, honey. Mariano fell in love with Fran on their first date at the bar. It was as easy as agreeing that they had little in common and still, everything was flowing on so naturally that Mariano knew they could build a home together. —How did you come up with the story? What was the trigger? —I dreamed of Juan last night, and this morning, at work, I wanted to him to greet him or something, if only to see how he was. I searched for him on the networks and I found out he had died. —Poor boy. What happened? —He drowned in the sea. I checked his friends’ postings. He kept on selling his

sandwiches on the beach and living in the same cabin. They paid a nice tribute to him full of flowers and posters. —You too gave him a beautiful tribute. I’ll take a shower. I love you. —I love you too. I’m going to bed in a while. Mariano read the story once again. He thought of making some corrections, but he decided the story was perfect just as it was. Before going to sleep, he laid the palm of his hand on the warm woolen sweater and could sense Juan again, being with him on the beach, looking at the golden sunset, hugging him while tickling his belly.

Another thing you taught me: The first love lasts forever.

THE END

Also by Marcelo Briem Stamm

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Walking Tour Walking Tour: Caminito

Standalone The boy on the beach

About the Author

Buenos Aires, 1974. Es escritor, guionista, cineasta y creador del podcast Ninja Digital. @autorserial