The Eighth Night.

Tonight, I informed Nick that our dinners would be changing for the next few weeks. Since we are entering Lent, I will not be serving meat. It’s a small penance in preparation for Easter.

He accepted, though somewhat puzzled. As a joke, he asked if I minded if he brought meat from home. In the same spirit, I told him it was fine, but he would have to eat it outside, in the garden, before coming inside.

He found the announcement a bit strange, but he knows that my life is guided by my faith. His acceptance didn’t mean he fully understood, and later, when I wasn’t expecting it, he asked, “Why doesn’t God want you to eat meat during Lent?”

I replied, “God doesn’t require it from me, but I believe abstaining from meat during Lent, and at other times of the year, is good for me. Eating meat is licit, good, and sometimes even necessary, but by choosing to give up something that is licit and good—saying to God, ‘I can do this, and it’s not a sin, and it brings me pleasure, but I choose not to,’—I show Him that I love Him. I also can do it as penance for my sins and for others’ sins but this is another point.”

“But why would God be pleased with you doing something He doesn’t need?” he asked.

I explained, “God is Love and Justice. He doesn’t need me, but He created me out of love. He knows I cannot be truly happy without Him. He made me to belong to Him, and the more I live in this relationship, the more I find love and joy. I can’t affect God in any way, but He deeply affects me. So, it is a matter of justice to give God what is rightfully His. Love and justice are intertwined; love brings forth justice, and justice brings forth love.”

“Justice?” he inquired.

“Justice is giving someone what they deserve. God has given me everything, so He deserves everything in return.”

“But where is you in it?”

I responded, “You’ve probably heard the saying, ‘Whoever wants to save his life will lose it.’”

“Yes,” he replied.

“It was said by Jesus,” I continued, “and it means that to live in God, we must die to ourselves, because evil resides in us, while God is pure Goodness. There is no darkness in Him, so I must purify myself, becoming goodness in order to be with Him.”

“But evil is ingrained in you,” he countered.

“That’s why,” I said, “I must spiritually die to myself, allowing God to live within me. Since my conversion, I’ve been ‘killing’ my old self to make room for God’s presence. If you see me consistently doing good, it’s not because of me—give thanks to God. Now, returning to your initial question: What does it mean to abstain from something if God isn’t affected by my actions? It’s a gesture of love. God loves me, and I respond with love – this is justice. But true love isn’t just about words and affection. Anyone can offer kind words, but to love someone to the point of suffering for them—that’s what true love is. I can’t give anything to God because He needs nothing from me, but I offer Him these voluntary sacrifices as a sign of my love. Of course, there are many other ways I can show my love for Him, such as through acts of mercy, both material and spiritual.”

Nick shook his head, “That sounds crazy to me. You live in the here and now, and nothing is more important than being yourself.”

“I agree,” I said. “In the here and now, I strive to live in God, because the more I live in Him, the more I become truly myself. Of course, if I could choose to be Batman, I would. But that’s not possible, isn't?

The Seventh Night

 

During the week, Nick insisted that we hold our weekly meeting at a restaurant rather than at my home. He explained that, despite enjoying my cooking and the care I had shown during our last gathering, he felt it was important to do something special for me. It was his way of expressing gratitude. Since he couldn't cook himself (as he put it, he could only manage to place a pan on the stove to boil water, and even that he might burn), he thought a dinner out would be a fitting gesture. Out of respect for his feelings, I agreed.

That evening, he parked his car at my house, and we drove to one of the most elegant and expensive restaurants in the city. After dinner, we walked to a seaside park and sat on a bench, enjoying the warmth of the night.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said.

"Indeed. I’ve always dreamed of living in a place like this, and by the grace of God, I’m here now."

"You're from Brazil, right?"

"Yes, I am."

"But Brazil has wonderful beaches."

"Yes, but I’m from the South of Brazil, where the beaches aren’t as stunning. What I’ve always wanted was this: warm, crystal-clear water; lush vegetation; peace. And most importantly, no crowds, no busy commercial areas. People rushing frantically, always hurrying to get nowhere, until Death stops them. It’s a very sad way to live. I like to wake up in the morning, jump into the sea in my backyard, swim, say hello to the fishes and crabs, pick some eggs and fruits for breakfast, then dress and go to work."

"That’s the difficult part," he said.

"Of course, work has its downsides, but it also brings many rewards."

"That's where we met," he said.

"Exactly! You see? Not everything is so bad. The truth is, in my country, we can’t have a life like this. London is even worse. The English don’t seem to know what it means to truly embrace the joy of life. But in Portugal, it’s different. Maybe most Latin cultures have it, some more than others."

"I tend to agree with you. In America, for example, people often feel empty. I don’t think we, in general, have the joy of living, as you put it. Maybe it’s because of our British heritage, I’m not sure. What I do know is how frustrating it is to be judged by what you have instead of who you are. I spent years as a drug-addicted male escort. The only thing I had was my body, and even that didn’t belong to me—it belonged to my addiction and the men who paid for it."

A fish leapt from the water, and Nick continued, "I came here to leave my past behind, and I found a whole new world where what matters is who I am. Sure, I’ve managed to build a more comfortable life than many here, but when people appreciate me, it’s not because of the credit cards in my wallet. I am much more than that."

"I’m glad you realized that," I replied. "‘Later’ is far better than ‘never.’"

He smiled in agreement, and a seagull flew across the starry sky.

 

The Sixth Night

Nick arrived for our weekly meeting with no intention of taking me anywhere.

“You know,” he said, “I confess that during the week I thought about spending the night in one or two very nice places I know, and then, knowing you wouldn’t want to go, I realized that, on my own, it wouldn't be good. I realized that being with you was much more pleasant to me.”

“I didn’t know you were a masochist,” I said jokingly, to shift the conversation’s focus away from me.

“And I’m not,” he replied. “You know, you work so hard to maintain your solitude, and I think I do the same. If I had gone, I wouldn’t be here, of course, and there, I’d also be alone. Those who frequent the night are always seeking solitude, even when they say otherwise.”

“I had a similar impression, back in those distant years, when I used to go out at night.”

“Isn’t it curious? We search for the same thing but by different means?”

“I know my reasons for that, and I believe you have your own good reasons too.”

“Since I was very, very little, I was abused by an adult who was very, very close to me.”

“Wow! I’m so sorry!”

“I really can’t trust anyone, you know? It seems to me that if you trust, people will stab you in the back when you least expect it. He did whatever he wanted with me for many years, until he died, when I was fifteen. A few years before that, though, I discovered I loved him. I understood that the abuse was his way of showing his love for me. When he died, I lost my ground and ran away from home, continuing to look for men who would abuse me out of love. Ridiculous, right?”

“I’m so sorry your path has been so difficult.”

He wiped a tear with his right hand and continued: “My psychologist suggested I open up to you. Honestly, I feel like I’m tearing myself open in front of you!”

We paused for a moment, and he spoke again: “When I was 25, I survived an overdose. Since I was 16, 17, I had been using drugs, and it took years, but eventually I found a guy who didn’t mind killing as long as he could make money off it. The more he offered, the more I bought, and I ended up in such a state that he decided to run away. I followed him, ending up collapsed and vomiting in the hallway of the building. Someone saw me and called the police.”

' The doctors said it was a miracle I recovered. I did recover, but I thought those were many years of painfull, long death. I didn’t want to die again!”

He sought shelter in my chest, and I gave it to him. He cried, and I embraced him.

“Sorry for ruining your night,” he said.

“You haven’t ruined anything. I just hope to be worthy of your trust. How do you feel?”

He sighed deeply before saying: “Relieved, although afraid of your dagger.”

“I’m also afraid of yours.”

“Your dinner is getting cold.”

“We can reheat it later. Right now, you are the most important. My story isn’t as dramatic, but I also felt betrayed by those who were supposed to care for me. But that goes back even before I was born.”

“Really?”

“Really. I only found out the facts through a hypnotic regression! I also had two people trying to sexually abuse me, but I ran away before the abuse happened. But let’s leave that conversation for later. Right now, you are the most important!”

...and I hugged him tightly.

 

The Fifth Night

 

Crapaud pleased Nick, and once again, we played a few rounds after dinner. This allowed me to exercise my strange sense of humor, which is merely about exploring the ridiculousness of human complexities. So, during the game, I would express fake joy when he won and exaggerated satisfaction when I won.

At first, he found this strange, but then he understood and laughed along with me. He even tried to get into the spirit.

I love when we laugh together at the same things.

He noticed how I tried to make jokes about everything and everyone, starting with myself, and I had to explain to him that I was thirsty for joy, for my heart is full of bitterness. On the other hand, humor is a way for me to be pleasant to others without truly exposing myself. It's like living as a character.

He didn’t understand how I could put so much effort into it, expending so much energy to remain alone.

“Why don't we go out one night? I know lots of great places to dance, drink, and laugh!”

“Dance? Me? Not a chance! A door dances better than I can do!”

“I want to see!”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s a door over there. Let's put it and you to dance and see who does it better!”

“Don’t be silly!”

“Come on! Dance with me!”

“I don’t know how to dance!”

“I already know that; now come on! he said while rummaging through my radio for something danceable.

I wish to kick him in the backside but restrained myself and extended my hand to him.

One foot here, one foot there, follow the rhythm, and other such instructions.

What a torment! Where was the rhythm I was supposed to follow? And my feet? Suddenly, they had a life of their own, independent of my will!

I honestly would like to learn how to dance, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. He laughed, but he noticed that joy was missing from me.

“Sorry, he said. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know. Maybe one day I’ll learn to dance, but I swear, not dancing doesn’t bother me.”

“Next week, let’s go to a place with dancing?”

“I don’t think so. I used to go to places like that when I was younger, but now I prefer my home.”

“You went to places like that?”

“There was a time when I had a “group,” and we would spend Friday nights in places like that. Full of people, lots of noise, and yes, laughter, music, and dancing. But then, the group dissolved. I still went a few times on my own, but it didn’t have the same effect as before, so I stopped going.”

“Why did the group dissolve?”

“We were all there, including me, because of one guy. When he went to Europe to start a life in Portugal, the group fell apart.”

“Sad, he said.”

And since it was already late, Nick left.