I sniveled (改) and asked Edgar, “Do you think he heard me comment him an old folk the other day?”
The following few months Ademund’s attention was specifically onto me (改). He was the professor, and the first name he call would be Alan Caster, and he would correct my assignments with the upmost explicit accuracy. I would be called up to answer all kinds of questions if I doze off in class.
I feebly told Edgar, “I don’t think I stand a chance to go after him.”
Edgar’s face turned pale again, “Stop joking!”
We skipped class drinking afternoon tea on the coffee shop terrace by the Cambridge river. “I think my dear babe Andemund hates me because I called him an old folk last time. Oh dear, you do not understand love at first sight. My heart is broken.”
Edgar was serious, “Homosexuality is illegal.”
Edgar was a serious man, a little stiff with people, slightly taller than me, with maroon curls and typical Greek nose, and very well-liked among girls. We met at the bank of Cambridge river. I model for him for free, and he take my attendances for classes.
I flirted with the plaid, mini-skirted waitress that served coffee while he drew; I laid on the lawn reading while he drew; I talk all kinds of nonsense about Andemund while he still drew. Until know I still do not understand why a scrupulous person like him could hang with me and become great friends.
At the time I thought I was just having fling about Andemund, and neither did Edgar took it seriously. Averagely, I went after a different woman per week, only this time was a man.
I was lolling on the white lounge chaise, blanketed by an old coat. I lazily squinted my eyes against the sun and suddenly saw Andemund’s face, which sacred the hell out of me.
It was spring but he was still wearing a light grey coat and holding a black leather notebook as usual. He heard every single of my words, leaned down and looked to me smiley, “Alan, homosexuality is indeed forbidden by our country’s law.”