August 2023 - shared gondola

[Kaje]

The winner by one vote this month was this picture of two people and a gondola in canal somewhere - fantasy? History? A tour of Venice? Give us your poem, story, haiku or flash fic. Just keep it YA and LGBTQ

[Kaje]

cw - homophobia and past official abuse

Escape

Gio propels the gondola silently along the canal, the faint drip of water when he raises his pole the only sound. His glare says he'd like to yell at me to do my share, but I'm taking advantage of the fact that he won't make a sound. Not on The Day of Hiding.

We should be inside like all the rest, huddled in an interior space without windows, sipping water by oil lantern light, and watching as an elder tells the story of the Harvesting in silent signs. An enforced ritual.

But come on, folks, it's been ten years since the alien ships last circled overhead, snatching the unwary and destroying the unwise. What are the odds they'll suddenly reappear? I bet they decided humans taste pretty gross after all. Or went off for a while to let us restock the herd, maybe.

No restocking coming from me. Even if I wasn't gay, no one wants to create a child who might become alien lunchmeat. Well, some do. Not this guy.

I jump as Gio flicks water at me off the end of his pole. He grins and tilts his head, making another threatening gesture.

I'd ignore him if I wasn't wearing my leathers but I am, so I give him the universal sign everyone knew before silence began saving lives— a middle finger aimed his way. Then I get up and move to the other gunwale, beginning lazy paddling.

A flock of pigeons have been circling, the ruffle of their wings and occasional squawks the only sounds on the still air. As we approach a low archway they become more agitated, dive-bombing us. I give them the finger too as we pass into the cool of the tunnel. Messy nests on a ledge along one guano-streaked wall explain their annoyance with us. Was a time when I was a kid, I'd have been going after those nests, eager for any fresh eggs we could find, but after ten years of peace, chickens are a thing again, and tiny pigeon eggs are safe.

We break out of the tunnel to the inlet, where the canal opens up into the bay. In theory, we should be unobserved, if everyone's obeying the preachers and hunkered inside observing the holiday. In practice? We hope no one watching has binoculars strong enough to see our faces. Although if this works, it won't matter. Having to come back would be failure of the worst kind.

The water's smooth as glass today, rolling gently with the soft swells coming in but never breaking. The sun's hot on my shoulders now we're out from between the buildings. Far ahead, Sacrilege Island beckons.

That's not its name on maps, of course. That's what the elders call it, with signs against evil cast its way. Sacrilege Island, where the people who have broken away from the Way of Silence— or cult of silence from their point of view— live evil noisy lives that will bring the aliens down on them. Any day now.

When we're far enough from shore that no ordinary boat will catch up to us, Gio clears his throat. "No second thoughts?"

His voice makes me jump, then I grin. "Are you kidding me? How long have we been planning this?"

"Four years, give or take. Waiting for you to be past twenty and out of your father's household."

"And praise all the little pigs with wings for that." I stretch luxuriously, only realizing as I raise my head how used I am to looking down.

"We have no idea how things are on the island. It could be worse than what we left."

"Could be." All we had were rumors. "I'm ready to take that chance."

"Me too." Gio's shoulders twitch. His scars are long healed, but sometimes they itch, where he was scourged for unnatural acts when he was fifteen. A year before I met him, but the shadows lurk in his eyes. That time in a deep chamber where punishments are meted out, far enough from the surface to muffle cries of pain, didn't break him. Those days and nights built a rage in him that burns hot. I like to think having me gave him an outlet to siphon some of the anger off in better ways. I also desperately hope the island will be the sanctuary its whispered to be.

We take almost an hour to reach the island, our pole paddles far from ideal for crossing open water. As we approach, I see the land area's bigger than I realized. A tall stone tower at one end gives them an overlook of the bay, and I'm sure they spotted us long ago.

If rumors are right, they're not hiding in silence.

Let the rumors be right.

There's a harbor opening out to the bay, and as we paddle around the spit of land at its mouth, I blink at the sight of all the craft tied up there. I guess I knew that folks who came out here must come by boat, but there's everything from a makeshift rowboat to a motor yacht retrofitted with two tall masts. We paddle slowly between them, looking for an open jetty.

At last we spot a wooden pier with space at the end, beyond a bevy of wooden sailboats.

For the first time, Gio pulls his paddle from the water and pauses, not taking the next stroke. He stares ahead, brow creased.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah. Just. What if…" He goes quiet.

It's my turn to be bold, when he carried us this far. "Or what if not?" I paddle us forward, a bit crookedly. "Hey, look, there's someone coming."

An older man with gray hair hurries along the pier toward us. I try to make out his expression, but he's too far away. Controlling my breathing that wants to race, I paddle forward and Gio joins in, straightening us out.

Then the man calls out, "Hey, welcome!"

The words out loud on this day jolt me and I almost drop my paddle. I swallow.

Gio manages to call back, in the strongest voice I've heard from him, "Hello. We heard you take refugees?"

"Sometimes. Not everyone's a good fit. The fact you didn't sign 'Blessed Be' silently is in your favor."

"Can we come to shore and talk? Where should we tie up?"

"Here's as good as any." He gestures to a bollard on the end of the pier.

We paddle alongside and toss the bow rope up. The man knots it expertly around the bollard and then comes to the edge, peering down at us.

Gio moves to my side. I see he has his knife concealed in his hand. One swipe through that rope and we'll be free, although most of the craft in this harbor could catch us if we ran. I clench my teeth.

The man says, "You boys coming up? Need a ladder?"

The top of the pier is four feet above our gunwales but we hardly need help. We're frozen, on the cusp of something irretrievable.

"I'm Paolo," the man tells us. "Welcome to Shelter Island."

A much better name. Gio says, gesturing to me, "He's Luca and I'm Gio."

"What brings you here on the Day of Hiding?" Paolo glances toward the mouth of the harbor. "I assume the priests haven't changed that in the last year."

Gio laughs bitterly. "No, nothing's changed."

"Ah. So why are you boys here? Tired of sign language and a life lived indoors? Got a girl pregnant? An argument with your father?"

Gio points to the center of the gondola. "We brought two cans of gasoline, to pay our way. And better, a solar array that still works. A small one."

Paolo mutters a curse under his breath. "Where did you find that?"

"Stole it from the temple." Gio's chin jerks up defiantly, but Paolo's laugh rings out loudly.

"A man after my own heart." Paolo gestures. "Come on up, boys."

I'm prepared to climb onto the pier, but Gio grabs my hand, down between our thighs. His fingers are cold, despite the heat of the sun. "One more thing."

Paolo looks down at us, his grin fading. "What?"

"I heard you don't… The rumors say…" It's the first time I've seen Gio short of words. Instead, he raises our joined hands into the light.

Paolo stares at our interlocked fingers for a breath, long enough for my chest to go tight. Then he smiles again, not a grin but soft and sweet. "You remind me of me and my husband."

"Husband?" The word bursts from my lips.

"Sure. We were a free and civilized people once, and here on Shelter Island, we haven't forgotten that. Love who you love, say what you want."

I say, "I'm gay," and the words are a falcon of truth, finally set free to fly.

"So am I," Paolo says. "Now come meet the immigration committee. We've been watching you for an hour, and everyone's curious. Come on up, boys. Hurry, now. That solar array will be a checkmark in your favor. So will those joined hands, but you'll have to let go to climb up." He turns, calls and waves, and a young man about our age comes dashing along the pier from a hut on the shore.

When the man reaches us, Paolo says, "Watch their boat. No one on or off till the newbies have been cleared."

"Yes, sir." The guy nods to us and seats himself on the bollard.

Paolo gestures at us, and there's nothing left to do but clamber up onto the pier. Gio's taller so he sheathes his knife and goes first, and lends me a hand up. We get to our feet, bushing the dirt off our knees. Then for what feels like the first time under the bright open sun, Gio's fingers grip mine again. His touch is warmer now, and more certain. Paulo gestures with his chin and turns toward the shore.

Holding hands, we follow him toward the future.

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