He was finally on his way and glimpses of the sea were passing through his iris faster than the bus travelled. Health issues have been keeping him away from his destination, not least of which was his back. Today he was finally feeling better, good enough to travel on the bus anyway, and the doctor had allowed the trip. Of course, the doctor preferred he’d take it accompanied by one of his two sons, but he had opted to leave them be. Now here he was, drinking in the visions unfolding of sand and sea along the dusty road leading to the old folks’ home.

Viggo seemed lucid enough today. It was a great relief. They’d been talking a little about the small gifts that Orlando had brought along with him, that he wanted Vig to have here. They included some of Vig’s favourite foods, packed up nicely, a few Native American statuettes he liked, a book of collected English poetry and a shark’s tooth he once gave Orlando.

“And Henry?” Viggo asked. “How is he doing?”

“He’s fine. He wanted to come today as well, but the children have been working him and Christine harder than ever since the birth of the new baby, so I didn’t let him come. He and Christine do send all of their love, as do Peter and Jack.”

“A new baby?”

“Yes, a son. Ian. He’s beautiful and redheaded. Would you believe that?”

Viggo chuckled. “He ought to be a special one, fiery and demanding. Much like Henry was when he was born.”

Orlando smiled, knowing how much Vig loved the two boys, Henry and Peter. Theirs seemed a unique relationship, where despite the difference of ages there was some sense of equality. They were both alike and completely different and Orli knew that Vig wouldn’t trade anything in their characters for the entire world, including Henry’s special needs, due to being born somewhat sickly.

“I’m sure they’ll all come together for a visit soon and bring along all the little brats. You just be careful not to let them ride you around the room like they did last time, alright cowboy?”

Viggo nodded in agreement, but Orlando suspected he would still frolic around when the grandchildren showed up. He was fiddling around with one of the statuettes and smiling to himself, recalling how nice that visit had been.

“And how is that wife of yours?”

The question stunned Orlando.

“I…” Orlando said, but only a little less than frozen, “I was never married.”

It wasn’t exactly true, but to be pointing it out to Viggo of all people...!

“Oh.” That was his host’s only reply and within a few seconds Orlando could see the man drawing out of the human being, the eyes emptying with the realization that something isn’t right. Orlando’s heart shrank instantly in his chest.

Despite the promising beginning of the visit, he was again facing not his lover, but a man imprisoned by his own blank mind.

It has happened before, Viggo forgetting things, times, people. It simply hadn’t happened in regard to Orlando yet, and it was frightening. It wasn’t like a part of your house disappearing all of a sudden, it was the ground beneath your feet.

He had never forgotten them before. Orlando suddenly realized the presence of tears gathering in his eyes, through his blurred vision. A long time ago, when they had just gotten together – or at least it seemed long now, it seemed as though they’d been together for a short, blissful eternity – the topic of marriage would often come up. Viggo would like to tease his partner about Orlando’s wish to make an honest woman out of him.

There were no discussions, Vig didn’t like them. Only hints from time to time that were discarded in this manner.

But later on, five minutes later on the kitchen desk or in their bed late at night, Viggo would submerge himself in Orlando, unifying them by flesh rather than by words and gestures, driving deeper and deeper, chasing away all the hurt that his jests might have evoked earlier. He found some new way each time, to take Orlando’s breath away, literally. That was his way of promising that as surely as their bodies belonged together, writhing against each other, so did they. And Orlando believed him. In his own mind, they were joined by God in a union that no man could put asunder.

There was no point in lingering here in the hope that the man he loved would resurface this afternoon. Orlando would try and make the journey again tomorrow hoping for more luck, that Viggo’s state would be different, better perhaps.

He took his leave, mumbling soft words, he wasn’t exactly sure to whom, kissed his lover’s wrinkled forehead with a pair of cracked lips and left the room slowly.

On the bus back home, Orlando looked at the sea again, this time on his other side. He thought of the times when its waves weren’t bluer than Viggo’s eyes, nor did they hide quite so much out of reach. He didn’t sigh.

At home, his steps seemed slower than usual. He could tell because the living room seemed bigger, harder to cross. Nothing remained of real substance in the big room, nothing to hold onto. It seemed objects lost their content when Viggo had been moved out of the house, when he himself was too old to care for them both and too young to follow.

The couch was staring at him with the memory of the nights Viggo had started spending on it, getting lost on his way to the bedroom, remaining unresponsive when Orlando tried to aid him. He would then spend the entire evening on the couch, Orlando not having the heart to call up either Henry or Peter. He would sit in the dark, glaring at nothing in particular, he might have even fallen asleep for part of the time. My living room ghost, Orli had called him, both lovingly and with alarm. It was only the beginning.

During the better days, they talked about it, consulting their sons as well. It was clear, after checking all the options, that their nearly twenty years of difference drove them apart now more than ever before. They made the arrangements to be as least costly as could be. All they had, and the sums were definitely respectable, they insisted on putting in a fund for their family. They only left for themselves a monthly ration for their separate and basic living fees.

Orlando stopped for a moment. The thought crossed his mind, that he was lucky to have a family who would say the Kaddish for him after he was gone. He had never been very Jewish, but he had done the same for his adoptive father. It was the symbolic meaning of the act most of all, the knowledge that there would be those that one had loved and left behind, who would remember him long after his departure. The ancient Hebrew words conveyed, Orlando felt, the bond between loved ones, its strength and its durability were meant to hold on to in the face of the worst that a man might fear.

He made for the stove to prepare some tea for himself and thought only briefly of the gas incident, when Viggo had left it on while he himself had been out shopping for groceries, and which was the first indisputable sign that something in their life must change.

Another day arrived and brought with it another bus. Maybe it was the same bus, Orli thought for a split second as he disembarked and approached the main door of the nursing home, maybe this day doesn’t really have its own existence.

He made his way to Viggo’s room, step by step, hardly thinking of anything, least of all the gaps of perception that may or may not prove smaller today. When he finally reached the door, he saw that Viggo was seated on his bed with his back to Orli and his gaze fixed on something he saw outside, through the net-covered window. Orlando carefully put today’s neatly packed food on the bedside table.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said hesitantly.

Viggo turned around, looked at the dish, then let his glance float up to the ceiling as he lay himself down on his back, heavily and through his side first.

“No, not really”, he said plainly and his voice was devoid of any emotion.

Orlando was quiet for a moment, trying to understand whether this man was, right now, his life long partner or nearly a stranger. He could make nothing out of the short statement.

“Alright. I’ll leave it here for you and when you feel like it,” his throat painfully vibrated with the effort not to cry. “You can ask one of the nurses to heat it up for you.”

Flashes of thoughts ran through his mind, thoughts that Orlando didn’t want to consider, like whether in those moments, days or weeks of amnesia, Viggo might fall in love with another. These daily trips were far too tiresome for him and there were others around, while there would be less and less memories of him.

“Orlando?” Vig’s question soared from the bed and pierced his ears.

“Yes, Viggo?”

“Did I ask you about your wife yesterday?”

A mad little laughter broke out of Orli’s throat, sounding a little like his lover used to, only without the amusement. He sounded like a wooden Swiss clock in which something finally gave in and broke.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Orlando rushed over to the bed, as fast as he could, and lay himself down beside Viggo. He hugged him tightly and added, “it’s alright, love, it really is.”

“Is it?” Viggo searched out Orlando’s hand in doubt and was answered with a firm squeeze. He turned his head over and kissed the tip of Orlando’s nose.

“I love you.”

Tears were streaming down Orlando’s face, a mixture of too many emotions to be described and too many years to count. He buried his head in Viggo’s shoulder and cried almost inaudibly. He was trembling and the shoulder he was leaning on was as well. Vig’s crying seemed as though it was coming both from far away and from within himself. In their imperfect, aged way, they were still one.