Emile's First Man

The intertwined, beautiful bodies in the picture looked almost magical. Each man gazed at the other with eyes full of desire and quiet devotion, as though they were deeply in love. Dreamily, Emile looked at each of these photos, cut from old magazines in the trash of the local news department. Now they were his. The recent one: a photograph of a semi-naked man captured from behind. He just got it the day before, he didn't have time to cut it, and now he was appreciating it. The man in the picture, even from behind, you could tell he was beautiful. He had the muscles of hard work. “Emile! Come here!” Hearing his father’s voice, Emile rapidly tossed the photo over his secret box, tossed a layer of clothes over it to hide the contents, and slammed the wardrobe door shut. It was lunchtime. Joe had just returned from the fields, caked in dirt, exhausted, and hungry. Seeing his father washing his hands, Emile moved quickly to set the table, a simple wooden board flanked by two worn chairs. They ate in silence, sharing a humble meal of vegetable soup. Halfway through lunch, Joe cleared his throat, breaking the heavy quiet. “What are you gonna do?” Joe asked, his voice sharp and tired. “You’re nineteen already. Boys your age are married and working real jobs, yet you’re still stuck here.” Joe set his utensil down, looking directly at his son. “You know? There are many jobs available in the city. Frank, Mike’s son, is going to the city next month, with a few other men. You should go. It's time for you to build your own future. One day you'll want to marry, but who would want a mediocre man who doesn't know how to keep a family?” Emile listened quietly, not wanting to contradict his dad but not wanting to agree either. He was comfortable with things as they were; he had never felt a burning desire for change. He genuinely liked managing the household chores while his father worked in the fields and returned home each evening. As for marriage… that was an entirely different matter. Still, he couldn't deny the truth in his father's words. Emile had lived with Joe his whole life without building any assets or something on his own. While other young men his age were earning an income and starting families, he felt stuck. The urge to make something of himself didn't come from within, it was driven entirely by his father, and by the heavy reality that he was failing him. That’s why he tried to make some money, a small business of selling cooked meals in the market, but after 2 weeks it failed which worsened the situation with his dad. To prove his worth and make himself useful, Emile dedicated himself to keeping the house in order. When the brief conversation ended, Joe stood up and walked to his room to take a nap before heading back out to the fields. Left alone, Emile set to work washing their clothes, taking his time before heading to the market. Though he hesitated to admit it even to himself, there was a young meat seller at the market who drew him in. He was Emile’s age: energetic, proactive, and remarkably gentle whenever Emile asked about his goods. Emile remembered the first time he had seen him, two months ago. Neither the young man nor the older butcher beside him had ever been seen in the village before. “Don’t worry, not everybody knows my father," the young seller had said with a warm smile when Emile hesitated. "We just moved here. Is this piece okay like this?" He weighed a large cut of meat on the scale and called out the price: "That’ll be three bucks." "Yes, that's fine," Emile replied softly. "We used to live in another town," the seller explained cheerfully, "but things got bad once the floods started coming more often. You can't keep meat underwater, you know?" "And… how are things here so far?" “They are actually good, even better than before. I must say. The people here are far friendlier, and you can hunt animals whenever you want." "That’s good." "Yeah… so, anything else for today?" "No, that’s all." "Alright then, three bucks." As Emile handed over the coins, the young man paused and reached back into his display. "Oh wait, you can have this piece too, you know? In case your wife scolds you for buying too little.” Emile remained silent, unable to correct him. Before he could say anything else, an older woman approached the counter to ask about prices. That was his cue to leave. He gave a quiet farewell and walked away slowly. Since that day, Emile had built up the courage to speak to him a few more times, offering friendly greetings. The seller always seemed genuinely happy to see him, treating Emile like he truly mattered. That warm feeling never faded; it only intensified every time they spoke, about the market, prices, or life in general. Emile tried to be the friendliest possible, trying to conceal his crush, well aware that the man was straight. Even so, he kept returning simply because those fleeting moments brought him peace. Whenever he had an excuse to go into the village, he made sure to buy something from the seller’s stall or at least look at him from afar. That day, Emile knew the seller would be bringing a fresh supply of meat and staying until nightfall. It was the perfect opportunity to talk to him and perhaps give him a small gift: A meal, he would say his “wife” cooked for him. After finishing the laundry, Emile washed his face carefully, combed his slightly long hair, and changed into a cleaner attire. He checked the time on the old clock held on the wall: 5:20 PM. He had just enough time before his father returned at 6:30. With good spirits, Emile went to the market