Heaven Tastes Like Peaches

In the morning, Sławek did not want to get out of bed.

"I'm tired," he said. "My back hurts."

Konrad looked at him, wondering if he had hurt him last night. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but he knew best how difficult it was for him to contain himself. In addition, Sławek was very slim, so if he used too much energy on him, he could actually do something wrong to him.

But Domejczuk only smiled.

"That's because it was my first time," he explained. "The second will be better."

This explanation calmed Konrad, who devoted the whole day to looking after Sławek. The boy didn't have too many whims, and he actually only looked tired.

No wonder, Skalski realized. Domejczuk has had a lot of difficult experiences recently and even on Sunday he could not rest quietly, so one day of laziness will certainly not hurt him.

Moreover, it was the first day they could spend together peacefully and Konrad was happy to find out about Sławek, what he likes to eat, what music to listen to. They watched two films together and exchanged opinions. It turned out that they actually have something to talk about, that they have similar preferences on many issues, but they can conduct discussions in others.

The day passed like a twinkle, and when night came Konrad was disappointed, because Sławek announced that today there is no chance for any frolics.

Nevertheless, an exciting period of getting to know each other and searching for their presence began between them. A time of sweet, stealthy kisses, understatements and provocations. Time was passing quickly and one day they were totally surprised by a call from Henryk.

"How's your pieta?" He asked.

"Pieta?" Skalski looked at Domejczuk and they both turned pale. "Fine."

In an instant, Sławek disappeared behind the studio door. Konrad decided that he had been abandoned to the wolves.

"What does Sławek do? Still working on it?"

"Eh, yeah. Even now he is locked in the studio."

"You know the deadline is almost over?"

Skalski totally forgot about it. He swallowed hard.

"Of course," he said. He was just beginning to pray in spirit that Sławek would be on time.

"The client agreed to buy the pieta blind, but we cannot ask for money before the carving is finished. It is about the reputation of my gallery and future good business relations. Also for Sławek."

"I know, Mr. Henryk. Sławek was a bit tired and took a short break, but he is back at work. In full swing."

"Well, I believe" Kowalski laughed "you don't have to explain yourself to me. Did you tell him about our idea?"

"No. You're right, it would only distract him," Konrad admitted, and mentally added: 'As if he wasn't distracted by what we're doing.' "How's the project going?"

"Perfect. Your mother really did it with passion. She likes her new job."

"That's good news," Konrad said, pleased.

He was grateful to Henryk that he involved his mother in a new project to revive interest in old artists. People like Sławoj Domejczuk deserved recognition, and his beautiful works were displayed. Konrad's mother, who was born in the fourth generation of art curators and had an exceptional sense of beauty, was the perfect person to lead such a project. He didn't even have to convince her to do so. After talking to Sławek, she was full of enthusiasm herself, not to let the world forget about the old Domejczuk.

Konrad decided that Sławek's talent would not disappear. Regardless of whether the boy was sculpting sacred or erotic art, his sculptures were too beautiful to be lost anywhere. Suddenly he realized that all Sławek's works would end up abroad for the sake of money, and he felt indignant. They should be in a gallery, accessible to everyone, not in the hands of a private collector. But what could they do now, when Sławek dared to be or not to be?

Konrad's father owed everything. Had it not been for the repayment of this nightmare debt, Domejczuk would not have been under such pressure and could easily earn a place in a good art gallery instead of working solely for money.

But there was also a flip side to what his father did. Had it not been for his behavior towards Sławek, Konrad would never have met him and he would not have lived these wonderful days now. If his father found out what his reign of money had led to, he would probably have been furious. He would tear his hair off, or even disinherit Konrad.

Good, the boy thought. Who would want a fortune amassed by the harm and suffering of others?

Konrad, carried by his mutual first love, was ready to defend her and his beloved to challenge the whole world.

***

Yussuf ibn Muhmud, the heir of an empire in whose values ​​he had ceased to orient himself in casual attire, was nothing like a prince. Although his noble face with black eyes shining like a starry sky attracted attention wherever he appeared, he was usually considered the star of one of the Turkish soap operas. He didn't feel offended by it, he even enjoyed it. To Europeans, all Arabs looked the same.

His father would be appalled to learn that Yussuf had given up professional security and only accompanied by his secretary, dressed in casual clothes, would go to some European village. Even Fujairah has heard the popular saying that "not every Arab is a terrorist, but every terrorist is an Arab." Yussuf was amused by the cabaret joke, but his father took the threat seriously. An official or semi-official visit, supervised by security guards, is one thing, another thing is a private incognito excursion, where the prince cannot be distinguished from a beggar or - what was more dangerous - from a terrorist.

Of course, the young prince was aware of this. He saw and experienced the annoyances of prejudice and fear when he left for the United States. Although it was an official trip, American security looked at him and his men with the same vigilance as they did at the crowd. Maybe even more. It was as if they expected that one of them with the name of Allah on their lips would detonate an explosive attached to their chest.[1]

Even the status of a prince did not save him from these looks.

That is why it was not bravado or a willingness to adventure, but simple faith in a man, which allowed him to find himself in a casual outfit in a small Polish village somewhere on the outskirts of the country, only to find one specific boy. When he found out that the only surviving descendant of the man he was going to find and the artist he wanted to find were the same person, he wondered if this was really a kind of destiny? So he had to see this young man. Waiting for the sculptor to finish the great heel was a nightmare, for even a man of Yussuf status felt at times mere human curiosity.

Kowalski let the Prince know today that pieta was completed. The prince was just waiting for it. The promises were there to be kept, so now he could finally do it. Even a month seemed too long to fulfill the dying man's last request, but it was the time needed to prepare for its implementation.

[1] Since I have readers from all over the world, I explain that at the time this book was written, certain radical Islamist groups were spreading fear in Europe and America. Fear has big eyes, so for some time they actually looked at Arabs with great distrust (this term is used to describe almost all inhabitants of the Middle East, as an Asian is every inhabitant of Asia, and in Poland it was never a pejorative term.) After writing this book, I took part in a conference in my city, which hosted young researchers from the Middle East, and there was no sign of hostility from the local population.

The joke "not every Arab is a terrorist, but every terrorist is an Arab" actually comes from a cabaret sketch and was spoken by a Pole of Arab origin, a very popular cabaret artist.