Heaven Tastes Like Peaches

Amir was an excellent secretary. He had learned everything about the boy so thoroughly that even the details of his first love were not concealed from him. Hearing about her, Yussuf only raised his eyebrows. Then he smiled warmly. Experience told him how hard it was to keep the first, hot feeling, because youth, despite all its emotional power, was weak and defenseless in relation to the world. However, this is the most valuable feeling, because, like every first experience, it is the best to remember and to the heart. Wonderful first love.

"Are you sure you want to leave the car here and continue on foot?" Amir asked, getting out of the car. He spoke Arabic, so they did not have to be afraid of recognizing the prince's identity by the formal language of his servant.

"Yes," Yussuf confirmed, and looked again at the Catholic Church in front of him. "We have a good parking space here, and I want to see the places where they both lived."

"Classicist style?" He asked.

The prince smiled.

"Neoclassical," he explained. He knew that Amir knew architecture and art no worse than he did himself, but his upbringing and status did not allow him to show equal competences to the prince. Yussuf fought it once, in an era of youthful rebellion. Now he knew too well the rules of the world. He will start fighting them again only when he gains real political power. "Come on," he commanded, and headed toward the end of the village.

Amir has been here before. He took pictures, showed him everything on the map, so Yussuf did not feel lost. He chose the path without thinking. There weren't many of them, so it was easy to find the right one.

It was late summer, hot and dry, full of dust and the smell of dried earth, but far from the duke's hot homeland. There were more trees here, which had lost their leaf color, already saturated with water, but still smelled faintly damp, while the air of Yussuf's world smelled only of desert.

This place was certainly beautiful and in its own way charming. Its colors and its scents intrigued with its exoticism. The humid north definitely was liked by the young prince, but his heart remained faithful to his native landscapes, and when he was walking he saw gray-black fields plowed here and there, he felt a slight feeling of longing for the vastness of golden sands of the desert.

"Are you sure the boy has raised the full amount?" Amir asked, still admiring the surroundings.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Mrs. Skalska took the initiative proposed by Kowalski and bought some works by Sławoj on behalf of the gallery. She was generous enough that there was nothing left for me to do."

Yussuf smiled. He was curious if the woman could guess her son's relationship with the young sculptor. Probably not, otherwise she might not be as helpful. On the other hand, the mother was always the mother and was able to forgive the son's various quirks and mistakes. Yussuf himself experienced this wonderful motherly love more than once when faced with his father's anger. She could defend him like a tigress, and only then did the old prince regret taking a Christian wife. It was, however, his only marriage for love, not for political reasons, and at the same time gave him the firstborn son, so he could forgive the rebellious woman a lot, especially because she stood against him only in defense of their child.

Mothers around the world shared this mysterious quality that made them always protect and care for their offspring.

They finally got there. They stood in front of an old wooden house that looked like it was a hundred years old and suggested that it would stay a year or two. In front of the house there was a neglected, almost run-down garden filled with yellow, tall, unknown flowers. To the left, the trees in the orchard bent under the weight of the fruit.

Come in or call? Yussuf was turning his head towards the secretary to ask the question when suddenly a hollow bark broke the silence. Then another. In the yard, under one of the trees, was a large, shaggy dog ​​looking at them with obvious hostility. The dilemma was solved all the more so that the dog's cry brought a young blonde to the house. However, it was not Sławek, whom Yussuf knew from the photo. So ... Konrad?

"How can I help you?" The boy asked, looking at them with suspicion. The prince had to admit that he was quite pretty. There was something noble about his features.

"I'm looking for Sławoj Domejczuk" the Arab lied. "I was asked by his old friend to give him a message."

"Mr. Sławoj is dead," the boy explained.

"Really? Then ... What are we doing?" He asked Amir.

"Perhaps you are his descendant?" Asked the secretary. "We came all the way from the Arab Emirates to deliver the message. It would be a failure to return without accomplishing the mission."

"I'm not his family, but…" Konrad glanced towards the house. He looked like he was considering something, hesitated. "Please wait."

They had no choice but to watch Skalski disappearing inside. The boy was quite cautious and careful, but polite and seemed intelligent. He made a positive impression on the prince. Before people like him, there was a chance for a good future.

As soon as Yussuf finished this thought, Konrad appeared again in his sight, followed by another boy of about the same age and height, only thinner, with lighter hair and sky-blue eyes.

"Good morning," he said shyly. "I am Sławomir Domejczuk, grandson of Sławoj. You wanted to talk to me..."

He was as charming as a jasmine flower - delicate, fragrant and bright, yet strong. If he resembled his grandfather a little, the prince could hardly be surprised by his old teacher. He bowed his head to the boy.

"Salam alejkum! I am Yussuf ibn Muhmud and this is Amir ibn Hassam. My teacher, Tadeusz Kicki, on his deathbed asked me to find his old friend Sławoj Domejczuk and convey his last will to him. In the event of Sławoj's death, he ordered me to hand it over to his heirs."

"I've never heard of him" Sławek frowned. "But please come in. We have a little mess, but it's not that hot inside."

He let them in. The dog saw fit to give them a glare that warned them not to try anything stupid and let them in.

The workaround was modest, not to say poor. The sight of old furniture made of some tacky plywood, the floor covered with cheap, worn linoleum, and the walls with faded, dusty and not very pretty wallpaper made Yussuf feel sorry. For years, Tadeusz wondered how his friend was doing, hoping that he was doing well. He would be devastated to know that Sławoj lived and died under such conditions while he was enjoying wealth.

"Please sit down. Would you like something to drink? Water? Tea?"

"Water," said the prince.

Sławek handed them two mugs - simple and clean. He took a bottle of chilled water from the refrigerator and poured it into mugs. They both thanked him politely.

The boys looked at them suspiciously but were not hostile. Looking at them, Yussuf felt a pleasant warmth in his heart.

"You are probably wondering what really brings me here? What is this mysterious message and the person sending it," he began. "Let me explain everything. Let me start with who Tadeusz Kicki, a friend of your grandfather, was. Mr. Kicki was an engineer who contributed greatly to the development of our city. For fifty years he has been working on various Fujairah projects and more. He was a close associate of my grandfather, and later my father. For me, he was a teacher of Polish and architecture. He came from Poland, but he spent almost all his life in Africa and the Middle East."

The boys looked at each other simultaneously, as if something were dawning on them.