right was a gravel beach. Beyond were the meadows and orchards of the Ribeyres plain; farther still, the vinecovered hills along the Limagne; and in the distance the wooded mountains of the Auvergne, dark green shading into blue.

Below me the two young men were calmly undressing, Armand with some discretion, slipping his trunks on underneath his shirt. Pierre with con plete nonchalance. He peeled off his upper, stretched himself in the sun, then unbuttoned his trousers and held them up carelessly with one hand.

"Got my trunks?" he asked.

When he had them on, he tipped up into a hand-stand and Armand caught his feet as they rose and held them in the air with one hand. Then Pierre went into a back bend to do a wrestler's bridge. Armand gave him support under the small of his back. When Pierre's curve was perfect, the butcher raised up one-handed the limp body that arched, inert, with a kind of plant-like grace.

I stood there admiring the young man's suppleness, his body's tapering lines. I admired the butcher boy's strength. I felt the understanding that linked the two; I envied their close union. They moved together with a sort of feline harmony, yet beyond that I was aware of some attraction between them I didn't understand, some extraordinarily close attach-

ment.

who

Until then the two naked men, were so unlike each other, yet so much one, appeared to be doing their gymnastics together with a perfectly ordinary and rather unconcerned mastery. But at that moment, seizing his friend's body with both hands, Armand drew Pierre suddenly against him, and, letting the boy's torso bend backward, leaned forward Pierre's down-curving head and shoulders with a silent concentration that made my throat go dry. Pierre gave a moan. His right arm came up; his

over

hand grasped Armand's shoulder, felt for the back of his neck. I saw him pull himself up, hard against the broad chest, and press his forehead into the muscled curve of the neck.

Did it really happen? Already Armand had begun their exercises again and was raising his partner aloft. Holding him high in his arms, he walked toward the river and stepped along the top of the dam. Water flowing over a covering of tiny green algae had polished its surface dangerously smooth. I thought "He'll fall," a sharp little pain gripping my heart. I could clearly see his wide brown feet, just covered by the shallow glide of the water, carefully plant themselves one after the other. I cried out when he slipped and dragged his friend down in his fall.

They splashed about in the water, then raised their heads above the surface a short distance apart, Pierre spitting and coughing.

"Bastard!" he shouted, and no insult ever seemed to me to express so much friendship.

For half an hour I watched their play. When they finally came out of the water, the bridge's shadow reached far into the valley. It was still hot but the late afternoon was soft and peaceful.

Below me the two young men were now lying stretched out on the gravel. Pierre asked for a cigarette; Armand just said: "In my pocket." Pierre got up, felt around in the trousers, took a cigarette, then another, which he thrust between Armand's lips. He lighted his own, seemed to hesitate, threw away the match, and lay down again beside his friend.

"How about mine?" Armand said. Pierre smiled slightly. Sliding closer to Armand, he laid his hand on the fine Roman head and turned it toward him. Their cigarettes met end to end.

They remained like that for a minute, leaning toward each other,

15