Mateus

When I was 17 my mother decided that I needed some sort of psychiatric help so she called my cousin David who was a psychiatrist to see what he might suggest. “I spoke to your cousin David yesterday and he would like to see you to talk over what’s bothering you.” What was bothering me of course was my unbalanced father. I didn’t need to tell David that when I finally saw him in his Park Avenue office one cold Saturday afternoon in March. He knew the stress I was going through because he had seen my father in action for many years. He had seen his craziness at the family weddings, bar mitzvahs and funerals. David’s father, my Uncle Leo was my father’s brother, and as I sat across from him in his nice office he told me that I definitely needed help and he recommended a colleague of his, a doctor named Daniel Hertz. I was 17 and about to graduate from high school that June. To make money for my commercial art classes at a crap junior college in Brooklyn I would have to work for my brother during the summer. He was the manager of a big warehouse in Long Island City that housed thousands of sweaters for a boy’s clothing manufacturer. Part of my salary would go to pay Dr. Hertz for the weekly sessions at his office that was on east 62^nd street and Lexington ave. I stared to see Dr. Hertz in April. He was a nice attractive man and I liked him, but I just could not open up to him. I would sit in one of his comfortable armchairs smoking one cigarette after another while he patiently waited for me to say something. “I don’t know what to say Dr. Hertz.” “Well how are you feeling Ira?” he would ask. “I feel like I’m in a movie.” After a few weeks of this he suggested that I join a group that he was forming for men of my age group. “I think this could really benefit you since you’re having trouble opening up to me, you might feel more comfortable with a peer group of young men.” So on a Friday after working for my brother in Long Island City I took the subway to his office and met my other group members all young men, mostly my age. There was the husky postal worker who was somewhat scary and psychotic (aren’t they all), a young pale man with bad skin who just sat there without saying a word, an effeminate guy who was loud and funny, and Mateus who was a few years older than the rest of us. He was so handsome that I could not take my eyes off him. Tall or at least taller than me, he had beautiful skin that was smooth and lightly brown with a touch of rose to his complexion. Most usual I thought His hair was dark dark brown that was almost black and he wore it a bit long, as that was the style that was taking hold especially among young men. He had large deep brown eyes and beautiful lips. In a word he was gorgeous. His shirt was open and revealed a hairy chest and he sat with his legs spread wide apart. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. We went around the group telling a bit about ourselves and when Mateus told us that he was an artist I was really interested. After the group was over I walked out with him, and he asked about my studies in commercial art. I was tongue tied but got out that I lived in Brooklyn with my family and I would be taking commercial art classes at this shit hole of a junior college in the fall. “Well you should come and visit me at my studio so you can see my work, you might find my paintings interesting.” “When” I asked. “Well anytime really, how about tomorrow? Are you free.” “Oh sure of course where is your studio.” “I live and work in the lower eastside, do you know the area?” “Of course I do.” “Well here’s my address how about 2 O’clock, is that good for you?” “Oh yeah sure of course that’s great I’ll see you tomorrow then.” I was practically floating as I made my way to the subway back to Brooklyn. The lower eastside, where the fuck was that? I had trouble falling asleep Friday night, and was up early to get myself ready for my day with my new friend Mateus. Here’s what I found out that day about him. He was from a large family and he grew up in a small town in Massachusetts. His father was Portuguese and his mother Italian, and like me he always wanted to be an artist. He was four years older than me, and was supporting himself by making frames for rich art collectors and successful painters. He mentioned the names of some of the artists but I had no idea who they were. Later on down the road of my life I would of course come to know these names and could even claim some of them as friends, but at 17 the only artists I really knew were Van Gogh Picasso and Modigliani. He lived in a loft on a worn out street somewhere in the Lower East Side, and the hallway smelled of pee and turpentine. His loft was sunny and pleasant with plants and big art books everywhere. His paintings were hanging and leaning up against the walls. I looked at the paintings that were of semi nude and totally nude men posed against half constructed buildings, empty parking lots and construction sites. They were beautifully painted and erotic and I felt a little embarrassed by them. Did he know something about me that I didn’t know? I guess he did because the next thing I knew we were embracing he was kissing me. This was the beginning of my love affair with Mateus and it would change me forever. I was 17 and I was in love. We would have to be very careful about this. I mean it was 1964 and homosexuality was still considered to be a crime and was also seen as a sickness. I didn’t feel sick I felt wonderful, but I could not tell anyone about Mateus. I could not tell Howard, or Marco or anyone. The first thing I did was leave the group, but I continued to see Dr. Hertz on a one to one basis who noticed a change in me almost immediately. “I’m in love Dr. Hertz.” “Oh that’s wonderful Ira, who is she? “She is a he”. His smile disappeared. Well now Ira I don’t know if this is a good and positive thing for you. “I do.” “It’s a very positive thing for me”.” I’ve even given up smoking.” I decided to stop seeing Dr. Hertz. Mateus continued with the group, and I would come running to him on Friday nights at his loft. I would call my mother and lie. “I’m going to spend the night at a friends we’re working on a project for school.” Well it wasn’t really a lie Mateus was my friend and he was helping me with a project for school. Of course I left out the sex. I told Mateus all the stuff that I should have been telling Dr. Hertz. Mateus would smile as I told him all the terrible or what I thought were terrible things about me. He didn’t care. He loved me as much as I loved him. I was 17 and for the first time in my life I was happy. He would cook me marvelous Portuguese dinners and play LPs of beautiful singers that I had never heard before, Billie Holiday and Dinah Washington, and he would hold me tight and tender. We went to museums to look at paintings and afterward Mateus and me would talk about what we had seen. He also took me to see my first Bergman and Antonioni films and we talked about them into the early morning hours. I would bring over my art supplies and as Mateus worked so did I. I started to do drawings with magic markers on textured mat board and Mateus really liked them. This was more important to me than what any of my teachers at school thought. At school I kept to myself. I shared nothing with anyone except Mateus, my gift of God. That’s what his name means in Portuguese, and that’s what he was my gift of God. When I first met Mateus I was a straight-laced Jewish boy from Brooklyn, I was still Jewish and from Brooklyn but my appearance started to change. I let my very short hair grow longer, I lost weight and I started to dress a lot less conservatively. My mother was looking at me with concern, because to her I was getting worse not better. I was spending very little time at home and my appearance was changing and this was very worrisome to her. About one year after meeting Mateus I took the subway to the eastside to spend an evening with him. I told my mother nothing simply that I was going to a friends house and I might spend the night. He greeted me at the door with his usual hug and kiss and I could smell the smells of good food cooking mixing with his oil paints and turpentine and the sweet smell of wood, the wood that he used to make his beautiful frames. “I’m leaving New York Ira.” I was speechless and just stood there. Finally the words came out. “For how long?” “For a very long time, I’m going back to Massachusetts to live. My mother had a breakdown and my father had to put her in a home. He needs me to help with the grocery and also to help care for my mom.” I started to cry. “Come here” he said and I fell into his arms, but my tears wouldn’t stop. “When are you going?” “Very soon, I’m going to start packing up my stuff and I hope to be gone in a week or two at the latest.” “I’ll go with you, I can help in your father’s grocery, I can get a job in a restaurant, I was a busboy one summer, or I can work in a factory.” “Oh sweet boy, how can that be, you’re barely 18, you got to finish school and make a life for yourself.” “You are my life, I have none without you Mateus.” Now I was really crying. “Stop that Ira” “You have you’re whole life in front of you, you’re so talented I know you’ll go far.” “I don’t want nothing but you please let me come with you please.” “No its out of the question, how would I explain you to my family, I can be arrested, your family can make my life hell, It can’t be done.” So that was that, and after that night Mateus disappeared from my life. I was despondent. I cried all the time. My mother thought it was something she did, and my father thought it was his fault. Guilt can be good. I started to smoke again, I stopped eating, then I went on a food binge eating everything in sight and gained a lot of weight, my skin broke out, and I slept the days away. I missed a lot of classes at school, and when I did go, I kept to myself. I cut my hair real short. I was moody, depressed and alienated. I was a real mess. I went back to Dr. Hertz. Some 40 odd years later on a nice fall afternoon I was coming out of the union square. subway station on my way to my usual Saturday afternoon with my friend Peter. Gingerly making my way through all the street vendors that filled the square on the weekend I saw Mateus. He was sitting behind a table with what I guess was his drawings. I froze, and stared but could not bring myself to go over to him. Later at Julius’s over drinks I told Peter this story and started to cry. “Silly” he said why didn’t you go over to him?” “I just couldn’t Peter. 40 years is a long time, and what would be the point.”