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"Uncle," Gérard said one day, tugging his uncle's hand. His dark grey cap was placed immaculately over his spiky brown hair, though his shoes and socks were dusted with brown dirt and splatters of mud. He clutched an ice cream cone with a too-firm grip and looked up at Mr. Hulot with those child's eyes of his.
Mr. Hulot bent down to his height and looked at him.
"Is it okay for boys to have crushes on other boys?" Gérard looked down nervously, kicking gravel off of the sidewalk.
With barely a moment's deliberation, Mr. Hulot straightened and nodded in that janky way of his. His normally wide strides were restrained to little rabbit hops so he could match his nephew's pace.
"Really?" Gérard took a couple of licks of his ice cream.
The two approached a street corner, the pedestrian light red and cars of many colors racing, as fast as they could in a place like Paris, across the asphalt. Gérard paused in his walking, and Mr. Hulot followed suit. The two waited at the intersection.
Gérard's grip on his uncle's fingers tightened and he once again raised his ice cream to his lips. He let the sensation of his uncle's arm swaying mindlessly as his uncle shifted in place calm him.
He looked up and saw that his uncle was giving him a look.
"I-!" Gérard looked back at his ice cream, and his voice fell to a mumble like toast falling back into the toaster. "I dunno. Mom n' dad were complaining about it the other day at dinner."
Mr. Hulot gave a little scoff.
The pedestrian light turned green.
Mr. Hulot immediately began crossing the streets in wide strides, dragging Gérard along. Gérard let himself, trying to match his uncle's footsteps as the two of them carefully tried to step on only the painted pedestrian lines.
When the two finished the intrepid journey to the other side of the street, Mr. Hulot let out a heavy breath and looked down with gleaming eyes at Gérard, grinning lopsidedly around his pipe. Gérard tried to grin back, though it probably looked more like a grimace.
Gérard turned to the left and took a step. Mr. Hulot turned to the right and took a step.
"Uncle!" Gérard cried out as he felt himself be yanked, only barely managing to save his scoop of ice cream from a tragic death. Mr. Hulot looked sheepishly at him, reaching out to try and ruffle the hair on Gérard's head but, getting blocked by the hat, settled for rubbing his shoulder.
"I thought we were going home," Gérard said. "To my house."
Mr. Hulot looked at him evenly, then pointed to his shoes. "Your shoes. If your, er, your mom will throw a fit if she sees them." His words flowed out slowly, like dripping taffy, from around his pipe. "They're dirty."
Gérard looked sadly down at his shoes. "Yeah, okay."
He once again let himself be led by his uncle, carefully avoiding any cracks in the sidewalk, tossing away the cone wrapper from his ice cream, or catching his hat after his uncle abruptly turns, distracted by some dog or brightly colored bird.
When the two finally came near Mr. Hulot's house - Gérard didn't come by often if at all, but he still recognized it and recognized the tiny room on the roof that was his uncle's - Gérard was fully worn out.
He groaned as they approached the front where the stairs were. Mr. Hulot looked back at him, an eyebrow quirked up.
"I'm fine," he lied.
Mr. Hulot shrugged, then led the ascent up the first stairs.
Then came a voice from behind them. "Oh my!" Gérard turned around to see a young woman peeking through the door by the front. Her hair was black and her cheeks full and delighted. She stepped out of the doorway. "Jacques, is that your nephew?"
Mr. Hulot nodded, and the woman clapped her hands together by her cheek in delight.
She strode up to them and held out her hand, which Gérard reluctantly took. "I'm Betty!"
"Hi Missus Betty," Gérard said. "I'm Gérard," Gérard said.
"Ah, Gérard, how sweet!" She offered him a big grin and patted him on the shoulder. Gérard gave her a smile in return.
Mr. Hulot lifted his free thumb and tapped the brim of his hat. "How's Célia?"
The question was barely above a mumble, but Betty heard anyways.
"Oh!" Betty straightened, smoothing her dress with her hands and flushing curiously. "We had dinner the other night at a nice place! Much nicer than where I've usually eaten."
Mr. Hulot beamed. Gérard looked up at him almost admirably.
"Who's Célia?"
Betty froze. "Oh- she-"
"Betty's girlfriend," his uncle butted in as he took his pipe out of his mouth and tapped it on the sole of his right foot. Betty's expression turned almost fearful until Mr. Hulot quickly followed his interruption with: "Don't worry, Gérard is a good young man."
Gérard wanted to puff his chest in pride, but his brain was too busy grinding its unoiled gears over a woman having a girlfriend.
"Ah," Betty said, relaxing. She ran a hand through her hair.
"I won't tell," Gérard blurted. "Do- don't worry."
"Ah," Betty said, again. She smiled, less wan and more proud. "You're a sweetheart."
Gérard did puff his chest in pride this time.
Mr. Hulot and Betty bid each other well and he and Gérard continued their way up to Hulot's little room.
"Uncle," Gérard said as said uncle fumbled to unlock his own door. "She has a girlfriend?"
"Yes," Mr. Hulot responded as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Now that the both of them were away from the crowds, Mr. Hulot spoke more easily. Gérard knew how his uncle clammed up, and now felt kinda bad about asking him questions earlier.
He didn't say that though. Instead he said: "Mom n' dad wouldn't like her very much."
Mr. Hulot got the door unlocked, and swung it open to let Gérard in first. "Do you like her?"
Gérard nodded vigorously as he stepped indoors. "She seems super nice."
With a smile, Mr. Hulot said: "She is."
Mr. Hulot moved to shut the door as Gérard ran in, hopping up on a wood chair by some rickety desk with a missing leg, held up by stacks of books and a globe, to begin removing his shoes.
"Uncle," Gérard said. He looked at his uncle, meeting Mr. Hulot's even, placid look with one of raw vulnerability. "I like this boy in my class, I think. Like, like like him."
"Your first crush?" Mr. Hulot asked.
Gérard tried to breathe steadily. "I guess. I can't tell him though."
Mr. Hulot removed his coat and hat and moved to sit on his little bed, across from Gérard. His look was inquiring.
"I can't!" Gérard threw his hands up. "I might get beaten up or called mean names or mom n' dad are gonna be told and they m- might-"
He buried his head in his hands, letting his remaining shoe hang half off his feet.
He felt the arms of his uncle curl around him like a courteously hesitant snake, and Gérard moved himself in the direction of his uncle's solid figure.
"M…" His uncle's voice quickly petered off, probably as he tried to figure out how to say his thoughts. Gérard let him. Gérard knew his uncle had to think sometimes. He did as well, though his parents were always impatient.
"My first crush was on a girl in my class about when I was, er, same age," Mr. Hulot said.
Gérard drew away a little bit. "That's not the same, uncle! You're a-"
"I know," his uncle said, endlessly slow and endlessly patient, dragging a soothing hand through Gérard's hair. "You see, I…"
Mr. Hulot drew away a little bit as well, so he could in theory make eye contact with Gérard, but in practice stare at Gérard's nose. "I wasn't always Mister Hulot, or Jacques Hulot," he said.
Gérard's eyes widened. "O…!"
Mr. Hulot smiled a little, rubbing his own neck. Gérard reached out on instinct and rubbed where Mr. Hulot's nose met his cheek, and his uncle smiled.
"You used to be a girl?" Gérard asked.
"I never was, maybe, just everyone thought I was," Mr. Hulot said.
"So you liked girls but were still, er," Gérard put up air quotations, "a 'girl' back then."
Mr. Hulot smiled lopsidedly and nodded jankily.
"My next crush that I can remember is…" Mr. Hulot scratched at the nape of his neck. "The next door neighbor in where we lived. Me, your mom, parents. The neighbor… he was- would throw rocks at my window and ask to play catch."
Gérard gaped.
"Now, you…" Mr. Hulot placed a firm hand on Gérard's shoulder. "You don't have to have any crushes on any girls, or like any girls. It's fine. Now…" He stood up, wincing as his knees creaked. "We… let's clean your shoes."
"Alrighty, uncle," Gérard said, picking his shoes up and hopping off the stool. He padded alongside Mr. Hulot to the bathroom sink.
"...Uncle, if you don't mind me asking," Gérard said as Mr. Hulot lifted him up to the porcelain rim. "Was mom mean to you about the whole…" Gérard shrugged.
"She was too young to remember," Mr. Hulot said, turning on the water. "I started going as Jacques when I was… say… 13, and she was a toddler." He scrubbed at Gérard's shoes. "Then our parents separated so we didn't really ta- talk very much."
Gérard nodded. "That's good. She's very mean about… the queers… at meals and stuff."
Mr. Hulot frowned almost delicately. "That may be due to inf- er, Mr. Arpel's influence."
The soothing sound of the running faucet and the gripping anxiety fought in Gérard's chest. "Oh, okay."
After a moment, he rolled his sleeves up and said: "Lemme help you, uncle."
"You're so kind," Mr. Hulot said almost teasingly, and Gérard let himself relax a little.
Once the two of them got Gérard's socks and shoes as clean as possible, the two were once again on the street, this time heading to the Villa Arpel. Mr. Hulot once again bent down to hear his nephew's quiet voice, and once again responded with looks or a telling tilt of the head. Stray dogs padded after the two of them, and they both were quite often slowed down by the urge to give them some pets.
By the time they reached the house, blocked off by the cruel grey gates, the sun was beginning to set.
Gérard hopped ahead of his uncle and rang the bell. "MOOOM!" He shouted.
A couple of seconds passed, then he heard the front door open.
"Ah!" His mother's faint voice spoke. "Gérard, don't be so loud!"
"I CAN BE AS LOUD AS I WANT TO!" Gérard said, cupping his hands around his mouth. Mr Hulot giggled silently.
The gate began to open and his mother's face poked through. "Gérard!"
Gérard grinned in fake innocence, rocking on his heels.
The grin quickly vanished however as she took him by the arm and led him onto the yard path. Mr. Hulot began to follow, but Mrs. Arpel stopped him with an outstretched palm.
"Where'd you two go?!" She said. She glared at her brother. "You said you'd bring him back two hours ago!"
Mr. Hulot stood in place, clutching his umbrella, nonverbal. Gérard piped up to save his uncle.
"We got ice cream and petted dogs!"
Mrs. Arpel snorted. "Must've been a lot of dogs."
"There were!" Gérard said defiantly.
"Well!" His mother began to lead him back to the house. "Come on then! Say bye and you're going to eat and go straight to bed!"
Gérard stared back at his uncle standing, rumpled and out of place next to the big steel fish. "BYE UNCLE!" He said, much too loud for his mother.
" Gérard! " His mother admonished, and Gérard only looked away from his uncle to laugh.
As he walked through the sharp lines and empty interiors of the house, he thought of his uncle and he thought of Betty and Célia. A spring stubbornly remained in his step.