I’m really pleased with the results of my cooking. Working on a strange hob with different utensils can be a little daunting, but everything seems to have turned out very well. Conversation between the two of us has slowed as we eat, but Joseph seems to be very appreciative of my efforts. There will indeed be some left-overs, but not much.

For now, however, the dishes are simply thrown in the sink as I’m stuffed. Joseph seems to think for a moment before accepting a third bottle of beer and once more taking a seat on one of the couches. He contemplates the bottle thoughtfully for a long while as I search in vain for something on the TV in English.

There really isn’t anything that I can understand and I end up on a music channel and turn it down low.

“Say whatever it is that’s on your mind, Joseph,” I tell him eventually. His pensive – not quite apprehensive – look has been deepening for a few minutes and he is very quiet.

“You said you might find the right man,” he tells me. “You did not mean for me to hear this?”

“No,” I agree. “I’d made a promise to myself that I would keep my private life to myself on this assignment. I’m sorry if I have offended you – or if I offend you.”

“No, I’m not offended. It is just that your world suddenly seems so far away from ours. This is one of the things where the gap between our cultures is the greatest.”

“So I understand. My homeland has come a long way in a short time. Not much more than twenty years ago, our laws were almost as harsh as those of this country. If anyone did or said something that I found offensive I could report it and there would be consequences. We have moved far beyond those ideas now.”

“Still, you should be more careful. Such a simple mistake could indeed be dangerous.” As he says the words, he runs the fingers of his left hand over a ragged scar on the back of his right. It looks like it might have been made by a very sharp, but jagged edge.

Now it’s my turn to be pensive. Still, there’s a question here and I feel that I need some sort of answer.

“Joseph, how did you get that scar?”

“What?” Joseph replies with a start. It’s as if I’ve shocked him out of some sort of trance.

“The scar on your hand? How did you get it?”

“I was an idiot,” he tells me simply.

“You will have to try harder than that to get me to let this one go now,” I tell him.

“I should not drink beer. It always makes me like this.”

“Like what.”

“Like an idiot.”

“Stop using that word and tell me about the scar.”

Joseph is quiet for so long that I’m actually beginning to think he won’t tell me anything. I’m on the point of telling him that it doesn’t matter when he finally begins to talk.

“Our culture is strange, even more so when seen from the outside. I could walk down the street holding your hand and nobody would even look. Holding the hand of a friend – or even a stranger – is such an innocent thing that it cannot have consequences.”

“As a teenager, I had a friend and we did everything together. Playing football, hanging out in the mall, just walking through town.”

“I was never that close to anyone at school,” I tell him. “It sounds really nice to have such a friend.”

“It was,” Joseph agrees and then falls silent again for a minute.

“At some point, I realized that I didn’t see him as just a friend. Even thinking about having such feelings for a man is dangerous. It can be so easy to make a mistake and mistakes have consequences.”

“I thought that he might be like me, as I’d never really seen him show interest in girls. If there was ever a person to talk to about how I felt, then this was the right person, or so I thought.”

“But he wasn’t?” I ask in what is more of a statement than a question. Joseph merely nods.

“I never even got as far as telling him that I liked him. I have never seen anybody so angry. He told me that he never wanted me to speak to him again. He said that he would beat me – and get others to help – if I even looked at him again. I turned from him and ran away as fast as I could, blind in my fear and shame.”

“I didn’t even know where I was going, almost as if I ran in a dream. I was young and I was fast. The piece of jagged iron, however, was very real and this made my panicked run stop quickly. I had run into the ruins of a deserted factory and hardly knew where I was. Still, blood dripping between my fingers, I made it to the main road and there were people to help me.”

“People thought my tears were caused by the pain, but most of them were of shame. When my parents asked why they had not seen me with my friend and why he had not called around, I had nothing that I could tell them. I truly haven’t spoken to him for more than ten years now.” Joseph takes a deep breath and falls silent. I let the silence linger while I take a sip of my beer.

“You have never spoken of this to anyone?” I ask at last. “It is a great burden that you carry.”

“It is the only thing that I can do. Truthfully, some men in our country act on their desires. One or two are even open about their lives, but they face constant persecution and danger. I’m not brave enough for that sort of life.”

“I’ve never lived in such a culture,” I tell him. “Still, that doesn’t mean that being openly gay is without some danger. Even in Britain or at home, there are people who will see our mere presence as a threat.”

“Yet, your world is still so much better than mine,” Joseph suggests as he upends the last of his beer. “I should be going. It is getting late.”

He’s right. It is indeed getting late. His slow retelling of his attempt at coming out has taken longer than I thought. Now he looks dejected and alone once more, close to slipping back into his bubble of closeted anonymity.

I put my own half-empty bottle down and stand to see him out, as he has already begun to walk towards the door.

“Joseph,” I say firmly as he reaches for the handle. “Thank you for telling me your truth. What you have told me tonight remains just between us. It is the unwritten code of all minorities. Only you have the right to tell the world who you are.”

“I’ll see you next week,” Joseph tells me softly. Still, there’s the slightest hint of a smile of understanding on his lips as he turns and walks out into the insect-filled darkness.