Dream Boy (17 page)

But the
figure also remains in the doorway and in the haze moves vaguely, like
something out of a dream, so that it might be Dad taking off his clothes there
or it might be the preacher opening the Bible behind the pulpit on Sunday
morning.

And
Dad's hand on Nathan's thigh.

The
unsteady voice in Nathan's ear whispering, Do you remember what we did when you
were a little boy?

While
overhead the voice of the preacher sails like a wind of itself, Do you remember
what the Lord said unto Abraham?

In the
voice of an angel

The
Lord said unto Abraham, Lay not thine hand upon the boy, neither do thou
anything unto him: for now I know that thou fearest Cod.

Then
Roy lays his hand on Nathan's shoulder and says, “What do you see? What's
wrong?”

The
shadow lingers in the vague doorway. The divided moment vanishes, converges.

“I
thought I saw somebody”

He can
feel Roy searching, can feel his strain. They are fixed together, invisibly
linked. Roy's breath repeats itself along Nathan's shoulders and neck. He pulls
Nathan to him with sudden fervor, his arms encircling, and there is insistence
in his body, taut like a wire, like when he first touched Nathan in the
graveyard. For Nathan the feeling is like a wind, scouring, and Nathan finds
himself echoing with the gust. Roy jerks him close, almost brutish, and the
thing in the doorway watches, and now the thing resembles Dad even more, from
when Dad was young and strong; and the feeling is like there is something
tearing in Nathan. That Roy can hold him roughly, like this. That he can
squeeze too tight. The presence of the thing in the doorway robs the moment of
any tenderness. Roy turns Nathan around to face him, Nathan's back is to the
door, but he can still feel the thing watching. Roy says, “Don't look. I
don't know what it is. But don't look out there anymore.”

The
plaintive note to the voice reaches Nathan.

They
are together in the room. They are standing together, and Roy's hands are
insisting, his body is insisting. His mouth crawls along Nathan's face and
Nathan is tempted, for the first time, to push him away. There are eyes
watching from all sides. Roy's heart pounds beneath Nathan's hand. Nathan sighs,
and yields.

The
need leaves Roy's body a little at a time, and it is almost as if Nathan erases
the tension with his hands, squeezing it out through Roy's shoulders. They are
together, they run together a little, their edges softening and blending. At
first, for Nathan, resistance and anger prevent any pleasure. But this is Roy,
not Dad. They are here together, they are safe.

Then,
without a sign, Roy kneels in front of Nathan, and Nathan, dumbstruck, searches
for his face in the shadows. Roy unfastens Nathan's pants, lets them down.

“What
are you doing?”

Roy's
hands slide along the backs of Nathan's thighs. The touch burns through all
Nathan's nerves, as if his body senses a new intent. Roy slides his hands down
Nathan's thighs. Undershorts glide down.

The
shock of contact, Roy's soft mouth. It is as if Nathan's nerves are bursting, a
wet heat He has never felt anything like the touch. Roy's face slides in and
out of shadow. Now Nathan has something to think about, other than the fear
that someone is there in the darkness, waiting in the doorway in the darkness.
Tension drains away. He lets go.

When
the flashlight finds them, Roy is still kneeling in front of Nathan, and
Nathan's pants are tangled at his ankles. The flashlight catches Roy's mouth
straining over Nathan's heaving abdomen. But at the touch of light Roy freezes,
and Nathan opens his eyes.

“So.”
The voice is Burke's, deep and full of bitterness. “This is what you guys
do.”

Silence.

“You
see it, Randy?” “Yeah.” Disgust.

“Looks
like Roy sucks dick pretty good,” Burke says.

Roy
shoves Nathan away. “Get the fuck out of here,” Roy says to the beam
of light.

Nathan
freezes. He is fumbling with his own clothes. He can still see Roy's face, full
of horror.

“Don't
stop now”

“Turn
off that goddamn thing.” Roy stands. His voice is trembling with rage.

Randy
says, “Jesus, Roy, you do that to him?”

Roy
makes a whimpering sound. He steps over Nathan toward the door. “Get
away” His voice strangled.

The
flashlight suddenly vanishes.

Footsteps
retreat.

Numb.
When Nathan turns, Roy's outline hovers in the doorway. It is Roy, the figure
is his, was his. Hesitant, one arm on the doorjamb, Roy searches down the hall
in the darkness. For a moment there is a fluctuation that Nathan can feel, the
possibility of another division of time, so that Roy could both stay and
escape. But the moment remains rigorous. Roy vanishes.

He is
alone in the dark for a long time, with a wind howling through him.

The
house has fallen silent. The vague doorway remains empty. Nathan sits with his
hands on his knees. His shirt hangs open, last touched by Roy. The faintest
feather of air along his bare skin is his only true sensation.

He has
no thoughts for a long time. He sits and breathes. Sketches of past moments
return to him, Roy's hands and mouth, the sudden pressure of their bodies, the
miracle of reciprocity, and then the abrupt wash of light, the realization that
Burke and Randy had found them. Fragments of that sequence recur. Most vivid is
when Roy pushes him away. Nathan has stayed frozen in that position ever since.

But
these are memories. He can escape them. What he cannot escape is the sensation
of wind inside him. There is a torn place somewhere in his gut and wind is
rushing through it. A sound, like someone humming a sad hymn, resonates through
the hollow.

 After
a while he realizes he is really humming, and the hymn is “Near to the
Heart of God.” Quiet rest. The room echoes with his voice.

A
prickle along his neck warns him. He turns slowly.

He
cannot see anything. Amazing how dark the room remains. But someone waits
behind him again. He can hear the breathing this time.

He
stands, slowly. His knees are stiff and sore, he must have been sitting for a
long time. He faces the place in the darkness from which he hears breathing.
Nothing reveals itself, not even a lighter shadow in the inky room. The door
has dissolved in the changing fall of moonlight. But something is there, Nathan
can hear it.

“Hello.”
Nathan's voice is a thin thread in the blackness.

A
sound, an involuntary step. Something shifting its weight.

“Hello.”
Nathan steps backward. He tries to feel the direction of the door. He steps
again. His heart is pounding.

The
sound is distinct this time. The thing comes toward Nathan. Coughs, or clears
its throat.

Nathan
turns.

Suddenly
he has no sense of direction. The doorway, from which moonlight has faded, has
become invisible. He takes a step, and the floorboards boards creak
dangerously. He stops.

A hand
grips him at the elbow.

He
makes a low sound and tries to pull away. The hand tightens.

Nathan
cannot even hear breathing. “Who are you?”

The
hand simply grips him. The hand is very strong, the fingers dig deep into
Nathan's arm. For a stunned moment they are motionless. Then Nathan lunges away
from the grip at the same moment that the other hand smashes into his face.
Across the bridge of the nose. Nathan sags and the hand closes over his eyes.
Nathan is being dragged by the shoulders, he is too dazed to move. He hears
cloth being ripped, and he realizes he is staring down at something, that his
eyes are seeing something, but then a rag wraps around his head.

Blackness
within blackness. The cloth binds tight across his eyes. Now he need not even
try to see.

He can
still hear breathing, ragged now. After the blindfold they are still again, and
Nathan waits. The first wave of panic has passed and his thoughts are becoming
clear.

When he
reaches for the blindfold he is struck again across the face, a heavy slap that
staggers him. His head spins. Hands pull him up straight. The strength of their
grip is frightening. It is a man, he thinks, because of the strength of the
hands and the fact that its breath comes from slightly above him. But it is a
thing even if it is a man, and Nathan is afraid of it, because it is as if it
has always been waiting for him, as if it always knew he would come.

The
thing pulls Nathan's arms behind him and shoves him forward. It twists Nathan's
arms to control him, and they walk. There is no sense of hurry. Nothing is
said. Nathan feels as if they have come to a lighter place, as if there is
moonlight, but he knows better than to touch the blindfold. His arms hurt, but
he tries to make as little sound as possible. They come to stairs and climb.
These are different stairs than before, and the feeling of a narrow space. They
are climbing for a long time, they change direction twice. Nathan can feel the
thing's bare body, its hairy front. Finally they stop climbing, and the thing
shoves him, twisting his arms.

One arm
lights with pain, and Nathan makes a small sound because of it. He stumbles
forward and crashes into something soft, he hits his head on a bar and sinks
into softness, the smell of cloth, the rasp of a button on his cheek. The
impression of a button is clear. His knee strikes the comer of something hard.
Before he can stand on his own, the hands are pulling him, he is jerked by the
shoulders, and again the strength of the man thing surprises him. He is turned
around to face it and he is trembling.

“Please
don't hit me anymore. I won't touch the blindfold. I won't run.”

He can
hear the moistness of its lips. It is wetting its lips with its tongue.
Something about the darkness, the fact that Nathan cannot see, makes the sound
seem familiar, and for a moment he is afraid this is Dad, Dad has followed him
here.

A hand
cups Nathan's jaw, applying no pressure, simply framing the jaw. Nathan holds
perfectly still.

The
other hand rips the blindfold free.

It has
been tied so tight up till now. Everything is a blur. The outline of the
man-thing faces him. Shoulders squared, breath heaving. The face still hidden
in shadow. They are in the attic, they are under a low pitched roof. Objects
appear in a haze: a heap of white fabric, a chair leg, a broom. Nathan rubs his
eyes gently. He is seeing better and better. The man stands behind him. He is
wearing jeans. He wears no shirt, and his body is thick and powerful. Moonlight
from a dormer window coats his flesh in milk and shadow.

Nathan
should recognize the body, the roundness and brownness of nipples nested among
dense hair. But Nathan is dazed and the shadow face will not resolve, the body
steps forward and pulls a narrow bottle from its back pocket. Eyes that have
been struck by lightning, they glitter. “You want some whiskey,
Nathan?”

“No.”

“You
sure? It might calm you down.” “I'm all right.”

The
voice jangles. Nathan should know it. “We went through that first bottle
too fast. I'm keeping this one to myself. You know what I mean?”

He
swallows. The long relaxed motion of his throat catches moonlight, shimmers. He
keeps his eyes on Nathan as he drinks.

Setting
the bottle on the floor nearby, he grabs Nathan by the shirt and wipes his
mouth on it. Nathan tries to pull away, and a fist hits him again. The impact
of the hand is as sudden as before, and Nathan feels thunder and staggers.

“Don’t
pull away from me.” There is something plaintive in his voice, almost
soft. But then there are his eyes, blazing like a predator cat.
“Don't.” “Okay. I won't.”

Silence
again. A glazed look in Burke's eyes. It is Burke, that is the name. But for a
moment it is like a shadow taking Burke's shape. Burke has not decided what to
do, not entirely. He shrugs his shoulders, and Nathan realizes how much bigger
than Roy he actually is. His body has a frightening hardness. He focuses on
Nathan again. “Roy left you in the house.”

Silence.

“I
came back.” His fingers dig into Nathan's shoulders. “You don't like
me, do you?” “I like you fine.” “Do you?” ‘

“Yes.”

Burke
wets his lips. “I saw you.”

Nathan's
heart picks up its beat. “You did?”

“Oh
yeah. You were on the floor. You know when?”

“When?”

“When
Roy had your dick in his mouth. When he was on his knees in front of you and he
was sucking your dick. Do you suck his dick too?”

Nathan
feels a throbbing in his head, and a heaviness in all his limbs. He speaks past
the weight on his chest. “It wasn't like that. He wasn't doing that.”

“Yes
he was.”

“Please,
Burke, let's go back to camp—”

But
this enrages Burke, and he shakes Nathan violently, then shoves him against the
low roof. Nathan bangs his head again and collapses. He is a heap on the floor,
rising up on his arms, as Burke looms over him. “We ain't going
nowhere.” He is unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and stepping out of
them furiously. A shadow plays over his bare arms and thighs. Nathan tries to
stand and Burke says, “If you move from that spot I'll kill you right
now.”

He
flings down the jeans. He stands there breathing. Nathan, dazed, can hardly
keep him in focus. But the mass of him is there, waiting.

“That
hurt you? When I pushed you?”

Nathan
shakes his head.

“You
do like I say, I won't hurt you.”

Silence.

“You
hear me?”

“Yes.”

“You
going to do like I say?” “Yes.”

He can
focus now. A blur resolves to the motion of arms and legs, Burke standing over
him, jerking him up by the shirt collar. Then rough motion ensues, that Nathan
hardly follows, and his face is crushed against Burke, against fabric that
smells of sweat; then Burke shoves his undershorts down his thighs and pushes
his cock against Nathan's lips.