Mirage

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Mirage Page 9

by Perry Brass


  We lay on the sand for a long time. Wright turned to me and said, "What's happened?"

  I said, "We're here, Greeland."

  Chapter Eight

  Wright looked at me. "Greeland? Greeland?" He closed his eyes, as if remembering something, and then slowly said, "Yes. Greeland? Didn't I once know him?"

  He wanted to know how he got back there—on a blanket at a beach. I told him calmly that he'd been through quite a change. We were not the same people we'd been an hour ago. I decided not even to try to convince him that he was Greeland, actually. But I told him to think about the name. I wasn't sure why I had so much vestigial knowledge. I knew a lot, quickly, about Alan Kostenbaum. Although I was Enkidu, I would certainly be—for now—someone by that name. Jewish. From New York. And Greeland, this nice body next to me, was Wright Smith. Wright McClelland Smith, from Roseville, a farming town in Michigan, and now from New York.

  We were both naked. Why did I have to have so much hair? And why was he so hairless—compared to me—and so utterly, wonderfully attractive? I rolled over, began to kiss him all over, licking—tasting— his beautiful fat male pipe. What a work of art he was!

  "You can't do that here, Alan!" Wright said, chuckling. "Since when are you so turned on to me? Aren't you going after all that nice chicken on the beach?"

  Now what was Greeland talking about? Chickens? Didn't people eat those sort of birds here? On Ki, I knew I'd started to be somewhat attracted to Greeland, to whom I'd been promised. But now—how was he ever going to keep me away?

  "We've got to get back," Greeland said abruptly.

  "To where?" I asked. I wanted to stay there forever. Naked, on that beautiful beach. With someone I'd just discovered. Or had I made him up completely? I wasn't sure. I wasn't even sure—one hundred percent—at that point who I was.

  He got up, and looked around. From where we were lying, we could see a number of other men trumping around, some of them naked as we were. What a place to be born, I thought—if you had to be born again as an adult. I asked Greeland what the problem was.

  "Don't call me Greeland, please! I'm not even sure who this Greeland is. Alan, suddenly I feel completely disoriented." He asked me what was going on. "What happened out there in the water? Did we hit jelly fish?"

  I tried to explain what had happened. Obviously, he hadn't settled in completely. The Greeland part wasn't there at all. And the Wright part wasn't working well, either. So I had to explain things.

  "Suppose you're just nuts?" he asked. "I mean, this all might be explainable. I know I'm Wright McClelland Smith—" he paused, and then squinted his eyes, like he expected the answers to jump out the bushes—"but I don't know anything else."

  I had to convince him that he really was Greeland, and we had just arrived. "Look," I said. "Get down."

  He got back down on the blanket, then started examining his hips. "Somehow, I think I remember tripping on something before I got into the water. At least my body remembers—my legs feel stiff." He ran his hands over his upper legs. "But I don't see a single mark on me."

  "Maybe you'll remember this," I said, and started to grope his scrotum.

  "Would you stop! This is no time for sex!"

  "Just feel," I said, and took his right hand and brought it down to his balls.

  His eyes—his whole expression—changed. It was like a charge of information went through his head: he recognized the third testicle. He closed his eyes; bit his lower lip. "Now, I guess the problem is how to get back to Manhattan." He opened his eyes wide. "It's called Manhattan, isn't it?"

  I told him it was. I reached into his pants pockets and found a set of keys. One was to a car. Honda. "We drive back," I said.

  "I can't drive."

  "You've been driving for years, Wright. We have a car, and we put it in a garage in the West Village."

  "Oh, Jesus," Wright said. He put his hands to his temples. "The traffic! I remembered the traffic coming out. They were repairing two of the bridges, and the Northern State Parkway had an accident! Alan, I can't do it."

  "I never drive out," I said. "I hardly drive at all. Remember, I was born in New York."

  "There must be another way to get back."

  "What'll we do about the car?"

  He started to put his clothes on. He had bland, preppy taste in clothes. White polo shirt; loose khaki trousers. "We won't worry about the car now. Besides, if I don't try to drive—I mean, I've never driven in my life, at least not my other life, anyway—it'll give us some time together to talk."

  I got dressed, too. I liked my clothes better: a loose pair of silky green shorts; a beautiful shirt in a soft, terra-cotta color. Obviously, I was the one who had a sense of taste in this couple. Although, I said to myself, Wright was quite tasty himself.

  I smiled.

  We went through what was there. Wright had his wallet, hidden in a sock in one of his shoes. The shoes were of a running type, of a material I'd never seen before; not leather, not woven, either. I remembered that Alan never carried his wallet to the beach. Wright's wallet contained his driver's license, a few business cards, and about thirty dollars. "I just carry it for I.D.," he said. Fortunately, his license had our address.

  There were a few paperback books. At first the writing on them meant nothing to me. Then I focused in on one back cover. The writing became clearer; it said in larger letters that it was a "gay romance." I wasn't sure what that meant. Gay, as in cheery? The cover though had two men who might have been Same-Sex, except that they were very hairless. Then I remembered that the men here seemed to be generally hairless.

  I thought that until we started walking back in the direction of several other male couples. I saw one big man walking towards us, wearing only a small pair of blue swim shorts. God, what an animal! My heart almost stopped. He was bigger than anything I'd ever seen in my life.

  Bigggg, and so hairrrry! If I hadn't been with Greeland, I would have jumped on him any second.

  Then I realized, I wasn't with Greeland. I was with Wright McClelland Smith, and, to be frank, I wasn't sure what the rules on this planet were. "He's not your type," Wright said to me.

  I had to agree with him, but I wasn't sure exactly what my type was. On that point, Wright was one up on me. He remembered something about Alan Kostenbaum that even Alan—myself—didn't know.

  We managed to talk to several men walking in our direction. Our story was simple: we'd lost our car keys, and had to take another way home. They were very nice to us. One asked if we had money for the bus. I guess that sort of thing happens when you're in a place where ten minutes earlier everyone's been frisking around in the buff. No secrets. At least on that level. I said we had money, just no keys. We'd have to come back for the car.

  "The park police can help," an older man said. The word police sent shivers through me. Alan's fairly knowledgeable brain kicked in. Suppose they thought we were on drugs? I wasn't even sure what part of New York I lived in. How could I tell the police who we were? And why—suddenly—we were having such a hard time telling our tushies from our elbows?

  "Alan! Alan!" some one called to me. I turned around. A cute young man, with a trim body, ran towards us. He was dressed in solid black: tee shirt, shorts, socks, shoes. He looked odd at first. "Where've you guys been? I looked for you on the beach."

  "Rudi," I said. "Sorry we missed you. You know Wright?"

  Wright looked at him with disbelief.

  "Sure. Hi, Wright. I missed you guys. We had such a nice time last week. We were just about the only ones on the beach. Remember?"

  "That was nice," I said with a smile Wright could read a mile away. Then the words started to tumble out of my mouth. "You still looking for a new job? I told you to call me. I think there might be an opening in our department."

  "I will, I will. So, you girls had a good day? I felt kinda bushed this morning, but came out anyway. Say, if you have room, can I get a lift with you back to the City?"

  I told him our car was "in the sh
op." I was amazed how easy it was to lie here. On Ki, we couldn't do it at all. Here, lies just rolled out of you. Or was that simply me?

  "So you're taking the bus? Good, I'll walk with you."

  Wright didn't say a word. He looked a bit disturbed. Jealous? We followed Rudi right to the place to get transportation out of the beach. There was a long line for buses. Instinctively, I knew that many of the men were Same-Sexers. They had a subtle but distinctive look. On Ki, you knew because we had three separate classes. Here, the look was different. Furtive. Full of nervous energy. It made the men talk faster and look at each other more. I wasn't sure I liked it.

  Suddenly Rudi bounded out of line to talk to some other girls. "Keep my place," he said. Wright turned to me. "How did you know who he was? And all that other business about the job?"

  I explained: "Pockets of memory. Suddenly I know everything."

  "I wish you'd explain it to me."

  I told him I would.

  The bus was jammed. Then we got in a car of a long train, and sat facing each other, with Rudi next to me. He yakked away, and got—frankly—very boring. I found him clever, but tiresome. He kept making obvious passes at me. I wondered how Wright felt about it.

  Finally, the conductor in the car said, "Penn Station," and Rudi got up, so I figured this was also our stop. The train emptied. I knew we were underground—the place was damp and smelly—but I had no idea where. In the middle of all these bewildered looking people rushing around, Rudi went on about clothes. Clubs. Parties. People. Some, I figured, were famous; we were supposed to know them like they were neighbors. He kept dropping words that meant nothing to me. It was like trying to figure out yet another new language. I had to get rid of him—fast. I was tired of trying to appear interested. Mostly, I nodded and smiled. Then a really good phrase popped into my mind. I told him: "Call me!"

  "We'll do lunch!" he said, and hurried off.

  We followed the crowd. The station, big and confusing, converged into several stairways and rolling conveyers that resembled stairs. One said "To Streets," and we took it.

  "Where do we go now?" I asked Wright.

  He looked at me. "Why ask me? You seem to know everything." Then he added, "I thought I wanted to kill that twerp. If he's our introduction to life here, I'm not going to like it."

  "Wright," I said. "That doesn't sound like you." Then I realized it wasn't. Wright always managed to keep some sense of humor. This was pure Greeland talking.

  I decided we should walk for a while, to calm Wright down. It was still early. There was a beautiful early evening light out. The air was just a bit hazy. It made the traffic lights glow.

  We walked up to a large street; there was a huge store, called Macy's. I'd never seen so many people trying to jam into or leave one place. We found some other quieter streets, and then ended up on this ugly boulevard called 42nd Street. It was filled with theatres showing movies. They had two main subjects: sex or violence. Except for those that showed both.

  Looking over at Wright, I could see all of this penetrating his eyes, into his brain; but I knew another brain was at work. It was Greeland's—not Wright's. Greeland was a hunter. He was primitive and coarse and not as cunning as this city. But he was genuinely loving. He cared about me. I'd had a hard time loving him once, that was true; but his response was to protect me. Any defense I had here would come from him—I was sure—and not from Wright. But for now Greeland was lost in this overwhelming new world.

  "God, this city is big," Wright complained. I wasn't sure where his mind was, either. His eyes barely focused on anything. He bumped into people. Apologized. They snarled at him. "It's ugly, too," he said.

  I told him it wasn't all that ugly. Look up. The buildings seemed to go on forever. We passed a small, grungy park, and ended up at a corner that said, "Fifth Avenue."

  The street was broad, more gracious. There was a beautiful white box of a building at the corner. The building was lower, with attractive-looking carvings of the heads of animals over tall windows. The outside was guarded by two big stone lions. "It must be a zoo," Wright said.

  "A zoo?"

  "Yeah," Wright said. "Animals. Why don't we go and see what's in it?"

  I wondered if this was going to cost us money. Getting used to money was difficult. Luckily, Rudi had helped us with the train and the bus. We'd just pretended that we'd never used these before. He acted like it was kind of a joke, and went along with it.

  We went up an impressive bank of stairs, and then around a door that revolved. A guard stopped us. He was black and large, with smooth arm muscles that flowed out of his short sleeve shirt. I had never seen anyone quite like him before. Truly exotic for me. He was friendly, and didn't seem to want to hurt us.

  Wright asked him how much money it would cost us. He answered it was free. "Guys, this is a public library. It's open to the public."

  I could tell that Wright had struck a mental blank wall. No pocket of memory there for him at all; I read it on his face. I jumped in: "Library?"

  "Yeah, books. Lots of books. What interests you?"

  I thought: this was perfect, if my vestigial knowledge flashed on enough to allow me to read. "We want to find out as much as we can about this place," I said.

  The man smiled. His face looked genuine and warm. "Where you guys from? Wait a second, let me guess by your accent. You're definitely not from New York. Are you from Seattle?"

  Wright's face wrinkled. "No," he said seriously. "Not Seattle." Then he became confident, plugged-in again. "But we're here for a vacation."

  The word sounded so important. It took my breath away. I wasn't sure what a vacation was, but it got us past the guard. "Try the Reference Room upstairs," he said, and pointed us in that direction. "Lots of books up there about New York."

  We walked up a flight of cool marble stairs. I remembered I was hot and itchy. It must have been from the beach. Salt water. Sand. I had to pee. I wondered where people did that here. On Ki, it was simple. You could do it almost any place. Most of our huts had small trees and bushes outside. It was considered good manners, when the time came, to excuse yourself and water them with your urine. If it was going to be solid, you went out and dug yourself a respectable hole. Some of the other enclaves dug long communal holes, but we never did at the Dark Men. Once I'd heard that Off-Sexers even had separate huts for such things. Their women were probably more sensitive about them than we were.

  I noticed a potted plant at the end of the hall, like some small forlorn looking tree. But something told me it wouldn't be a good idea just to pull out and pee over it. I told Wright about my problem, and again drew a blank from him. The pressure was getting harder against my bladder. If Wright knew about vacations, why didn't he know about pissing?

  A man close to Wright's age passed us. His face was quiet and friendly. He was tall, his body softer than Wright's, and fairly thick. He wore black, plastic glasses. A large nose jutted from his face. The nose ended with a huge, gray-flecked mustache. He looked at both of us. For a short half-second there was a human connection. I could feel it. It was the type of connection Same-Sexers have any place. I knew instinctively he could be trusted.

  I smiled. He stopped. I asked him if he knew a place where I could "make water."

  He grinned. His mustache twitched from side to side. I looked directly into his eyes, and then he looked into mine. "I'll show you."

  He led us up one more flight of stairs, and then around a corner. We talked while we walked. Finally he asked, "How did you end up at the Library, right after Jones Beach?"

  Wright fumbled for an answer, and then blurted out, "Everyone knows it's a must-see."

  The man nodded his head and chuckled. He seemed nice. He told us his name was Jack. Jack Cohen. Interesting. His name sounded like "coin." The word Cohen rolled around in my mouth, as I repeated it under my breath. Wright's face lit up. "Cohen?" he said, then smiled, locking his eyes with Jack's. I wondered what sort of ring the name had for Wright. Then I realiz
ed another connection—between them—had been made without Wright even telling Jack his name.

  A sign over a door read, "Men's Room." I was delighted; first that I could read it, and second because it's meaning dawned on me. I felt much less lost. Jack looked at me again, and touched my shoulder gently. "You gotta be careful in here," he said as we walked in. "It's a great place to be ripped off."

  I wasn't sure what "ripped off" meant, but it certainly sounded like fun. Like having all of your clothes stripped away. I thought of the beach. I thought about running naked through the cool marble halls of this quiet "Library." I wondered if Jack was going to try to "rip us off." He had a sporty, light manner that appealed to me, a wonderful mustache, and clear blue eyes under his glasses. I wouldn't mind being ripped off by him at all. I forgot to mention his teeth. Big. White. Great teeth. On Ki, teeth were important. I inspected his carefully. At close range, some revealed discrete traces of silver. Others had small tips of gold attached. I wondered what they were for. Decoration? Status? The gold made me look at his mouth whenever it opened, so perhaps he used it to enhance sexual attraction.

  The place labeled "Men's Room" was strange to me. Intense smells grabbed my nose. Some were foreign, revoltingly sweet—artificial, I was sure—to cover up basic human body smells. But even stranger were the small white shiny fountains that lined one of the walls. Jack took his male pipe out in front of one of them. Of course, being new to this situation, I wondered what his looked like.

  It was thick, with a large, naked head at the end. He gave me a soft, relaxed look as he made water. I stood at the next fountain, while he continued his yellow stream. In front of each fountain, a funny-looking silver knob stood at armpit level. I took out my male pipe from my pants, and while it was out, pushed the knob in. A stream of water—clear and very drinkable—trickled down. What a convenience! I started to wash my hands in it. Because I was thirsty, I was ready to bend over and drink, when Jack stopped me. He'd already hidden his male pipe back in his pants. "You guys are really into something kinky, aren't you?" he said.

 

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