Mirage

by Perry Brass

  The driver must have overheard, even through the partition. "You gonna be safe," he said. "Zachariah will take care of you."

  How do they know each other? I thought.

  "Yes, we know each other," Zachariah said. "The cab was waiting for me."

  We drove all the way up Broadway, until we came to Morningside Park. The car stopped a few blocks above the park in front of an old stylish apartment building that at one time must have been very beautiful. We got out, and Zachariah leaned in to speak with the driver. He handed him a fifty-dollar bill. "You must pick up this child in the morning and take him back. Understand?" The driver nodded, and then drove off.

  There was no one on the street. It was eerie, too quiet. "In that park, people are sleeping on benches and being killed," he said to me, as he unlocked the large, leaden door to his building. I noticed that the small panes of the door windows had been knocked out. "I keep asking them to replace these, but they don't," he said. We walked through the lobby. A fat, old doorman, bitter-cocoa colored in a old faded uniform, was asleep by the elevator. He nodded awake and took us up.

  "You have a good night, sir," he said to Zachariah, when we got to the twelfth floor.

  The lights on the floor were dim; most of the fluorescent bulbs were out. Zachariah unlocked several locks. The door opened, and I entered a long hallway. Three large ugly, bony dogs jumped out of the kitchen and sniffed me all over. "Don't worry. I call them the dogs of Hell, but they're very friendly. I found them all on the street. They aren't the kind of dogs people adopt at the pound. I know they'll only die, so I keep them."

  I asked their names, and he told me they were Queenie, King, and Prince. "If I find a fourth, he's gonna be called Duke."

  That made sense to me. He told me to make myself at home, while he went into the kitchen to feed the dogs. I went into the living room which overlooked the park and a lot of the city. The buildings around were not so tall, so the view from his window was lovely: a dark, dreaming sky, with distant lights shimmering through morning fog.

  The room was very simple, filled with low couches and book shelves. My eyes ran through the titles. There were many books about African art and Negro music. When he came back in, he was wearing only a red silk robe. "I want you to be comfortable," he said. "Why don't you take off your clothes?"

  I did, and he slipped out of his robe. We lay together on one of the couches, next to a window. He kissed me softly on my neck and face. "Let me see it now," he said, "and let me touch it with my lips."

  He put his lips to my ball-sac, and sucked delicately on my Egg. I felt that my cock was going to pop into outer space. "It's been so long," Zachariah said. "I knew you arrived, and I knew where you'd be."

  I pulled him back up to my face. "How did you know?"

  "Even the dogs started to howl as soon as you came out of the water on the beach."

  I asked him how long he'd been on earth.

  He closed his eyes. "Since," he paused. "Just after the first big war of this Twentieth Century."

  I tried to figure this out, but couldn't. I knew so little about earth history.

  "About seventy years. Don't worry, I look almost the same as I did when I arrived. I have to be very careful. Because of where I come from, I am immune to this AIDS problem, but I cannot share my Egg with anyone. I know it could save lives or prolong them. But I have no way of exchanging seed. So I will always be alone. It is heartbreaking.

  I asked him why he didn't go back.

  "Because I will not leave Zachariah. I am black. When I first came here, I thought what luck—a curse from the Goddess herself. But only black men can feel what I do: a closeness that goes to the very human heart. I do not want to go back to your planet, even to be with the enclave of the Promised Heart, the enclave I left. Did you know them?"

  I told him that I didn't. But there were many Same-Sex enclaves, and often we didn't know each other. Sometimes we'd go raiding another enclave for mates. It created enmity between us, and it took years for these bad feelings to pass. I asked him why he left Ki.

  "My mate beat me. I killed him. It was a terrible story. I'm sure no one talks about it. We're supposed to be perfect, you know. We put on this front for the Off-Sexers, like they're going to change their minds about us if they think we're all saints. We aren't. My mate's name was Tooba. Had you ever heard of him?"

  "No," I said. I wondered if he knew that I was only eighteen when I left Ki. The name Tooba meant nothing to me.

  "He thought he was a big deal. A hunter. Arrogant and mean. I loved him with every fiber in me. But I could never please him, and he would not release me. He said he would die without me, but still beat me and hurt me terribly. He was angry that the priestesses would not allow us to have a son. One night he came home drunk on berry wine and tried to fuck me without letting me have any of his Egg. I screamed. I was in pain. I knew the others would only ignore me. They had heard my screams too often, and in our enclave there was no talking. No gossip. The Promised Heart! Shit! I told him after he had me that I was going to run away. He said if I did, he'd kill me. So I killed him. I took his knife and stabbed him. A dozen times, I think. Then I went into the old men's hut and told them I'd killed my mate. They all cried and told me how terrible it was. They dragged me to the priestesses. The priestesses said we could not do such things. The Off-Sexers may kill, but not us. The priestesses said they'd take my Egg away, and make me their slave."

  "How terrible," I said, genuinely moved. I kissed his beautiful face. "Who arranged for you to come here?"

  "An old man from the Blue Monkeys."

  "Oh. . ." I said. "I see." I remembered Woosh saying that he could not tell me anymore than he knew about the men who'd left. That certainly protected him. "So he had to explain your leaving to the priestesses?" I asked. "That you had disappeared?"

  "Exactly. I know they hate me because I left and never returned. I cut myself off from them, and lived—but at a terrible price. See, I was supposed to bring someone else back."

  "To take your place?"

  "Of course, my child. Frankly, I think that old man wanted me for himself."

  Why didn't he bring someone back? I asked. "Were you afraid of being the mate of the old magician from the Blue Monkeys?"

  "No, how could he be any worse than Tooba?" He coughed, and then went on. "I fell in love with a beautiful black man, blacker than me, more beautiful and black than the dawn of life. I told him I wanted to bring him back. I told him we would never be separated. What a lie it must have been. How easily he must have seen it. But he was terrified—he'd never been out of Harlem before—even if it meant being separated from me. I was stupid and greedy. I told him he had to come, or I would leave him. He killed himself."

  How terrible. I found myself crying into his cheeks. They were the hardest cheeks, and yet soft, with a stubble like fine black dust on them.

  "He could not bear for me to leave. I was arrogant. He was poor, and I was smart enough to make money in the white world. I became a pimp for white men. What else could a black man do in those days? I had all the drugs, wine, flowers, clothes. I told Emile he had to leave with me. I told him I would put his body into a box that was as small as my mouth and swallow him and take him back."

  I asked him what happened.

  "In Harlem, the men used to jump out of windows to die and escape," he said, kissing me on my lips. "Now, they shoot each other. It's so sad. But my Emile jumped. I will not go back, though things are so difficult here. The young men come to me, sick. You must know of this disease that hits our people, the black gay men I love. They hear I can help them, but I can't. I want to help them, but I can't share my seed with them. It keeps me alive. And there is no one else to share seed with from Ki. The men leave me and are faced with their own early deaths—and all I can give them is courage. Some will kill themselves, or the hard streets will do it for them. It breaks my heart. I feel the death of every one of them."

  He got up, and asked me if I liked Billie
Holiday. I asked him who he was.

  "You really are new here: just one day on earth! I remember my first day. Hell on wheels! I couldn't figure out how I ended up black. What luck, I thought. But now I've changed my ways. On Ki, there are no blacks, except you, the Same-Sexers."

  He got out an old record and played it on a rumbly, ancient record player. So Billie Holiday was a woman, with this soft, sad voice. I thought about what he said. He came back to the couch and embraced me. "We serve the Goddess," I told him. I looked at his long, slim limbs. He had beautiful, big feet. They were strong looking, with long, tapering toes.

  "No, my child, in truth you serve the Off-Sexers. You are the force between them and the priestesses—and the truth is the priestesses throw you to them. But you have all the power you need. Right between your nuts. My sweet lovely man—so white—now in a Jewish skin. I have to ask you, would you give me some of it now?"

  I turned away from him. I was afraid he'd ask that. "I can't share my seed with anyone except Greeland, the one I've been promised to."

  Zachariah smiled. "Child, he's out whoring. You saw him dive into that crowd at the Buffalo Club. He'll have every dick in the world."

  "He won't share his seed."

  Zachariah got up. His body was graceful. It reminded me of the sleek animals I'd seen on the flat plains back home: creatures of poise and muscle. He pulled me up to him. I found his touch irresistible.

  "Greeland is not here, Enkidu."

  "How did you know my name?" I asked.

  "I know. And one day, you will know all of these things, Enkidu. One day you will know everything. As you will know that you are now here with me, and Greeland is now only Wright McClelland Smith. That, Enkidu, is all he is at this moment. And he is sharing himself with strangers, and not with you."

  I crumpled when he said that. I felt totally alone. I knew I was not Alan, but only in his skin. My body fell into a heap, and Zachariah held on to me. His soft mouth went smoothly to my neck and ears. I felt stronger. Zachariah, who ever he was, was my link to the existence I knew.

  My fingers roamed through the thick, twisted forests of his pubic hair. He asked for my seed once more, and I could not deny him. I stopped hearing everything except the wild surf roaring of his own heart and mine.

  I wondered what his seed would do to me. We rolled into a luxurious mutual oral embrace, with me putting his long black pipe of maleness into my mouth. He sucked me, stroking my Egg, and I washed into a visionary trance that lasted for what seemed like half the night. I rode on a black horse that became Zachariah—so completely he filled me with his cock, all the way down to the pit of my torso.

  His cock filled my lungs, and it became a cloud—a mushrooming extravagance of power that pushed me back through space, until I was in the cave again.

  "You must come back," Woosh said to me. "You must bring some one back to replace yourself with the Off-Sexers."

  "Why? So you can use him?" I said.

  "You must not listen to the mate of Tooba, Enkidu. He will lie to you as he has to others. You must not be seduced by the Earth."

  "How did you know he found me?"

  "I am the magician who brought you to where you are—and the force that will keep you safe. I have seen you in my visions. Do not believe the lies of the Earth. We risked all for you. The Off-Sexers are looking for you and Greeland; their fury is collecting like the dust of a burning windstorm. They say Greeland murdered young Ert, who wandered innocently and unarmed into our forest."

  "What a lie!" I knew in my heart that even Ert would not allow such a thing to be said.

  "It is a lie," Woosh said. "But the Off-Sexers live in lies; that is life to them. We cannot trust them, that is why we have the Sisters between them and us. They protected you, but now we seem to be at the very edge of balance. Your brothers at the Dark Men talk of calling off the Goddess Dance until you are found safe. They fear the situation is very serious—that you have been murdered already by the Off-Sexers."

  "Can't you tell them we're not murdered?" I asked. "The Goddess Dance brings the whole planet together."

  "I will tell them nothing. Nor, hopefully will Aawkwa. He has kept his mouth sealed, and averted his eyes when questioned. But we do not know how much longer we can keep the Off-Sexers from attacking our enclaves. So think about your return, Enkidu. Listen to what I speak."

  "I'm afraid you are only using me," I said. My voice sounded small and frightened. "I don't know who to trust. I feel so alone here."

  "My sweet Enkidu, at heart you are only a child. But I care for you. Please remember on Earth, they lie, too."

  Woosh disappeared.

  I realized I was out of the vision. I had shot the seed from my third Egg into Zachariah's mouth. He followed by giving me a slight taste of his. It tasted bitter and old, not sweet.

  I slept lightly through the night. I woke up several times and saw Zachariah next to me, sleeping soundly. We were in his bedroom, with the three dogs curled up at the end of the bed. His small bedroom was filled with religious images of various types: primitive crucifixes, African saints and gods, a beautiful group of Russian icons in gold and dark reds. A small, chipped enamel clock near his bed told me it was six A.M. when I decided I had to go back.

  I got up and picked up my jeans and tee shirt. The shirt reminded me of Richard—Ceil—and made me laugh. "Where you going, child?" Zachariah said sleepily to me, as I pulled my jeans over my briefs. I told him I needed to go back. He nodded his head, understanding.

  He got up and put on his silk robe. "I should make coffee for you. I shouldn't throw you out into this cruel world without a good cup of coffee."

  "You've been kind to me," I said. I wanted to fold back into his black arms, back into my other world. But I couldn't.

  "There's so much you don't know, Alan—my beloved Enkidu. But you will learn."

  "Tell me one thing," I said, as we walked towards his door. "What was your name?"

  "Back there?"

  "Yes."

  "I won't tell you. Someday you may hear my name spoken harshly when you return. I don't want you to connect it with me. I want you to remember this night of love, magically. I wish you could see Harlem the way I do, but you cannot. So remember me only as Zachariah; you will not see me ever again."

  He kissed me once more and opened the door. I walked out into the hallway. A weak morning light filtered through it. The elevator came quickly, with a new operator, a young man just out of his teens with his hair trimmed in a black flattop. He closed the door to the elevator and gave me a wicked, knowing smile. "You buyin' or sellin'?"

  I just looked at him. "Just visiting," I said.

  "Shit. Everybody on the twelfth floor is either buyin' or sellin.' Why else would you be there."

  "Do you know Zachariah?" I asked. "In the front apartment, overlooking the park?"

  "Who? Man, that apartment's been vacant for three months. The last man who lived in that apartment was shot dead on the street. Some people called it an accident. But he's gone."

  That was impossible, I told him. I asked him to take me back up there. I'd prove it to him. "I'll knock on the door."

  "I ain't takin' you no place. The door's boarded up. We don't want no dead white boys like you in our house. The cops come, and ask too many questions."

  I got out on the street. Harlem was coming to life. There were old ladies already sweeping stoops, and young black men with beautiful chests and calves jogging on the sidewalks. I walked over to Broadway, and a cab stopped in front of me. In it was the same driver with the long, clay-red braids.

  "Get in, baby," he said. "I know where you're going. Your ride's already been paid for. Just don't ask no questions."

  Chapter Ten

  "Where have you been?" Greeland asked when he opened the door. "I looked all over the Buffalo Club. Somebody told me you left with someone. I said that was impossible. I was afraid for you. I left right afterwards. I'm responsible. I must take care of you."

 
I sank into Wright's arms, but I knew he was Greeland now. Only Greeland would have talked to me like that. "Did anything horrible happen to you?" he asked. He had already showered, shaved, and looked like he'd had a complete night's sleep. He was wearing a clean pair of white cotton jockey shorts and a fresh white cotton tee shirt. His underwear exuded a smell of its own, like fresh air. I looked like hell itself, like I had been dragged through half of New York, which, in fact, I felt like.

  "You really didn't touch anyone else?" I asked.

  "How could I touch anyone else? I've been promised to you. I tried to find you. I wanted to hold on to your nuts. I wanted to protect you from these strange people we seem to be running into all over this damn place. Then you just disappeared. What happened?"

  So, Zachariah had lied to me. Greeland was no whore—he never would have done those things. I felt like I had been pushed into a terrible current with no way out of it—until I came back to Greeland. He led me to the couch. I decided I couldn't tell him anything. If he was indeed Greeland, he'd know the truth anyway: we can't lie.

  "I hated that place," I said. "I just walked out."

  "Where did you go?"

  "Just wandered about."

  He sank to his knees and embraced my legs. He started crying. "I'll never let you go again. I worried all night."

  I pulled him up and we went over the couch and embraced. A moment later, our clothes were off.

  "You smell of another man," he said.

  "How can you tell?" I asked.

  "I know smell. Remember, I'm a hunter. I can track anyone down. I'd kill him with my bare hands if he touched you." His fingers found my Egg. He stroked it, trying to warm me. But this time there were no visions. I was not hurled back into space and to Ki. I felt empty. He anxiously shoved my male pipe into his mouth. It was limp. "You've been drained dry," he shouted at me. "He took you. How could you let him?"

  He raised his hand as if to slap me, when Jack, with a towel wrapped around his chunky waist, walked out of our bedroom.