Joel thought about that. “Well, he says ‘father’ to me. So maybe he was just trying to be polite.”
“Maybe, Joel. Maybe so. But that was my impression.”
Joel stayed on the porch. Having Tom spend the night like old times was good. For a time, they’d even managed to forget everything. And it sure had felt good to have him back. He had slept fitfully, drifting off, then coming bolt awake, assuring himself that Tom’s warmth next to him was real and not a dream; that was enough. He felt ashamed for ever doubting that their love, the friendship part, went both ways.
It was almost noon. He had been up for hours, back to his summer morning routine. And as much as he had wanted to wake Tom this morning to go with him, he let him sleep. Probably, Joel thought, it was the first good sleep he’d had in a while. In the pale dawn, Joel had watched Tom sleep. His face was at peace. His long lashes lay on his cheeks like a sleeping baby’s. His pale, full lips were turned up in the slightest smile. Joel leaned over and kissed him gently, not wanting even Tom to know. “I love you, man,” he’d said, then left the room.
He wondered if Tom was awake now. A kind of nervous tension that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, not exactly good, came over him. It was time to see how Tom was getting on. Joel hoped his mother hadn’t smothered him with kindness.
He opened the front door intending to go to his bedroom, but as he shut it, he heard Tom’s laughter coming from the dining room.
Tom and his parents were already at the table when Joel sat down. Tom nodded his way, then turned back to Joel’s mother, grinning.
Eva looked at him. “Oh, Joel, guess what?”
Joel shrugged. “What?”
Tom joined Eva. “Go ahead and guess, Joel.”
Joel looked at his father. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”
“Work,” Douglas said with a straight face.
“Well?” Tom persisted.
Joel laughed at their faces. His father’s was so deadpan that he suspected something was up. His mother’s face was a dead giveaway, and Tom was just grinning. Joel shrugged again. “What?”
“We’re taking a week off and going to the mountains to James’ and Mildred’s!” Eva said.
“We are?”
“No.” Douglas said. “Just us. Eva and me.”
Tom said, “We’re going to work the farm!”
“Who?”
“Us. Your father said he thought we could run it.”
“Tom is going to keep my grass watered and mowed,” Eva added, “and tend my garden.”
“Have you asked your parents, yet?” Joel said to Tom, hoping it was really all set.
“Yes, Joel. Father said okay. We have to go back and get my things.”
* * *
Later that afternoon at the Allen house, Joel parked by the gate. Tom hurried inside by himself.
A moment later, Mr. Allen came out to the pickup. Joel got out reluctantly, slicking his hair down, wishing he had put on cleaner Levi’s, but the preacher didn’t notice. “Hello, Son.”
“Hello, Sir,” Joel said.
Mr. Allen cocked his chin. “While Thomas is packing and saying good-bye to his mother, I wanted to have a few words with you.”
“Sir?” Joel’s heart thumped with anticipation.
“You know what you’re doing? Out there by yourselves?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Don’t let Thomas around any of that machinery. He’s never had a chance with something like this, and I don’t want him to be hurt. Not that he can’t work. I understand there’s going to be plenty for the both of you. That’s good. Hard work never hurt. So make sure he does his share. He’s been acting rather funny lately; maybe this will take his mind off himself.”
Damn sure, Joel thought. He glanced shyly at the preacher’s stern face and swallowed hard. “We’ll come to church on Wednesday and Sunday, like we said.”
Mr. Allen snorted. “Thomas had better, Son, or he won’t get another chance like this.”
“Yes, Sir.” Joel was embarrassed.
“Okay, Joel. I hope you boys can handle this responsibility.” He turned on his heels and walked into the house.
Joel leaned against the pickup and waited. In a few minutes, Tom came out with his mother on his arm, shaking a finger at him. Tom smiled at Joel when they stopped at the pickup, then he let his mother finish chiding him with last-minute warnings that Joel didn’t listen to. She pecked Tom on the cheek and retreated quickly.
Tom waved to her. He threw his suitcase into the back of the pickup and slid in. Joel smiled to himself more than at Tom.
Tuesday, June 8
They left at dawn the next day, giving Joel final instructions. His father gave him grocery money and spending money; his mother gave him a kiss from her side of the car. “Now you be sure to call if you need anything. I’ve set out a roast you ought to be able to cook and some hamburger to grill. Just open some green beans; use the jars on the top shelf in the pantry. They’re the oldest. And use plenty of potatoes. I’ve got to get rid of them or plant them.”
Joel waved them off. He watched his parents disappear down the road, then went back into the house to wake Tom.
They set the irrigation for the day. There wasn’t so much to do, except start the siphon hoses, which Joel made look easy. With one dip of the entire hose into the water, one hand cupped over an end, he pulled it into the furrow and dropped it. The suction pulled the water from the ditch in a steady stream. “See how easy?” He smiled at Tom.
Tom stood on the ditch bank holding the six-foot length of rubber. It was curved in a permanent bend, like an inverted “v,” rounded out at the middle. He bent over the ditch, submerged the hose, and pulled one end out with his hand cupped over it. Water gurgled for a second, forming a dark brown patch of wetness in the furrow, then stopped. They both laughed.
“Or, you can do it this way.” This time Joel dipped only one end of the hose into the ditch and cupped his hand loosely over the other end. He popped his palm off the end as he pulled the hose up in a graceful movement, and laid the hose into the furrow. Water gushed out again in a steady stream into the row. “Try it.”
The water that Tom managed to pull into the hose spurted through the end with his palm over it and wet his Levi’s; then the suction was gone. He dipped and spurted three or four times, until his pants were soaked. But he was rewarded with a stream of water that ran smoothly into the furrow. “Hey!”
“Only eighty-seven more!” Joel teased, and slapped Tom on the back.
When all the hoses were flowing they drove around the field to the other end and, as Joel had been doing all week, built up the borders. Joel gave Tom the lightest shovel and occasionally stopped to watch him bent over the work. Tom sweated and shoveled, but he seemed to enjoy the work and he did it well. Close to noon, they drove back to the other end to check the irrigation’s progress. Beside him, Tom was acting lively. “The alfalfa’s so green!”
Joel laughed. “There? That’s cotton.” They were in the north field, the newest land the Reeces had put under cultivation. “Last year we had alfalfa planted here,” Joel explained, “and there’s a lot of regrowth, but it’s going to be real good cotton, since the kind of minerals and things the alfalfa takes from the soil the cotton doesn’t need. And we let the cows graze and shit here. They break down the alfalfa into rich fertilizer for the cotton.”
“So your father rotates the crops like they teach in school?”
“Of course, man. Dad experiments with a lot of stuff. He’s been written up in The Farm Journal.”
Cooler weather had set in. A few heavy clouds built up in the west and meandered across the fields, their shadows forming dark patches of green in the cotton. Around the edges of the shadows, sharp sunlight glittered off the leaves, turning them pale green. In the background, the Floridas were brown and purple, looking closer than usual.
“I never noticed how the mountains change shapes,” Tom said.
&nbs
p; Joel looked across the field at them. “They do, don’t they? My cousin from Texas came out here one summer. He asked me if I’d like to walk over there before lunch!”
Tom laughed. On the many hikes they had gone on, Tom had been amazed at how puny they were in the desert, how long it took to get from Joel’s yard to his favorite spot. A couple of hours of walking toward the mountains made so little difference in them that he knew they must be far away.
By noon, the work in the field was done except for checking the irrigation to make sure no hoses had clogged and no water had broken the beds. For lunch they ate the leftovers Eva had set out. Now they were sitting on the front porch with the day stretching before them. Ordinarily they would have found something to do, as they did when school was in session. Weekends had hardly seemed long enough. But now the whole week stretched before them and they were enjoying lazing around in the front yard. Joel watched Tom out of the corner of his eye. Neither of them had spoken for a few minutes and the sounds around them intruded on Joel’s thinking.
That motor sound that kept waving in and out south was the Hotchkiss’ well pump. The wind gusting across the pond hampered the clear sound from getting through. To the east, the Mulligans’ pump milled on, never missing a beat; just like everything else there it was in great condition. Birds were screaming and singing in the trees across the yard from them. And the fat family cat stalked below them, hidden by the rose bushes, waiting for a bird to land for seeds and bread crumbs.
Joel watched the cat. It circled around the tree at the base, beneath the rosebush branches, casing the scene of the crime from all angles. Patient and sly, it lay down in the shadows and waited, flicking what to it must have been a dangerous prehensile tail, the only movement it permitted itself. Joel laughed aloud.
Tom sat up beside him. “What’s so funny?”
“Just watching that cat,” Joel said, pointing to the rose bushes.
Tom squinted, then shook his head. “I don’t see it.”
“Ah, but you’re not supposed to,” Joel teased. “See those birds?”
Tom looked. “How could I miss them?”
“Right. Neither could the cat. She’s about to go for a kill. She’s ready to pounce. I can barely see her myself, but I can because I know where she is. I saw her move across the lawn like a jungle cat.” Joel pounced as he said it and dug both hands into Tom’s ribs. Tom jerked back startled, then laughed helplessly lying back with his forearm over his eyes, shielding them from the sun. Joel straddled him, tickling. Tom struggled and grabbed Joel around the neck. They wrestled off the porch into the grass, and Joel landed on top again.
Tom’s strength surprised Joel. Joel began applying holds and twisting rapidly, but Tom trapped him between his thighs. Tom couldn’t get away from the shoulder lock, but Joel couldn’t spread his knees for balance. Each struggled for dominance, rolling over and over in the grass. They stopped wrestling suddenly. Joel was on his back holding Tom by the neck. Tom was on top pushing with both hands against Joel’s shoulders, trying to pin him against the ground.
Neither of them noticed the ancient red pickup that slowed on the road beyond the fence. Kenneth Stroud and Paul Romaine looked at each other as they drove slowly by. “You see that?” Kenneth said. I told you somethin’ was funny about those two. They’re kissin’! And I told you I saw ‘em leave that dance the other night and head off into the old part of the air base.”
Paul grinned at his companion. “So you think it’s true, what you heard?”
* * *
Tom gave in first, when they hadn’t moved for several minutes. He had an erection, and released Joel’s legs. Joel let his arm fall away from Tom’s shoulder, but Tom didn’t get up; he rolled off Joel and lay next to him, with his neck in the crook of Joel’s arm.
“It seems funny, huh?” Tom said.
“What does?”
“This.” He waved a hand around him. “We’re here, and there’s nobody else.”
“And?”
Tom sat up, resting his chin on a knee and looked down at Joel. Joel’s eyes were closed against the sun and he was smiling slyly. His jaws had a slight growth of whiskers, giving his face a tougher look than usual. Tom felt a slight shiver of pleasure, watching Joel’s chest rise and fall in an easy rhythm; his shirt was open and his long, lean stomach glistened. Tom looked away, feeling too drawn to his body.
“Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
Tom got up and paced. “I can’t shut it out.”
“What?” Joel got up and sat down on the edge of the porch. “I wish you wouldn’t do so much thinking, if it’s what I think it is.”
“It is, Joel.”
“And?”
“And I’m confused. That’s all. You’re the first guy I ever did it with. At first, I felt so guilty I thought I was going to die.”
“So? Feeling guilty…that’s understandable,” Joel said. “It’s your church that did it to you. And even if you weren’t a religious sort, there’s that psychiatric stuff. There’s the law against it too. If you believed half what they tell you, man, you’d feel guilty all the time. So knock it off. Relax. You can’t let everybody else tell you what feels good. I mean, take religion. Can you really imagine God getting so involved in our puny little lives that He cares who’s sleeping with who?”
Tom laughed nervously. “Sometimes you scare me, Joel.”
Joel looked at him puzzled. “Why?”
“No offense, but my father would explode if he heard you talking about God like that. He’d say you’re doing the devil’s work. Do you know that?”
Joel’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Oh, come on! You think there’s a devil, too, giving me ideas? I was pretty sure I came up with my own.”
Tom wanted to explain, but Joel teased too much to listen.
“Do you jerk off, Tom?”
Joel’s question made Tom feel giddy. “I did a few days ago. It was the first time in my life. And sometimes, I have wet dreams. Why?”
“Everybody does,” Joel said. “When I first started, I would feel so guilty afterwards I didn’t see how I’d ever get over it. But when I needed to, I’d jerk off again. And pretty soon, I barely noticed the guilty feelings; after that I whacked off every day. I got careless where I did it, and one day Dad was picking cotton with the cotton picker and I was tromping down the cotton in the trailer he dumped in. While he was going for another load, I felt like whacking off. I didn’t know Dad had trouble with the picker and left it idling in the field. I had my pants down around my knees, beating off, about to come, when I heard, ‘Mess up more’n a pound of that cotton, Son, and you’ll pay for it.’”
Tom’s heart pounded. “He caught you, actually?”
“Yeah. I cried and Dad laughed so hard I thought I’d die. He said when he was a kid his parents told him if he did that he’d get diseased and end up in an insane asylum. But it didn’t stop him or his friends.”
“So did you…masturbate after that?”
“Sure. But I didn’t exactly feel comfortable around Dad for awhile. He loves a good laugh, and I didn’t want to give him any reason to laugh at my expense.”
Tom sighed. “I wish my father was like yours, Joel. If he caught me masturbating he’d cut my.balls off.” He saw Joel laugh, felt himself turn red. “You call them balls, don’t you? He still believes you’ll go crazy. He says it’s a sin to spill your seed.”
“Do you think it’s a sin?”
“Sort of. Anything sexual is a sin in my church, unless you’re married…and there’s things even then that are sins, like anal intercourse. In Sunday School, they drill it into your head, and it drives me up the wall. I can’t decide anymore.”
“Guilt is a bitch,” Joel said. “I only told you that because it kind of describes how I feel about what we did. I didn’t feel guilty, except seeing how you reacted. That got to me. But you’ll get over it, eventually, you know?”
Tom frowned again. Then he snorted. “Hey! I’m still hungry.” He was also nervous about the talk and wanted to stop.
Part Two
Against an elder receive not an accusation,
but before two or three witnesses.
Them that sin rebuke before all,
that others also may fear.
1 Timothy 5:19-20
CHAPTER 9
Tuesday, June 8
8 p.m.
Edna Stroud scrubbed out the cracked, stained kitchen sink. She was sweating in her long dress, with the sleeves catching her just below the elbows. A strand of gray-streaked blonde hair fell limply across her nose. She blew ineffectively at it as she ran water through the sink to wash the scraps from the supper dishes down the drain. This water would end up in the back yard, forming a mud puddle the kids would get into.
As usual, Henry was dog-drunk on the couch in the next room. He was drunk at supper again, too, which usually made her stomach queasy with dread; he was so spiteful when he was drunk. But tonight, Henry and Kenneth, the oldest boy, acted like old war buddies, talking about shooting and hunting, talking about the Reece kid again, just like in the old days when Kenny was at school. Kenny hated that boy, and Joel Reece so nice! No telling what it was this time. It doesn’t matter, she concluded. Henry enjoyed hearing it repeated; he kept saying over and over, “Naw! You saw ‘em? Kissin’?” She tuned them out as usual and managed to sit through supper worried about the rest of the children, who saw their pa and Kenneth laugh and point imaginary guns at one another; she never could quite figure what they were going on about and hoped the children couldn’t either.
She wiped down the table and emptied the ashtrays into the trash bag between the sink and the water heater, looking hopelessly around at the grimy shambles of her kitchen, clean as she could get it considering that the roof leaked over in one corner, making the linoleum buckle. Underneath the table, the chairs had scraped all the pattern off the floor, leaving the black showing. And those dreadful cabinets she hated would never be more than grimy areas where roaches crawled over greasy cans, chipped dishes, dusty boxes of dry rice and stale tea. She had tried to make them look better by hanging curtains she had made from flour sacks on straightened clothes hangers. But over the years they had become smoke-and grease-stained, and although she washed them constantly, they faded and added to the grimy effect. She sighed as she poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove.
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