Common Sons

by Ronald Donaghe

  Joel felt a rush of warmth spread through him. He spread his legs, encircling Tom’s thighs, and pulled him hard against him, trying to enfold as much of Tom’s body as he could. “I love you too. No matter what happens.” He was afraid to do more than hold him. In the early dawn that began to creep across the fields from the east, he drifted into sleep.

  Thursday, June 10

  They awoke to bright sunshine and warm air puffing through the window in the pre-noon heat. Tom stretched against him and Joel came awake slowly, felt Tom’s heat like a warm bath. They kissed so suddenly, so deeply, that Joel panicked, afraid of how Tom would react. He tore himself away, ready to apologize. Tom merely looked startled, then smiled weakly. Joel relaxed, swore to himself that nothing would make him ruin the slow building of confidence Tom was showing. They were content to lie side by side, staring at each other.

  * * *

  Mrs. Allen brought a silver pot of coffee in to their unexpected guests in the living room. She was wearing the same navy-blue suit she’d worn at the evening services the night before. She smiled as brightly as she could when she set the tray on the gleaming mahogany coffee table. She sat at her place next to Mr. Allen on the loveseat and leaned back against his powerful arm, felt the tension in it as he clenched and unclenched his fist. She knew that sign, but kept smiling as their guests poured more coffee.

  Elder Leon Romaine leaned forward from the edge of his chair. “So I thought it best we report this little incident. Our son has been so troubled.”

  Mr. Allen nodded gravely. “So Paul is now saying he…he saw my son and the Reece boy? In the yard out there, lying together? When was this? He said Tuesday? I see.” In his mind came unbidden certain rough pages of scripture, which he could read as if the Bible were open in front of him. Leon Romaine and his wife Jessica seemed embarrassed to be relaying the story. Old Leon’s face revealed how painful it was to embarrass the preacher. That alone made Mr. Allen appreciate this friend and made it possible to avoid losing control of his anger.

  Brother Leon cleared his throat and seemed about to speak, but he sat back into the chair and sipped from his cup. In the void of conversation, now that the embarrassing story of their son hung in the air between them, Mr. Allen grasped for a polite response. He was seething with anger at Paul’s audacity and his own son’s fraudulent repentance a few days before. But of course he could not show his anger. He willed his voice to continue in the same modulated tone he always used. “I believe…with the blessing of the Holy Ghost…that Thomas will come around. I’ll have to take some stern measures, of course.”

  “Well, we certainly hope we haven’t alarmed you,” Brother Leon said. “Paul says he just happened by. But I found it a little strange, considering that Edna Stroud’s boy was the one Paul was with. I suspect that your son, fine, fine young man, has a perfectly good explanation. Sometimes appearances can be misleading.”

  “He’s so much like you!” Jessica Romaine put in.

  “Why, thank you, Jessie,” Mr. Allen said, thinking her remark irrelevant. “I think I would be very interested in Thomas’ explanation.”

  * * *

  Kenneth Stroud sat in the Rexall Drug cafe. He had been watching the asses on the girls over by the greeting cards. He had undressed them, fucked their asses with his cock, then made them lick it clean so many times he was bored imagining it. Rich bitches, he sneered. He was dressed in his usual grease-fouled Levi’s and a filthy T-shirt. He rolled a pack of Camel cigarettes out of a grimy sleeve and flicked out a smoke. He lit it and shook out the match, looking around for Paul. Fuckin’ wimp. The wall clock said it was 12:26. Fucker gonna buy me lunch or not?

  Paul hurried in from the sidewalk. Kenneth saw him and beckoned him with his middle finger. Paul came up and sat down, a Sears Roebuck sack clutched to his stomach. “Sorry I’m late. I had to get a new jacket for the Brotherhood.”

  “Cut the shit, Paul. I told you I don’t give a fuck about that. So just shut up.”

  Paul winced. His mouth twisted into a pout. “Okay. Just tell me about it. Go ahead and order. Steak.”

  Kenneth related the story of their chase through town after church; how Joel had admitted being a faggot and how Tom had hugged Joel the whole time, saying “Come on, dear, let’s go home.”

  Paul listened to Kenneth’s lies. Maybe Kenneth had chased them down the drag, then maybe yelled out something as he passed them on the road. But he doubted that he had run them off the road. And he sure didn’t think Tom would act so conveniently out of character like an effeminate homosexual. But he played along with Kenneth’s story, getting a sly pleasure out of his embellishments. Paul evaluated this story against the other incidents: that Kenneth did see them acting like queers at the dance, making out and dancing together, which is what got everyone talking in the first place, and the fact of what he’d seen with his own eyes through the window. That at least was a real fact.

  Paul felt he had been clever, waiting until Wednesday night to talk with his father about Tom, although he regretted not being able to tell him about what he had seen through the Reeces’ living room window. He thought that telling his father just before the evening services was a stroke of genius. That way, when Tom and Joel showed up looking so happy, it was all the more damning, easy for his father to see what he was saying. As he told his father afterwards, Tom was slack in his religious duties. He told him also how

  Tom said he wasn’t interested in prayer meets right now. And that had done it. His father had said he would talk to the preacher about his son. Paul had capitalized on that by saying, “I’ve tried, Daddy, but he’s so distant lately. Seems like his mind is somewhere else.”

  He watched Kenneth with distaste, so filthy.

  Kenneth finished eating and put down his fork. He lit another Camel and blew smoke deliberately into Paul’s face. “You got what you wanted?” he asked.

  Paul tried to smile, but just said, “Yes. Believe it or not, I mean Tom no harm. But it’s my duty, you know.”

  “Yeah, sure, Paul. Duty. Like I say, I don’t fuckin’ care. Ma’s glad to go to your church; I jes thought you’d wanna know they’s fuckin’ queers, like I said.”

  Paul winced at Kenneth’s foul language. He was insulted by his attitude, revolted by his meanness. But, like Kenneth, where Joel was concerned he didn’t care. “And so what’re you gonna do with Joel?”

  Kenneth was bored with Paul. He mashed out his cigarette in his plate. “You got what you wanted. Don’t butt yerself in my business. I’m gonna get him for making me wreck my truck.” He looked at Paul and wanted to smash his fruity little face. He decided to get rid of him. He leaned forward like he was going to whisper a secret, and Paul leaned toward him, grinning slyly.

  “What?” Paul whispered.

  Kenneth snatched Paul’s cheek, squeezing it, watching with pleasure Paul’s eyes shed water. “You know what I think?”

  Paul shook his head, pulling free of Kenneth’s grip. His eyes betrayed his sudden fright. “What?”

  “I think you’re a queer too. And you’re next, you little shitass, if you ever come to my house again. It’s my fuckin’ house. Ma can stand you. I can’t. You stay away, you hear?”

  Paul got up and snatched the ticket for the steak. “I will.” He tossed a quarter on the table, grabbed his Sears Roebuck sack, and hurried to the counter. Kenneth took the tip that Paul had left and leaned back, patting his stomach. The unusual fullness made his stomach hurt, and he resented feeling like he might throw up. It was the first real good meal he’d had in a long time. Goddam! He fought back tears, dreaded the walk home in the heat, and swore he’d get even. Through the blur of sunlight in the big plate glass window of the pharmacy he caught a glimpse of himself, and he thought of Joel’s strength. I’ll kill that fucker! As he plodded down the sidewalk in the heat, his mind sang, KILL. BLAM! KILL. BLAM! That guy and all his rich farmer friends needed to be shook up a little, the sooner the better!

  * * *

  Jo
el felt like he would burst with happiness as they ate lunch. In the few days Tom had been there, he felt proud that they had run the farm. He checked off their chores in his mind, to make sure they were taking care of everything. When they finished lunch, they took the tractor into the field and spent the rest of the afternoon making endless trips up and down the furrows, cultivating the cotton. Tom rode over the back wheel on the mud guard. They couldn’t hear each other without yelling over the tractor’s noise, so Tom kept his hand on Joel’s shoulder, occasionally slapping it and pointing something out, occasionally squeezing it. In the evening they slopped the hogs and fed the cows, put away tools, refueled the tractor. They were tired.

  They ate left-over roast and washed and dried the dishes as darkness fell. Outside, night owls swooped and dived around the roof of the cowshed, crickets and moths gathered around the yard light. The cat curled up in the garage. On her cheeks, the blood of her latest victim dried.

  * * *

  In the chapel, empty on a Thursday night, the preacher was praying on his knees.

  When the Romaines had left, his first impulse was to call Tom back home. It was a nasty business all around. At all times, he admonished Thomas to act in the manner befitting his station, and except for that one indiscretion of going into the heart of drunken revelry, Thomas had never given him any reason to believe he would lie until now. The Reece boy was too masculine, too confident, to be one of those…he could not even permit himself to think the word. So the story, the horrible one implying some sort of sexual perversion in the yard, out in the open, had to have another explanation. He had quashed his first impulse. His wife, too, who rarely interceded, had this time said, “It just can’t be true!”

  And the preacher prayed now that it was not. As he prayed, it came to him that an unexpected visit would tell him if the rumors about the two boys were true. He would be able with his own eyes to judge the truth of Paul’s accusations. He thought of Joel now, remembering, as his wife had said, that he was a polite, though undisciplined, child. The Reeces were well respected in this rural community, and their only flaw, the preacher considered, was not at least attending a regular church. That too was strong reason for quiet, unobtrusive action. One did not go about making hot-headed accusations in a community such as this, especially against people of the Reeces’ caliber. The two boys were friends. Uncharacteristically for the preacher, he had been glad for his son to have found a friend at last with whom he could spend time pursuing outdoor activities. Thomas was getting a chance to work hard—honest work. So, overcoming his first impulse to vent his anger immediately, he was satisfied that whatever Thomas had done, he would be made to see. That he should push forward with some action to settle this thing before it spread was also called for, if not for Thomas’ sake, then for the sake of his own reputation in the community and the congregation. He could not act in anger, unless it was controlled and focused to accomplish just the right job.

  CHAPTER 11

  Friday, June 11

  Tom woke up curled against Joel’s chest with his butt tucked into his crotch. They were naked and it felt strange. But, stranger still, he felt not the least shame. Joel’s leg lay over his calf, and the feeling of the hair on his leg, more than any other sensation, brought the reality of the last night home to Tom. During the night, Tom had moved next to Joel as he lay sleeping. When he was asleep, Joel’s movements were heavy, which surprised Tom. But he responded automatically when Tom touched his chest, and suddenly they were lying entwined. But Joel didn’t wake up. Tom allowed himself to feel Joel’s body around him, without considering its wrongness, allowed himself to just feel. Except for the day before, when Joel had held him close to give him comfort, they had never slept so close. The respectable space had always remained, and it surprised him that one tentative touch from him had made Joel unconsciously open his arms and enfold him. He had done it naturally, and yet, even with the erection that Tom felt, Joel had not responded sexually. Tom had lain there, feeling the physical weight of Joel’s body, feeling enfolded with gentle strength and capability, but most of all feeling safe and warm, and where he belonged. It was he who broke the barriers, at last, that he had built between them. He had moved his hand tentatively between them and, without waking him, had held Joel’s erect penis, had explored its shape, its silky texture. When Joel woke up, his hands moved to Tom’s face in the dark; palms on both cheeks, Joel had whispered, “Are you sure?” Tom had felt himself melt against Joel, wanting nothing else.

  Remembering that, Tom allowed himself to cry, now. From the beginning, he knew he would give in. He had always responded helplessly to Joel with that part of himself he had fought for years to kill off. Their bed was warm; lying together, their flesh was feverish, dry, smooth. This was good-bye forever to his former life. He knew it as surely as he felt Joel now around him, strong and healthy; certainly no match for God, but he knew Joel would probably fight with God Himself if He came to take him away. In his sleep, Joel was holding him lightly; his hands were curled into relaxed fists. They looked gentle but were strong hands, so young, but already hard, callused, capable of fight as well as love. Tom closed his eyes, remembered Joel’s gentle hands all over him in the night. But he felt safe again. Joel had always looked up to him because he was the older one. But that division had faded in the last two weeks. For his seventeen years, Joel was by far the wiser when it came to feelings. He smiled. We’ve come this far. There’s no turning back. And he relaxed again and slept.

  Joel was the first to get out of bed. He stood nude by the window, looking out at the daylight, his back to Tom, one hand resting on his hip. One foot scratched the other absently. He spoke facing the window. “I know last night was hard for you…but I swear I love you.” He turned around, arms out in a pleading way, his young face a shadow in the morning sun behind him. “I mean it. I couldn’t love you more than I do right now.” He laughed. “Mom was married when she was sixteen, and my two sisters married straight out of high school. I’m almost two years older than Mom was. It doesn’t matter to me if I’m still in high school. I know it’s right!” He crouched by the bed, took Tom’s hand, and kissed him. His gray eyes peered into Tom’s. “Are you okay? I mean, I know you think it’s a sin. Are you sure you can live with that?”

  Tom took a deep breath, sobered by Joel’s serious expression. He let it out slowly. “I’m okay. I’ll handle it. I love you too, Joel. It feels…good and right. I trust you. And if you say we’ll be okay, we will.”

  Joel grinned suddenly. He tickled Tom. “My feelings say I’m hungry for some more of your eggs, if you can remember what you did to them last time. Otherwise, the deal’s off. You’ll have to pack your bags after breakfast.”

  Tom smiled. “I guess that’s fair. It’s a deal.”

  The eggs were burned.

  Tom smiled slyly across the table, watching Joel’s reaction. “Guess I get thrown out, huh?”

  But Joel picked up the two hard, gelatinous lumps and shoved them both into his mouth. cheeks bulging, he grinned. “JuthlikeIlikem!”

  They laughed till tears ran down their cheeks. Then Tom went to the stove and opened the oven door. He pulled out a pile of golden brown eggs, toast, and thick sausage patties. “Or you can have these. I cooked ‘em while you were out setting the irrigation.”

  Over breakfast, they divided the work. Tom would do the chores for the livestock and water and weed the garden, and Joel would work the field, since the cultivating would take all day.

  They walked outdoors with their arms around each other’s shoulders, exactly the way Joel’s father walked with me, Tom reflected. Funny how the same gesture could mean two completely different things. With Joel it felt heady and wonderful. With Douglas Reece, comforting, like a refuge. They walked to the garden; Joel showed Tom where his mother kept the tools and the water hose.

  Later, Joel sat on the tractor with the motor running. He spoke loudly against it. “I’LL COME BACK ABOUT ELEVEN! I’LL HELP YOU MAKE LUNCH! I L
OVE YOU!” He waved and left.

  Tom watched as Joel drove off. Then he went to the garden to work. He was aware of the energy and affection of Mrs. Reece everywhere in the garden, from the tool shed to the rows dug by hand, with a cornucopia of vegetables and greens growing in neat rows in an area that seemed much too large for one person to manage. But this was her work. All of it, Joel had said. Tom was astounded at its productivity, the work that it must have taken to make it so lush.

  The garden was enclosed by a tall fence of corrugated tin. It was a sanctuary that Tom liked the feel of immediately. He went to work, and was startled a little later by the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway to the Reeces’ house. He ran out of the garden and looked across the yard toward the driveway. He recognized his father’s car. His heart began to pound. He wondered what he was doing here. He left the garden reluctantly. He was shirtless and the burning sun had begun to turn his skin pink.

  He reached the car as his father was closing the door and peering under his hand toward the field, where Joel was a tiny figure, riding a toy tractor. His father turned at the sound of Tom’s footsteps. “Oh, there you are.” He scrutinized the boy standing before him, flushed with sunburn, hair slick with sweat, smiling in a squint at him against the sun.

  “Hi, Father.”

  “Hello, Thomas.”

  “Joel’s out there.” He pointed toward the field. “It’s an all-day job. I’m working in the garden. It’s great! I think I’m going to start one in that empty area behind the church. Do you think that would be okay?”

  Tom was surprised to see his father’s quick smile, a change from its usual stern set. “I’ll consider it.”

  “Well, gee, thanks!”

  His father smiled, then his stern face snapped back like a rubber band. “You look happy. Healthy. Everything is fine?”