Common Sons

by Ronald Donaghe

  “But he bweed, Mama!”

  Edna picked her up and held her. Sally began sucking her thumb.

  “Kenny’s hurt, honey. That’s all.”

  Sally reached up with her small, grimy hand and touched her mother on the cheek where a red welt was slowly turning blue. “Dis huht?”

  Edna felt the bruise where Kenneth had hit her after Joel and the Allen boy had left. Sally’s touch hurt, but she smiled and kissed Sally’s forehead. “No, Sally.” She set her down. “Whyn’t you go play with Henry, Jr.?”

  Sally snatched her doll and hurried off. Edna watched her go, then allowed herself to cry.

  She got up and paced the room, collecting the dirty dishes from the table and piling them in the sink. She poured more coffee. Maybe Joel and the Allen boy would be all right, she thought, doubting Kenneth’s wild-eyed threats. She wiped the table off with a dingy rag and rinsed it in the sink. She squeezed it out and dried her hands on a towel hanging on the refrigerator door.

  She looked out the grimy windows over the sink. Eddie, the gentle one she loved because he was so frail, was sitting under a mesquite bush under a tarp, with Henry, Jr. Her heart hurt as she watched him scooping up mud and forming little people that he had standing in a circle about him. Henry, Jr., only eight years old, was protective of Eddie who was ten, but skinnier, runtier and sickly. Henry, Jr. had laid the old rotting tarp over the scrawny branches of the mesquite bush for Eddie. Edna was afraid that the rain might be too cold on Eddie, and now she watched him, worrying about cold and the croup and pleurisy. Several times she had tapped against the window and called to him. But he wouldn’t come in. She watched the storm diminish slightly and finally gave up.

  She turned away from the window and tried to think what they could have for lunch. Three days without the truck, they were out of milk, out of meat. She pulled out the bare bones of the roasted chicken, smelled it. She got a large pot from the shelf below the sink and ran water into it. Soup with turnips and a few potatoes would have to do.

  Eight mouths to feed and Henry drinkin’ up half his pension on whisky. That mad dog, she cried in her mind, not realizing that her names for him were growing steadily worse. She looked down at the knife she was gripping; her knuckles were white, and pain shot through her wrist. She chopped at the carcass until the breast bones broke. She picked out the splintered pieces and cut up the last of the potatoes, leaving the skin on them, cutting out only the soft spots.

  She looked down at her work, seeing only the scrawny bones. “You wanna go ta prison?” she asked aloud. “That what you want, Kenny?” You will, she thought. Keep threatenin’ to kill people, now shootin’ up folks’ homes!

  She set the pot on the stove and poked the wood to get it hot. Cain’t go on like this, she thought, leastwise, without goin’ to church of a Sunday.

  “Ma?” Eddie shivered in the kitchen doorway. “Kenny shoot somebody? I heard Pa yellin’.”

  She put the lid on the soup and went over to him wrapping him affectionately in her thin arms. “Eddie, he done somethin’ bad.”

  “Wull, what was it? Pa seems awful mad. An’ ah seen Kenny, jes now, lit out afoot, totin’ his shotgun.”

  She studied his troubled face, wiped the snot off his cheek with the hem of her dress where he’d smeared it with the back of his hand. Henry had been like a maniac since she told him about Kenneth shooting up the Reece home. His eyes had widened with shock that Kenneth, even Kenneth, would go so far. One thing about Henry that Edna could always count on, his brave, heated rage was always just barking. “You come in here and set with me for a spell, okay?”

  “I’m okay, Ma. I jes wanted ta know.”

  Edna wiped her eyes and turned back to the stove. “Well, go on now. Whyn’t you go play in the back bedroom?

  * * *

  By the afternoon, as Joel had dreaded, the sun beat down on a hot wet desert, and now it was sweltering. There was no other way to get cool but go swimming in the irrigation pond. They took old towels from his bathroom and walked past the garden, past the cowshed, and climbed up the banks of the pond. When they were standing on the wooden pier where Joel had taken his midnight swim, he grinned at Tom. “You ever go skinny-dipping?”

  “No,” Tom laughed. “Father believes nudity is a sin. You should figure that.”

  “I did. But I just wondered. Guess you’ve always gone to public pools.”

  “And swimming in the gulf. But then you don’t want to go nude with hungry fish in the water.”

  Joel pulled off his shirt and flung it over the towels. His skin was a sheen of sweat that made the blond hair appear pale gold against his dark skin. He sat down on the edge of the pier and pulled off his boots and socks. He stood up and unbuttoned his Levi’s. “You’ll like skinny-dipping. C’mon.” He tugged playfully at Tom’s pants.

  Tom began undressing, folding and neatly piling his clothes. He grinned sheepishly at Joel, who stood naked in front of him, with his cock beginning to stiffen and stand out. Tom peeled off his own Levi’s and stopped. He stood before Joel in his underwear, his pale skin a blinding vision, innocent of sun. He lifted both arms away from his body. “What do you think?”

  Joel kneeled and pulled Tom’s shorts down. Tom laughed and kicked them away. Joel touched him very lightly and laughed as Tom’s cock jumped and began to lengthen. “How does it feel?”

  Tom’s lashes fluttered. He grinned and spread his arms to the sun. “Unbelievable.”

  “Yeah, I know. I love nude swimming.” Joel rose, turned away from Tom, and dived into the water.

  Tom followed and came up gasping and laughing. “It’s cold!”

  Joel laughed at him. “Feels great, huh?” He swam away on his back toward the cold, deep middle of the pond. His cock bobbed in the dark patch between his scissoring legs.

  Tom swam quickly after him face down, doing a simple breast stroke. When he reached Joel, he grabbed his legs and pulled him neatly under. Their two bodies twined and writhed, gaining energy from the cold, crisp water. Their laughing and splashing cut the air with happiness neither had expressed in a long time.

  In their play they forgot everything but each other, forgot for a moment that this was their last day together, forgot the foreboding they had expressed in the darkness of the night before. They were two boys, playing across the clear water of the pond, swimming and splashing over and under like otters in the wild.

  An hour later, they swam to the edge of the pond and lay down on the wooden pier, breathless and happy. They lay on their backs side by side, their bodies touching from their shoulders to their butts. Joel put his arm out and Tom nestled against him. They let the sun dry their wet skin, and the warmth felt good.

  Tom finally sat up and looked down at Joel. He bent over and kissed him on the neck. “I love you,” he said happily.

  Joel felt Tom’s words as breath on his neck and in the heat he shivered. He spread his legs and pulled Tom down on top of him. He arched his back so that their cocks met. But Tom pulled away.

  “Out here?”

  “Sure!” Joel said laughing. “Who’s gonna see?”

  “But I feel so naked!”

  “Gee! I hadn’t noticed,” Joel teased. “It’s a fantasy of mine.”

  Tom shrugged and lay back down on Joel. His cock had stiffened and he pushed it between Joel’s thighs at the base of his crotch. Joel’s thighs were cold from the water, but still warm and wet between his legs. He felt the heat of Joel’s cock hard against his cold stomach. Resting his forearms on Joel’s chest, he raised his face to look at him and shuddered with feelings that raced like tiny feet all over his body. He wiggled his butt, pushing his cock deep inside Joel’s thighs. He stared down at Joel’s unbelievably beautiful face. Joel’s mouth was open slightly and he had closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Tom over him.

  They were completely unaware of the figure that had been crouching behind a salt cedar bush not more than ten yards away on the bank; unaware as he rose up and now stood
completely in view of them as he took aim and shot.

  * * *

  Kenneth emptied both barrels; then, with trembling fingers, reloaded and fired again. He was sweating, watching the blood splatter, feeling the power course through him, and it satisfied him, even against the pain from the shotgun’s recoil. He reloaded and emptied both barrels again, pleased with the carnage of the bodies. He had come upon the baby rabbits by accident and, even in his mind, it struck him as odd that they were neglected, lying together in a small hollow of ground beneath a mesquite bush. It didn’t occur to him to carry the rabbits to the children. He imagined that these rabbits were Joel and his family, and that gave him a kind of satisfaction, but it wasn’t enough. The ground was covered with chunks of rabbit and bloody bits of fur. He didn’t reload again, but sank to his knees and cried.

  * * *

  The camera’s click was fainter than the crickets in the dry grass. Paul had been watching them cavort in the water for half an hour. He’d driven up and down the road wondering if he should stop, but he’d finally parked in the same spot near the gravel pit where he and Kenneth had parked a few nights before. Very carefully, he had circled around the house peering into windows, but couldn’t see them. It was possible they were off walking somewhere, because Joel’s pickup was still in the driveway. He had been about to give up when, on the clear air, he heard loud laughter coming from the irrigation pond. To his delight, he found them swimming, almost shocking him into shouting at them for their nakedness. But he hid in the salt cedar, waiting and watching for a perfect picture.

  Eventually, they came out of the water and began playing with each other’s genitals. He’d seen them kissing, and rubbing against each other like two animals. He began backing down the banks of the pond, now that had what he needed. Grimly, he was pleased that he’d been successful, but the cost was almost unendurable. In his own pants he had felt his penis grow and swell as he watched.

  He felt sticky and dirty, sickened at the feeling. Once out of sight, all he wanted was to get away. He stumbled like a drunk at the bottom of the bank in the thick bushes, fighting the disgusting images in his mind, seeing how.how physical it was, how disgusting, their horrible swollen penises and their shameful grins of lust. He imagined them tasting the smelly white stuff.

  He felt betrayed. Tom had apparently been having sex with Joel for a long time, only pretending to be his friend, only pretending to repent, and the whole time, behind his back.He fell headlong into a barbed-wire fence running near the road and clawed his way through it, leaving a long bloody gash in his back. He began running down the road, heedless of the noise he was making.

  Joel heard the crashing in the undergrowth from the direction of the road. He climbed onto the bank of the pond and ran along it. Paul Romaine was disappearing, running north, toward the gravel pit.

  He felt numb. Paul had seen them and freaked probably, but that was enough. He walked back along the bank, careless of the fact that he could be seen clearly from any direction. He jumped down onto the pier and stood there looking at Tom’s questioning face. “Paul saw us.”

  Tom looked oddly calm, and it scared Joel. But Tom only smiled weakly. “Well, he knows for sure now, doesn’t he?” His voice was quiet, and even that frightened Joel.

  “I guess he does, Tom. I am so sorry. I just never thought!”

  Tom laughed then, nervously. “You know what?”

  “No,” Joel said, with a voice as heavy as lead.

  “I.Don’t.Care! I hope he got his squirmy little eyes full!”

  Joel was surprised at Tom’s reaction. “But you know what he’ll do, don’t you?”

  Tom jumped up from where he was sitting. He grabbed Joel and shook his shoulders. He laughed again. His eyes were glittering with determination. “Of course. He’ll spill his spiteful little guts.”

  “But aren’t you afraid?”

  “Of course I am, Joel. I’m afraid that Paul will go to my father and tell him what he saw. And I am afraid of what Father will try to do. But I was more afraid of lying than telling the truth. And now I don’t have to any more thanks to Paul. Thanks to Paul.” Tom repeated thoughtfully. “But if you meant what you said. If you and I stick together, then it will be all right, won’t it?”

  “But what will your father do, Tom? Don’t you think he’ll keep you away from me, pick on you in church? Make your life miserable?”

  “He’ll try,” Tom said. “The worse thing is wondering exactly what he’ll do. Whatever it is, you can count on it being something we didn’t think of.” He stopped and looked earnestly at Joel. “Everything has changed. You know that, don’t you?”

  “You mean about our plans?”

  “Yes.” He shivered violently, and Joel laid his arm over Tom’s shoulders. Tom was beginning to sweat, and his skin stuck to Joel.

  “What’s changed, Tom?”

  “No more ifs. So I hope you meant what you said about everything this morning. Remember last Sunday, when you said if I didn’t make a decision, somebody else would?”

  Joel nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well, Paul’s the one who made it for me. Looks like he’s been sneaking around a lot. And it won’t matter if he really saw anything at all. Father told me just one more accusation about us.”

  Joel hugged him tightly, held onto his naked back, kissed his neck. They were both breathing nervously, clinging to each other, their two bodies puny under the expanse of endless sky above and the consuming desert all around them.

  Joel felt exposed, as Tom had earlier. They were as vulnerable as the rabbits he had hunted, having only the choice to run or hide somewhere—not even old enough to make their own decisions, unless they ran away and faced the world without families. The final remnants of the morning’s storm clouds drifted eastward, casting shadows across the fields and patches of desert. His mind was as blank as the sky; shadows moved there, too, full of foreboding. The sun was warm against his skin but he suddenly felt a penetrating cold move within him.

  Tom held Joel as tightly as Joel was holding him, trying to comfort Joel as much as to be comforted. “Remember when Father came out to visit me?”

  “Yeah.” He made a move to pull away to look at him, but Tom held him tighter.

  “I was afraid, then. I went back to the garden and tried to pray. But I couldn’t. I felt abandoned, tried to feel God, the Holy Spirit, tried to feel anything connected with all that. But when I looked around at the garden, it was exactly the same as it had been. And I realized that God wouldn’t answer. I thought I had been forsaken because I had lied to Father.”

  Joel was confused. He managed to pull away this time. “Of course the garden would be the same, Tom, if you had committed murder, it wouldn’t change. Only a storm, or a drought, or the weeds, or neglect would change it. I don’t understand.”

  “Exactly!” Tom said. “But you see, all my life I’ve been told that God, or the Holy Spirit, reacts to every little thought or change in me, that I was somehow connected spiritually with them; so, naturally, when I tried to pray, I expected the garden to shimmer somehow, to cast the same aura over me I sometimes get in church. But that’s not true, is it? In a way, you feel connected inside to God or Jesus; that’s not really connected to everything around, like now.”

  Joel pulled Tom down beside him on the pier. He was no longer concerned with his nakedness. “I can’t put things like you’re asking into words exactly, but I’ll try.” He thought a minute. He put his arm across Tom’s shoulders and sighed. “I don’t believe in the same sort of God as you do. It seems to me that the God of religion is just made up. He’s jealous. He gets pissed. He throws temper tantrums like a spoiled kid. He’s even mean and spiteful. But if there were a God, Tom, God wouldn’t have to be a He, or even an it. God just is. God is being. So everything, the earth, the moon, you name it, is just being also. If a storm destroys a boat at sea, it’s not because of some pissed-off god. If a whole country gets washed away in a flood, there’s no god doing the
punishing. There’s no punishment or salvation, other than what people do. That’s what I believe. Especially, I don’t believe in the devil. Why leave it up to a god and a devil to tell us what’s good and what’s bad? Can’t you tell, really, what’s bad, just by thinking about it? I can. But I can also tell when something is good. And what’s good makes putting up with the bad a lot easier. I don’t think about spiritual things, either, like supernatural happenings. And I don’t see how the garden has anything to do with you. It’s a nice place to be, don’t you think? It’s soothing and quiet and peaceful. It’s Mom’s special spot, you know? She started that garden after her second baby was born dead.

  “Mom and Dad decided not to have any more children after that, but after she started the garden, after all the work she did in it, I guess in its own way it worked a kind of healing on her. She loves that garden. You see how lush she can get it. Anyway, I think just working it, making it live, had a sort of what you’d call spiritual effect on her.” Joel laughed. “And maybe the work healed her body, whatever it was that kept killing her children, because she had me! I never tell people, but do you know what my middle name is?”

  Tom blinked. “No! I never even thought to wonder, now that you mention it.”

  “It’s Hale. I think it’s a dumb name. But you know what it means?”

  “Yeah. Robust, healthy.”

  “Exactly! Mom says when I was born I came out, sat up, and looked around and asked her how long we’d be stuck in the hospital!”