Every Boy Should Have a Man

by Preston L. Allen

  The boy nodded his head. The sacred speaker seemed to nod back.

  * * *

  On his days off, the father would call the boy out to the backyard and they would work on the proper kennel that he was building for their female man. Until it was completed, she would, as required by the law, sleep in the house.

  The proper kennel was three hla-cubits tall and four hla-cubits wide on each side. It would take up more than half of the backyard. Its walls were made of brass mesh and wood, its roof constructed of tin. When it was finished, it would have two windows of glass—one that looked beyond the yard, and one that faced the window of the boy’s room.

  The work was not difficult, but time-consuming and costly because of the legal constraints.

  The father complained to the boy one day as they worked, “It would not be so bad if the authorities didn’t come by every day to check on our progress. There is wood that is less expensive we could use. We could chop down a tree, but they won’t let us. Chopping down trees is against the law. Trees are protected by the law! We must use these expensive, store-bought boards to build a house for a man—a pet! I guess that’s just fine if you have the silver to throw away. And the roof does not have to be made of tin. We have old boards lying around the yard that would make a perfect roof, but it will not pass inspection. And the proper lock—where will we find the money to pay for a proper lock? And then turn around and pay for the lock on the door she broke on the home of the wealthy! Where are we going to find the money? Everything is about money. I am a loader, I make very little money. My pockets are not weighted down with silver, but here I am building this expensive house for a man! If she were not pregnant, I would kick her for the mess she has gotten us into. If she were not pregnant, I would beat her with a big stick. If she were not pregnant, I would put her to fight at the circus. If she were not pregnant, I would sell her as meat and pay for this expensive house I am building. And when the litter is born, can I sell it to make back some of my money? No. Instead I must surrender the litter to the wealthy! I could surely save a lot of money by just allowing them to remove her thumbs. I could surely save a lot of money by selling her for meat and then moving us all into this expensive house of hers that we are building. I would surely be better off if I lived as a pet. The government protects pets! What about protecting people?”

  The boy, with tears in his eyes, passed the boards and the nails as his father labored and complained.

  His female man, watching them, sat on the grass with her legs folded beneath her and drummed her thumbs on her expanding globe of a stomach.

  The boy rubbed his eyes red and wondered at his female man drumming her pregnant stomach with her thumbs. Did she understand what his father was saying? That her thumbs would be removed to prevent her from breaking into houses and other mans’ proper kennels?

  He looked at her face, which appeared to have understanding. She seemed full of fear as she drummed her thumbs. She seemed full of fear and indecision.

  * * *

  “When I was a boy,” spake the sacred speaker, “there were almost no mans left in the swamplands of the Eternal Grass because they had been hunted to near extinction. They were hunted for food, of course, and captured alive to be sold as pets, for they are easily domesticated and are loyal to their owners. I was told that back in those days, their number fell from several million to less than a few dozen in the swamplands. But stricter laws, which banned hunting out of season and which declared vast areas of the swamplands as a natural preserve for the mans, have brought their numbers back to a sustainable level. The last post–hunting season count put their number at close to half a million, which is a good thing for us, because without mans the swamplands were dying. The water was disappearing. The le-gator number was increasing, which meant the number of birds was decreasing, which meant the number of fish was increasing because there were no birds to feed on them, but they were sickly fish because the water was drying up. The swamplands smelled of death and decay. You see, man is not only a hunter that keeps the le-gator numbers in check, but a specialized herbivore that removes millions of pounds of deadly vines and weeds which clog the waterways of the swamplands. He feeds on these plants, which help in his digestion, and he also uses them to build the crude nest he calls a home. Man keeps the deadly weeds and choking vines in check. Man keeps the swamplands alive. Man is an essential part of the life system of the swamplands. Man brings life.”

  The boy bowed his head and made a reverent sound.

  * * *

  In the last week of the female man’s pregnancy, the boy put on her leash and took her to the circus to see the fighting mans.

  These were professional fighting mans, and the fights were exciting, with lots of punching and scratching and biting, as biting was legal in professional fights. His female man watched each fight with interest. At the end of each bout, the boy would point to the winning combatant and say to her, “Oh, he’s not so tough. You could beat him, couldn’t you?”

  And she would nod her agreement and fire angry punches into the air, fighting an invisible opponent.

  As they were leaving, they passed the stands where the singing mans were singing, and he felt a tug on her leash. He told her, “Okay,” and she led him to the sound of music.

  Onstage there was a man playing the singing harp, after that two female mans came on and played a colored flute and banged on a tinny drum, and finally three singing mans in blue appeared.

  The boy and his female man leaned toward the stage to get a better look as the mans sang. Indeed, it was the three singing mans owned by the wealthy boy they had met at the field.

  The one with the lidless eyes, the fattest of the trio, waved his fingers at the female man and she waved back.

  As they sang, his female man shed tears and pouted.

  When it was over, the boy went behind the stage to where the owners were leashing their mans after the performance.

  The wealthy boy who owned the three singing mans in blue saw him and said, “They were good, weren’t they?”

  “They were very good,” the boy answered.

  “Has your father finished building the proper kennel yet?”

  “Yes, she sleeps in it every night. She likes it a whole lot.”

  He did not tell the wealthy boy that because of the cost of building the proper kennel, their meals of late had been meager and many nights he had gone to bed with an anguished stomach that grumbled.

  The wealthy boy was nibbling on a meat stick as he leashed his three singing mans. The poor boy watched the meat stick, his stomach grumbling. The wealthy boy caught him eyeing the meat stick, and the poor boy turned away.

  The wealthy boy said, “Here, you can have one.” He opened his sack and the poor boy saw inside, and there were meat sticks and candy rolls and sweet breads and every treat that a boy at a circus could ever want. The wealthy boy reached into the sack, withdrew a meat stick, and handed it over.

  The poor boy thanked him and pushed the meat stick into his own empty sack and said, “I’ll save it for later.”

  The wealthy boy passed him a sweet bread from the sack. “Friend, you’re at the circus,” he reasoned most kindly. “Eat something now.”

  The poor boy tore open the sweet bread and popped a piece of it into his mouth where its softness dissolved in a sugary deliciousness on his tongue.

  As they ate their circus breads, the wealthy boy and the poor watched their mans.

  The one with the lidless eyes was talking to the poor boy’s female man. They listened as the man with the lidless eyes told her, “I will always be here. You never have to fear. I am your song bird forever and ever.”

  “The silly things mans say,” said the wealthy boy.

  “I once had a man that talked.”

  “Did you really?”

  “I only had him for a week. He belonged to the mayor’s wife. He was a runaway. I had to give him back. But then my father bought this one for me.”

  “She’s b
eautiful,” the wealthy boy said. “I like her hair cloths. Where did you get them?”

  “My mother made them,” the poor boy answered.

  And they watched their mans and smiled with fascination when the one with the lidless eyes sang to the female man, “There is no reason to fear. I will always be here. I will always be here.”

  She made a cooing sound and touched his face with the back of her hand.

  “There is no reason to fear,” he sang, holding a high, beautiful note.

  The wealthy boy said to the poor, “I think we’re going to have to separate them before they go at it again and we get in trouble.”

  The poor boy agreed. “It’s time for us to get home anyway. Thanks for the snacks.”

  The compassionate wealthy boy waved it off. “It’s nothing. You want more?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  And the poor boy opened his sack, and the wealthy boy dumped all of the treats from his own sack into it. They shook hands as friends.

  Then they created a secret handshake that only they two would share.

  The poor boy said, “I’m sorry she bit you. She doesn’t like strangers.”

  “It didn’t hurt all that much. I’m sorry about what my father’s doing to you and your man, and I hope we can always be friends.”

  “Friends forever and ever,” the poor boy said.

  And the poor boy and his female man left the circus grounds and went home.

  * * *

  “In the frozen regions of the north, we hunted the mans of the snow unto near extinction. Then we began to notice that the great white beos were vanishing too—and the great northern deer, and the great white wulf. The only creature on the increase was that pest, that vermin, the great white rat. It seems that the mans of the snow kept the great white beos in check. Left to their own devices, the great white beos overhunted the great northern deer—without the deer, the great white wulvs also began to decline in number, and then the beos too, as they were eating up their entire food supply, the deer! So, we emptied our zoos and reintroduced the mans of the snow to the icy frozen regions of the north. Twenty years later, their number is again close to what it once was, and not surprisingly the great white beo, the great northern deer, and the great white wulf have returned to plenteousness. The only creature whose number has declined is the pest, the great white rat. Great nature was set in motion by a lord wiser and mightier than we. He created nature and made of it a perfect balance. And in the frozen north, the mans of the snow are important to keeping the rigid line of balance on the scales of that life system. Without balance, there is death and decay. Remove mans and the ice melts into bloody water. A world without mans is a world without us all.”

  The boy nodded his head, silently mouthing the sacred speaker’s words: Perfect balance. A world without man . . . a world without us all.

  * * *

  The baby man—there was only one—was born with much wailing and pain.

  She was born at night—she was, like her mother, a female man—and the boy stayed by his window peering at the candle in the window of her proper kennel until the cries of a mother’s agony were replaced by the sweeter cry of the newborn baby man.

  As soon as he heard that, the boy ran outside and into the proper kennel where they all were gathered.

  His mother was holding the baby female man in her arms and kissy-cooing her, and his smiling father was looking over his mother’s shoulder and kissy-cooing too. His father hadn’t mentioned anything about the cost of anything since she had gone into labor three and a half hours ago.

  His father gushed, “She’s beautiful. She’s absolutely beautiful. The miracle of birth.”

  “She’s beautiful like her mother, with red hair,” the boy’s mother said.

  The boy pushed between them to see the tiny being in his mother’s arms. He exclaimed, “She’s got lidless eyes like the singing man and frecks all over her face like her mother!”

  His female man made a weak plaintive sound in her throat and held out her arms, and the boy’s mother placed the baby in her arms, and she held her child and kissed its face and nuzzled its wisps of bright red hair. She smiled warmly as she blessed the infant’s pinkish face with kisses.

  The boy and his family watched the female man and her child, and she fed her child, and a sweet sound came from its chest, and it rested its head on its mother’s chest and went to sleep.

  In the morning, before the sun rose, she came into the house and lifted the small singing harp from its pedestal. They followed her out to the proper kennel and looked on as she played the harp for the child. The harp sang a familiar lullaby: “Go to sleep, go to sleep, all is well, all will be well when you awaken, sweet one.”

  There were tears in the boy’s mother’s eyes, and his father held her. “Don’t cry, sweet one. All is well,” he told her. “All will be well.”

  She said through sighs, “I sewed some cloths for the baby’s hair. For when she has more hair.”

  “Maybe they’ll allow her to keep them,” the father comforted.

  “But will they allow her to keep the baby?” the mother sobbed.

  The father breathed a gloomy sigh. “All will be well,” he said.

  It was early in the morning before the sun, and the father went to work, and then the mother, and the boy looked in on his female man and her baby man one more time and then latched the door of the proper kennel with its proper lock and went to school.