Eating the Moon

by Mark David Campbell

  “Words are inaccurate, and people often lie. They tell you what they think you want to hear. Even worse, they tell you what they want to believe, themselves.” Guy picked up his coffee cup from the floor and took a drink. “With sex, you can learn all you really want to know if you’re perceptive.” Guy rolled his head. “Is he repressed or clingy, a social climber or a gold digger? Is he looking for a friend, a lover, a daddy? What does he like, need, and fear? And that’s just for starters.”

  “And how do you know you’re not just projecting?” Richard squinted.

  “Isn’t projection essential to all forms of communication?” Guy held out the palm of his hand.

  Richard raised an eyebrow and looked skeptically at Guy.

  “Don’t worry, Doc. Most people don’t understand the language they speak. I’m sure nobody is aware of that little dark secret you have sitting out there in plain view.” Guy flexed his eyebrows and smiled wickedly.

  “Are you practicing psychology now?” Richard gestured toward the bookshelf.

  “Call it what you want.” Guy shrugged. “Sex is the most basic form of communication.” He stood up. “It makes words redundant. Nothing more, nothing less.” He left the room.

  Chapter 5: Coming Out

  “YOU KNOW, Doc, coffee is always better with a cigarette,” Guy announced as he walked into the studio balancing two foam cups, one on top of the other, in his right hand while he shut the door with his left.

  Richard turned away from his computer screen and glanced at his watch. “Well, you know the rules.”

  “I remember when we used to smoke everywhere.” Guy placed both coffees on the desk. He handed the top one to Richard and sat down on the sofa. “Trains, buses, even in movie theaters.”

  With his coffee and the tape recorder in hand, Richard moved over to the swivel chair. “I smoked for a few years in grad school but gave it up.” He curled his lip slightly in a way that looked a little self-righteous, a little nostalgic.

  “I have to admit things are cleaner and smell better than they used to… well, except me perhaps. It’s Big Brother looking over my shoulder I don’t like.” Guy bobbed his head and pointed to the door with such intent that Richard swiveled around and looked.

  “Are you being a little paranoid?” Richard switched on the recorder.

  “Yes, of course I am. But you know how they started out with the warnings on the packages about cancer and lung disease and all that stuff?” Guy spoke in a measured tone like he was about to reveal a conspiracy plot. “Then they decided to really scare kids, so they also added pictures of disgusting teeth and rotten organs and wrinkles and stuff?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen them. They’re not pretty.” Richard sat back in his chair and crossed his leg over his knee.

  “Well, I collect them, have them all,” Guy said quickly, then returned to his slow conspiratorial tone. “I’ve noticed something a little strange.”

  “What’s that?” Richard took a long sip of cappuccino and raised his eyebrow as if to signal he was listening.

  “Well, on the pack that warns you about smoking and erectile dysfunction….” Guy paused, his mouth open and his palm spread out. “There’s no picture!”

  Richard snorted a laugh and shook his head. “I’m not sure anyone would buy a pack of cigarettes with a picture of a limp dick on it,” Richard said summarily, as if he expected Guy to shift topics.

  “That’s my point! The fastest way to scare a teenage boy away from smoking is to show him a limp dick.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  Guy dropped all sense of irony from his voice. “Tits and twats are decorative, but dicks and balls are dangerous.” Then he said with a lyrical tone, “Speaking of male genitals, let’s pick up where we left off.”

  IT’S DUSK by the time Nando returns carrying a large bundle. He’s as attentive and smiling as before. He must have forgiven me for asking him if he has any children. All the same, I think maybe it’s best not to ask too many personal questions for now.

  “Come now. We must get you ready for the feast,” Nando says.

  “Feast?” An image from those old black-and-white Hollywood films, where the intrepid explorers are not only the dinner guests but also the main course, flashes through my head.

  “Yes, yes, you must be introduced to the village. There is much excitement among the men. It is said that the Red brothers will take you, but the Blue brothers claim that they will have you.”

  “Whoa! What do you mean they will take me? Take me where?”

  “Oh no, no. Do not be afraid. I mean take you as a brother. Everyone belongs to a brotherhood.”

  “Well, I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Do I have to join one of these brotherhood groups?”

  “No, but almost everyone does. After you are introduced, you can choose.”

  “What brotherhood are you in?”

  “The Green, my daddy’s, of course. We have the honor of hosting the feast because we found you. The Green brotherhood is small compared to the mighty Blues and the Reds, but we can still make a good party. Do not worry. I promise you that you will enjoy.”

  Nando places his bundle on one of the platform benches, unties it, and spreads it open.

  “I will make you so splendid that everyone will wish to have you as their brother.”

  And Nando, like a crazed Italian designer, goes to work on me, instructing me to stand with my arms spread while he wraps a long green patterned cloth around my waist, then expertly loops it over in the back, feeds it up between my legs, adjusts my nuts, and fastens it in the front. I begin to breathe heavily and make a slight moan. Just as I prepare myself for a venture into ecstasy, he gently pats me on the bum, like a parent might do to a child, and steps away to retrieve one of the other articles he has come with. I look over to try and see if Nando also has a boner, but with the bib of his loincloth hanging down in front of his crotch, I’m not really sure.

  “Too tight? Too loose?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never worn a loincloth before,” I say meekly.

  Nando examines and adjusts the waist. “Loose enough to dance in, tight enough to stay on while wrestling,” he pronounces with satisfaction.

  “Wrestling! I hope I’m not going to be wrestling,” I say anxiously. But Nando ignores me and continues with his creation.

  “It’s a shame you have no holes in your ears or nose for jewels.”

  Something I must remember to do when I get back to Canada, I think but don’t say it out loud.

  Next he fastens a cape made of cloth and green parrot feathers around my shoulders.

  “You are skinny, but you have a nice chest and shoulders, so the cape will hang properly.” Then he produces a large jade necklace and slips it over my head. It’s really more like a breastplate and must weigh at least two pounds.

  Perhaps I have misinterpreted Nando’s attention. Does he see me as a man, or am I an exotic pet to be cared for and fussed with? One thing is certain. I’m only a guest, so I decide to play along. “If this isn’t a costume ball, I’m going to look like a royal ass,” I say. But Nando is so intent he doesn’t answer. I hope he knows what he’s doing.

  Just then Luca comes in, looking disheveled and staggering slightly, his loincloth with all its shells askew. I sigh in relief. “Just in time. Thank the stars, I won’t have to go through this alone.”

  Luca stares at me, snorts, then falls onto one of the benches in a fit of laughter.

  I sneer at him. “What happened to you? Truck hit you and you forgot to get the license plate number?”

  “What about you?” he says, sputtering through a gasp of laughter. “Circus leave town and left you behind?”

  “Very droll. Help me. I can’t go out in public like this. I look like a birdman.”

  Nando, ignoring us, proceeds to attach green feathers to locks of my hair.

  “Don’t be such an old lady. They’re gonna love you.” Luca tries to regain control. “You’ll have the
time of your life. Hey, I had to go through it. It’s just that it looks a lot funnier on you than it did on me.” He bursts into laughter again.

  “What’s all this business about choosing a brotherhood?”

  “Stop worrying. It’s like a boy’s club—you know, the kind of thing they do at those private schools. I joined the Reds last night. Those boys are crazy. Just wait till you get to know the Reds.”

  “Yes,” Nando says somberly. “The Red brotherhood is the largest.”

  “Come on. You’re not gonna leave me alone for this,” I half beg, half command.

  “Sorry, Kiddo, got a hammock party down at the beach tonight, and I’m not gonna miss it.”

  “A what?”

  “You’ll find out in good time. Now get yourself prettied up, and off you go to your party.”

  In the meantime, Nando is carefully placing a decorated grass bag diagonally over my neck and shoulders.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Tributes and gratuities.” He beams, producing a pair of grass sandals, of course decorated with beads, shells, and small feathers.

  I sit on the edge of the bench and dutifully put them on.

  “Now stand up and let me see,” he says.

  As I stand there, Nando inspects his creation, preening the feathers and adjusting my loincloth and cape.

  “Beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” he says, but I don’t know whether he is referring to the feathers or me.

  “Man, I wish I had a camera so I could send the folks back home a picture of you,” Luca says, giggling like a hyena. “Okay, Bird Boy, I’m off.”

  “No, no wait! You can’t abandon me like this.”

  “Oh yes I can,” he scoffs and jaunts out the door, leaving me in full feathers alone with Nando.

  “Bastard!” I mutter. Outside I can hear the sound of flutes, percussion instruments, and laughing.

  “Couldn’t I just wear my normal clothes?” I whine.

  “No, no,” Nando says. “You must be properly introduced.”

  I can tell from the firm tone in his voice and the sulky expression on his face that this is not negotiable and that he is losing patience with me. I acquiesce.

  “What are you wearing?” I offer brightly. “Something equally as, er, elegant, I hope?”

  “No, I do not dress. I serve, but do not worry, I shall remain close until you know what to do.”

  Now I’m convinced I’m an exotic pet, or at least some kind of performing act.

  “What do they expect of me?”

  “Just eat, drink, and get to know the men of the village, the ones you desire to know. Oh, be careful with the, um, beer. It can be very strong.” And he smiles in a reassuring, motherly way.

  I feel like a five-year-old all dressed up for my first Halloween party but frightened to go. I stand there frozen in the doorway. I’m pissed at Luca for leaving me alone, and I’d rather rot in the cottage than go out in public dressed like this. But I guess if I’m ever going to figure out where I am and just what is going on, I need to go.

  Nando takes hold of my arm firmly. “Wait for the drums.” As he speaks, the light flutes and tinkling xylophones cease and deep drums begin to pound. “You walk ahead.” Nando slides behind me and takes hold of the trailing edge of my feathered cape.

  I draw in a deep breath and muster my courage. I grit my teeth and step through the doorway of the cottage out into the night. Drums pound and torchlights flicker all around me. I have the same disoriented feeling that one has when first stepping out of the darkness onto the strobe-lit dance floor of a disco. At first I can only see the blue-and-orange silhouettes of clusters of men in the plaza below. I stand shyly on the platform at the top of the terrace steps. I guess it’s time to put my anthropology into practice—observe, interact, and participate. “Dorothy, say good-bye to Kansas,” I mumble to myself.

  “Do not be shy,” Nando whispers in my ear. “I have told everybody about your missing glans cover, so they will not be shocked.”

  “What!” My sandal catches on the corner of my cape, and I lurch forward. If Nando had not caught me by the arm at the last minute, I surely would have tumbled down the steps to my death, feathers, cape, and all.

  GUY STOPPED talking. The old institutional clock on the wall clicked. After a few minutes, he turned his head toward Richard. “You know, Doc, at the end of the day sex is our only line of defense. Strange old queers like me, leather daddies, and outrageous drag queens, we’re the ones who keep the heteros at bay. And even so, they still come flooding in. First it starts with a few fags bringing in their fag hags. Next the trendy chicks show up with their boyfriends in tow. Soon the dark room is closed and you can’t find space on the dance floor. The fags have to move on.”

  Richard leaned his head to one side and studied Guy. “The world is not really divided so neatly into two mutually exclusive camps, you know. I think you need to reflect on some of the reasons why you feel so threatened by heterosexuals.”

  “You’re right. Why should I care if what little space we have is colonized by the heteros?”

  “But I think you do.”

  “Why?” Guy pushed himself up in the sofa. “Now I don’t need to hide in the closet. I can go out and get married, buy a minivan, a house in suburbia, and adopt someone else’s mistake. After work, I’m off to the supermarket to pick up more milk and cereal before the PTA meeting, then home for a meal in front of the television before falling asleep on the sofa.”

  “And why does this scenario bother you so much?”

  “What happened to the gay movement?”

  “The gay movement has changed and evolved.”

  “Yes, but where’s the sex? We’ve been domesticated and castrated. We’ve become bad copies of the most dreary heterosexuals!” Guy barked. He sat jiggling his foot, his face tensed. Then he closed his eyes slowly and said in a melancholy tone, “I miss the days when we were perverts and only we occupied the shadowy corners and were party to the secrets that dare not be named.”

  “Things are getting better, you know,” Richard said as he checked his watch. “It’s time. Do you need a moment to compose yourself?”

  “No. Do you?” Guy snapped and stood up. “Listen, Doc, if things are so much better, ask yourself why you’re still hiding in the closet.” He stomped out the door.

  Chapter 6: Introductions

  “LIVE FAST and die young before you get old,” Guy said loudly as he pushed the door open.

  Richard looked up from his copy of the American Journal of Psychoanalysis and swiveled around in his chair. “Good morning, Guy.”

  Guy fumbled with the door, making sure it was securely shut.

  “You seem very agitated this morning,” Richard said.

  “AIDS, cancer, or even being beaten to death in some back alley.” Guy took his place on the sofa. “None of those things are as horrifying as the prospect of becoming a lonely old faggot.”

  “That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think? Not every gay person is lonely in their old age.”

  “What do you know?”

  “Is there something specific that’s bothering you this morning?” Richard reached over and clicked on the recorder, which was sitting on the corner of his desk.

  “No, nothing.” Guy paused. “And everything.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Guy made a low growl in the back of his throat. “It’s those moralistic pseudo-intellectuals at the university who’ve got my jockey shorts in a knot.”

  “What happened?”

  Guy pursed his lips and clenched his fist. “Yesterday, the Human Subjects Committee rejected my research proposal.”

  “That’s too bad. Do you know why?”

  “Yes, I wanted to study why poppers are so much a part of gay culture, while they’re almost unheard of among heteros.” Guy squirmed on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position.

  “Ahh, amyl nitrate.” Richard lightly rubbed the stubble on his chin. “A
nd why was your proposal rejected?” Richard took a long drink of his coffee.

  Guy hunched his shoulders innocently, almost like a child. “Obviously, the link between gay culture and poppers is sex.”

  “I still don’t see why the proposal was rejected.”

  “Methodology.” Guy sat back and folded his arms. “Specifically, participant observation.”

  “Oh.” Richard sat upright. “Now I see where the problem is.”

  “Exactly!” Guy spread his hands, palms upward like a preacher about to give a sermon. “We can theorize about human sexual activity as long as we don’t actually observe it firsthand or, God forbid, participate in it. Look—” Guy sat forward again. “How am I supposed to study gay people without sexually interacting?” He spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Mr. Palmer, do you mean to tell me you didn’t know the ethics committee wouldn’t accept your proposal if it included sex with your subjects?” Richard shot Guy a look that seemed to say Cut the crap.

  Guy curled his lip and grumbled, “The same little politically correct fascists who rejected my proposal are at this very moment extolling the virtues of participant observation as the cornerstone of anthropological research to their naive undergraduates. Fuckin’ hypocrites.”

  “Yes, but sex with your subjects? Surely there was more to your research than just that.”

  Guy twitched his foot nervously and scowled.

  Richard continued, “You need to ask yourself why you set yourself up to be rejected in the first place.”

  “Gay people are so nice as long as we don’t have sex,” Guy said sarcastically. Then he blew out a lungful of air as if he had just been deflated. “Can we talk about something less negative now?”

  “For example?” Richard interlocked his fingers.

  “Parties!”

  NANDO AND I descend the stone steps to the beat of drums and cross the plaza. I do a quick survey of the figures sitting cross-legged and lounging on mats and cushions arranged on the lower steps of the pyramid mound. Strange, no women, only men. And I feel as if all the men are waiting for me. Nando escorts me to the first platform of the pyramid mound, and I sit down in the center of the group on a large cushion. True to his word, Nando remains close to my side whispering explanations and instructions on what to do.