“You mean like Pinocchio?”
“Exactly! Pinocchio. A boy with a heart of wood who tells lies.” Guy exhaled loudly. “I tried so hard to become a real heterosexual boy.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
Guy said nothing. He held both arms up limply, as if they were suspended by strings. Then he placed them back on his lap and began to tell his tale.
EVEN THOUGH I live with Nando and we spend a lot of time together, nobody seems to regard us as a couple the way they do Luca and Kizo. Nando continues to skillfully divert any attempts on my part to consummate our relationship, which only frustrates me more. I want to tell him how I feel, but I’m afraid if I push him I will mess up what we already have. And then there is Tukuman. Maybe Nando is in a committed relationship with him and is only interested in me as a friend. For now, all I can do is gaze at him with starry eyes but not touch him.
It’s almost dark by the time I return from the signal fire and Nando from one of his usual visits to Tukuman. After a light dinner of fruit and cold fish, we sit outside on the platform terrace listening to the rhythmic sound of frogs and watching the shadows made by flickering torches leap along the steps of the pyramid mound and the plaza. I lie back with my head resting on my hands, breathe in the aroma of salt air and jungle mixed with smoke from smoldering fires, and stare up into the night sky. Nando looks at me, and I smile. “Yabai, you look as if you have eaten the moon.”
“What does that mean?” I lift my head.
“Oh, it is an expression we use when someone has everything they desire. We say they have eaten the moon.”
“Not the entire moon. I don’t have everything I desire.” I rest my head back on my hands.
Nando lies down next to me, and we both stare skyward. Then he begins to tell me a story. “The Shark Beast went to the sky to be with Ix Chel the Moon Goddess. See that? That’s the Shark there, those three stars.” Nando extends his arm and points the way Luca had done when we were on board the ship that fatal night.
“But there was nothing to eat in the sky,” Nando continues. “So Ix Chel told the Shark Beast to eat the moon. Every night the Shark Beast takes a bite out of the moon until it is completely gone. Then after three nights the moon begins to reappear little by little until it is whole again.”
“Nando, you don’t really believe these myths, do you?”
“Of course I do. We count everything by the bites of the moon,” Nando says flatly.
“You know back home they have flown to the moon?”
“We have been telling stories about sailing to the moon for generations,” Nando says with no tone of surprise. “Probably, you have some of the same stories as we do.”
Nando reaches over and starts to play with a strand of my hair. “Yabai, do you not believe my stories?”
“I want to believe more than you know, but I’m not sure I can.” I roll my head to the side and lightly kiss the back of his hand. He rests it for a moment then pulls his hand away.
“Oh, I can help you.” His eyes sparkle.
“How?”
“Tomorrow you will come with me to put the children down for their afternoon sleep. And you will discover that none of them will settle down until you have played the shark eats the moon with them. After that, when you finally have them all in their hammocks asleep, you will say ‘Nando, I believe, I believe.’”
The next afternoon after fishing, while Lalli and I are relaxing together down at the beach, I catch a glimpse of someone in the shadows watching us. For some time now, I’ve had the omnipresent feeling that I’m being watched—a sensation more than anything I see or hear. I hope it’s Nando who has followed me, and I’m encouraged, flattered, even excited by what I think is his voyeuristic attention. You know what they say; voyeurism is participation. Just as I’m about to turn around and see who it is, Lalli grabs my head and shoves his dick in my mouth. By the time we shift our positions to where I can see over his backside, the figure is gone.
An hour later, when I return to the village, I find Nando and Pico sitting cross-legged in the central plaza surrounded by children.
“It’s a little late in the afternoon to start pottery class, isn’t it?”
Nando casually looks up from a coil pot he’s making with Lisha. Like Pico and the children, he has dried chalky clay smears on his face and chest. He smiles brightly. “How was fishing, Yabai?”
“Not so good,” I say. “We came back early.”
“Were you out with Kizo?”
“No, Kizo and Luca went off together. I was out with Lalli.”
“Ahh,” Nando says and looks to the ground.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I ask, “What have you been doing all day?”
“Pico and I have been very busy with the children. We have been making pots all day.” He gestures over to the row of tiny irregular-shaped bowls drying in the sun along the lower step.
I think about the mysterious figure who’s been watching me. I now know it’s not Nando. But who could it be? The figure has a form and manner that is too familiar. I can’t say with certainty, but my shadow has the feel of Luca. For the life of me I have no idea why Luca should be so interested in my activities.
I sit down, grab a lump of clay, and start kneading it. Tiki moves in close to me, and I turn and smile. The other boys Tiki’s age are all off learning to spear fish or make nets, their voices squeaking and cracking uncontrollably, their baby fat and smooth skin transforming into muscle and body hair. The dark shadow of peach fuzz on Tiki’s upper lip says that his manhood will soon overtake his lingering childhood, but for the time being he remains with Nando and the younger children.
The following afternoon, Nando is teaching the children how to make baskets. Since the old basket I’ve been using as a fishing hat is starting to fray badly, and without it my Irish nose will be bare against the scorching sun, basketmaking is a skill I need to learn.
I sit with Nando and a cluster of children on the bottom steps of the pyramid mound. Piles of dried hemp and bamboo strips lie at our feet. Nando smiles. “It is simple. Make a sun shape on the ground with the strips of bamboo. Secure the center with a hemp knot. Holding the center with your foot, bend the bamboo upward to create the ribs of the basket and tie them at the other end. Now start at the bottom and weave hemp in and out of the ribs to form the body. To finish off the basket, bend over each bamboo rib at the top and weave it into the hemp body. You have a basket!”
In thirty minutes Nando has a basket. Soon after, most of the children are finishing off their baskets. With a hand from Nando, even little Lisha has a basket. But after numerous tries and great effort, I still do not have anything that might resemble a basket. By now the children are getting impatient, so Nando sings with them while I labor on until eventually I have what you might call a basket. Unsuccessfully, I try to push the bottom of my basket flat and force it to sit upright. Lisha and some of the children giggle. Obviously it will be a while before I have mastered the skill well enough to produce a serviceable hat.
As I inspect my basket, I glance over at Tiki. The center of his bamboo ribs have come untied, and all his weaving is about to unravel. I lean over and hold the center together while he grabs another piece of hemp and reties it. He smiles nervously and finishes weaving the body of his basket. He ties off his final bamboo rib and holds it up for me to see. I throw him a thumbs-up.
Nando comes to the end of his song and looks over at me helping Tiki. “I think you made a friend.”
I give Nando a covert wink.
“Some of the children, like Lisha, want to spend all their time in the men’s village.” Nando speaks in English so the children can’t understand him. “Others—” Nando lightly jerks his head in the direction of Tiki. “—are very timid and don’t want to leave their mothers.”
I nod gently and raise one eyebrow, signaling to Nando that I understand.
Basketmaking is over for the day, and as usual it’s time for a
story before a nap. Nando and I sit cross-legged in a circle with the children around and on top of us. Lisha is resting in Nando’s lap.
“Today I am going to tell you the story of Ichti the Fish Boy,” Nando says. “Ichti was a very beautiful boy. The most beautiful boy who ever was. His eyes were blue-green like the sea.” Nando turns, looks into my eyes, and smiles. “His hair was red like the sky at sunset. His skin was as smooth and as perfect as the water of the bathing pool. His legs, strong and slender, grew like the giant ceiba tree. His penis hung like a banana in flower. Ichti’s chest was as broad and flat as the washing rocks at the mouth of the river. He truly was a gift of nature, and every boy competed to be close to him.”
One of the little boys in the circle squirms over and hugs a red-haired boy from behind. Nando pauses a moment, looks at them, and grins.
“In fact,” Nando continues, “his beauty was so strong that Ichti rarely spoke to anyone. He spent long hours staring into the water at his own reflection. The people laughed and said, ‘Ichti has fallen in love with himself.’”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “This story sounds familiar. I’ve heard it before.”
“Maybe you heard this story when you were a baby?”
“I must have heard it somewhere, I’m sure,” I half mumble, embarrassed that I’m interrupting story time.
Nando ignores me and continues on. “Ichti said, ‘I am trying to see through my beauty to find out who is inside.’
“Later some of the men found Ichti lying facedown in the water, floating motionless. At first they thought he had drowned, but then they realized he was holding his breath.
“The men laughed and said, ‘Ichti has fallen in love with fish.’
“Ichti said, ‘Fish do not care about my beauty because all fish are beautiful.’
“Then one day, Ichti did not return from his swim. The men took their canoes and went to find the lost boy, but after searching all day and night all they found was his loincloth and a patch of red hair floating in the sea. They cried, ‘A shark has taken our beautiful boy and eaten him.’”
Nando makes an exaggerated gesture with his arms like a shark’s jaw, and the children squeal.
“Seven full moons later, the men came across a marvelous school of rainbow fish and filled their nets. As always, the beautiful colors of the fish drained to gray as they flapped and gasped for air on the bottom of the canoes. Just as the men were about to return to shore and share their good fortune with their sisters, one fish called to them. ‘Do you not know me? I am Ichti, the lost boy from the village. I beg you to set me and my brother fish free.’ And that’s when the men realized that this fish was truly their lost boy, Ichti.”
“What happened to Ichti and his brothers?” the red-haired boy, who is still being held in the arms of the other boy, calls out.
“Well,” Nando says in a serious and exaggerated tone. “The men took him and his brother fish back to the village and cooked them and ate them… just like I am going to do to you!” Nando scoops up Lisha and one of the other children in his arms and buries his face in their soft bellies, making growls and gnawing sounds. The other children instantly join in, and quiet story time dissolves into a wrestle and tickle session. Nando and I are buried in children.
I’ve never been so happy in my life. I want this moment to last forever. Then a sudden dread flows through me as I think about Luca and his plans to leave. I hold my breath and look at Nando with an expression of panic.
“What’s wrong, Yabai?”
I want to yell I can’t leave! Not now. I just got here. Instead I exhale loudly and say, “Oh, nothing, nothing really. I’m just being stupid.”
Nando looks at me sweetly and smiles back. “You could never be stupid.”
I try to force a smile, but the muscles in my neck are rigid.
A few afternoons later, Pico and I return home from fishing to find a large basket of potatoes and yams in the center of the room. “Where did all of this come from?”
Pico sits down in front of the basket, inspecting the tubers and making little grunts of approval as he turns each spud over in his hands.
“Tuss brought them for you,” Nando says.
“Me.” I grit my teeth. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to accept gifts from women. I’m not going to give her my juice!”
“She did not give you these potatoes in exchange for juice. She gave them to you to thank you for being Tiki’s friend.”
I drop my shoulders. “I didn’t do anything. I just helped him with his baskets and clay pots.”
Nando smiles. “Every boy needs a hero.”
I blush.
Later on after dinner, Nando and I sit outside on the lower terrace step and watch the night sky.
“See that star over there and the group of stars below?” Nando points. “That is the Monkey King. The bright star is his eye, and those three stars in a row make his tail.”
“Wait a minute, right there?” I point to where Nando was pointing. “Yeah, I see him. There he is.” I drop my arm and turn toward Nando. “Tell me more about Tiki. Isn’t he a little old for the group?”
Nando sighs and sits back against his outstretched arms. “Yes, he is too old. His one mother died in childbirth and left Tuss alone with him. The women say that Tuss is now with child in her belly, but she still does not have a mate. It will be very difficult for her to look after Tiki all alone once the new baby arrives. His older father, Molap, pushes him too hard and wants him to become a man and move to the men’s village, but Tiki is not ready yet. And his younger father, Den, is not strong enough to oppose Molap and protect him.”
“Sometimes things like this happen where I’m from too.”
“The problem is, Tiki is a boy who refuses to grow up.”
“I’m sure he’ll grow up when he’s ready.”
Nando looks to the ground and speaks. “Sometimes a boy gets stuck and never becomes a real man. He stays a boy forever.”
“It sounds like the story of Peter Pan,” I say and tell him the story the best I can remember it. When I finish, Nando sits silently, still looking at the ground.
“Did you like the story?”
“Oh yes.” He looks up and forces a smile. “It is very frightening.”
“Frightening?”
“Yes, the evil spirit, the Tinker Bell, who tricked Peter Pan into remaining a boy, and the bad man, the Captain Hook, who wants to have sex with him even though he is still a boy. Very frightening.”
“Maybe I didn’t tell it quite right.”
“No, no. You told it very well.” Nando drops his voice. “A man must never have sex with a boy until that boy is initiated and becomes a true man.”
I realize we are no longer talking about children’s stories.
Nando looks directly at me with pleading eyes. “When a boy is not properly initiated, he remains a boy forever. He can never be a true man.” Nando’s face is sad, and I don’t know why. He gets up and says, “I am tired now. I must go to bed.” He leaves me alone on the step.
GUY’S HEAD sank, and he began to sob.
“It’s okay.” Richard handed him a Kleenex.
Guy sniffed loudly, coughed, then blew his nose into the Kleenex and tossed it into the paper bin.
“Take your time.”
Still sniffling, Guy shook his head.
“Can you tell me why you are crying?”
“I don’t know. Peter Pan, I guess.” Guy took two deep breaths. “I know it’s stupid, but why can’t I be a boy again? Maybe I could get it right the second time around.”
“We’ve all had that wish at one time or another,” Richard said in a slow, delicate tone as he rubbed his brow.
“Or maybe I would just repeat the same old mistakes.” Guy dragged his forearm across his eyes and sniffled.
“Guy, do you have anyone you really care for—that you love?” Richard said with a continued delicacy in his voice.
“Yes, an entire village.” Guy shook his
head. “Man, I miss my boys.” He wiped his eyes again, cleared his throat, and pushed himself forward in the sofa. “I think that’s enough for today.”
Richard looked at his watch. “Our time is up. Are you okay?”
“Fine, Doc. I just get a little sentimental at times.”
As Guy rose to his feet, the silhouette of a figure knocked on the frosted glass of the office door.
Richard swiveled around in his chair. “Come in.”
Armando entered cautiously, wearing the nervous smile of someone who has accidentally intruded on a private conversation. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“No, we went past time. I wasn’t watching the clock.”
“Here are the clinical files you asked for.” Armando leaned forward and handed the files to Richard. The V-neck collar of his scrub top hung low, exposing the upper part of his dark hairy chest like a view onto a Mediterranean landscape. The medallion dangling from his neck gleamed in the light as it turned.
“That’s nice.” Richard reached up and delicately took it in his fingertips. “It looks like an old Spanish doubloon.” Then he quickly retracted his hand and shifted back in his chair.
Armando stood slowly upright and took the coin in his own fingers, rubbing it slowly. “A friend gave it to me.” Armando glanced quickly over his shoulder at Guy, who was still lingering in the doorway. Guy grinned and disappeared.
Chapter 16: Fugi Birds
IT WAS unseasonably warm. The air conditioning in the outpatient department, which had been blasting cold all through the summer regardless of the temperature outside, was now barely emitting a whiff of fresh air. Richard was already sitting in the swivel chair. He had removed his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his white Egyptian cotton shirt. He watched as Guy walked into the studio carrying a small paper bag. He was wearing a pair of oversized khaki Bermuda shorts and a white undershirt. The array of tattoos, which had been partially hidden under the T-shirts he usually wore, was now visible: a jaguar on his left shoulder, a shark on his right, a monkey peeking out on his pectoral, and a school of fish swimming around the base of his neck and disappearing down his back.
Eating the Moon Page 16