This memory occurred each time Santiago let himself be taken by Fidel and in this case, the act was not one of control or submission but one of love by each. There was nothing Santiago would not do or deny Fidel. Now he rocked himself, feeling the sex deep inside him, allowing himself to be taken by the thrill of pain and pleasure. He increased his motion, knowing Fidel loved to hear him call out his name and the words that described in graphic detail the acts they performed on each other. He knew Fidel was reaching his peak when he would arch his back and fully impale himself so that nothing more could be gained, and the stream of white fluid would be ejected so that each spasm of the cock would cause his own ejaculation that often sent his juices beyond his lover’s shoulders.
They were close to his father’s room and their excitement was controlled as Santiago grabbed Fidel’s arms and squeezed them tightly as he felt his explosion begin from the depths of his anus just as Fidel let out his little cries of pleasure when he reached orgasm. As Fidel ejaculated in Santiago, he watched the boy climax across his stomach. He was quick to take up as much of it on his fingers as he could and he tasted it over and over again. When it was over and they were lying quietly in each other’s arms, their wet bodies pressed together so each could feel the other’s heartbeat, they whispered the words of their love. Although Fidel thrilled at hearing them, the words did not come easy for him to say. But he said them now because he knew Santiago needed to hear them.
“I was so happy seeing you and Don Emilio returning, close together. It was the way you used to be. You love your father too deeply to have let the distance that separated you this day, remain. It is because you love him so much that you felt so much anger towards him.
“I could not see how he could take the anger you were prepared to use against him, and I could not see how you could live with what you were feeling. The words you wanted to say would have wounded him badly.”
“I know,” Santiago snuggled closer. “And I happy I did not tell him more than I did, as so much was boiling inside me! Thank you for being with me, Fidel. I love you.”
“You are my lover, Santiago. I may not say what you want me to say as often as I should but I love you no less.”
They whispered to each other until sleep overtook them. Twice Santiago woke during the night to find Fidel close by his side, his face illuminated by the embers of the hearth and his heart filled with affection so that he remained silent until dawn appeared in the distant sky.
CHAPTER THREE
Florienda Cali was buried beside her son on December 12, 1848. Two days after her death, the priest came to say mass for her soul. To the many who had known her, she had been a quiet and introspective woman of controlled passions, one who loved her husband and lived for her children. The people came to pay respect and to observe the child’s and husband’s grief.
With the passing of days Santiago found consolation in the workshop. The rubble was cleared from the property and it was made workable. The boy buried his sadness in a total immersion with the woods. He loved wood and lavished attention to the textures and feel of the grains. Time stopped for him when he carved and it was of little concern that he worked for hours only to be reminded of the passing of time by the ache in his stomach for food.
Repairs to the house were accomplished with the help of several neighbors, and were done piecemeal as time allowed. The priest had come to help and Santiago began to notice that Don Emilio and Padre Lipolito spent much time together; talking all the while they worked. This appeared to be a discussion of a serious nature. They often paced back and forth as they spoke. Once they climbed the hill and stayed until sun set. By the evening Santiago had grown too hungry to wait so he went to find Señora Celeste to see what she had done about the meal.
“Eat, Santiago,” she urged, setting soup and bread before him. “You have not eaten a bite all day and I did not want to disturb you, earlier. Come sweet child, sit and begin. Do not wait for your father and the priest.”
Santiago ate ravenously and quickly, wanting to return to finish the piece he was carving so that he would not be late in meeting Fidel.
“Eat slowly! Why do you hurry? Enjoy this food and do not abuse your stomach so that you do not complain all afternoon that my soup has caused you discomfort when it will have been for no other reason than your own fault.”
She came close and kissed the top of his head. Señora Celeste had grown fond of the quiet, sensitive boy. She was captivated by his beautiful mouth and eyes. Many of the women of the village discussed Santiago. His looks were admired and the bulge between his legs did not go unnoticed. He had walked into the kitchen, once, thinking no one at home. She had turned to find him standing naked, as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Her eyes lowered to his crotch and her smile had embarrassed him. Nothing had been said but afterward she sometimes commented on how much he was growing or how big he was getting. Soon even these comments lost their embarrassing effect and he grew used to her admiration. Sometimes he intentionally gave her an opportunity to see him in some provocative state of undress. It was her age that disarmed the notoriety of her forwardness and language.
“So you are dressed to go out? Do you have some young lady in mind to tease with that?” She would say, pointing to his crotch. “Only love would make a young man go out on a cold night such as this and brave a dark and lonely road. You smell so sweet! You used your mother’s toilet water, didn’t you! It smells lovely and will make her heady, but I doubt the young lady will be moved by you smelling like wild flowers, Santiago. Perhaps a more manly scent would be in keeping with your very manly qualities?” Again she looked at his crotch.
“I will bring you the scent my husband wore whenever he had designs to lure me into bed.”
Señora Celeste giggled and clucked as she worked about the kitchen, laughing at him as he blushed. Santiago stood to leave, kissing her on the forehead.
“Be kind and gentle with her, little one. The toy you carry can easily become a weapon if not used properly!”
Her laughter followed him as he walked down the road toward Fidel’s house and he thought of her allusion best left uncorrected.
They met at the mileage marker as they did each night. The darkness allowed them to hold hands without fear. A full moon lit the way as they climbed carefully down toward the dry riverbed. The river flowed only when it rained, but there was enough moisture in the soil to sustain vegetation along its banks. They made their way toward a clearing formed by surrounding bushes, and it offered a perfect place for a rendezvous. The shrubbery was thick enough to make it impossible for anyone to see them from the river or road above even in daylight hours.
Fidel knew the place well and even in the darkness he could avoid the stones and sidestep the gullies along the path. They brought armfuls of grass and made the ground comfortable, and would sometimes sit and talk for hours of things that Santiago had never talked with anyone before. Something about Fidel brought out this need in him. Fidel was a good listener and made Santiago feel that what he said was meaningful. They came because there was no other place to go where they felt safe. The spirit of their lovemaking reinforced their relationship and the hours they spent together holding hands and talking were sweet moments for Santiago that made the days less lonesome. These moments were heightened when he would feel Fidel inside him and realize with a surge of his own pleasure, how greatly he gave pleasure to his friend. The sweet ecstasy was in the knowledge that he carried a part of Fidel within himself from meeting to meeting and was, therefore, rarely without him.
Even though this night was somewhat dampened by the recent events there was still enough yearning from each to make the meeting exciting. Though it was the cold season, the night was balmy and they undressed to lie together with only a blanket to cover them and lay quietly for some time, watching the stars.
“How is your father feeling?” Fidel asked, “Everyone wonders why Padre Lipolito and he are so often together, lately.”
“I d
o not know. He left for the village to meet with him again and told Señora Celeste to tell me not to wait for him.”
Fidel looked at him questioningly. “Does that bother you?”
“No. I know he is going to get drunk once he leaves the priest. I suppose he had a right. He has it coming. I have you, and he has his bottle – not much of a comfort for him, is it? Each to our own!”
“Do I comfort you?” Fidel asked as he nibbled at Santiago’s ear. “Do I give you comfort?”
Santiago became excited when he felt the breath on his neck and was soon erect.
“At times like these you give me anything but comfort,” he said, taking Fidel’s hand and bringing it under the blanket.
Fidel though wonderful to hold his lover’s erection so lovingly, sensing the boy’s passion pulsing in it. Fidel giggled as he rolled onto Santiago and pressed his own penis between the boy’s legs and covered his mouth with his.
“I love you, Santi!” Fidel held Santiago so tightly that it hurt the boy.
They made love and the physical expression of that word was only a small part of what it meant to each of them. Beside the love that Santiago felt for his parents, he had had no other feelings of it until Fidel. It was sometimes too much to bear and when his feelings for Fidel became heightened when their bodies merged, nothing else could compare to it.
Santiago recalled the first attraction he had for Fidel. He had looked up to the big boy who seemed to know everything and of whom people seemed to admire. Even the village children liked Fidel and followed him. Santiago was drawn to him because Fidel had shown him some interest. He had come to his defense when the older brother had rebuked him too severely or had mistreated him as he was inclined to do so. And so Santiago’s feelings of admiration for Fidel slowly turned to feelings that ran much deeper.
Santiago wondered many times why Fidel had chosen him from among the other children, to befriend. He would often catch Fidel looking at him, seemingly mesmerized, and would wonder what he was seeing. Santiago began to get some notion of the meaning behind the looks when he noticed others – mostly men – who looked at him in the same way. It led him to investigate himself. One day when he was standing before the mirror he was surprised by the beautiful boy that looked back at him. Without conceit he realized he was growing into a young man of extraordinary good looks and it pleased him, as he had always thought of himself as awkward.
He wondered what the direction and destiny his relationship with Fidel would take. They had discussed leaving Santa Cecilia for they knew they could not continue as lovers in such a small village without being discovered. Clandestine meetings were unsatisfactory and the journeys to Lima, not often enough. They wanted to live together and had spoken of running away to Lima, but Santiago knew his father depended on him for help. He also expected the boy to carry on the business. Santiago had become a good craftsman. There seemed no solution but they assumed time and fate would solve the dilemma, little realizing the accuracy of this assumption!
Santiago and Fidel had fallen asleep with a warm and loving closeness having lulled them into a trance-like stupor. At some point Santiago became aware that several hours had passed and was sure it was well after midnight.
“Fidel, wake up. Your mother will be wondering what happened to you. We must get back..., wake up!”
He shook Fidel’s shoulders gently until he opened his eyes and smiled. Looking into Santiago’s eyes, Fidel brought the boy’s face to his own and kissed him.
“I want you in my mouth, Santi.”
Their tongues met and probed each other as they explored the sensuality of this sensation, each aware of the other’s taste and wanting to hold onto the flavor as a token of the other.
The boys walked back to the road in silence. Santiago escorted Fidel home. He took his time going to his own house assuming there would be no one waiting and therefore was surprised to hear the sound of his father’s voice.
“Where have you been, son?”
“I walked to Fidel’s. We talked and fell asleep. I did not think you would be back so soon. I am sorry I worried you.”
Don Emilio stoked the fire and put a kettle on for tea.
“You and Fidel are very close friends.”
Santiago felt his heart skip a beat, not sure of the implication and fearing the worst; that his father had discovered the nature of their relationship. Still, the words had been said innocently enough!
“He is my best friend!”
“You would miss him very much if you could not see him, I suppose?”
“Father, what are you talking about?”
“Santiago, as you know I have been seeing much of Padre Lipolito. He has been telling me of some wonderful things. I told him there were many painful memories for us here – that I would have difficulty being happy here. I have fear and dislike for this place now and have considered selling what we have and going to Lima. The Padre tells me some men who represent rich merchants are interested in buying this land. They want to farm it and the Padre feels we could get a good price. We could do just as well in Lima. Would you like to move there?”
Santiago was so taken by surprise that he was speechless. He thought of Fidel and of leaving him behind and the thought of not seeing him or of not being able to spend evenings together made Santiago’s blood run cold. A deep fear that something was happening of which he had no power overwhelmed him.
“Must we do that?
Don Emilio was surprised by the fear in his son’s eyes. He had thought the boy would have jumped at the chance to leave and go to Lima, having always returned from that place with high praise and excitement for its wonders.
“I thought you wanted to go to Lima. But there is no need to decide this tonight. We must give it some thought. Please try to be open to the possibility, and we will speak of it at some other time. It is late and we must sleep. Come, time for bed. I will join you in a while. I have need to do some work first.”
“Please father, why can’t we stay here? We have everything we need here. I don’t think I want to go to Lima to live.”
“All right, Santiago. Do not let this upset you. Nothing has been decided. I will not make this decision without you.”
Santiago went to bed troubled. He dreamed troublesome dreams and awoke many times during the night, each time going back into sleep and returning to the same dream. He found himself in an unknown place surrounded by unknown faces. Yet somehow he felt he knew them and told them he was lost and needed help to find his way back home. All pretended not to know him and turned a deaf ear to his plight as he struggled to find an escape alone. He walked in a particular direction because he had felt it to be the right one but as he walked nothing appeared familiar and everything became even more remote. Sensing someone behind, he turned to find all the faces watching and none willing to help. His fear and frustration mounted until he woke with a cry in his throat.
Startled and frightened and with his arms and legs aching with the tension of the night Santiago’s eyes were wet and swollen. He stood with a blanket draped across his shoulders and walked into the garden. The sky was clouded and the wind blew from the west carrying with it the ocean’s scent. Santiago could see two white stones, specters in the shadows, with a statue of the Virgin between them. He walked to the graves and knelt at one where the soil was freshly turned. Santiago listened to the night sounds and recalled his mother and how she had walked the garden at night when all others were thought to be asleep. The nights had soothed her and in his small way, Santiago the child had kept vigil with her. He lifted his head and looked about, struck by a feeling of impermanence and knew his time in this place was at an end.
With only two days before the celebration of the Christ Child’s birthday, the village bustled with excitement even though the recent catastrophe had interfered with the proper preparation for the feast. Money that would have gone for food and gifts had been siphoned for repairs and necessities. Still the spirit of the holiday could not be undermine
d.
La Posada was a way of increasing the festive mood of the season and the children looked to the event long before its time. It is a celebration that begins twelve days before Christmas. The children go from house to house re-enacting the plight of the Holy Family as they sought refuge at the inns of Bethlehem. On the twelfth day shelter is given by those who are visited and a celebration is held at which gifts of food are distributed to the children. It was performed with little enthusiasm when the time came for the village to begin the pageant. Many families did not have homes. The somber quality of the season was one that even Padre Lipolito could not lighten with his sermons of being thankful to God that things had not been worse and for the sparing of so many lives. Many felt that it would have been simpler and kinder if God had left well enough alone. No quake would have been a more prized blessing. If God had wanted to spark the spirit of the season he had chosen a most peculiar way to do it!
For the next two days Santiago barely saw his father. Don Emilio had been spending almost all his time in the village conferring with the priest. He would return in the evenings and for hours, read newspapers and clippings given him by the priest, oblivious to everything that was going on around him. He seemed obsessed.
Santiago waited for his father to return and when no noise was heard from his room, he went to the kitchen to investigate what had been of so much interest. Many papers were still scattered about and by the light of the fire he began to read the bold face type across the top of several pages. The announcements were of great riches being discovered in the mountains of a place called California, to the north. It was said that people from all over the world were going to this place – that many were becoming instantly wealthy. Santiago looked at the artist’s drawings of the great houses alleged to now belong to these ex-miners. He saw sketches of the maps that showed where the mountains were that contained the gold. Everywhere, the people spoke of the excitement of the new discovery.
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