PEG BOY

by Berube, R. G.

  Samuel was an attractive man and he had been around enough to know he was being desired. He saw the slight trace of a smile on the boy’s lips when he had caught him looking at his crotch. The boy sad sat spread-legged beside the fire and his eyes had dropped, but not before he saw Stilman return his interest with a glance in the direction of his own groin. Not a word had been spoken but all was understood. Stilman filed the boy’s face in his mental catalogue as someone to remember. There would be opportunities, he had no doubt. The nights were long between boys! Not many had been in these parts. Of those who came, few were worth the effort.

  Samuel Stilman detested his job. He hated the assignment in this god-forsaken hole! Because he had been the newest and youngest member of the department, the outpost had been his first assignment. The only factor that made the assignment tolerable was his association with a few men who had decided it was easier to claim-jump than to work the claims themselves. Samuel had cooperated in several schemes and had changed the records to show claims as having been filed by the thieves. The original names disappeared as quickly as the bodies.

  “If there is someone you are seeking there, perhaps I will know their names?”

  Don Emilio nodded. “I look for no one. It is a place that I was told would be good to search.”

  Stilman watched the man, skeptically. “Then why not stay here? There are many who are being lucky right here in Columbia?”

  “Too many people, here!”

  Santiago had seated himself so that Stilman was offered an excellent view of his best asset. The agent noted the incongruity of the lad carrying the pistol at his side and the shape of something else against his thigh. What he would not give to have this boy by his side for just one night!

  Santiago felt uncomfortable the longer they stayed. Something in the man’s eyes disturbed him and he wished he had not provoked him. When Stilman saw the man would not divulge more information and he knew there was more, he understood there was no more to gain by pressing the matter. He had become an expert at detecting lies.

  “I wish you well, my friends. I hope I will have the pleasure of telling you in the future, that you are both rich. Perhaps you and your partners will become famous.”

  Don Emilio stood to leave. “We work alone. My son is my partner!”

  Stilman smiled graciously as he led them to the door. His arm was across Santiago’s shoulder and he looked into the boy’s eyes and winked, squeezing his arm.

  “You are a lucky man, Mr. Cali, to have such a wonderful son.”

  As he watched them walk away, Stilman thought, “...the fewer the partners, the easier the disposal.”

  It became obvious that the map had been drawn with little effort to accuracy. Few of the geographical features corresponded to those they encountered. The river twisted and turned, yet the map showed it flowing with little change in direction. The map called for two outstanding features that would mark the site of the claim, where they were supposed to find several bags of buried gold. It spoke of a peak in the north that would have the outline of an eagle’s head. Directly below the formation would be an outcropping of rock of some light color that would appear as though the rock had been painted white. Don Emilio worried just how obvious this light color would appear in the surrounding snow?

  The sheepskin coats Padre Juan Carlos had advised they purchase in San Francisco were well used and they were happy to have taken his advice. The air was thin and frigid, but they were accustomed to thin air and high elevations. They were not bothered by the elevations as much as they were by the cold. They climbed steadily, sometimes unable to follow the river because of impassable outcroppings of rock or landslides. The mule carried a heavy load and progress was slow. Don Emilio led them and Santiago followed behind, pushing and prodding the animal to keep it from balking. He was continuously distracted by the splendor of the surrounding scenery. The mountains shot into the clouds so that their summits were lost. The lush green of the conifers contrasted with the whiteness of the snow so that the green was even more startling. He saw tracts of many animals but saw little actual wildlife, save a few deer and the birds that continuously squawked and rose from the trees at their approach. They purposely spoke in loud tones to frighten animals off the trail.

  It was with surprise and terror that Santiago turned to the sound of a breaking branch to find a full grown bear following the trail only a few yards behind. He was close enough to see the vapor from the animal’s mouth. It lumbered along the trail, its nose to the ground, following their scent.

  “Father!”

  Santiago meant to whisper but the sound of his voice came out as a shout. The bear growled once, then stood on its hind legs and advanced with its front legs pawing the air. They saw the horrendous claws tear nearby trees as its huge head swayed side to side.

  With little thought Don Emilio fired his pistol into the air above the animal’s head. The bear stopped and dropped to its feet, then turned and ran in the opposite direction. The mule had looked over its shoulder and he had seen the bear and caught its scent. It had reared on its hind legs and had begun to bray as it shit, uncontrolled. Santiago had not watched where he stepped and walked into a pile of mule shit as Don Emilio broke into laughter. He roared until tears fell down his cheeks. Santiago kicked the mule and tried to wipe the shit off his boots in the snow.

  “Why do you laugh, father? That bear could have killed us!”

  Trying to control himself Don Emilio sat, pointing to Santiago. “If you could have seen your face! Truly, I think that if you look behind you, you will find that some of that shit is your own!”

  Santiago pouted. “I am glad I have provided you with entertainment. I do not shit my pants as easily as that!”

  “I know you don’t, son. I am sorry I insulted you. Forgive me?”

  But as the man continued along the trail ahead of him, Santiago saw his father’s shoulders shaking as he continued laughing to himself.

  Darkness came faster in the mountains because of the forest and high ridges. They thought it best to make camp before it became impossible to see, and then continue in the morning. They estimated the distance they had traveled to be six miles and according to the map’s reckoning, they were about half way to their destination. Gathering moss and kindling they built a fire and the larger pieces of wood dried sufficiently to burn all night. The tent was pitched so that its opening faced the fire, only a few feet away.

  “Go for water, Santiago. The river is in that direction. Listen for it…, you can hear it from here. Now you have no reason to linger as you once did. Rosa is not here to detain you. Do you miss her, son?”

  Santiago had begun to walk in the direction of the river and turned to face his father, not sure if the man was seriously inquiring or joking. This was an openness with which he was unaccustomed, as his father seldom spoke of sexual things. Santiago liked the thought of being able to relate in a more adult fashion. But it took getting used to. Don Emilio waived him on his way.

  Santiago looked back through the trees and saw his father beginning a shelter. Don Emilio looked up and waived to his son. Santiago felt a warm surge in his heart, thinking that he would need to show more often how he loved and appreciated the man. He waived back and headed for the river.

  How wonderful things were! Never had he known his father to be so friendly, even when Emilio had been alive. Don Emilio had never let down his reserve with Emilio as he was doing with Santiago. He admired the man and was awed by the love beneath the cool exterior. It was like coming to know a new friend.

  While Santiago filled the water-skins he heard two shots. Perhaps the bear had returned and his father had fired the shots to call him back? He dropped the skins and ran back, trying to be silent as not to frighten the animal further or make it angry. He could see the campfire through the trees. There was no movement and he could not see his father anywhere.

  Creeping closer to see inside the tent, he saw Don Emilio in it. He stood and walked around the site,
making sure the animal had gone. Coming back to the tent, he leaned in.

  “Father, I heard shots. Why did you call. Was the bear back?”

  Don Emilio did not answer. Coming closer, Santiago shook his father’s foot.

  “Father, are you awake?”

  He crept inside and it was then that he saw the blood flowing from a hole in the side of his father’s head. He heard a scream that tore at his heart and the scream was his own. His temples throbbed and his heart beat so hard that he thought his chest would explode. His hand was on his pistol but he remembered he had no bullets. He shook the body in hopes of a response but it slumped to the ground. The eyes were open but had no life, looking to an unknown spot at the ceiling of the tent. He saw that his father’s boot was off, the one in which the map had been hidden. He reached for his father’s hand and felt no pulse. He heard a noise behind and when he swung around he saw three men standing outside. One had a rifle pointed to his head.

  “Go ahead goddammit..., kill the little fucker!”

  The man with the rifle looked down the barrel, and then pointed it to the ground.

  “Shut up, Mat. I’ll decide when to do the killing. Look at the little fucker..., ain’t he something!”

  The fat one, who had called for the killing, stepped closer.

  “Jesus Christ! We hit pay-dirt with this one! Ooooeee..., he sure is purdy! You thinkin what I’m thinkin?”

  “Depends on what you’re thinkin, asshole. I'm thinkin that I’d sure like to have that on some of these cold nights.! You were goin to kill im so he ain’t yours..., he’s mine. I'm claimin him as my own.”

  A thin man who had been silent, was looking at Santiago and could hardly keep from rushing the boy and raping him he was so excited by him. He kept pressing his hand against the bulge in his pants.

  “You mean you ain’t goin’ ta let us have some, Ernest?”

  “That’s right, Lucien…, that there is goin’ to be my private stock and if I catch either of you two bastards gettin into him, I’ll blow your balls off..., you got that?”

  Santiago could tell they were quarreling over him. He could see how they eyed and pointed to him as they shouted. He looked from one to the other and hate blazed in his eyes. He understood a few words and was able to get a drift of the conversation and knew they planned to take him. He also knew there was nothing he could do that would save him from whatever fate they chose. Therefore, he felt there was little to lose if he attacked and tried to take a weapon from one of them. Santiago lurched from the tent and threw himself on the big man with the rifle. His right hand went under the barrel and shoved it upward. The weapon slammed into the man’s face and he fell backward, the rifle tossed into the air. Before Santiago could grab it, it was kicked away and the two other men were upon him. He felt a fist in his stomach and the wind was knocked out of him. Another fist hit him in the face as he fell. He heard the big man yell as the thin one aimed his gun at his head, ready to shoot.

  “You fire that gun, Lucien, and you’ll be as dead as he will be!”

  Santiago lost consciousness and the night surrounded him. When he began to regain his senses he heard the sound of voices and they seemed far off. When he opened his eyes he could see the men sitting by a fire. Snow was falling lightly and they were bundled in blankets. The big one was wearing Don Emelio’s sheepskin coat. The men had the map between them and were discussing it with great detail and interest. Santiago faked sleep as he listened. He realized his father’s body had been removed from the tent. It was difficult to understand what they were saying. The men spoke quickly and in a dialect unfamiliar to him. He sensed that his life had been spared and that for the time being, he would be used but not killed. Something was said about breaking camp the following day.

  Santiago knew that the man who had saved his life was called Ernest and that Ernest had had a purpose for his generosity. He wondered which of the three had gunned down his father. The fat one looked the meanest and it had been he who had wanted the boy killed as well.

  He was careful not to move a muscle, for he knew they were watching the tent to see when he would regain consciousness. He listened. He heard them mention a name that triggered his memory and made him even more alert. The thin one called Lucien was talking about returning to Columbia and that Stilman would be expecting a part of the gold. Stilman..., Stilman..., and then he remembered the name and the man. The assayer had been an accomplice!

  There was much talking and drinking. They passed bottles between them continually and judging from their voices and increased argumentative tones, Santiago judged they were all drunk. Perhaps when they went to sleep he could sneak from camp? He felt the tightness of the ropes and knew he could not easily loosen them.

  Soon the noise quieted and they discussed who would stay awake to guard the site and keep the fire lit. There were loud words about where they would sleep. Huddled in the corner of the tent, Santiago was aware that only one of the men had entered. He remained silent and hoped the man would go quickly to sleep. Santiago could smell the strong aroma of tobacco, whiskey, and sweat. He watched through slit eyes as the man removed his clothing and soon, the man was upon him, tearing at Santiago’s shirt. Santiago felt the man trying to put his mouth on his and he squirmed from the foul hole, fighting desperately to avoid the breath that made him nauseous. He could feel the man’s rough hands on his belly, tearing at his pants to get inside. Then the man had hold of his testicles and squeezed them painfully.

  His clothing lay in shreds and he felt the cold night air on his legs and back as the man fumbled wildly to make some contact with him. Fear made him resolute and he refused to panic. It was obvious the man wanted to fuck him. He saw his shape above him and felt his head jerked by two strong hands on each side of his face. The man brought himself closer to Santiago so that his erect penis was only inches from the boy’s mouth. He was yelling and although Santiago knew what he was supposed to do, the vile smell of the man’s crotch made his stomach turn. Santiago lurched as the spasms ached in his gut and he vomited, sending a stream of the stuff across the man’s legs and stomach. The man slapped him hard across the face and shoved him back into the blanket. He was grabbed by the legs and they were lifted wide apart. He tensed himself for what would follow. Santiago knew he could submit and have the act not be as painful as it might otherwise be if he fought back. If he submitted it would likely end sooner. He let himself be entered and the pain was excruciating. He had never been fucked so forcefully or brutally. He felt something tear within and screamed unwillingly.

  “You fuckin’ little bastard! You think this is somethin’? You ain’t had nothin’ yet! I’m going to fuck your asshole until you ain’t got no asshole left! Then I’m goin’ to stick that rifle barrel up your ass and you’re goin’ to find out what gettin’ fucked is really like! I’M GOIN’ TO BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT THROUGH YOUR BACKSIDE!”

  The man kept pumping him as he slobbered the words. Finally Santiago felt the man’s orgasm. He tied Santiago’s hands again, and re-tied the ankles. In his drunken state the man was not careful about the knots and Santiago felt they were loose enough for him manage. Within a few minutes the man was snoring. When Santiago tried to untie the ropes he found his fingers too cold and numb. He resigned himself and sought another way. He knew he would not survive long unless he made himself warmer. Between his legs was a slickness that told him he was bleeding, the pain becoming unbearable as feeling returned. Deciding that even though he hated the thought of it, he could keep himself warm by staying close against the man. And so Santiago pressed himself as closely as he could. He was repulsed by the touch but overcame his repulsion as heat returned to his limbs.

  The few moments of sleep he managed to get were filled with scenes of his father being shot. He saw the men dragging the body into the woods to be eaten by wild animals. He woke several times to the sound of his father’s voice calling his name. His arms had been tied behind his back and pain shot through his shoulders so that he tho
ught he could stand it no longer.

  “Please, señor..., my arms hurt very much. Please loosen the ropes?”

  He tried to nudge the man to wake him but to no avail. He could see by the light of the full moon that the man who had entered the tent was the one known as Ernest. He called his name until the man finally moved and groaned, then repeated his request. Ernest had slept so that some of the drunkenness had left him and he stretched, his ugly nakedness once again revolting Santiago. The man raised himself on one elbow and looked at the boy, also naked and only partially covered, the gooseflesh giving evidence to his cold. He pleaded for warmth and to be relieved of the pain in his shoulders. Ernest tied the boy’s hands above his head and attached the rope to the tent pole. He satisfied himself once more by taking the boy in his mouth. He had intended to fuck him again but the boy was too bloody and Ernest actually experienced a twinge of pity. With the boy’s cock in his mouth he was pleased to see Santiago get an erection and finally ejaculate. The man brought himself to orgasm by licking the semen of the boy’s belly. Ernest threw another blanket on the boy to be sure he was covered. With his shoulders no longer hurting, Santiago found a few more moments of slumber.

  By morning the ground was covered with new-fallen snow. The fire was stoked and the men warmed themselves. Santiago was dragged from the tent and given his father’s clothing. When asked what they had done with the body, Lucien struck him across the face. The body was not in sight. While roasting a rabbit on the spit, Ernest took out the map within the tent. The three men had forced Santiago outside so that they could sit from the cold and examine the paper. A cold wind had begun to blow and Santiago sat as close to the fire a he could get. Within the tent the men laughed when told of the previous night’s activities.