PEG BOY

by Berube, R. G.

  Snow fell heavily during the night so that he woke before daylight to find the fire extinguished. He had felt strong and self-reliant the previous evening but with the numbness of the events having worn off, Santiago was struck by his vulnerability and plight. The fear began in the pit of his stomach and it spread so that his muscles tightened and the sensation of helplessness grew to panic. He understood the need to gain control of the escalating feelings or he would blunder foolishly. He could not let feat win out.

  The few sticks and twigs he had placed within the shelter had dried enough to start a new fire. Snow was falling. If he could keep the fire going until daylight he would start for town when he could better see the trail. As he waited for dawn he planned his strategy. He would avoid being seen in Columbia and would be there only long enough to fulfill his promise of revenge.

  Santiago followed the river so as not to lose his way. He had a compass but was not adequately knowledgeable of its use. Along the trail he met a prospector kind enough to share a meal. The man knew some Spanish and Santiago felt less lonely. He answered the man’s question as to why he was traveling alone by saying his father had sent him back to Columbia for supplies. With his belly full of stew and sourdough bread, and a feeling of uplifted spirits, Santiago set off once more. He was told he was another ten miles from town and it could be reached by early evening. He maintained his pace. Although not used to the amount of walking he had recently been doing, his youth and vitality proved an asset and he found himself on the outskirts of Columbia by dusk.

  Santiago waited in the woods until the sun had completely set. He knew the assayer’s office closed two hours in early evening so Stilman could have his meal. Then it would remain open again until midnight.

  Santiago took care to hide everything well. The mule was tied close enough to the stream so it could get water. If it were taken, so be it. He would steal another. From the field behind the hotel he watched the assayer’s office until he saw the light dim. The door opened and Santiago followed the figure that emerged, once he was sure it was Stilman. Santiago kept to the shadows. The assayer walked, stooped-shouldered against the wind, to the edge of town and followed the path to his small cabin near the edge of the woods. Santiago approached cautiously. On his journey that day he had spent the hours planning how he would kill the man without attracting attention. He thought of using the shotgun because it would be hard to miss his target, but the sound would arouse the town. Santiago decided on the knife.

  He watched through the window as Stilman sat at the table near the wood-burning stove, eating his meal while reading a newspaper. The assayer looked toward the window several times as though he had a sense of being watched. Santiago decided the best time to strike was when Stilman left to return to the office, some distance away, and the darkness would offer cover and opportunity.

  He remained in the shadows, able to follow Stilman’s every move. He saw the man stand and Santiago edged closer to the window. Stilman walked to the rear of the cabin and heard the back door open. He feared he had been seen and froze where he stood. In the light of the open door he saw Stilman appear with a bag of seed, walking toward a fenced area near the chicken coop, scattering it. Santiago slipped inside the cabin and waited behind the door, taking the opportunity of a new alternative. He heard the approaching footsteps crunching in the snow. The knife was out and he held it tightly. As Stilman entered and passed in front of him, Santiago plunged the knife in Stilman’s back. He felt the knife puncture skin and sink to bone. Stilman whipped around, mouth open as though trying to cry out. Only a whimper emerged. Stilman staggered back and fell against the table, overturning it and sending the plate and contents to the floor. Santiago approached him as Stilman raised his arms in an attempt to ward off further blows. Santiago came closer. He knew Stilman had a working knowledge of Spanish.

  “Your friends are all dead. This is for my father!”

  Santiago brought the knife down again and again. When he was sure Stilman was dead he sent the kerosene lantern to the floor and watched the flames spread, and watched them engulf the cabin as he stole silently into the woods.

  For the first time since he had put them on, he remembered he had been wearing his father’s clothing. They seemed to fit better than they had two days before.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Santiago had grown up in a country of hills and mountains. The Sierras of California were almost like home in spite of the abundant forest. His progress was slowed by snow and his unfamiliarity with the land, its lushness so different from his Peru where the hills were scarce of tall trees. Still, he liked the mountains and marveled at their splendor. Thinking of his homeland made him homesick. It was not difficult for those thoughts to become almost real, as he walked. The returning visions of his mother and father, and even of his brother Emilio, made him sad. Yet he pursued the thoughts and turned them over, sensing every emotion contained in them. Like a child that picks a wound to keep it bleeding, Santiago kept the pain of his loss alive. It was his strength. He knew it.

  An edge of caution was tuned to any sound that might indicate someone approaching, and he veered off the trail each time until they disappeared from sight. He did not want to meet anyone and wanted to be alone.

  He followed the banks of a stream that flowed southward. The midday sun felt warm and he removed his shirt. The heat soothed his shoulders. In a meadow where the day’s heat had melted snow and dried the grass, Santiago stripped to let the sun reach all his body. The field was bordered by dense woods and it seemed more secure and private. The mule grazed idly nearby and Santiago spread the sheepskin coat on the ground. He stretched himself and listened to the birds as they called, and watched hawks gliding overhead.

  The air had warmed and a gentle breeze swayed the tall grass with a sound that made Santiago feel at peace. His hands caressed his body and in his mind, the hands became those of another and his erection filled them. It had been many days since he had felt the urge and he let himself take the time to bring full sensitivity to his nipples and testicles. His thumb brushed the top of his penis and his body convulsed at the stimulation. Santiago saw Fidel, tall and dark, sitting atop his chest as he made love to him. He felt Fidel’s mouth on his own and he ached to taste it. He felt the weight of his lover’s body as he had felt it so many times before..., the lover now between his legs as they were lifted to allow entry. He felt the finger probing his sensitive insides and his hips moved as he created the illusion of love. Santiago called Fidel’s name many times and when the surge went through him as his orgasm sent semen into the air, he wiped the tears away. His relief brought the needed sleep and the dreams that followed were those that a son would dream of a mother much missed and of a father who had become a friend.

  It may have been the unexpected noise or the breathing that summoned him from sleep and the feeling that someone was nearby. Santiago sat up, startled, and reached for his knife. A man was sitting on a mule a short distance away and because the sun was behind him, he appeared in silhouette against the sky. Santiago shaded his eyes, his nakedness obviously causing the man great interest as he watched silently, mesmerized! The boy stood with his feet planted firmly apart, ready for trouble.

  The man raised a hand in greeting as he swung a leg over the saddle and dismounted. Santiago could now see the man wore a full beard and had very dark eyes. He was heavy set and had the build of someone who lives hard and rough. There was kindness in the eyes and Santiago did not miss the desire and longing in the face. The stranger came to him, stopped to pick up Santiago’s clothing and handed him his pants. He extended his hand again, in friendly gesture. Santiago shook it.

  “My name is Francis. I stopped because I saw your mule feeding alone and thought someone was in need of help. Do you understand English?”

  Santiago had appeared bewildered. His sharp features told Francis that the boy was probably of South American Indian heritage.

  “Si, Señor, I speak a little. Thank you for my clothing....
” Santiago dressed leisurely, aware of his effect on the man. “I am called Santiago. My father and I prospect for gold.”

  Santiago thought it best to have the man believe his father was nearby.

  “And where is he, your father?”

  “We are to meet in this meadow. He has gone for supplies and I am to wait here. He will be due back tonight.”

  Francis untied his saddle-bag and opened it. “Would you consider it an intrusion if I were to have my meal here and spend some time with you? The trail is very lonely. It is pleasant to have someone to talk to. Please, share my food?”

  Santiago was caught by his falsehood, as he would need to wait for the man to leave before he could depart. Any other action would raise suspicion. He wondered if the man had come from Columbia and if he were aware of the assayer’s fate?

  “Please..., come eat with me,” Francis urged.

  “Gracias, señor. I would enjoy sharing what you have, as I have not eaten since yesterday!”

  “Then come. Let us see what we can cook.”

  Man and boy collected firewood. Francis unwrapped a portion of venison. While it roasted, they sat and talked. It became less difficult to converse as each used a mixture of Spanish and English. They sat close to the fire as the afternoon wore on and the sun began to set. The wind cooled and Francis threw more wood on the fire.

  “Santiago, do you really have a father who is to meet you here?”

  Had his lying been so obvious? Perhaps Francis already knew who he was?

  “Why do you ask. You think I am lying?”

  Francis laughed, putting his arm around Santiago’s shoulder.

  “You are lying, but I don’t care. I think you are traveling alone and that you told me that story so that I would not bother you.”

  “And if I say you are correct, what will you do?”

  Francis stood and bowed to Santiago in a comic way. “Then, I would ask if you really wanted to be left alone, or if you would consider coming with me?”

  “Why?”

  Santiago wondered if his intuition was correct, as he knew what Francis was going to suggest before he said it.

  “Because, Santiago, I would like to have you along as a companion. I could be helpful to you and you, to me. I would be good to you. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Santiago stared at Francis. “You mean that we would sleep together?”

  “Is that offensive to you? You are a beautiful boy. I have had women and I have had boys. I don't want you to think that I am a..., your word..., maricon. I enjoy making love. You are beautiful and I think that I would like being with you. But I will not force myself on you. Do not fear harm if you deny me.”

  Stretching himself before the fire and assuming they would be there the night, Santiago looked at Francis.

  “So you think I make love with men?”

  “Do not misunderstand me. I do not mean to give you offense. I thought I could give you some pleasure because I think you enjoy my interest in you.”

  Santiago decided to stop being coy. The man was trying to be honest and friendly. He owed him the truth of his willingness to cooperate. He smiled and reached for Francis’ hand.

  “You do not offend me. I would like to be with you. We can spend the night here. I have no one meeting me. What are your plans for tomorrow? I am returning to San Francisco and if you are traveling in that direction, perhaps I can come with you?”

  Francis sat beside Santiago so that their bodies touched. He put his hand on the boy’s leg. Santiago took the hand and held it. Francis ran his other hand through Santiago’s hair and it felt thick and luxurious like silk. They looked in each other’s eyes.

  “So fate has brought us together! I am not going to San Francisco. I am going to Lathrop. There, I will introduce you to a man who travels to San Francisco often to purchase supplies for his store. I know he would like your company and would take good care of you.”

  Santiago looked skeptical. “Would I need to take good care of him as well?

  They ate venison and drank beer. Santiago enjoyed the delicious meat and relished the luxury of being at ease with someone he felt would not hurt him. Although he had known Francis only a few hours, he felt safe in the man’s company and understood just how smitten the man was with him.

  “I have the feeling that this look of innocence which is one of your charming qualities is only an illusion!” Francis laughed between swallows of beer. “I think you like men and I think you like me. You know I can barely sit here without jumping on you and tearing your clothes off. I had to use great restraint this afternoon. I did not want to touch you without your permission. You can see my pulse throbbing..., but I promise to be a gentleman.”

  Santiago stopped drinking and looked at Francis with puzzlement.

  “What is it, Santiago?”

  “I wonder about something. Since I have left Lima I have met many men. Why do I keep meeting men who make love to other men? Is everyone here a maricon?”

  Francis poked the embers to stir the fire. “It is because there are so few women. The women who are available all look manlier than the men they have come to service. The only thing that looks pretty and is as soft as a woman, is a pretty boy. Someone as beautiful as you would make a great deal of money in San Francisco. There are men who pay large sums to buy boys much less attractive than you.”

  Santiago eyes lit with curiosity. “When I was in San Francisco I walked near an area of saloons and dance halls. There, I saw many boys who stood about the streets. They seemed to be waiting for something. Some spoke to men as they passed and some followed. Are you speaking of these boys?”

  Francis nodded. “Many of those boys are diseased. They are bad luck because most will give you clap.”

  He saw Santiago was unfamiliar with the term. “Santiago, sometimes when people make love they give each other infections..., diseases that come from not being clean. It spreads from person to person and can be very dangerous. When you have it in your cock, you notice that it weeps puss. Many of the street boys are not clean!

  “No, the boys I am talking about are the ones kept hidden from most eyes. They work for important men and ladies who own houses that sell sex.”

  Santiago was fascinated. Francis seemed to know a great deal about these boys and it would be to his advantage to learn as much as he cold before returning to the city. He had thought of going to Padre Juan Carlos, but this might be another option. Santiago did not want to return to Lima so soon.

  After having consumed several bottles of beer and twice taken whiskey from Francis’ flask, both relaxed and became loose of tongue. They laughed at stories Francis told of his adventures. Behind all the talk Francis had a question he ached to ask but refrained from doing so because the boy seemed to avoid the topic. Where was his father?

  They played with each other. It was light play with sexual overtones. Much time was spent in talking. But later as the play grew more serious and their hands sought intimacies, they became more aroused. Francis spread out the bedrolls by the fire. Each felt the heat of the flames and it made the night air more tolerable. Santiago began to remove his clothing, already aroused, his penis ached to be free of the tight-fitting pants. Francis reached over and stopped him.

  “Let me do it, please?”

  Santiago lay back and watched Francis’s eyes as they were riveted to each item as the shirt, pants, and underclothes were slowly taken. With each piece removed, his hands caressed that part of Santiago’s body. The boy liked that Francis was enjoying the act of disrobing him as much as he liked having it done. It was a wonderfully sensual thing that was new to him, as undressing had always been done with speed and little meaning.

  As each part of Santiago’s body was exposed, Francis put his lips to it in adoration. The boy became even more aroused at the knowledge of the effect he had on the man. Beneath the bedrolls Santiago let himself be absorbed by his new-found friend. Lying back, Santiago saw the sky filled with stars. He found Franci
s to be a considerate lover and let the man have as much of him as he desired. There was no part of his body that Francis did not take in his mouth and suck. Finally Santiago turned on his back and with legs raised, showed the man what he wanted. Their passions mounted and at the moment of climax Santiago indulged in added thrusts that made Francis peak. Throwing caution to the winds and assuming their isolation, Francis screamed as he felt his orgasm spill into the boy and Santiago joined him as each filled the air with the sounds of excitement.

  Exhausted and drained, they remained in each other’s arms. The comfort and warmth that Santiago experienced was such that for the first time in many nights, he slept peacefully. Francis did not find sleep so easily. The wonderful feeling of the boy in his arms was such that he remained awake most of the night relishing the touch of flesh and feeling the smooth skin beneath his hands as he gently held and caressed Santiago. Francis’s lips touched the boy’s neck and the smell of him was like an elixir so that all his sensitivities were heightened. As the edge of sleep, enfolded in Francis’ arms, Santiago wondered if he should tell him of his involvement with the three men who had murdered his father, but decided to say nothing.

  Twice during the night Santiago awoke to find Francis fellating him. He let him do it and enjoyed the feeling. After the last time when there was no semen left in him, he apologized for having gone dry.

  “My god, Santiago, you have an unbelievable cock! It is wonderful!”

  They broke camp at sun-up. As the light gradually came to the valley, the countryside began to sparkle with the reflected light from the dew. As the sun rose the mist evaporated. From the top of a hill they saw the smoke of a far-away settlement. The river flowed lazily meandering through the valley, bringing some of the snow’s water to the rich soil. Already tiny flowers had begun to blossom at the first signs of the approaching Spring. The river divided the valley like a ribbon dropped by chance.