PEG BOY

by Berube, R. G.

  Santiago still had two hours before meeting Vincent. The day had begun cold and seemed to be getting colder. The wind blew across the bay and by the time it reached the town it was damp and uncomfortable. Clouds were collecting on the eastern horizon and hung heavy in the mountains. He looked at those mountains and knew that somewhere in them the spirit of his father still remained. Before the tears could begin he wiped his eyes and pushed ahead toward the deserted docks.

  Santiago pulled his collar more tightly around his neck to cut the wind at his back. He wondered what to do with his time and where he should go until it was time to meet Vincent. He thought of looking for a room, but had barely enough money to last a few days. The gold was being kept secret until he could figure out how to exchange it for cash without raising suspicion. Perhaps Vincent might be of help.

  Going in and out of shops along the way, affronted by rudeness, he felt unwelcome. Only near the waterfront had he felt unobtrusive and accepted, so it was there that he went until his meeting. Santiago sat among piles of cargo, ignored by the seamen. He noted few spaces left open for mooring and the bay, dotted with incoming and outgoing traffic, was dark and choppy. On the day he had first arrived, the town had been bathed in sunlight but now it was cold and unfriendly.

  Santiago noted one ship nearby that seemed to have many women passengers. These women looked like those he had seen leaning from the windows of boarding houses and dance-halls. They called to the men waiting on the dock, and as soon as the ship anchored, the men scurried aboard. Sounds of the waterfront were all around him as he saw seabirds squawking overhead and heard the creaking of pulleys that lifted and lowered cargo. He pulled his legs against himself and tried to hide from the wind in the shelter of piled boxes. The rhythmic swaying and sound of masts soon lulled him to sleep.

  Santiago was suddenly awakened by a tugging at his collar. A man was trying to tell him he had to move. Running east on Sacramento with the wind in his face, Santiago worried he had overslept and missed his meeting with Vincent who was nowhere to be seen when Santiago arrived at Portsmouth Square. He walked around it twice, and then sat beneath a tree with a vantage of all sides. Then he heard the sound of bells from a nearby church announcing the noon-time angelus and realized he had been early.

  From a distance he recognized the boy’s familiar clothing. Vincent walked with a swagger that was most appealing and Santiago stood to wave. Face to face, Vincent addressed Santiago like they were old friends. He was no longer lonely.

  “Where is your companion?”

  Vincent looked around, trying to spot Ramón.

  “Are you here alone?”

  Santiago began to respond in Spanish but Vincent stopped him.

  “Here you must learn English. You must speak it all the time to learn it quickly, so from now on we will speak only English.”

  “I know you are right, Vincent. I will try to remember it. Ramón left this morning. He had to return to his store.”

  “What will you do, then?” Vincent suspected Santiago’s intentions.

  “I want to learn to do what you do.”

  Vincent took him by the arm. “You have little to learn! Cone, we go for coffee and get out of this cold. We have much to talk about.”

  They walked past the dance-halls to a small café near to the place Ramón had taken him to dance. The owner called Vincent by name and took their order. When asked about the whereabouts of someone called McIntyre, the man shrugged and looked at Santiago suspiciously.

  “Don’t worry, he is with me and can be trusted. We will be working together. I want to tell McIntyre about him. This is new trade!”

  The man stood above them and his face turned into an ugly smile as he reached down and laid a hand on Santiago’s leg, feeling the bulge in his pants. Santiago hit the man’s arm.

  “Tell this little asshole that if he’s going to sell that thing, he’d better be ready to have it inspected. Is he new? Has he done this before?”

  Santiago had stood and was ready to leave.

  “Sit down, Santiago. Be patient and listen to me. You can not react that way. If someone is willing to give you money for your pleasures, you must expect this as well. They will only want to make sure that what they are buying is real. Some of the boys put things in their drawers to make themselves look larger than they are.

  “Wexler is harmless,” Vincent said when the man had gone for the coffee. “He appears much more dangerous than he really is. And you will find he can be a good friend when business goes bad and you need food. Wexler feeds many boys, and they pay him back the best way they can. Everyone benefits.”

  “Vincent, there is much I do not know. My village was a simple one and the ways of the city are strange to me. There is one thing that I have learned,” he said, remembering the events of the past week. “I will not allow anyone to use me in a manner in which I am not willing.”

  The pronouncement was said coldly and brutally, and the hatred in Santiago’s eyes was alarming. Vincent knew the boy would not be easily swayed or fooled.

  “Here is what we should do. McIntyre runs a little business nearby. He provides rooms and makes sure that people who could give us trouble, leave us alone. He assures that no others come into our territory and that business is good. We give him a part of what we earn.”

  “You work for someone?” Santiago wondered who McIntyre was. “So all the boys I have seen on the streets work for someone?”

  “No, some of them are on their own. They are the ones who get harassed by The Hounds. Watch out for those bastards! They would sooner cut your throat on the street than step aside. Santiago, you look Peruvian. You could have some trouble with them.”

  “Who are they?” Santiago had heard the name mentioned before in a conversation between his father and Padre Juan Carlos.

  “The Hounds! They are a group of men who have set themselves up as a form of police. They get paid by ship captains for bringing back men who jump ship. And it happens that many who they capture, were never sailors! You see, it is not safe to walk the streets alone, here. Unless you are known to be protected, you could find yourself onboard some vessel and your ass available to any who want it!

  “We all stay together whenever we go anywhere. The Hounds know which boys who work the triangle are McIntyre’s, and they leave us alone. The triangle is where you and your friend were walking when we met. It is where boys sell themselves and where those who look to buy, come. Sometimes a boy will last no longer than a day. They are kidnapped and sold into ship-slavery and eventually into slavery in other countries.

  “You see, Santiago, they hate anyone who is not white and has an accent. The Hounds are ruthless! No day goes by without someone being beaten to death by them.”

  “But why are they allowed to do these things?”

  Vincent laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

  “No one has the courage to oppose them.”

  Wexler returned with the coffee and brought each a plate of hot tortillas. When Vincent went to pay, Wexler refused.

  “I don’t take charity either. Tell the kid this is pay-back for the feel,” he said good-naturedly.

  Vincent explained. “The man is one of the few good men you will find in this city and especially in this part of town, remember that! Speaking of this part of town, stay away from Portsmouth Square. That is the straight part of town and if you hustle there they will put you in jail. You will have little trouble around here once people get to know your face and know you are one of McIntyre’s boys.”

  “Will this McIntyre have me?”

  “If McIntyre did not have you and he saw you on the street, he would make it a point to enlist you. You are going to make much money for him and for yourself. With what you have between your legs and the way you look, you will be guaranteed employment!”

  Santiago felt a sense of excitement mixed with fear. This would be a completely different world than any he had known. These people were foreign to him. They lived by different standar
ds. He understood he would not be his own master but would be answering to someone else. Someone would own him. It was this aspect that he disliked. Yet, had Vincent not said he would be taken care of?

  They finished the meal. Vincent felt he had found a prize that would bring him more in favor with McIntyre. The boy, Santiago, was extraordinary and still in possession of his innocence. McIntyre might even let him have a few days off, seeing that the new boy could take over his customers for a while. Perhaps McIntyre would forget the fight of a few days before when he had discovered Vincent servicing unreported customers with the hope of hiding enough money to run away. Santiago Cali might be his ticket out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Michael McIntyre had come to San Francisco from Dublin, having left his country in haste when it had been discovered that he had in his employ, some three dozen of Dublin’s finest youth. The work they were doing for Mr. McIntyre was not of a nature to make a parent proud and when one of the young men saw the error of his ways and informed his parents after they had become suspicious about his new-found wealth, the police were notified. It got too uncomfortable for McIntyre to continue his business when it became known that he had been operating a successful child-prostitution ring. The newspaper turned the story into a significant crusade that rallied both the Protestants and Catholics like nothing else had been able to. Had McIntyre not left when he did he would not have survived the wrath of the parents who descended upon the address given in the newspapers, and proceeded to burn down the house in hopes of catching Michael McIntyre in the conflagration. Fortunately for McIntyre, someone in authority who had also used his services warned him of the impending doom. With all records disposed in the fireplace, he escaped to a ship with passage that had been arranged for him and within eight hours of when the news had broken, McIntyre was sailing out of Dublin harbor to establish a new business in America.

  Not being a man inclined to labor, he saw no reason to change what he knew best. He had heard stories of what it was like to prospect for gold and although the thought of it seemed quite adventurous, it was work none the less! McIntyre obtained his gold second-hand by way of those who came to satisfy their sexual urges long ignored in the hills. His decision was reinforced by the apparent lack of police authority in the new town.

  Within two months he had enlisted two dozen boys and convinced them that it would be to their advantage to work for him and allow him to be their benefactor. With the help of a continuous supply of opium he was able to develop their addictions and dependency from which it was impossible to escape. The boys worked until becoming too dysfunctional then McIntyre would sell them off to sea. Sailors long at sea were not as discriminating of who or what they fucked!

  With a combination of friendliness and threat, Michael McIntyre ran an operation that became profitable. He liked what he did and was always on the lookout for new talent to replace those who became wasted. He immediately recognized the value of the boy who stood before him and patted Vincent on the back for a job well done and slipped him an additional supply of white powder.

  “Why don’t you and Santiago take a little holiday before he begins work?”

  Vincent had brought Santiago to the Eldorado Hotel, McIntyre’s unofficial office, where he could be found almost any time if he was not at Wexler’s kitchen. McIntyre asked Santiago many questions and asked them in a kind and caring manner. He seemed genuinely interested in hearing all about the boy and had such an engaging way about him that Santiago found himself answering all the questions without objection. It was good to feel he had friends! They seemed concerned for his welfare and were kind to him. McIntyre suggested Santiago room with Vincent, seeing as they had become such good friends. Vincent was told that Santiago was to have everything he needed!

  Their meeting had occurred over a sumptuous dinner that had been especially planned to impress the new acquisition. Vincent had already taken Santiago to his room that afternoon where Santiago had left his bag. He had transferred his nugget and dust to the pouch around his neck and he could feel it now, hot against his skin and weighty on the thong. He could hear the sound of the crowds through the heavy curtain that ensured each booth, privacy. In the faint glow of lantern-light, the effect of wine that seemed to flow without end made him lightheaded. Santiago felt happy and wanted.

  When the boys returned to the room, Santiago watched Vincent prepare powder and smoke it from a long-stemmed pipe. The air was filled with a sickening sweet smell that made his head spin. Vincent offered him the pipe.

  “It’s like wine, Santiago. It will make you drunk and you will feel wonderful sensations.”

  Santiago found he did not like the taste but it did not stop him from smoking. The room began to grow warm and the edges of his vision blurred, giving everything a dream-like quality as they became less distinct. Santiago felt himself getting lighter and sometimes he even floated above the room and he found that his limbs acted of their own volition so that they did not move the way he intended, and it sometimes took minutes before they obeyed his brain. His arms seemed unable to stay at his side. His shirt was off and he did not remember having removed it. Some distance away, Vincent was holding it and tossed it in a corner and then came closer and lifted Santiago in his arms. Santiago looked at his friend and although he knew he was being carried, he could not feel Vincent’s hands but he saw the hands attached to arms that stretched across the room to where Vincent had moved. Santiago began to laugh at the illusions and saw his pants being pulled down and he let them come off as he raised his ass to help. His limbs began to blend so that he could no longer tell which was which and therefore was unable to move them. He knew he was on his back and that Vincent was between his legs, but it was the ceiling above his head that commanded his attention. Cobwebs began to grow so that they spread from corner to corner, pulsating wildly. He tried closing his eyes to reduce his creeping fear and found he could see through the lids and he heard voices calling to him and the voices asked for more pain..., and he could not understand why anyone would beg for pain and he realized that his lips moved each time he heard the voice and that it was he who was speaking. He wondered if the sharp aching in his rectum was associated with the pain he was begging for and the face above him held no familiarity as it liquefied and washed across his vision..., yet he knew the face as something familiar..., someone..., many..., the Captain’s..., Fidel’s.... The face was almost against his own as he felt the lips pressing his mouth and a hand moving over his penis and it was his own.... When he looked down between his legs he saw someone plunging in him and the turgid penis kept sliding in and out and he laughed because the body being fucked was not himself even when he knew it was. Santiago watched transfixed as a boy with a knife drew it across a man’s throat and plunged it deeper so the wound opened like a smile and blood poured forth as the head, held to the shoulders by a thin strip of flesh, rolled and bounced each time the cock between his legs plunged into him. Suddenly he was filled by terror so real that he felt himself go stiff as he smelled and felt the blood that drowned him. Somehow he knew that if he smoked more, the visions would go away.

  Santiago had never felt this way and never imagined the world could bend and twist so. He was saying something to Vincent but he could not focus on his words. On the edge of his mind was a concern for the gold, for he knew he was vulnerable and that he had to safeguard it. He had taken the small pouch from his neck when they had first arrived and tucked it into his bag. Somewhere in his mutterings he had asked Vincent if he could be trusted. Intrigued, Vincent had feigned smoking each time they had passed the pipe and plied Santiago with questions of what he had to hide.

  Sometime during the night Santiago thought he had opened his eyes to find Vincent going through his belongings. He knew he shouldn’t sleep but try as he might, he could not stay awake. The morning was a series of vague impressions, bits of awareness that filtered into his brain but could not completely rouse him. A part of him called out for his attention and try as he mig
ht to wake, when he turned on his side he felt as though the movement took forever and that his body was heavy and sluggish as oozing sap.

  Santiago knew he had been in half-sleep for a long time and when the door of the room was flung open, he was able to see the movement of figures all blending together. He watched as the swiftly moving figures tossed and tore through his clothes, throwing things about. Somewhere in the mass of bodies he saw Vincent standing outside the door, pointing and directing the action. Santiago raised himself on one elbow and called out to him. He managed to put both feet on the floor and when he tried to stand, he was slapped across the face so that he fell back into bed. Blood dripped onto his bare chest. He tried focusing to see who these people were and caught sight of the foot that came his way and he was unable to move fast enough to avoid it as it slammed into his face. Then there was sleep..., a deep sleep!

  As long as he kept his eyes closed, darkness was a comfort. But it was impossible to ignore the light. He also could not ignore the pain in his left side. Santiago felt his face swollen and bruised. As he felt his injuries with his fingers, he vaguely recalled the activity of the previous evening. There was a stench all around him and he thought himself about to vomit. His gut went into spasms and the bile came up. He tasted the acidic sputum and smelled the foul aroma of his own retching as he was covered with it.

  Santiago was lying in an alley, the pavement slimy beneath his hands. From somewhere near he heard the sounds of a main thoroughfare. Carefully he tried to rise, supporting his weight against piles of trash and boxes. Although it was daylight, not much of it reached the alley and the fog had begun to drift in from the bay. He knew it had to be late afternoon. Rats edged closer, sniffing. Looking down, he saw his naked foot and realized they had even stolen his shoes. His clothing was soiled and his hands were dirty and bloody. He smelled foul, his hair matted and his mouth so painful that when he began to cry, pain filled his head. Every bone in his body ached. He had thought the episode a dream but the reality of his condition forced him to admit the truth. He had been betrayed!