PEG BOY

by Berube, R. G.

  Santiago had difficulty piecing together the order of events. The last clear memory was of seeing his Vincent among the strangers. He knew he had been drugged but he could not believe his friend had been a part of the attack. He recalled Ramón’s warning of men and boys often being kidnapped if found alone and without protection.

  It took some effort to rise from the heap of trash in which he had been tossed. As he moved, pains shot through his body that gave evidence of the degree of his beating. Edging closer to the alley’s entrance he looked onto a gray twilight, laden with confusion and dread. Santiago was not sure what to do, the impact of what had happened superseding his still somewhat-drugged state. He did not understand why it had happened. If someone wanted to rob him they could have done it while he was drugged and asleep. This had been a purposeful attack! A sense of vulnerability overwhelmed him when he realized how little he could do about what had happened. He was most concerned about Vincent and his part in the incident. How easily he had allowed himself to be misled! But there was something he could do! He could find Vincent, administer justice as he had done to those who had abused him in the last few weeks, and reposes his belongings. Would there be anything left?

  Santiago cautiously made his way into town. Avoiding public places and the busy streets, he stayed to the alleys and narrow lanes that wound their way about the waterfront. He found his bearings and located the building where Vincent had brought him to his room. Santiago spent some time watching the entrance from across the street, observing the comings and goings of many boys and men, some of which arrived in expensive liveries. One waited while the driver went in and emerged a few moments later with Vincent following. Santiago watched as they rode north. He waited until the street was clear, then crossed and slipped into the building. Guardedly he climbed the stairs, carefully stepping on the edges, remembering how they had creaked.

  As he reached the top of the landing a door opened somewhere down the corridor. Santiago slipped into a closet before two individuals walked past and descended to the street. The door to Vincent’s room was locked. Santiago went back to the closet and removed a small metal hook with which he pried open Vincent’s door. Santiago found no trace of his belongings in the room as he rummaged through the closet and underneath the bed. He looked into all the drawers and underneath a pair of stockings he found his leather pouch, empty.

  Santiago had no doubt that Vincent had been involved in the robbery and beating. He was crushed that the first friend he had made whom he thought an ally, had deceived him from the start. Although he wanted to confront Vincent, he knew waiting for him would solve nothing as the boy had been but an accomplice to someone with greater influence and power. That culprit would be McIntyre. It was he who had planned the robbery. It was McIntyre whom he had to find!

  Depressed and feeling abandoned, he remembered Vincent’s comments about Wexler and he went where he hoped he could find food and a helping hand. There was no one he recognized at Wexler’s when he arrived. Wexler was behind the counter and he watched Santiago as he came in, trying to recall the face.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  “Si, Señor..., yes, I was with Vincent. We were here yesterday.”

  “I remember! You were the one whose cock was too precious to be touched. Well, it looks as though life had been hard on you since we last saw each other. What do you want?”

  “Por favor, señor..., let me clean myself? I would do work for you for your help and some food. Vincent said you were a kind man. I know no one here but you and Vincent.” Santiago said, displaying himself fully. “I would do whatever you wish...”

  Wexler was surprised by the boy’s condition. He had been so beautiful on the previous day! Now he looked like any other boy found on the streets; dirty and unappealing. Wexler felt sorry for him and assumed Santiago had been beaten by one of his customers, or perhaps had been attacked by The Hounds. The boy looked miserable.

  “Come,” he said, leading Santiago to the small kitchen. “You can wash here. Do not be afraid, clean yourself everywhere, you will not be bothered, I promise! Throw your clothing away. I have a few things that another boy left behind. You can have them.”

  Santiago was left alone. He stripped and poured hot water from the stove into a metal tub. Once it was half full and tepid, he sat in it and felt his muscles begin to relax. He looked at his body and saw numerous bruises, dried blood and vomit everywhere, and he disgusted himself.

  Wexler entered, bringing the clothing. Even thought they were old, they were clean and in good condition.

  “Sit quietly, boy. Here, let me help.”

  Wexler took the soap and sponge and helped Santiago wash places he could not reach. He laughed when he saw alarm on Santiago’s face, assuming Vincent had told him about his love of boys. Now clean, this one was certainly a magnificent specimen!

  “Don’t worry. I'm not going to try anything, at least not now. Maybe some time when you’re feeling better and are in a better mood you can think of repaying me for my kind and generous nature, but for now just relax and let me dry you and accept me as someone wanting to help.”

  Wexler spoke with such unassuming candor that Santiago giggled and nodded that perhaps he would be willing, at another time.

  “Thank you for your kindness, and I will be good to you in return. But for now I must find this man, McIntyre.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe it was he who sent the men after me. They broke into Vincent’s room and stole my things.”

  Santiago noticed Wexler’s expression change from one of interest to one of fear. He shook Santiago by the shoulders.

  “You must promise not to tell anyone you came to me for help. No one! This business is between you and McIntyre. I am not involved! He would be angry if he knew I had helped you.”

  Santiago looked confused. Wexler seemed paralyzed with fear at the thought of retribution from McIntyre.

  “I want to find him. Where can I find him? He stole my things!”

  Wexler began to dry Santiago as he spoke, leading him to a tiny room off the kitchen.

  “Santiago, you must not do this thing. Do not try finding him. He will find you soon enough! What happened was his way of making you realize that you need help and protection. You will need protection in this town, and you could get none better than from McIntyre. Consider whatever you lost, gone. McIntyre will provide for your needs you if you do what he asks.”

  “Thank you for your kindness. I will remember it. And I will say nothing about what you did for me today.”

  Santiago was angered that McIntyre could have his way. Santiago would not be ruled by anyone! He would care for himself and would get back the things that had been stolen. He also would make those who had misled him, pay dearly!

  “I do not need him! I can take care of myself.”

  As Santiago dressed, Wexler had all he could do to keep his hands from ravishing the boy. When Santiago leaned forward to slip into the pants, the lines of his thighs and ass almost were almost too much to resist and Wexler caught himself before he reached out. The boy’s youth and beauty radiated and it would be a terrible waste that it would be squashed or even more probable, that it would be burnt out of him in a matter of a few months.

  Santiago accepted the offer of food. It was the first time he had eaten in almost two days. Wexler brought soup, tortillas and sat watching him eat, his temples throbbing with excitement and desire, but he made no move.

  “I will return Señor. There are things that I must do first. But I will return and then we will do what you would like, with me. Your are kind. I thank you for your help.”

  “Santiago,” Wexler laid his arm across Santiago’s shoulder. “I never force myself on anyone. You need do noting for me if it is not what you wish. I helped you because I wanted to. I am not friendly with McIntyre and if I can do anything to make things difficult for him, then I will. But remember, say nothing about this. He is a dangerous man when angry and he could make things d
ifficult for me. Those damned Hounds seem to be at his beck and call, and they would come down on this place with a vengeance.”

  “I will say nothing. Do you want me to return?”

  Wexler’s eyes narrowed and his face broke into smile, and all at once he seemed like a child with a toy.

  “Of course I want you to come back. I would be a fool to refuse what you offer. Frankly, I can’t wait to hold and caress you and I am excited as we speak, as if you had not noticed!”

  Wexler watched Santiago walk down the alley so not to be seen. It always depressed him to see such beauty turn to waste. This was a sin! The life of a street-boy or brothel-boy was worth nothing to anyone after the merchandise was used or damaged. If a man took a liking to a boy, as sometimes happened, then there might be hope. The man might buy the boy outright from his pimp and take him away from the sources of dissipation. But these circumstances were rare. Most boys slid into degeneracy with no hope of salvation.

  Although Santiago had a strong urge to seek out McIntyre and administer the kind of punishment he had meted out to the men in the hills, he knew this would be more difficult to do, and that it would place him in grave danger. He needed to use caution and good judgment.

  The first time they had met, McIntyre’s eyes had been as black and as fearsome as any he had ever seen and they had looked through him so that he had felt his very soul scrutinized. He remembered how a chill had run through him when their eyes had met. Everyone around him deferred to McIntyre’s every whim. His authority seemed unquestionable.

  More than setting out to find McIntyre, Santiago wanted to find Vincent. When he got to the boy’s room he found it empty. There were no sounds from any of the surrounding rooms and it seemed as though the entire building was deserted. Perhaps they were occupied or those in them were asleep? It was late afternoon and not a time when the boys would be on the street, but more likely resting for the work ahead. Once again Santiago gave the room a careful check to see if anything had been returned. He saw the bed had been slept in recently and there were two soiled towels on the floor which had been used for sex, as they were stiff with dried semen.

  Santiago decided to look for Vincent where he would most likely be conducting his business. As he walked Pacific Street toward Kearney, he noticed many men standing about who looked at him with animosity. Santiago avoided them and kept his eyes ahead, crossing Kearney and walking on the western side. The neighborhood was one of vice and corruption, a place of opium dens hidden in dark cellars and rooms for rent by the minute or hour. Devil’s Acre was a retreat to any who wanted sex and drugs, and a favorite hangout for The Hounds, and was not policed.

  Fog filled the Bay. The sun had begun to set. Night would bring the cold and he wondered where he could sleep. Santiago folded his arms for warmth. Perhaps Vincent had much less to do with the troubles, and would share his room? He might return to Wexler and exchange sex for a warm bed. Nearing the doorway where he had first seen Vincent, Santiago looked behind him and along the street, but Vincent was no where to be seen. It was then that he noticed a man watching him. When Santiago moved, the man followed. As he stepped into a doorway to avoid a strong gust of wind, the man came up and stood nearby. Santiago said nothing as he observed the man’s actions. When the man fondled himself and made an inviting gesture, Santiago undertood. He thought of his lost coat, his gold, and the prospects of a cold night. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to earn a few dollars for a cheap room. Santiago nodded back.

  “You are available?” The man looked nervous. “I would like to buy some time with you.”

  Santiago stepped closer to him. The man was not old and although he was not attractive, he was not so terrible. The fact that he already had an erection was evident.

  “You will pay me...” Santiago had to think of what Vincent had charged. “You will pay me twenty dollars!”

  “Do you have a place to sleep tonight,” the man asked as though he already knew the answer.

  “Why? Do you want me to stay with you?”

  The man extended his hand. “Yes, please stay the night! My name is Gabriel..”

  Santiago took the man’s hand. He seemed friendly and spoke softly and his smile made him less suspect. Santiago began to warm to the man but remembered what had happened the last time he had placed trust in someone with a friendly smile.

  “You will need to pay first.”

  Gabriel looked at Santiago for a long time.

  “You are a man of business! Let us get down to it because I am also a man of business. You are out at this hour with clothing that tells me you have little. Perhaps you have nothing! What I have for you is ten dollars, a warm bed, and a heavy coat you can have in the morning when you leave, after you have breakfast with me. Certainly all this is worth more than twenty dollars! My ship is in the harbor and the shipment of flour that I have brought from Valparaiso has not yet been stamped by the government agent. I have not yet been able to sell the cargo. My money is tied up for the time being. Is what I am offering. Is this acceptable?”

  Santiago thought the offer more than just.

  “I will go with you. I will stay the night and you give me the coat in the morning. But I want my money now!”

  Gabriel laughed as he reached into his pocket and withdrew several silver pieces, one of which he gave to Santiago.

  “You have not told me your name. What shall I call you?”

  “It is Santiago. I am Peruvian.”

  Gabriel understood the code of street boys, that questions asked were often ignored. Yet he was curious about the beautiful boy who seemed far removed from what he was doing.

  “How long have you been here, Santiago?”

  The boy remained evasive, saying only that he had come from the south. In the few days since his arrival Santiago had seen three hangings in public places, two men and a boy, and all had been of Spanish descent. The code of justice in this new land was swift and much too selective of culture! He felt unsafe and knew divulging too much could only lead to his own demise.

  “You are buying me for pleasure, Gabriel. That is all I wish to give you. My life and past are my own.”

  “Well said, boy! I will ask few questions. But perhaps you will allow me the luxury of asking your age? I would be especially excited to know that. I am very fond of young boys.”

  It was then that Santiago remembered the birthday that had come and gone while he had been with his father in the hills. Neither had remembered. Santiago had turned thirteen. So much had happened that there had been little time for the remembrance of birthdays. Santiago smiled to himself as he recalled Don Emilio’s poor memory for these kinds of events, having left the recollection of celebrations to his wife.

  Surprise celebrations had always delighted Santiago, but now the date that had once brought him so much joy, brought him only sadness. He did not want to think about his birthday or of what they might have been doing on that day.

  “I am thirteen, Señor. I am a man!”

  Gabriel snickered, nodding affirmatively. “It certainly would appear that parts of you are those of a man’s. Come. My ship is this way.”

  It was one of the last moorings at the end of a wharf. The ship was small and it set deeply in the water, the cargo making it rock laboriously with the swell of the tide.

  “There is no one about,”

  Gabriel led Santiago up the gangplank and unlocked the heavily fortified door that led below.

  “Where is everyone?” Santiago heard no noise, not even in the bowels where there was always someone sleeping or working.

  “The crew deserted when we landed. They have all gone to the hills. You saw the other ships along the wharf? All but two have been abandoned. They will stay there until they rot or are taken over by the harbor master and sold at auction for the lumber. Hold this...,”

  Gabriel handed Santiago a lantern as he struck a match. The cabin was gloomy, with little furniture and all the shelves were empty. There were the remains of several me
als left on dirty plates, still on a table. There was a disturbing aroma that seemed to be coming from the interior of the ship, and from several piles of soiled clothing heaped about the room. Gabriel saw how Santiago sniffed the air with displeasure.

  “Throw open the ports to air the cabin while I get us something to drink. I have not been here for several days, as you can see. It needs cleaning.”

  Santiago went about the room opening all four ports. Gabriel gathered the soiled clothing and threw it outside the door. He took down a bottle of brandy and poured two glasses. Handing one to Santiago, he began to undress. The boy did the same. Before the glasses were empty, they were in each other’s arms. Gabriel had a firm body and Santiago enjoyed the feel of him, his eyes closed with fantasies drifting with the taste of brandy that allowed his visions to run wild. Santiago became aroused and allowed Gabriel what he wanted. The moment and place recalled his pleasures with Captain Alvarez.

  When finished, Gabriel filled the glasses again and they went up on deck for fresh air. The wind had cleared the fog and they could easily see the lights of a village on the other side of the bay. And on the wind they heard the sound of screams and gunfire that punctuated the night, evidence of the violence that was so prevalent.

  “Why do people hate each other so, here?”

  Santiago had asked it less as a question than as a statement of his feelings.

  “All seem forever looking for reason to take affront. Never have I seen such hate in people’s eyes! Why do the people fight so with each other?”