PEG BOY (14 page)

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.

S
antiago
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 Francis 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.