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Authors: R. G. Berube

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BOOK: PEG BOY
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Don Emilio
watched his son’s face as he spoke. Wonder and rage interchanged.

“Santiago, why
do you look so? There is nothing here to hold us but memories of pain and
sorrow. There, we will have a chance to see the world and seek out adventure.”

Carlota
observed how her son took the news, his fists clenched and the veins at his
temples, bulged. There was a fire in his eyes as he looked at Don Emilio and
then to Santiago, whose eyes were filled with tears. He had said nothing to
Fidel, thinking if nothing were spoken the reality of it might not come true.
Santiago looked at Señora Timuco with a pleading in his eyes that tore at her
heart. But she could do nothing. It was not her business to get involved in
this family affair. The boy would need to do his father’s bidding and she
thought that perhaps the event had been sent by God to discourage the boys from
continuing their relationship. Perhaps this was the best thing? Carlota Timuco
kept her own counsel.

Santiago’s
expression changed from a determined anger to one of pleading. Don Emilio took
his son’s face between his hands and looked deeply into his eyes.

“Santiago you
must understand. I
need
to do this thing. We must work together as a
team. Please do not put obstacles in my path and make this difficult! It will
be a wonderful opportunity for you as well, and an adventure that you will not
forget.”

How little
each realized the import of this prophesy!

Santiago
looked to his lover and friend, who encompassed all that he had learned and
experienced having to do with friendship and fidelity, of love expressed in the
most wondrous ways. How could he be without Fidel? The thought of not being
able to touch him and take him into himself made him weak. Santiago wanted to
ask Fidel to come with him but that was out of the question for he knew Fidel
would not leave his mother. And to suggest the thing would be to place his
friend in the impossible position of having to choose between the two he loved
with equal force. Beneath the dread of lost love he sensed a twinge of
excitement for the oceans yet to sail and for the new lands and people yet to
meet. He thought of the town of which Padre Lipolito had spoken, remembering
the almost unbelievable stories. How could so much be found in one place?
Santiago weighed these things in his mind and saw the pictures of his fantasy.
He weighed in the balance the feeling of love for Fidel.

His loyalty
teetered and he felt caught in a trap, stricken with the sense of treachery
against Fidel and it frightened him. Could he put aside this emotional bond and
commitment to pursue such an unknown quantity? To whom did he owe allegiance?
If he remained would Don Emilio still go?
Could
he remain without his
father’s consent? Should he run away and later return to his lover? Did he
want
to run?

Carlota
understood the war waging in Santiago. Don Emilio needed his son and she could
see the boy was reluctant to do his bidding. She felt a need to step in to urge
the boy to support his father.

“Santiago...,”
Señora Timuco’s eyes were gentle and her smile, kind. She had taken great pains
to soothe him in the loss of his mother. She had given him counsel. He listened
to her.

“Little
One...,” Carlota used the term she had heard her son often use for him.
“Friendships that have value and which are based on love are not worn away by
time or distance. In an absence, the depth of a friendship may deepen more and
surely it will grow in strength. It is a son’s duty to follow his father and my
son will not stand in your way. You must make the correct decision. Fidel, you
agree?”

Fidel was
stunned and in pain. He had never refused her before. Words failed him. He
could not disagree with her. He knew her reasoning was the truth. Yet he felt
this agreement with her would be treachery to his love; an insult to the
emotion he felt so deeply for the slight boy who sat beside him. He looked at
the boy’s fingers as they twisted the straps of his sandals in frustration. He
observed Santiago’s long lashes, his eyes downcast in tears. His long, curled
hair glistened in the fire’s glow and he imagined not being able to hold the
boy’s head in his lap as he ran his fingers through Santiago’s hair. He thought
of not being able to touch those wonderful lips, pained now with anguish. How
would he do without Santiago’s wonderful reactions to those times when he
entered him? What could he say? To what use would his objections be if it could
not prevent Santiago from leaving him? Fidel looked from Don Emilio to his
mother, and then to Santiago.

“To say that I
want you to go would be a lie. You know well how I feel! And you know how I
will feel when we are no longer together. There is one thought that prevents me
from asking you not to go – it is that I will go to you when I can, or that you
will return to me. We
will
see each other again, I promise you! You must
help you father in what he must do, but we
will
reunite!”

As he spoke
Fidel felt the words choke in his throat and tears began to stream down his
cheeks. He swallowed and the pain in his heart was sharp. As he spoke, Santiago
faced him. The boys looked intensely at each other. Fidel threw caution aside
and reached for Santiago’s hand and brought him out of his chair. Fidel took
him in his arms and held him tightly. With his lips near Santiago’s ear, he
whispered…

“I love you!”

Fidel turned
and ran from the room. Santiago took after him, leaving Don Emilio and Carlota
Timuco transfixed, stunned at what they had just witnessed. Santiago called to
Fidel as he ran up the road trying to catch up to his friend. When Santiago had
run past his father who had reached out to catch his son’s arm, Carlota’s hand
had stopped him.

“Let them go,”
she urged. “They must find their own peace in this thing.”

“But why is
your son so upset with this? He seems more distraught than necessary. There is
something peculiar about all this. I had not realized how deep this friendship
had become!”

Carlota’s
words were barely audible. She felt the boys’ sadness and understood the pain
that was going to be felt as a result of the separation.

“A friendship
such as they have, is not common. It is a rare one. You must do what you must
do, Don Emilio. But you must understand your son is willing to pay a very dear
price to abide by your wishes and remain faithful to you!”

Don Emilio sat
waiting, watching the road. Two hours passed before he saw Santiago walking
back disheveled; his face streaked with tears. Santiago’s eyes were swollen and
Don Emilio’s heart swelled with compassion. He walked to meet Santiago and drew
the boy into his arms.

“Father...,”
the boy sobbed, unable to finish.

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

 

 

o
n
the evening before departure Santiago and Fidel spent the hours in embrace.
Little was said. Words were avoided as they would bring tears. The boys
concentrated on remembering the sensations of skin against skin and the scent
each found enticing and erotic. Each touch resulting in a response and
reaction. Santiago tried to remember everything that transpired so that there
would never be a total separation between them.

Santiago loved
Fidel with such force and tenderness that life without him seemed impossible to
imagine. Yet somewhere in his being flowed the spirit of adventure that had been
an ancestral inheritance, one that had been responsible for their departures
and explorations of uncharted regions that opened the Western World to new
habitation. This sense of adventure pressed him onward and made him feel guilty
for contemplating the desertion of his friend and lover, Fidel Timuco. For this
reason, Santiago remained depressed for many days after departure and nothing
seemed to be able to lift his spirit. Those final hours together saw each
giving the other all that was possible to give. They entered each other many
times and each left the other with a part of himself that bonded
unquestioningly.

Their final
embraces saw the dawn breaking over the eastern ridges of the Andes, forcing
Santiago to leave before his father could notice that he had been gone all
night. Neither spoke, their love having been pledged with passion. They held
hands and they walked to the milepost where the road forked. Fidel watched his
lover recede in the distance toward the rise of road where the Cali
hacienda
stood and wondered if it was the last he would see of Santiago, as he
disappeared in the mist of the early mooring. Fidel sat by the road and cried.

 

Early on
Saturday, the 16th of January, father and son loaded the few remaining
possessions which had not been sold and drove the cart to the village to obtain
a blessing from Padre Lipolito. The priest had given Don Emilio a letter of
introduction addressed to Padre Juan Carlos, in San Francisco.  He had traveled
to Lima a few days before leaving, where he had been introduced to a sea
captain who was purchasing goods for transport to the central countries and
northern regions. Don Emilio signed the agreement for passage for a fraction of
the cost of the voyage, having volunteered himself and his son as carpenters
for the length of the journey. The captain felt fortunate to have such skilled
craftsmen, as the ship’s carpenter had deserted him for the prospects of gold
when they had been in San Francisco. It was common for entire crews to desert ships
that anchored there. Some vessels never got unloaded after crews and captains
alike became prisoners to the lure of treasure in the hills.

Entering Lima
always amazed Santiago because the city’s blend of smells and sounds. The scent
of the ocean had a distinct sharpness in the salt-tinged breezes that brought
the ocean inland. He saw seabirds circling the bazaars and marketplaces, the
largest of which was
La Plaza de Armas
. Most of the streets and alleys
still showed signs of the recent quake. People slept wherever shelter from the
elements could be found. As they passed along the road, some ran toward them
with hands outstretched, begging for scraps of food or a few pesos. Santiago
would have given them the few coins he had, had he not been instructed by his
father to ignore the beggars.

The streets
were filled with children, many of whom looked undernourished. As they passed
through the city Santiago saw boys of his age and the hardness in their faces
burned into his memory. He would recall these faces in the months to come when
he would meet a different group of young boys who roamed the streets of a
different city, for different reasons. For now it was enough to avoid the
continued jeering of those they brushed against or pushed aside.

One pair of
eyes he saw stood out from the rest, forcing him to remember the last moments
of the previous evening with Fidel, when he had looked into his eyes and had
seen love and sadness. Santiago was awed by the depth and intensity of the
speech of eyes. When he returned his attention to boy in the street who so
moved him, he could not find the one who has so thoroughly penetrated his soul
and he wiped his eyes, hoping Don Emilio had not noticed the tears. He knew his
father was wondering how long it would be before he changed his mind and
insisted on returning to Santa Cecilia.

Don Emilio had
noticed the spark or excitement and inquisitiveness; the curiosity that
Santiago had shown for the new endeavor and prayed to the Virgin that the boy
would become caught up in the adventure as much as himself.

“Father, who
is this man with whom we are to sail? You have said little about him.”

Don Emilio was
happy for the opportunity to talk. “His name is Captain Alvarez. He sails along
the coast regularly to buy and sell goods. He told me that in the last few
sailing’s there have been thousands who have done what we are doing. The
Captain said he thought we were taking a great risk, but that the gold was well
worth the effort.

“He can be
helpful to us, Santiago. He knows many people in San Francisco. We should try
to make him our friend.”

“I promise I
will try, father. When will we sail?”

“We leave from
Callao. Captain Alvarez hopes to have the vessel loaded and ready by Wednesday
morning if the tide is good.”

“Father, what
will we do if we have good fortune and find some of this gold? Will we return
to Santa Cecilia?”

 Don Emilio
moved closer to his son. He held the reigns with one hand and put an arm around
his son’s waist.

“You would
want to come back to Peru?”

“I would have
no reason to stay there once we found the gold. We would be rich. We could live
well, could we not?”

“Indeed, son,
we could live well! But first we must work very hard to find our riches. I have
talked to some men who have been there. They tell me that becoming wealthy is
something that only happens to a few.”

Don Emilio
watched his son as they rode. The boy’s hair had been cut shorter, having
forfeited the beautiful curls for a more manly style. Santiago’s face had
become leaner since the quake and his mother’s death. His hands were bruised
and callused from the heavy work they had done in preparation. Don Emilio
looked more closely at Santiago’s hands and was proud of their strength, yet
the fingers were long and delicate. These were the hands of an artisan and he
felt guilty of depriving his son of the time he could have used to refine his
skills. He saw a determination that would lead to success, in the boy’s eyes,.
For a fleeting moment Don Emilio had a frightening premonition that he would
never see his son achieve the hopes he held for him and fought an overpowering
urge to turn back and abandon his plans, but then dismissed the foreboding as a
sign of lack-of-faith; a weakness!

 

Plaza de
Armas
formed a wide expanse of openness flanked by the majesty of the
Governor’s Palace on its western side, and the cathedral on the north. The
lateness of the hour caused the setting sun to cast a golden hue against its
masonry so that it looked as though made of the precious metal for which they
had given up everything to find. Tall spires threw long shadows across the
plaza, the ornate stonework made even more elaborate by the lighting.

Santiago was
intrigued by the contrasts of the people he saw walking about. The time for
siesta was ended and the streets had become alive with movement Don Emilio
thought it bad luck not to stop and say a prayer for their success. He paid an
old man to stand with the cart while they went in. Near the entrance, Don
Emilio pointed to the tomb of the famous explorer, Pizarro, whose bones were
alleged to be in the sepulcher. It had been Pizarro who had opened the area to
domination by the Spanish throne. Entering the cavernous interior, Santiago was
awed by the richness and luxury of the church. The aroma of incense and beeswax
from a myriad of candles that had been lit in front of a profusion of statues,
assaulted his senses and he felt himself in another world.

The columns
and arches dwarfed them and only the larger-than-life statues prevailed in the
church’s hugeness. Windows filtered the light with a variety of colors as the
pattern of each tiny piece of leaded, stained glass was magnified against the
floor. The cathedral’s opulence made him wonder why so much of what surrounding
neighborhood reflected poverty and wretchedness. He found it hard to breathe
and wanted to run out into the light and fresh air where he could regain the
sense of freedom he felt had left behind upon entering the church.

The air was
stifling. His father was deep in thought or prayer. Santiago turned to the
cross that loomed above his head and had to step back and strain to see its
entirety. The corpus was nailed to it with huge spikes that appeared
unnecessarily large. Great care had been given to detail and Santiago saw
immediately the wonder in the piece, and he saw its brutality. The
Christ-figure was twisted in pain and marked with the bruises of its flagellation.
A cruel wound in the side bled, trailing blood along its hip and flank. The
eyes were turned upward and inward, with the whites visible as though the figure
were attempting to see the crown of thorns that had been set on its head, from
which ran rivulets of blood carefully painted to flow down the face and
shoulders.

Santiago was
weakened by a churning in his stomach, repulsed by the gore of the piece. Yet
he could not deny its heightened sexuality as he stared at the tensed and
straining muscles of the thighs and stomach and its loincloth seductively
draped. The statue had been carefully crafted to show an expression of ecstasy
on its face, almost as though the Christ-figure were in the throes of an erotic
experience. Santiago had seen similar expressions of intensity and excitement
in Fidel when he had reached orgasm.

“Santiago,
what is wrong with you? You look about ready to faint!”

Don Emilio
caught his son as the boy’s legs gave way. Santiago turned and faced the rear
of the church so as not to see the awful sight any longer.

“It is that!” 
He pointed over his shoulder, to the cross.

“Do not look
at it, then. Look over there to the beautiful carvings along the ceiling. You
could do work as fine as that!”

Santiago could
not be persuaded to ignore the fact that almost all the faces on the statues
and those of the people in the murals reflected sadness, despair, fear and
terror. Only the faces of the baby angles showed happiness.

They knelt and
prayed. Santiago asked forgiveness for his sins and for good fortune on the
coming journey. He asked Santa Cecilia to give Fidel her protection and keep
him well, and for her intercession in their return.

 

The cart made
its way along the narrow streets and its wheels scraped the sides of buildings.
Don Emilio guided them carefully until he found the merchant to whom he had
consigned the supplies they had brought. The man followed them with a list in
hand and checked all items against those listed. He counted the money
carefully, laying each bill in the palm of Don Emilio’s hand and asked that the
voucher be signed. The cart was sold with the rest.

On their way
to the inn they walked past the many shops windows in which Santiago saw things
he had not noticed on his previous journeys. With Fidel, he had always gone
directly to the inn and they had spent all the time together, in the room.
Seldom had they ventured far in the city, not willing to give up their time to
anything but their lovemaking. So for Santiago, this journey was almost like
his first.

Each carried
his own bundle of clothing and a few personal items that would need for the
night. All other possessions had been packed in a large trunk that the merchant
had agreed to deliver to the ship on the following day.

Don Emilio and
his son arrived at the inn by nightfall. The innkeeper offered a warm hearth
and hot broth when he saw that they were chilled by the cold dampness of the
evening. After the meal, they were taken to the room they would share. Santiago
fell asleep as soon as he lay down. Don Emilio, seeing his son safely tucked
into bed, decided to go back to the cantina and drink a little wine to help him
sleep.

After his
father left Santiago opened his eyes, aware of familiar smells and sounds of
the world outside his window, recalling the same sensations at other times when
his lover had laid by his side and he was filled with a sense of overwhelming loneliness.
He refused to relent to the tears and forced his mind to see Fidel’s face and
wondered what he might be doing at the same moment. His hand traveled to the
hardness between his legs and he recalled the many times they had made love.
After he felt the urge and the thrill spread throughout his loins, the orgasm
subsided and without awareness, he fell asleep.

Don Emilio
entered the room some time later to find the lantern’s glow illuminating the
naked body of his son and he saw his son for the first time, in new light.
Santiago’s hand still clasped his penis and dried semen covered his legs and
stomach. Don Emilio stood quietly looking at him. The boy was beautiful – more
beautiful than he had realized. Santiago had lost the excessive flesh of youth and
his body had hardened. He was surprised at the size of Santiago’s penis as it
had not occurred to him that his son had reached manhood so soon. He saw that
Santiago was capable of experiencing emission and he thought back to the time
of his own boyhood when he had done the same thing. Don Emilio carefully
brought the covers over his son’s body and touched his cheek with his lips.
Santiago awoke barely enough to realize his father had returned and moved to
make room for him in the bed. Santiago snuggled closer, laying his head on his
father’s arm and with great comfort, drifted off to sleep once more.

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