Thoreau in Love (8 page)

“I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Maybe I should sleep somewhere else.”

“No. Please don’t.”

“Why do you want me to stay?”

Henry shrugged an I don’t know. Ben shook his head, but then climbed to the top bunk, and he and Henry settled under their separate blankets. After what seemed like a year of silence, Ben lowered the wick on the lamp until it was barely burning, and they lay in the dim light, chilled but unmoving. Waves slapped the hull; the ship creaked and, occasionally, shuddered. Finally, Ben broke the silence.

“Henry?”

“Yes?”

“I’m freezing. May I come down there with you?”

“I’d like that,” said Henry, astonished at the words that escaped from his mouth. Ben climbed down from his bunk and nestled in beside Henry, his back to Henry’s front. Whispering, “Hold me tight,” he took Henry’s left arm and pulled it around him. Henry tightened his arm, though keeping space between his crotch and Ben’s buttocks. After a few moments, Ben said, “This is why you wanted me to stay, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” whispered Henry so quietly Ben hardly heard him. Though warmed by Ben’s body, Henry was frozen with fear. Then Susan’s door opened, and a moment later there was a soft knock on their door. Ben crimped up, stifling a laugh. Henry’s heart seemed to stop. He let go of Ben, as if that would make a difference. Oh God, what if she opens the door? Did I bolt it? Think. Think. Yes. I’m sure I did. A louder knock, and a soft, “Henry? Are you awake?” After another long, terrifying silence, Susan’s door shut and was bolted.

Ben and Henry exhaled with relief. Sensing Ben about to say something, Henry shushed him, and realized his lips were at Ben’s ear. Ben turned his head and whispered, “If you don’t want me to laugh, you better hold me tight.” Henry pulled Ben closer. Ben pushed his buttocks backward. “Mmmmmm, feels good,” said Ben.

Panic again. Does he know that’s me? Maybe he doesn’t realize it’s my tree. What if he’s simply being friendly? If he jumps out of bed and leaves, Susan will know. And he’ll never talk to me again.

Henry didn’t move a muscle. Ben moaned and pushed his buttocks firmly against Henry’s hard cock. Henry held his breath for as long as possible and finally let it out slowly, hoping Ben wouldn’t notice. Ben’s breathing became regular. He must have fallen asleep. Henry relaxed. Ben moaned again. Instinctively Henry pulled Ben closer.

Suddenly every part of them was touching—their feet, their arms, their legs, their thighs, Ben’s buttocks and Henry’s crotch, Ben’s back and Henry’s stomach and chest, Ben’s hair and Henry’s cheek. Henry felt alive. This is what I’ve wanted since I first saw him, even if I didn’t know it. This is bliss. This is what I’ve wanted my entire life. But now what? Do I wait for him? Do I do something? Yawning to cover his movement, he brushed his forearm against what he immediately knew was Ben’s bulging crotch. He decided to let Ben make the next move, and remained stock still, his eyes open, waiting, waiting.

Ben’s breathing became gentle, regular. It might have taken a minute or it might have taken an hour for Henry to determine that Ben was, indeed, asleep. Then Henry too fell fast asleep. He woke only in the morning, when Ben stirred and sat up.

4

The lamp, still lit, gave off a dim light. Ben gently pressed two fingers to Henry’s lips, shushed him and whispered, “I wish I could stay but I can’t.” Henry took Ben’s thin body in his hands, but then Ben, slipping out of Henry’s grip, took Henry’s hands, squeezed them warmly and moved to the door, which he cracked open. A shaft of light lit up Ben’s face. Smiling and waving, he stole out the door. Henry sighed and relaxed into his bunk, amazed at how his world had changed.

A couple of minutes later, a bell rang, then rang again after another half minute. Henry stood and opened the door. He found his jacket and went on deck; the air was silver with fog. The sails hung limply, and not a thing stirred, making it seem like they were in a Daguerreotype. The mate was at the wheel. Henry climbed to the poop deck. Behind them—finally, heading west!—an orange globe hung just above the horizon in the gray and blue gloom. Its reflection, an inviting path of yellowy-orange slashes, ran right to the ship, making quite an impression on Henry, who’d never seen anything like it.

“What was the bell for?” asked Henry.

“Fog,” said the mate. “But it’s not so bad as I thought.”

Henry stayed on deck, absorbed by the beauty of the morning. He thought of Ben and how they’d slept in one another’s arms all night, the way he’d slept with John on cold nights. When the sun rose what seemed from there a few inches over the horizon, the fog thinned, the globe yellowed and the water turned to burgundy, and Henry finally understood what Homer meant by the wine-dark sea. While the mate attended to the fishing lines hung over the aft rail, Henry climbed down to the main deck. Ben appeared, checked on tiptoes to see where the mate was, and knelt before Henry. Quietly, he said,

“Being your slave, what should I do but tend

Upon the hours and times of your desire?”

Henry was flattered. No, honored. In fact, he’d never been so honored by anyone. But he was also embarrassed and, more, afraid someone would see. “Ben, get up.” But Henry’s saying that sent Ben more forcefully into his role, as he declaimed,

“I have no precious time at all to spend,

Nor services to do, till you require
.

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour. . . .”

“Please, Ben. What if someone sees us?”

“Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,

Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,

When you have bid your servant once adieu. . . .”

“If someone sees us, they won’t understand.”

“Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
,

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose
,

But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought

Save, where you are, how happy you make those. . . .”

Defeated, Henry let Ben finish.

“So true a fool is love that in your will,

(Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill.”

Extending his hand, Henry said, “Get up, thou servant of mine.” Ben’s lower lip fell into his crescent smile as he rose. Henry said, “You know Shakespeare.”

“I know love.”

“You quote sonnets, you sing like a lark.”

“There’s lots more too,” said Ben.

Henry blushed but was saved from having to respond by Susan’s huffing onto the damp deck and nearly slipping on her derriere. After she recovered, she pointed east and said, “Have you ever seen such a sunrise?”

It was a sight to behold, but not nearly so beautiful as Ben on his knees, declaiming his love. And it didn’t hold a candle to the wine-dark sea Henry had seen just minutes earlier. “No, never.”

“I must tend to the porridge,” said Ben. Then, to Henry: “See you at breakfast, milord.” And he was off.

“Milord?” said Susan.

“He’s being playful,” said Henry. He and Susan stood at the rail, gazing across what by then was clear blue water, but all Henry’s thoughts were on Ben. Ben kneeling before him, holding Ben last night in their bunk. He wished Ben was beside him now, instead of Susan, who said, a bit irritably, “You seem in a daze.”

“I am,” admitted Henry.

“Didn’t you sleep well?”

“No, very well.”

“I knocked on your door, just moments after you went into your room. I wanted to talk to you.”

Henry had forgotten the knock on the door.

“I suppose I went off pretty quickly.”

“I suppose you did. It was nothing important. I was having a difficult time.”

“You look well now. Are you feeling better?”

“I am. My stomach seems to have adjusted.” Susan put her hand gently on Henry’s arm, smiled when he didn’t protest. “Now aren’t you glad we didn’t take those steamy monsters, as you call them? We would already be in New York.”

“Yes, I am. You made the right decision. Even if the steamboat didn’t explode.”

“We don’t know that yet, do we? But speaking of explode, do you know William went broke in the panic of ’37?”

Henry wondered where that came from. “No, I didn’t.”

“He thought he was so smart. Speculating in real estate. I warned him, but would he listen to me? Of course not. I’m a woman. What would I know of real estate? But I saw it so clearly. I read newspapers, I speak with people. Waldo had to bail him out. Thank God for Waldo. He kept food on our table.”

“I’m sure William learned his lesson.”

Susan shook her head. “I wish I weren’t going back.”

For the second time that morning, Henry found himself at a loss for words. He wondered if he was going from Lidian’s frying pan into Susan’s fire. Slowly, in the distance, Nantucket began to emerge from the haze. Finally, Henry said, “Tell me about Staten Island.”

“It’s quite lovely,” Susan began. “Though we’re just across the bay from Manhattan, it’s like another world. We have forests and fields, hoot owls and deer, glorious estates built by the Vanderbilts and van Rensselaers.” Then, as if she were still talking on the same subject, she said, “You’re so lucky to be a man.”

Taken aback, Henry asked, “Are men lucky?”

“You are. We women are like prisoners. Slaves, really. Not that I didn’t wish to marry William. He was handsome, quick-witted, and the best dancer I’d ever met. I was very much in love with him. However, what he promised is not what I got.” Henry, not knowing what to say, said nothing. So Susan went on. “I thought we’d be living in Vienna or Berlin. Instead we’re on dreary Staten Island. Once the ceremony was over, things changed. No longer was I the beautiful Susan he wanted to show the world to, but Mrs. William Emerson. His wife, and then his children’s mother.”

Henry looked at her quizzically. “Is that bad?”

“How could I hope you would understand? You’re a man.”

After breakfast, sailing through a calm Nantucket Sound with an easy breeze up from the south, Ben and Henry went to the bow. After a few moments, Ben said, “Are you all right?’

“I hope this wasn’t a mistake.”

“Last night?”

“No, of course not. Sleeping beside you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Henry flushed when he realized what he’d said, then reiterated, “It’s true. I meant Susan. She confides in me things I don’t want to know. Another Emerson woman who wants to tell me about her sad marriage?”

“I think she wants a love affair with you,” teased Ben. “I see the way she looks at you. And she’s always putting her hand on your arm, like this.” Ben demonstrated.

“Ben, stop, someone will see.”

Ben kept his hand on Henry’s right arm. “Who’ll see, the fishes? No one can see through the sails.”

“But they’ll know.”

“Know what?”

“You know.”

“That I want a love affair with you?”

“Ben.”

“You’re such a chicken.”

“I’m not.”

“Then kiss me.”

“Men don’t kiss men.”

“Why not?”

“Because. Don’t purse your lips like that.”

“I’ve never kissed a man before,” said Ben. “But I want to.”

“You’re cuckoo.”

“You never wanted to kiss Edmund? Or me?”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

“It will now,” said Ben, coyly smiling and dipping his chin. A swell they didn’t see coming lifted the bow. “Whoa, hold on!” They grabbed lines. And down the bow went, into the trough, and though they got soaked by the icy saltwater, they laughed. “Wind’s changing,” said Ben. “You might do better below.”

“No. I’m staying up here, with you.”

Out of Edgartown harbor, a whaler appeared under full sail. Henry said, “Ben, look at that boat.”

“Ship, Henry,” said Ben. “That’s a ship, this is a ship.”

“I know, I know,” said Henry, happily playing along. “This is a ship, to my left is port, because that’s the side you tie to the wharf. Maybe this landlubber better go back to his book.”

“What are you reading?”

“The
Odyssey
on my odyssey,” said Henry.

“Really?” said Ben. “My father read us that. ‘But if you, royal son of Laertes, only knew, down deep, what pains are fated to fill your cup before you reach that shore, you’d stay right here, preside in our house with me and be immortal.’ ”

“You’ve got quite a memory.”

“It was his favorite book. He brought it with him from England.” The captain called for Ben, who said, “Got to go.” Thinking, I’ll get my book later, Henry plopped down in what he considered their cubby in the crook of the bow and watched Ben cross the deck. He watched his long legs stride, his long arms swinging lightly. Ben climbed to the poop, and Henry focused on his butt and how, with each step, long, thin muscle filled out his tight pants. At the top of the steps Ben turned and smiled at Henry, who smiled back and said quietly, “I love everything about you.”

The seas grew to a strong chop, so there was a constant poosh, poosh, poosh as
Dahlia
, with grim determination, plowed through the waves into the channel between Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard, the island that had become wildly wealthy from whaling. Because of the westerly winds, tacking through the narrowing channel was a strenuous activity for all on board. Ben was ordered up the forward mast to watch for shallows, rocks and shoals. They tacked, or sailed at a 45 degree angle to the wind, toward the Cape, then came about, or reversed direction, and tacked 45 degrees to the wind in the other direction, toward Martha’s Vineyard. On each tack, the excitement and fear increased with the speed of the ship, and when the captain gave the order, “Ready about,” there was a palpable prickling, so attuned was the crew, as if
Dahlia
were sailing through dangerous waters on a pitch black night. The mate called “Hard a’lee” and spun the wheel. As
Dahlia
turned sharply into the wind the mains’l, as they called the huge main sail, flailed and flapped with such violence that no other sound could be heard, not the waves smacking the ship, not the wind whistling through the spars, not the captain screaming at the top of his lungs. Though Henry was well out of harm’s way, he cringed and held his ears every time the sail flapped out of control. And as the booms, thick hardwood the size of a small trees, bounced around, the crew grabbed the sail’s sheets, as they called the lines, and prepared for the sail to catch the wind. When it did snap to it flew across the deck with such force that if it caught anyone in its path he would have been dead before he was knocked overboard.