Dream Boy (8 page)

“All
right.”

The
easy conversation continues through another beer. Randy and Roy talk about the
deer hunting season and baseball. They agree that baseball is a better game
than football. Burke would be playing football except the team is mostly black
and his dad won't let him play with blacks. The night rises full of sound,
cities of crickets in one long ululation. Nathan watches the beer changes in
Roy's face, the slow relaxation of facial muscles, the heaviness of eyelids.
Randy tells a story about a girl from Hoon Holler who is supposed to be pretty
much of a whore, who will do it with anybody. Might as well stick your hand in
a cow pussy as that, Burke says. And Roy agrees and they all laugh.

But the
conversation excludes Nathan. What is curious is that the fact seems implicit
in the circumstances, as if they all understand that Nathan will not
participate, that Nathan has nothing to do with talk about a girl of easy
virtue in Hoon Holler. He has only to add the smallest of laughs at the
appropriate moment. He comes from another world than the one in which these
boys live. He sometimes inhabits the same world as Roy, but right now it's hard
to tell. There follows a round of talking about girls in mechanical ways, about
how to slide your hands into a brassiere, or how many fingers a girl will let
you put inside her thing. There is the round of talking about cars. Randy asks
if Roy's dad still has that same John Deere tractor, and Roy says he bought a
new Allis Chalmers.

So
finally they all agree they might see each other later at the Holler. Burke
cranks the truck and Randy climbs to the passenger side. Roy and Nathan watch
them disappear down the road. Roy crushes his beer can in his hand,
meticulously, till the flat ends are joined in a thin disk. He tosses the
weight a long way into the woods.

“That
was all right.” Peering at Nathan. 'Wished I had another one."

“I
thought you had some more.”

“Naw.
I'm out.” Roy leans on the car. Mumbling the words of some song, across
the top of the car to Nathan. “I like to swim in that river. You'll like
it too, when I teach you how.”

“Is
your girlfriend named Evelyn?”

Have
the crickets ever sung so loud before? Roy seems to be asking this with his
sudden astonished look of listening. Opening the car door, swinging it outward
slowly, he says, “Yeah. I told you that.”

The
assertion dies in the air between them. Nathan eases himself into the passenger
seat. Roy's weight settles into place behind the steering wheel.

“I
was only asking.”

“It's
okay.” Roy starts the car, looking straight ahead. The car rolls forward.

They
follow the course of the river along the road, tall pines looming over them.
Darkness drinks the headlights. Nathan finds it hard to talk, for the first
time. Roy asks, “Are you okay?”

“I'm
fine.”

“You're
not talking much.” “I'm just quiet. That's all.” “Are you
having a good time?” “Yes.”

“You
want to go somewhere now? You want to go to a movie? I don't mind.”

But Roy
drives instead, down Island Creek Road to Catfish Lake, then back to the
millpond and along the quiet streets of Potter's Lake, then along another road
behind Riggs town. Roy parks the car at the end of a dead-end fork. Abrupt
silence when the motor dies. Trees press close on all sides. Roy sits tensely,
gripping the steering wheel as if the car still moves. Nathan waits. Roy's
knuckles whiten. He faces Nathan as if with much effort. “You mind?”

“What?”

“Coming
out here.”

Nathan
slides across the car. He can smell Roy's sweetish breath. Their faces are
close and their bodies aware of each other again.

“No,
I don't mind.”

“We
can go to a movie sometime too.” Where words were easy before, they
suddenly come hard. Roy blushes and seems terribly confused. Nathan wonders if
he is remembering the conversation about Evelyn. “I ain't trying to hurt
anybody,” Roy says. “You don't hurt anybody”

Roy is
searching for something now, and Nathan waits. Finally, in a jerky motion, Roy
leans forward and kisses Nathan on the mouth. The kiss is wet and cool. A
sweetness fills Nathan. Roy waits. Their cheeks are almost brushing.
“Touch me,” Roy says.

Nathan
slides his hands around Roy's neck. Their hearts are pounding now, they can
feel the acceleration. The choruses of night insects rise around the car, high
pitched, almost frantic.

Suddenly
Nathan feels older than Roy, and from within him comes some force in answer to
Roy's fear. He moves with surety, kissing Roy's face, reaching for Roy's shirt,
making each motion easy and gentle, what he understands will answer Roy's need.
Nathan leads Roy quietly in the car. The passenger cabin offers the most
protection they have ever had.

It is a
gamble. Nathan must never reach for too much, he has learned better. The trick
is to gain access to the knowledge he has stored inside, without remembering
how it got there. To move in a way he knows will please Roy without revealing
the knowledge, which has a source. The motion of their bodies becomes a
balancing act. They have abandoned most of their clothes and Roy is lost in the
sensation of Nathan. Nathan has been kissing Roy's cock with his mouth but then
rises over it and presses it against his buttocks. Roy groans in surprise as
Nathan guides him inside and they finish in violence, straining and sour. They
lie quietly on the seat and Nathan feels the difference. Then Roy's confusion,
his anger. Nathan comes back into his body. Roy watches him with a kind of
horror and suspicion.

There
is a deadly pause.

“Who
taught you how to screw like that?”

Nathan
tries to draw away, but Roy grips his arms. “Where did you learn? Answer
me. Who have you been screwing like that?”

Nathan
remains too stunned to answer and shakes his head. Roy takes deep breaths, a
savage look in his eyes. His grip on Nathan's arm tightens. “Nobody taught
me,” Nathan says.

“You're
lying.”

“No,
I'm not.”

Roy
raises his hand and Nathan flinches, cowers suddenly. Roy sees the hand and the
recoil. He studies Nathan as if for the first time. As if he has never known
Nathan before.

They
dress in silence. Roy starts the car again, and they head for home. Nathan
studies the stars through the window. The broken place inside him aches now.
Roy will not speak to him because Roy thinks he is nasty. There can be no
question of Roy's judgment. Amidst so much turmoil the other memories are hard
to contain but Nathan manages well enough, until he remembers his mother's
voice from the afternoon, Stay out of your dad's way tonight. A little fear
seizes him and he reaches for Roy again, in his mind at least Roy who feels,
even now, like protection.

Near
the farms again Nathan says, “Roy” Roy shakes his head, refuses to
speak. “Roy. Please.”

He
parks the car in its usual place under the walnut tree. In the protection afforded
by the tree shade they watch each other.

Something
unexpected. Roy is crying.

From
Nathan's house come sounds. A light on the back porch. The screen swings open,
and a dark broad shadow waits there.

A
silence like winter cools Nathan's gut.

Whether
Roy is watching now hardly matters. Whether he understands, or ever will.
Nathan says good night and gets out of the car. He heads across the dark yard
toward the porch light and the shadow of his father, waiting.

Nathan
hurries past the bruising bulk of Dad, who watches him enter but says nothing.
Mom is seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of her but
refuses to meet his eye. She says her tiniest good night, aiming her voice into
the cup.

Nathan
tries to round the table to climb the stairs. But Dad turns and faces him. His
eyes are bloodshot and his puffy cheeks are shadowed with heavy beard.
“Hey Nathan.”

“Hey
Dad.”

“You
don't want to speak to your dad, do you?” “I said hey.”

Dad
steps toward him and he retreats, slides past Mom and to the stairs. Dad has
frozen in place. Mom is raising the coffee cup.

“Good
night,” Nathan says.

“Good
night,” she answers.

“Good
night, Dad.”

He runs
up the stairs. He tries to get his breath.

He says
good night to the window across the hedges. He goes to bed with his clothes on
in case he has to run. He lies in bed with blankets up to his chin.

He
expects trouble falling asleep but dozes at once. He seems to sleep deeply for
a long time, then wakes with a start. There is a light in the hallway. It is
very late in the night.

From
the hall outside the door a voice says, “Nathan.” Nathan's heart
stops, then pounds. Nausea washes through him. He lies perfectly still with his
eyes closed. The shadow of his father falls through the door.

“Did
you have a good time when you went out tonight, Nathan?” The sound of
something sliding against the wall. The speech is slurred, but still distinct.
“I'm talking to you, Nathan. I know you're awake. I saw your eyes come
open. Did you have a good time tonight?”

Still
silence.

“You
better answer me or I'm coming in there.” “Yes, sir. I had a good
time.” Soft. “Your mom was the one who said it was all right for you
to go out. It wasn't me. I don't like it.” “Yes, sir.”

If I
close my eyes. If I do not see. Again the sound of sliding. Something against
the wall. Closer this time.

“Where
did you boys go?” “Swimming. At the river.”

“Did
you go swimming too?” “No, sir.”

“That's
right. You don't know how”

A deep
breath. The shadow moves. If I close my eyes.

“I'm
glad you had a good time.” Silence. Softness of air against the window.
“Open your eyes. Nathan. Look at your Dad.”

“I'm
sleepy.”

“Open
your eyes.”

Mom
whispers from the stairs. Her voice contains a familiar high pitched edge.
Nathan remembers the sound, which he has not heard in this new house.
“Harland. Harland. What are you doing up there?”

“I'm
talking to Nathan.” The sliding stops.

“Come
to bed. Leave Nathan alone. He's tired.”

“Let
me check on Nathan. I'll be back down there in a little while.”

“You
promised me you wouldn't bother him.” The note of hysteria rising.

“I
told you it's all right. I'm checking on him to see if he had a good
time.” In the silence there is his coarseness of breathing, the sour smell
of his body. Then retreating. “You shouldn't let him go out like that. He
ought to come to church with us.”

“He
can go with us to church on Sunday. Come on downstairs.”

Slowly,
the sense of Dad's presence fades. When Nathan opens his eyes the room is
empty.

Beneath
the blankets he shivers. Moonlight flows through the window. Nathan listens
till the house is silent He slips out of bed, creeping across the floor. Till
morning he sits at the window, never closing his eyes.

As soon
as the sun comes up, he hurries out of the house, stealing bread and a can of
macaroni O's from the cupboard. He heads to the Kennicutt graveyard and sits
there through the long Saturday, never moving beyond the silent graves.

His
sense of time alters, and the day seems eternal. He has brought some of his
schoolbooks and does homework in the morning, though in the chilly air he can
only write for a certain length of time before he needs to warm his hands. From
the high vantage of the cemetery he can see the whole shore of the pond, and he
feels safe there at first. He holds his schoolbooks in his lap and scans the
dark breadth of the pond. The world of Saturday morning, silent, unfurls.

Flocks
of grackles descend like clouds coming down out of clouds, landing in the pecan
orchard beyond the cemetery. The chorusing of their voices continues through
the morning, an early flock, not much in a hurry, rooting through the leaves
and branches for pecans that have fallen to the ground. The trees have begun to
lose leaves, the green draped branches of summer have thinned and are lifted
lighter. Even later in the morning when the sun does a better job of warming
things, even then there persists the hint of autumn deepening.

He
reads about the geography of Argentina, how the gauchos ride the pampas green
and wide. He reads the history of the building of the pyramids by uncountable
thousands of slaves. He reads about a boy who tries out for a baseball team,
finds a hidden talent for pitching, and leads his team to a state championship.
This last book he borrowed from the school library because he wanted to learn
something about baseball, back in the long ago when it seemed to matter that he
learn more about things like that. He knows that this feeling pertains to Roy
in some way but he does not examine the link too closely, he reads the book in
a dreamy way through early afternoon.

The
presence of Roy is strong in the graveyard. Nearby is the place of the cherub,
where Roy and Nathan lay on the ground. A long time ago this happened. Even
now, the memory makes Nathan feel safe. But all his thoughts move distantly,
and he cannot sustain any feeling; he reads and pauses, he breathes and stares
at the ground. When he reads, the boy in the story is Roy, and that makes the
book, too, move distantly, images far in the background. Roy absents himself
from the scene. As if he were a dream, now dissolving.

Once,
in the afternoon, Nathan returns to the house, tiptoeing across the back porch
and through the open door. Mom lurks in the kitchen like a shadow. Dad's
cigarette smoke curls in the motionless air, drifting from the direction of the
living room. The weight of his presence drags Nathan as if toward orbit. Mom
asks, silently, Where have you. been? Will you come home? Nathan eats the lunch
of soup and crackers, answers, silently, I won't tell you where I am because
you might tell him. The softness at the center of her face houses her pain. But
she accepts the silence and turns away, and Nathan, hearing the heavy footfall
of his father, hurries to the yard again.