Hot Valley (31 page)

I drank a little from the spring. It was good water, bubbling up clean and fresh from the ground. Just a few yards away, the stream would be polluted, but here it seemed like a miraculous gift.

Drinking made me realize that I was hungry; I had not eaten in a long while. If we did not have food, then all the nursing care in the world would go to waste; we'd starve to death in that cave. I scrabbled around in Aaron's stores, but could find nothing edible. There was no choice—I'd have to go out and scavenge. I pulled the boy as gently as I could across the floor and placed him beside Aaron. They could keep each other warm while I was away.

The world outside was as silent and desolate as before. There was no sound of sniper fire, no crackling of burning trees, just the dead echoless air and the occasional call of the carrion crows. Beyond the trees I could see the black landscape of death; I headed away from that, into the small green living patch that had, like us, survived the onslaught. Somewhere in those few square yards there must be something that we could eat.

I found berries—wild blueberries, I suppose they were, or something like it, on a low bush near the ground. I picked as many as I could. There were dandelion leaves, quite clean, on a grassy mound; they would make a salad or a soup. I dug around in a patch of wild garlic, harvesting the little onionlike bulbs, and found a little patch of sorrel. And then, at the top of a tree, I saw a large, fat pigeon, staring stupidly at me, occasionally making little cooing noises. I hated doing it, but I climbed that tree, shooed the bird away, and pulled from its nest three fat squabs. I had dinner.

I killed and cleaned the birds outside the cave, wrapped the bodies in dandelion leaves, and took them back down into our little home. Aaron and the boy were still as I had left them, sleeping. I lit a fire, set some water to boil in a blackened pot, threw in the garlic bulbs, the sorrel leaves, and the squabs. Soon the cave smelled of food. I took the pan off the fire. Aaron had awoken and lay watching me, one arm around the sleeping boy, the other crooked behind his head.

“How do you feel?”

“Alive.”

“Hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Much pain?”

“Yeah. Much pain.”

“Any fever?”

“No. Just feel like I've been run over by a freight train.”

“Oh, is that all? What are you complaining about, then?”

“Come here. Kiss me again.”

I did as I was told, leaning over him and kissing him on the mouth. His tongue found mine, and we melted into each other. His body felt warm and dry, no longer clammy as it had been before. His cock, resting on his thigh, stirred to life. I squeezed it.

“That'll keep till later. We don't want to corrupt Sleeping Beauty.”

“I don't imagine he's as innocent as he looks,” Aaron said, squeezing the sleeping boy around the shoulders. “But let's not shatter our illusions just yet. I'd like to get him back to his mama in one piece.”

“Okay, you need to sit up and get some clothes on.”

“Clothes? I don't see no clothes. What I had on you got off me, you sly dog.”

“Got a blanket?”

“No. There's a big old coat somewhere, found it lying on the field. That'll have to do.” He reached into the recesses of the cave and threw a filthy overcoat around his shoulders like a cape.

“Will he wake up, do you think?”

“We need to feed him,” I said.

“Come on then, small fry,” Aaron said, shaking the boy gently. “Chow time.”

It took a bit of doing, but eventually the boy opened his eyes and looked around him.

“I'm starving,” he said.

“There speaks a true Virginian,” Aaron said. “Always thinking of his belly. Can you sit up?”

The boy struggled, and wobbled, but with a little help he managed to prop himself against the cave wall. He asked no questions, just glanced around him, taking in the naked black man swathed in a cape and bandages, me with my filthy face and tattered clothes, the fire, and above all the food.

I passed him the can, which was now cool enough to hold, and he started shoveling it in.

“Hey, these things got bones!” he said, spitting out a handful of stewed baby pigeon.

“Chew the fucking thing, don't swallow it whole. Didn't your mama teach you no manners, boy? And say thank-you to the cook.”

“Thank you, mister,” the boy said, holding the baby bird and picking off the meat. I passed the can to Aaron, and he passed it to me, so between us we made, I thought, a reasonable job of breakfast, or whatever this meal might be called. After a few drafts of water, we all felt a great deal better.

“Where am I?” the boy asked, wiping his mouth and belching.

“We're in the Shenandoah Valley.”

“Who are you?”

“Friends,” I said.

“You're a Yankee,” he said, scowling.

“I am.”

“Fucking bastard.”

Aaron lifted a huge hand as if to swat him but arrested the movement in midair. The boy cringed.

“This fucking Yankee bastard saved your ass, you ungrateful little shit,” Aaron said.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“Told you they were little cats, didn't I, Jack? I am the
Black Devil. Did you never hear of me?”

The boy's eyes widened. “The Black Devil? Come on. That's just a story.”

“Well, you better believe that story, boy. And don't think that I wouldn't eat a nice little chicken like you in one mouthful, gobble gobble gobble!” He bugged his eyes and made faces at the boy as one would at a child. The kid laughed, half in fear, half in delight.

“You a Yankee too?”

“No,” said Aaron.

“You ain't a Confederate.”

“Why not?”

“You're a nigger.” He said it with such blank simplicity that it was hard to argue with his logic. I feared that Aaron would lose his temper, but he remained calm and reasoning.

“I ain't Confederate, and I ain't Union.”

“You gotta be one or the other.”

“Well, not me.”

“What about him?” The boy jerked a thumb toward me.

“He is my friend.”

“Yeah, I bet he is.” The boy made simpering gestures, and spoke with a lisp. “I seen you two fooling around like sweethearts.”

“You better mind your own business.”

“I heard about your type. Queers, you are. A Yankee queer, a nigger queer—”

Aaron raised his hand; at full strength, he could have knocked the boy out with one swat. But instead he let it fall into his lap, and sighed.

“Yeah, a Yankee queer and a nigger queer who just happened to save your dumb ass.”

“I didn't ask you to.”

This time, Aaron was really incensed, his face twitching. His arm shot out lightning fast and grabbed the boy by the throat. But his voice was calm.

“Now, you're going to say thank-you to Mr. Edgerton for saving your life.”

“Thank you,” the boy said, grudgingly, struggling for breath.

“Thank you, sir,” Aaron corrected. The boy repeated the word, like an unwilling scholar at his lesson.

“And you're going to say how much you enjoyed the delicious meal he just gave you. Or do you want me to stick my hand down your dirty little throat and bring it back up for you?”

“Th—thank you for my food… Sir.”

“That's better. Now wash your dirty face and leave the grown-ups in peace.”

“Hey, don't treat me like a—”

Aaron aimed a wet handkerchief, and it caught the boy in the open mouth. We both laughed at him.

“What's your name?” I asked the boy.

“Lee.”

“Like the General, huh?” Johnson said, smiling, trying to make peace.

“Yeah. Damn right.”

“Now listen, Cadet Lee,” I said, “I've got to take care of this man's wounds, do you understand? It's not going to be very pretty, and I don't want you throwing up all over me. So why don't you take a walk, go and find us some more to eat, and come back in an hour.”

“I ain't stupid. You're going to steal my stuff.”

“What stuff?” Aaron said. “You've got nothing but the clothes you came in.”

“I got money,” he said proudly, “rolled up in the toe of my boot. You can't have it.”

I resented the implication that I was a thief, especially from one whose life I had taken such pains to save. “Take your goddam boots with you, Lee, and see if you can find somewhere out there to spend your dollars. And if you find
a bar, bring me back a bottle of whiskey. If they'll sell it to a child.”

“Go on, kid,” Aaron said, laughing. “Beat it.”

Lee crawled out of the cave—by his energy you would never have guessed how close he'd come to death—and for the first time, Aaron and I were alone. I made myself busy with the boiling water, tearing bandages and dressings, conscious that he was watching my every move.

“Jack.”

“Yes, Aaron?” My voice was too high, too bright.

“How did you find me?”

“You just…appeared.”

“Did you ever think about me?”

“Of course I did.”

“What did you think of me, Jack?”

“I thought of you as the friend that I had lost.”

“Yes.”

“And I thought of you as someone I should have treated better than I did.” I felt tears stinging my eyes as I remembered my stupidity and arrogance.

“Yes. And did you think of me in other ways?”

I stopped fussing with the fire. “I thought, often, that you were the man I should have loved.”

“Ah.” He closed his eyes. “Then it was all worthwhile.”

“What?”

“All this. The death, the war, the pain, and the waste of time. It brought us back together again, didn't it? And now we're ready, aren't we Jack?”

“Ready, Aaron?”

“Ready to love each other.”

“Yes. We are. We're ready.”

I knelt by him, took his hand, held it to my heart, which was beating so hard I could swear it echoed in that cave. I kissed the fingers, rubbed my face against his palm.

“At last,” I said, feeling, in that strange hole in the ground, beside the tiny fire and the magical spring, that I had finally come home.

I wanted so badly to give myself to him, to take him for myself, to express through the union of our bodies all the fear and hope and pain and love of the last months and years—and I could tell, from glancing down at his body where the overcoat fell open around his hips, that he was ready to do the same. His cock was hugely, magnificently erect.

“I want you so badly, Jack.”

“I'm yours. But we must wait. You're not as strong as you think you are. If we…do it now, your wounds will open.”

“I don't care. I want you.”

“Well, I do care, and for once in my life I'm putting good sense first. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything. I want this”—I took hold of his cock, which jumped at my touch—“inside me. But more than anything, I want you to get better and live a long, long time.”

“With you, Jack?”

“With me. Forever.”

“That's enough for me.”

He lay back, and I held his cock for a while, resisting the temptation to jerk it back to full hardness. And then I cleaned and dressed his wounds as best I could.

I wanted nothing more than to lie naked with Aaron, for the first and—who knew?—possibly the last time, so I stripped myself of my clothes, laid them over us, and wrapped the coat around us both. We kissed sleepily, our hard cocks pressed against each other, and within a few moments I came, unexpectedly but copiously, all over his thigh. He kissed me throughout, and we fell asleep as the sperm glued us together.

 

Lee did not return; neither of us was surprised. We both knew that he would have run like a rabbit straight to the Rebel Army, or would have caught a bullet somewhere in
the burning valley. Either way, we would not see him again. And if he had survived, we were in danger. He would repay me for saving his life by betraying us, the Yankee queer and the nigger queer. So Aaron and I stamped out the embers of the fire, rolled up everything that we could in the coat, and dressed ourselves in an odd assortment of tatters. We would need to find better protection before nightfall, but we had enough to get us away from the valley and into the nearest village. At least we could not be recognized as either Rebel or Yankee—the clothes we had were so filthy, and so distressed, that they could no longer be called uniforms. Aaron wore a blackened shirt, the tails torn away to make dressings, and an old piece of sackcloth wrapped around his waist like a skirt. I still had my pants, and I improvised a tunic from another sack in which I cut a hole to poke my head through. We looked like a couple of scarecrows from a very badly tended melon patch.

We crawled from the cave and threaded our way through the trees away from the dead valley. There were other figures on the move, furtive and blackened like us; now we all stood out against the untouched green of the woods. But none of us wanted confrontation. In this deserted world, we were no longer fighting a war. We were no longer enemies. We were simply fugitives, clinging to life, fearing each other, and keeping our distance. That suited me fine.

A patrol of Confederate soldiers burst into the woods; we avoided them by crouching behind a rocky outcrop, holding our breath, ready to play dead if they got too close. They passed by so close we could hear the squeaking of their boots. They marched like automata, left, right, left, right, from who knows where to who knows where. Perhaps their mission was to round up deserters or pick off Union snipers; whatever it was, they had forgotten it, in that land of death.