The Voice of the Night (8 page)

“Not completely naked.”

“Completely.”

“Not the girls.”

“Especially the girls,” Roy said. “Pay attention to the movie, dummy.”

Colin looked at the screen, afraid of what he might see.

The couple on the beach was kissing. Then the man stepped back, and the woman smiled, and she caressed herself, teasing him, and then she reached behind her back and unhooked the bikini top she was wearing and let it slide slowly down her arms, and suddenly her bare breasts bobbled into view, large and firm and upswept, jiggling deliciously, and the man touched them—

“Yeah, get her. Get her good,” Roy said.

—and the man stroked the breasts, squeezed them, and the woman closed her eyes and seemed to be sighing, and the man gently thumbed the swollen nipples.

Colin had never been so embarrassed in his life.

“What a set she’s got,” Roy said enthusiastically.

Colin wished he were somewhere else. Anywhere else. Even back with the bicycles, in the dark, alone.

“Doesn’t she have a terrific set?”

Colin wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

“You like that set?”

Colin couldn’t speak.

“Like to suck on those?”

He wished Roy would shut up.

On the screen, the man bent down and sucked on the woman’s breasts.

“Like to smother yourself in those?”

Although the movie both shocked and embarrassed Colin, he couldn’t look away from it.

“Colin? Hey, Colin!”

“Huh?”

“What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Her set.”

On the screen the man and the woman were running up the beach toward a grassy spot where they could lie down. Her breasts bounced and swung.

“Colin? You forget how to talk?”

“Why do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s more fun if we do. We don’t have any sound up here, so we can’t hear
them
talking about it.”

The couple had stretched out on the grass, and the man was kissing her breasts again.

“You like her knockers?”

“Jesus, Roy.”

“Do you?”

“I guess.”

“You
guess?”

“Well, sure. They’re nice.”

“What kind of guy wouldn’t like that set?”

Colin didn’t respond.

“Maybe a queer wouldn’t like them,” Roy said.

“I like them,” Colin said thinly.

“What do you like?”

“Did you forget what we’re talking about?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I said it already. I like them.”

“What do you like?” Roy persisted.

On the screen: erect nipples.

“What’s wrong with you?” Colin said.

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“You’re weird, Roy.”

“You’re the one who’s afraid to say it.”

“Say what?”

“What do you call them?”

“Jeez.”

“What do you call them?”

“Okay, okay. If it’ll make you shut up, I’ll say it.”

“So say it.”

“I like her set,” Colin said. “There. Happy now?”

Colin was blushing like crazy. He was glad it was dark.

“Give me another word,” Roy said.

“Huh?”

“Something besides ‘set.’ ”

“Will you buzz off?”

On the screen: breasts wet with saliva.

Roy put a hand on his arm and squeezed, hurting him a little. “Another word.”

“You say it. You seem to know all the words.”

“And you’ve got to learn them.”

“What’s such a big deal about talking dirty?”

“Is little Colin afraid his mommy will hear him and wash out his mouth with soap?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Colin said, struggling to hold on to his dignity.

“So if you aren’t afraid of Mommy, give me another word. Look up there at that screen and tell me what you see that you like.”

Colin nervously cleared his throat. “Well... I like her breasts.”

“Breasts? Jesus, Colin! Breasts are what you find on a chicken!”

“Well, a woman’s are called that, too,” Colin said defensively.

“By doctors maybe.”

“By everyone.”

Roy tightened his grip on Colin’s arm, dug his sharp fingernails into the flesh.

“Dammit, let go!” Colin said. “You’re hurting me.”

He tried to pull away but couldn’t free himself. Roy was very strong.

Roy’s face was only partly visible in the frosty moonlight, but Colin didn’t like what little he was able to see. The eyes were wide, piercing, fevered; Colin imagined he could feel heat radiating from them. Roy’s lips were drawn back in a mirthless grin, as if he were going to snarl like an attack dog.

Because of something extraordinary in those eyes, something eerie and powerful but indefinable, and because of the intensity with which the other boy spoke, Colin realized that this bizarre conversation held tremendous importance for Roy. He was not just teasing Colin; he was challenging him. This was a battle of wills, and in some way that Colin could not grasp, the outcome would determine their future together. He also sensed, without truly understanding why, that if he didn’t win this contest he would live to regret it with all his heart.

Roy squeezed harder.

Colin said, “Ahhhh, Jeez. Please let go.”

“Give me another word.”

“What’s the point?”

“Give me another word.”

“Roy, you’re hurting me.”

“Give me another word and I’ll let go.”

“I thought you were my friend.”

“I’m the best friend you’ll ever have.”

“If you were my friend you wouldn’t hurt me,” Colin said between clenched teeth.

“If you were my friend, you’d say the word. What the hell does it cost you to say it?”

“And what does it cost you if I don’t say it?”

“I thought you said I could trust you, that you’d do anything I wanted, like a friend should do. Now you won’t even talk with me about this lousy movie.”

“Okay, okay,” Colin said. And he actually felt a little guilty because it was such a small thing that Roy wanted from him.

“Say ‘tits’ for me.”

“Tits,” Colin said thickly.

“Say ‘knockers’ for me.”

“Knockers.”

“Say ‘boobs.’ ” “

“Boobs.”

“Tell me you like her tits.”

“I like her tits.”

Roy let go. “Was that so difficult?”

Colin gingerly massaged his arm.

“Hey,” Roy said, “wouldn’t you like to wear her tits for earmuffs?”

“You’re gross.”

Roy laughed. “Thank you.”

“I think you drew blood.”

“Don’t be a baby. I just squeezed a little. Wow! Look at the screen!”

The man had pulled off the bottom half of the girl’s bikini. He was caressing her bare buttocks, which were very white against her tan back and thighs, so white that they looked like the plump halves of a pale nut surrounded by soft brown shell.

“I could eat ten pounds of that ass for breakfast,” Roy said.

The man on the screen was naked, too. He stretched out on his back, and the girl straddled him.

“They won’t show us the good part,” Roy said. “Not at the Fairmont. They won’t show her getting it.”

The camera concentrated on her bouncing breasts and on her gorgeous face, which was contorted with feigned ecstasy.

“Does that make you stiff?” Roy asked.

“Huh?”

“Does it give you a hard-on?”

“You’re weird.”

“You afraid of that word, too?”

“I’m not afraid of any words.”

“So say it.”

“jeez.”

“Say it.”

“Hard-on.”

“You got one?”

Colin was almost sick with embarrassment.

“You got a hard-on, good buddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Know what it’s called?”

“Marvin.”

Roy laughed. “That’s funny. Real quick. I like that.”

The other boy’s approval was a palliative. Colin’s fear subsided just a bit.

“Do you really know what it’s called?” Roy asked.

“A penis.”

“That’s as bad as ‘breast.”’

Colin said nothing.

“Say ‘cock’ for me.”

Colin said it.

“Very good,” Roy said. “Excellent. Before this movie’s over, you’ll know all the words, and you’ll feel comfortable with them, just like I do. Stick with me, kid, and I’ll bring you up right. Hey, look! Look what he’s doing to her now! Look, Colin! What a popper! Look!”

Colin felt as if he were on a skateboard, rocketing down a long, steep hill, totally out of control. But he looked.

They got back to Santa Leona at ten forty-five and stopped at a service station on Broadway. The place was closed for the night; the only light was in the soft-drink machine.

Roy fished in his pocket for change. “What do you want? I’m buying.”

“I have some money,” Colin said.

“You bought supper.”

“Well ... okay. I’ll have grape.”

They were silent for a while, chugging their drinks.

Finally Roy said, “This is a great night, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You having fun?”

“Sure.”

“I’m having one hell of a good time, and you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re here,” Roy said.

“Yeah,” Colin said, heavy on the self-deprecation, “I’m always the life of the party.”

“I mean it,” Roy said. “A guy couldn’t ask for a better friend than you.”

This time, the cause of Colin’s blush was as much pride as embarrassment.

“In fact,” Roy said, “you’re the only friend I have, and the only friend I need.”

“You’ve got hundreds of friends.”

“They’re just acquaintances. There’s a big difference between friends and acquaintances. Until you moved to town, I’d been a long time between friends.”

Colin didn’t know if Roy was telling the truth or making fun of him. He had no experience by which to judge, for no one else had ever talked to him as Roy had just done.

Roy put down his half-finished bottle of cola and took a penknife out of his pocket. “I think it’s time for this.”

“For what?”

Standing in the soft light from the soda machine, Roy opened the knife, put the sharp point against the meaty part of his palm, and pressed hard enough to draw blood: a single thick drop like a crimson pearl. He squeezed the tiny wound until more blood oozed from it and trickled down his hand.

Colin was aghast. “Why’d you do that?”

“Hold out your hand.”

“Are you crazy?”

“We’ll do it just like the Indians.”

“Do what?”

“We’ll be blood brothers.”

“We’re already friends:”

“Being blood brothers is a whole lot better.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“When our blood has mingled, we’ll be like one person. In the future, any friends I make will automatically become your friends. And your friends will be mine. We’ll always stand together, never apart. The enemies of one will be the enemies of the other, so we’ll be twice as strong and twice as smart as anyone else. We’ll never fight alone. It’ll be you and me against the whole damned world. And the world better look out.”

“All of that just because of a bloody handshake?” Colin asked.

“The important thing is what the handshake symbolizes. It stands for friendship and love and trust.”

Colin was unable to take his eyes from the scarlet thread that crossed Roy’s palm and wrist.

“Give me your hand,” Roy said.

Colin was excited about being blood brothers with Roy, but he was also squeamish. “That knife doesn’t look clean.”

“It is.”

“You can get blood poisoning from a dirty cut.”

“If there was any chance of that, would I have cut myself first?”

Colin hesitated.

“For Christ’s sake,” Roy said, “the hole won’t be any bigger than a pinprick. Now give me your hand.”

Reluctantly Colin held out his right hand, palm up. He was trembling.

Roy grasped him firmly and put the point of the blade to his skin.

“It’ll just sting for a second,” Roy assured him.

Colin didn’t dare speak for fear his voice would quaver badly.

The pain was sudden, sharp, but not long-lasting. Colin bit his lip, determined not to cry out.

Roy folded the knife and put it away.

With shaky fingers Colin pressed the wound until it was bleeding freely.

Roy slipped his bloody hand into Colin’s. His grip was firm.

Colin squeezed back with all his strength. Their wet flesh made a barely audible squishing sound as they shook hands.

They stood in front of the deserted service station, in cool night air scented with gasoline, staring into each other’s eyes, breathing each other’s breath, feeling strong and special and wild.