Thoreau in Love (34 page)

“Look, out there,” said Ben. “Do you see that smoke? I think it’s
Britannia
. You know what
Britannia
is, don’t you?” Willie shook his head no. “She’s the fastest ship there is. You wait, before long, she’ll be right there,” he said, pointing to the Narrows.

“I see it,” said Willie.

“How do you know it’s
Britannia
?” asked Henry.

“Shipping News said she’s due in today.”

“You can take a boy out of the sea. . . .”

After
Britannia
passed, they laughingly long stepped it down the hill through the high grass, Willie between Henry and Ben, holding their hands. Back in the house, Susan, seeing how happy Willie was, said, “I hope you’ll stay with us at least for a couple of days, Mr. Wickham.”

Ben looked at Henry, who brightened. “Sure. I’d love to.”

“There’s an extra mattress in the attic. You can drag it into Henry’s room.”

“Thanks. That’d be lovely.”

Hiding partway behind Mary’s skirt, Haven squirmed and said, “He’s the best present.”

“He is,” said Henry. “But you’re the second best.”

Upstairs, as they pulled out the thin mattress, Henry remembered that Ben wasn’t all there was. “Oh, my friend Stearns,” he said.

“Stearns on the stern?”

“Stearns on the stern.” Henry told Ben that Stearns was dead and cried once more, on Ben’s shoulder, which he hadn’t realized till then was where he’d wanted to cry all along. That evening, after a supper stew of chicken, fresh greens and potatoes, Henry and Ben went for a walk Henry said they wouldn’t return from till late. Because Ben was only eight when the trees were all cut on Block Island, he’d never been in a forest at night.

Though it was still twilight in the meadow, darkness enshrouded the forest so that Ben had to hold Henry’s hand and step gingerly until they were in among the giant cedars, where the floor was soft and more open.

“The dead are all around us,” said Henry. “Can you feel them?”

“Henry, please, you’re giving me chills.”

“Now you know what it was like for me out on the ocean. But don’t be afraid. I’m here, and I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t see anything. Not even you.”

“All you need are your ears and your touch. Here, stop and let’s listen. Try not even to breathe for a few moments. . . .” At first all they heard were tree frogs, their guttural cri-ket, cri-ket overwhelming all the other instruments. But soon crickets began their scratchy cheep-cheep-cheep’s, owls hoo-hoot’ed and mosquitoes buzzed around their heads. Then, in the distant dark, a yap yap yap sca-reeeech.

“What’s that?” asked Ben, his voice brushed with fear.

“Coyote. But it’s way far away. And don’t forget, it’s summer. There’re plenty of squirrels and snakes and other creatures they’d prefer to you. Let’s sit down.”

“You sure it’s safe?”

“No less safe than standing.”

A flash of blue ignited with a whoosh not twenty feet from them.

“Shit!” Ben grabbed Henry then relaxed his hold and said, “Oh, a jack-o’-lantern.”

“I call it a will-o’-the-wisp.”

“Swamp gas?”

“Swamp gas. Let’s sit.”

“You’re certain it’s safe?”

“It’s safe.” Henry lowered himself against a tree, bringing Ben with him. He put a hand on Ben’s thigh. “Imagine we’re in the middle of the ocean and there are things going on around, under and over you, and you’re one little part of it.”

Ben slapped a mosquito on his hand. Henry picked at a small plant, brought a leaf to his nose and crushed it between his fingers. “Here, smell this. It’s wintergreen.”

“It’s lovely. Okay, I’m better. Can’t see a thing, but it’s okay.”

“I’m glad you’re here. I feel alive when I’m with you.”

After a long, dark, quiet moment, Ben said, “After I got back on
Dahlia
, I was so afraid I’d never see you again. And now I can’t see you at all. But seriously, I began to worry that you didn’t really care for me, didn’t love me.” Ben fumbled for and found Henry’s hand.

“I do love you,” said Henry.

“I know you do. And I love you with all my heart.” Ben turned toward Henry and in the pitch black searched with his lips—and found Henry’s nose. They both laughed, then they clicked teeth, pulled back and holding each other’s faces, found each other’s lips. And they kissed. And after a moment, Henry said, “Oh God. I want to feel you. I’ve missed you so much.” He touched the skin inside Ben’s shirt, he inhaled the scent of Ben’s hair and his neck. Ben felt for Henry and pulled him close and kissed the lips he couldn’t see, the cheeks, the nose, the eyes. Ben’s breath intoxicated Henry. “God, you really are Ben.”

“I am. And you’re Henry.” And soon they were fondling each other’s cocks and their clothes came off and they kissed and touched every inch of each other and rolled around in the soft needles, holding one another like they’d never held anyone before. Breathlessly, Henry said, “I don’t want to ever let go.”

“Oh God,” said Ben. “This is heaven.”

And as they rolled and pushed into each other they released wintergreen scent and cedar, and they tasted each other in the forest so black it made no difference if their eyes were open or shut.

Thunder rumbled, but they didn’t care if it was overhead or ten miles away, so protected were they by their canopy of cedar. Lightning flashed, sending momentary slivers of light, but by then their passion so overwhelmed that Ben and Henry were already seeing bright white in the black night. Ben yelped when he ejaculated, but Henry was silent. And after, laying in one another’s arms, they heard whippoorwills whistling and realized it was raining, though none came anywhere near falling through their umbrella of cedar. “You’re back,” said Henry. “I feel complete.”

Because Ben had tossed Henry’s shirt without a thought, it took them a while to find it, feeling around in the dark, but then Henry led them on an amazingly direct path out of the black forest, and they entered into a clear, star-bright night.

“We made it,” said Ben. “Yay Henry!”

Henry laughed and said, “I wasn’t worried for a moment. Well, not for long, anyway.” And as they walked through the meadow, Henry said, “I don’t know what it is about you, but you have a sense of the world I don’t and perhaps never will have.”

“Henry, you’re the one got us in there, and out.” He kissed Henry’s cheek.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“But it is what I’m talking about,” said Ben. “Oh look.” A nearly full moon rose over the cedars behind them. Henry looked, and was properly awed, and Ben took Henry in his arms and wrestled him to the wet ground. It was quite a while before they returned to the house.

Willie and Haven were wild about Ben, and somehow Ben calmed the beast in Willie. No rants, no screams, no whining to get his way. He even gave up torturing his little brother, playing with him instead the way good children play. Haven was all over Ben, never wanting to let go, and Ben didn’t seem to mind at all, even when both boys were climbing on him as if they were playful squirrels on their towering oak.

Susan didn’t know what to make of Ben, but she was happy that the moping Henry was gone. She envied how Ben hung onto Henry’s every word and how, when Ben spoke, he spoke only to Henry, which flattered but also embarrassed Henry, since anyone who bothered to look could see that Ben cared only for Henry, though it seemed to Henry that no one noticed, except Mary. Ben brought life to the Snuggery. It became a kind of Sherwood Forest, with Ben as Robin Hood, Mary and Susan vying to be Maid Marian, and Willie and Haven and Henry—and even William—as Robin’s merry men. William, too, was more relaxed with Ben around, seemed to enjoy coming home in the evenings.

The following Tuesday, Ben’s sixth day on Staten Island, Willie, who, because of Ben, had become even more entranced by the sea, asked what is was like to be way out on the ocean. Ben said, “Remember in the woods yesterday when you stopped and said you weren’t going to go any farther? And we said, ‘Okay, Willie, if you want to stay here, fine, but we’re going on.’ You remember that?” Willie nodded. “And then you got scared cause you thought you were all alone?” Again a nod from Willie. “That’s what it’s like at first when your little ship’s out on the big, huge ocean. You feel like you’re the only one there. It’s scary. And who knows what’s under you, fishes and whales and all kinds of other giant sea creatures. But you know what’s really scary? The first time we were out in the Gulf Stream, so far at sea we couldn’t see land or any other thing, no ships, no boats, nothing but ocean and more ocean, one of my mates said we had to go swimming, cause the water was so warm. And then they all said, ‘Yes, yes, let’s go for a swim.’ I was scared as could be, but I had to do it. We took off our clothes and one of the boys dives in, and they all say I’ve got to go next, so I dive over the side, and you know I want to show what a good swimmer I am, so when I come up I swim a couple of strokes and then stop, and the water is warm, like a bath, but there I am in the water and there’s no sea-shore, no land, nothing but water in front of me, and then I turn and the ship, she looks like a little toy boat she’s so far away. And my mates have pulled the other guy up and are waving from the deck, waving goodbye like they’re leaving me there, all alone in the water. I got so scared I could hardly breathe. But I’m a good swimmer, so I swam after them the same way you came running after us in the woods? And just like you in the woods, I wasn’t nearly as far away as I thought. Six or eight strokes and I hit the side. Turns out I was only fifteen feet, from here to that rock, from the ship. And when I hit the side they all jumped in and we were all laughing and swimming, and it turns out they call it ‘sea fright,’ and it happens to everyone the first time they go swimming way out so there’s nothing but you and your ship and the sea. Something happens in your brain to make your ship seem like it’s only about as big as my arm. But after that I was never afraid of being out in the ocean, or swimming in the ocean, like you’ll never be afraid again in the woods.”

That night, Ben wanted to talk, so he and Henry climbed the hill behind the house and sat under the old elm. Low clouds covered the sky, but across the way in Manhattan, an overnight steamboat’s lights shone brightly, as did the lights of what they figured was the rooftop garden of Barnum’s American Museum, where Ben said probably hundreds of people were laughing and dancing. The new limelight streetlamps on the Broad Way were bright, but pretty much all the other lights emanating from Manhattan and Brooklyn and the ships anchored in the harbor were dull. On Staten Island, everything was dark, although they could see silhouettes of the house and the trees and forest beyond.

The dark gave them a great sense of privacy. Ben said, “Being out here with you, you’re not meant for the city.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You come alive in the woods. When you’re walking across a field, you’ve got a spring in your step. Earlier today. No, yesterday, when you pointed out for me all the plants and different birds? Do you even remember what you said?” Henry didn’t. “You said, ‘When I’m in the woods is the only time I feel a part of the world, like I have my place and it’s a good place, the right place for me.’ Do you remember that?”

“It’s true. In the city I feel like such an alien.”

“In the woods you’re not afraid, not afraid of anything. Did I tell you about Charleston?”

Wondering why Ben had suddenly changed the subject, Henry said, “I didn’t know you’d been to Charleston.”

“I’d forgotten it myself. But that story in the newspaper this morning, the one about the Abolitionists, made me remember. Before I went to Charleston, I thought those Abolitionists were just crazy people. But now . . . you know how everyone says slaves just have to be, that there will always be slaves whether we like it or not?”

Shaking his head in dismay, Henry said, “Not everyone says that.”

“Well, I used to believe them. Plus, all those people who say slaves aren’t sorry to be slaves at all. And you know, in those songs the minstrels sing, well, Negroes don’t seem too smart. But in Charleston. . . . Have you ever seen a Negro sold? Sold. That’s what they do. They put them up on a platform, so everyone can take a look. Like he’s a horse. Or a bushel of corn.