The Wild Boys (18 page)

Another boy stepped onto the rug. He stood in the center of the rug and leaned forward hands on knees his eyes following the lines and patterns. His penis stiffened. He stood upright and walked to the four directions lifting his hands each time and saying one word I did not catch. A little wind sprang up that stirred the boy’s pubic hairs and played over his body. He began to dance to the flutes and drums and as he danced a blue will-o’-the-wisp took shape in front of him shifting from one side of the rug to the other. The boy spread out his hands. The will-o’-the-wisp tried to dodge past but he caught it and brought his arms together pulling the blue shape against him. The color shifted from blue to pearly grey streaked with brown. His hands were stroking a naked flank and caressing a penis out of the air buttocks flattened against his body as he moved in fluid gyrations lips parted teeth bared. A brown body solid now ejaculated in shuddering gasps sperm hitting the rug left white streaks and spots that soaked into the crisscross of white lines. The boy held the Zimbu up pressing his chest in and out with his own breathing quivering to the blue tattoo. The Zimbu shuddered and ejaculated again. He hung limp in the
other’s arms. The attendants stepped forward with another litter. The Zimbu was carried away to the blue tent.

A boy with Mongoloid features steps onto the rug playing a flute to the four directions. As he plays phantom figures swirl around him taking shape out of moonlight, campfires and shadows. He kneels in the center of the rug playing his flute faster and faster. The shape of a boy on hands and knees is forming in front of him. He puts down his flute. His hands mold and knead the body in front of him pulling it against him with stroking movements that penetrate the pearly grey shape caressing it inside. The body shudders and quivers against him as he forms the buttocks around his penis stroking silver genitals out of the moonlight grey then pink and finally red the mouth parted in a gasp shuddering genitals out of the moon’s haze a pale blond boy spurting thighs and buttocks and young skin. The flute player kneels there arms wrapped tightly around the Zimbu’s chest breathing deeply until the Zimbu breathes with his own breathing quivering to the blue tattoo. The attendants step forward and carry the pale blond Zimbu to the blue tent.

A tall boy black as ebony steps onto the rug. He scans the sky. He walks around the rug three times. He walks back to the center of the rug. He brings both hands down and shakes his head. The music stops. The boys drift away.

It was explained to me that the ceremony I had just witnessed was performed after a battle in case any of the boys who had just been killed wished to return and that those who had lost their hands might wish to do since the body is born whole. However most of the spirits
would have gone to the Blue Desert of Silence. They might want to return later and the wild boys made periodic expeditions to the Blue Desert. The Zimbus sleep in the blue tent. Picture in an old book with gilt edges. The picture is framed with roses intertwined … two bodies stuck together pale wraith of a blond boy lips parted full moon a circle of boys in silver helmets naked knees up. Under the picture in gold letters. Birth of a Zimbu. Boy with a flute charming a body out of the air. I turn the page. Boy with Mongoloid features is standing on a circular rug. He looks down at his stiffening phallus. A little wind stirs his pubic hairs. Buttocks tight curving inward at the bottom of the two craters a round blue tattoo miniature of the rug on which he stands. I turn the page. A boy is dancing will-o’-the-wisp dodges in front of him. I turn the page. Will-o’-the-wisp in his arms gathering outline luminous blue eyes trembling buttocks flattened against his body holding the Zimbu tight against his chest. His breathing serves as the Zimbu’s lungs until his breathing is his own quivering to the blue tattoo children of lonely sidings, roses, afternoon sky. I turn the pages. Dawn shirt framed in roses dawn wind between his legs distant lips.

1. A copper coil going away pulling Audrey’s flesh out in a stream of yellow light flash of showers buttocks soap you can see the hair on legs whispering phallic shadows in the locker room … “Wanta feel something nice Audrey?” … milky smell of phantom sperm.

2. Two copper coils going away peeling layers of old photos like dead skin … Tree house on a bluff over the valley. On closer inspection it is seen to be a reconstructed houseboat firmly moored between the branches of a giant oak and secured by anchor chains to an overhead branch. Branches swaying in the wind give the boat a slight roll. Standing at the wheel Audrey looks out across a post card valley stream winding by a village of brick houses and slate
roofs a distant train. Kiki the Mexican boy who lives down by the railroad tracks helped Audrey assemble the boat. There is a kitchen and shower. Often the boys spend weekends there. Kiki rolls cigarettes from a weed that grows along the tracks. Smoking these cigarettes makes Audrey laugh and get stiff at the same time. Flower smell of young hard-ons the two boys under the shower. Kiki kissed Audrey on the mouth and slid a soapy finger up his ass whispering the finger’s question. After that Audrey used to bend over the wheel Kiki pumping him out across the afternoon sky.

3. Three copper coils going away … a red-haired boy called Pinkie came to live in the village. His father was a painter and the boy made sketches and water colors. Audrey has invited Pinkie up to the tree house to spend the night. Going up the ladder to the boat Kiki gooses Pinkie with his middle finger. The boy blushes and laughs nervously. In the boat the boys wash their dusty feet under the shower. They peel oranges and drink Whistle. Kiki passes around a weed cigarette. He squints at Pinkie through the smoke and asks an abrupt question. Pinkie looks down at his bare feet blushing . .

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Is the hair around your dick red?”

“Sure.”

“Take down your pants and show us.”

“You guys too.”

“You first.”

“All right.”

Pinkie takes off his shirt. Grinning he drops his pants and shorts and stands there flushed with excitement
as his swaying cock stiffens. Kiki and Audrey strip. Sunlight in pubic hairs red black yellow. Kiki touches Pinkie’s crotch with gentle precise fingers.

“Come up here and steer Pinkie.” He leads Pinkie to the wheel. “Bend over and wrap your arms around it … That’s right … spread your legs apart.”

Trembling Pinkie obeys. As Audrey watches Kiki parts the buttocks rubbing Vaseline around the exposed rectum. Pinkie sighs deeply and his ass opens as if a pink mollusk had surfaced in the quivering flesh.

“All yours Audrey” … Audrey, his blue eyes shining, moves behind Pinkie Kiki would never let him this will be his first time can see the red ass hairs the soft flesh sucks him in playing with Pinkie’s tight nuts running his finger lightly up and down the shaft Pinkie whimpers and wriggles against him Kiki’s fingers prying Audrey’s buttocks apart as Kiki squirms forward.

4. Four copper coils going away … Seen from above as a
Saturday Evening Post
cover … Pinkie waves to a distant train. Audrey laughed in the afternoon sky. Was a window of laughter shook the valley.

1. A copper coil coming in spatters Audrey’s naked body with little bubbles of light that break and tingle his ass opens in a stream of yellow light laughter jumps phallic shadows sun licks flesh naked legs whispering light.

2. Two copper coils coming in … “Let’s see you naked” … He licks his lips feeling the locker room pressure in his groin out of control knowing drops his pants and shorts swaying cock stiffens eyes shining sketches and water colors his ass opens a pink wheel soft clinging Audrey has him to the hilt.

3. Three copper coils coming in … “Didn’t I see you at Webber’s Post?” … Bleakly clear I am the boy as a child lying naked on his underwear rubbing himself my room and me there faded pink curtains yellow wallpaper three sketches. Flesh opens a silent door.

4. Four copper coils coming in … We’re going to give you the last boy … yellow light late afternoon rubbing himself my room and me there dropped his pants and shorts eyes shining excitement … “Didn’t I see you at Webber’s Post?” … Bleakly clear I am the boy figure on the post card road faded down a street of memories blue light frayed sky … “You see this?” … Dim in on a stained silent door … “All yours Audrey” … tree house color pictures can see the red ass hairs buttocks carbolic soap in a stream down the shaft two boys laughing makes me think back child rubbing his pants pressure the swaying pink curtains and yellow wallpaper afternoon hills this whispering dust sea shells in an attic room face seen from a train maybe … the last boy.

The setting sun lights Audrey’s dead burnt-out face.

Colonel Bradly advised me to contact the roller-skate and bicycle gangs operating in the suburbs of Casablanca.

“They are close enough to the regular guerrilla units so you can orient yourself. Through them you can arrange the special training necessary to contact the more inaccessible groups. Some of the wild boys do not talk at all. Others have developed cries, songs, words as weapons. Words that cut like buzz saws. Words that vibrate the entrails to jelly. Cold strange words that fall like icy nets on the mind. Virus words that eat the brain
to muttering shreds. Idiot tunes that stick in the throat round and round night and day.

“ ‘here me is’ ‘HERE ME IS’ ‘here ME IS’ ‘HERE me is’ ‘HERE me IS’ ’HERE ME is.’ ”

Ever hear the CIA talking baby talk? Ever see Narcotics Agents hula-hooping to idiot mambo? Ever seen a China Watcher clawing at the words in his throat? It gives you a funny feeling. You need special training to contact those boys … When you get to Casa go to the Cafe Azar on Niño Perdido where the old Fell Bridge Hotel used to be. The shoeshine boy is your contact there. He is known as the Dib.”

Owing to the shortage of petrol there is no air service and very few cars on the ground. More primitive methods of transport have come back into use: stage coaches, balloons, camel- and mule trains, litters, rickshaws, covered wagons. There are a few steam railways in operation privately owned by the rich who live in feudal splendor on vast estates. When you want to travel you go to the Travel Pool a square surrounded by inns and brothels. You look around. There is always some way of getting where you want to go. Here is a steam truck that looks as if it will explode without more ado. I give it a wide berth. There are several obviously lethal rocket ships, a band of twenty Swedes with rucksacks on their way to the Atlas mountains, a mule train of guerrillas headed for Guillamine. A Commander with yachting cap supervises a lethargic Arab who is sewing patches on his balloon. “We’ve got a jolly good south wind coming up” he tells me. I decide to chance the Commander’s balloon and settle down at a nearby inn for a long wait. About four in the afternoon his Arab wheels out a gas cylinder and by five the balloon
is ready and we cast off. The balloon leaks audibly and the Commander reels about in the basket dead drunk smoking a cigar. The leak brings us down fifty miles north of Casa. I leave the Commander there and take a stage coach the rest of the way.

The Chicago atomic scientists insist that the atom bomb should not be used under any circumstances.

The atom bomb explodes over Hiroshima spreading radioactive particles.

The old tycoon sat on a high balcony in a deck chair, his dark glasses glinting enigmatically in the afternoon sun. He was obsessed with immortality and spent vast sums on secret research. He didn’t intend to share it with any groveling peasants. Serums, replacements of worn-out parts, were only a makeshift reprieve. He wanted more than that. He wanted to live forever. If the speed of light could be achieved or approached . . He was impatient with scientists who said this was impossible. “I don’t pay them to tell
me what they can’t do … Why a rocket with enough push behind it…” He did not like to hear the word DEATH spoken in his presence and suddenly boyish voices were singing “The worms crawl in and the worms crawl out.”