PEG BOY (2 page)

Each time he
had the boy before him naked Fidel enjoyed relishing his good fortune. He felt
his own arousal as he began to pass his fingers over Santiago, touching all the
places that he had come to know that made the boy writhe with pleasure. With a
sweet gentleness that was almost uncontrollable he let his lips touch the boy’s
lips and felt their tenderness as they opened to meet his tongue and he tasted
the familiar essence of his mouth. Fidel stretched full-length atop Santiago,
feeling the body beneath him so that the hardness of his erection pressed
against the hardness of Santiago’s cock, and they moved against each other.
When Fidel opened his eyes and saw Santiago’s expression, love swelled at the
sight of his radiant smile and the hooded eyes that were not to be resisted. At
the height of his yearning he entered the boy and felt the grasp of the
sphincter around his penis as though Santiago intended never to let him go.
Each thrust brought them closer together in a bliss renewed with each
encounter. And so it was that each time they came to the little room they spent
as much time in love as possible until the following morning. And each thought
of the little sexual pleasures with which they could surprise the other, in
hopes of adding to the thrill.

They clasped
in embrace as Fidel enjoyed the closeness; listening to Santiago’s heart
beating and feeling his beep breathing as sleep overcame them. Then the room
shuddered and rocked as though shaken by a giant hand. They heard the screams
of other guests in nearby rooms. They heard the sound of crushing stone in the
distance. In an instant they were standing in the middle of the room at full
realization of what was happening. Fidel reached for the clothing and partially
dressed as he threw clothing to Santiago.

“Hurry, take
your things and follow!”

Fidel grabbed
the boy’s arm and dragged him along the long and narrow corridor that led to
stairs and an outside courtyard. They forced themselves past many who were
trying to reach safety. Outside, they heard women calling to children and the
wailing of children for their mothers. It seemed everyone was looking for
someone. Dust billowed everywhere as a part of the inn collapsed, the stone
wall webbed with cracks. The entire courtyard was exposed to the street and so
they climbed across rubble to the safety of the nearby square.

“Here,” Fidel
called. “Come this way!”

Santiago
followed as he threaded his way among the rubble and climbed over large
boulders of shattered storefronts. Bodies were lying beneath fallen debris,
some still moving and pleading for help. Santiago hesitated but Fidel pulled
him along. They ran southward, following others who were also heading for the
safety of the plaza and marketplace. They saw many with glazed eyes, stunned by
the catastrophe, seemingly unable to decide what needed to be done.

Running side
by side, they felt a second surge; a great wave that heaved them to the ground.
The road before them undulated like a giant ribbon in the wind and everything
upon it was tossed like miniature playthings. Cobblestones were wrenched from
the roadbed, becoming deadly projectiles. The dust became increasingly thick
and made breathing more laborious as roofs collapsed, sending rubble into the
streets making it dangerous and difficult to pass. Santiago and Fidel watched
as the steeple of the church across the plaza teetered and the bell within it
announced its descent, crashing through the church’s roof. Tiles were flung
everywhere and the remaining walls of the building fell on those running past,
crushing many to death.

Somewhere
beyond the square a fire raged and the sky was brightly lit as it was so often
during holiday celebrations when fireworks filled it with spectacle. Flames
shot high in the sky and they felt the heat even from where they stood. Other
dwellings nearby were igniting, and soon flames spread throughout the district.
The sounds of devastation caused many to panic and some ran into flaming
buildings attempting to save what little they owned. Others roamed the streets
looking for lost loved-ones. Santiago’s heart shuddered as he heard the screams
and somewhere ahead the ground opened again and fire shot out. Everything was
burning or falling into flames to be burned. Nothing was as it had been  only
moments before. The evening had begun with such promise – filled with
tenderness and solitude. It seemed impossible for it to have turned into
violence and death.

Among the
surging throng the boys went unnoticed. All seemed to have the same feeling
that collecting into groups would provide more protection and security. There
was pain and fear everywhere. Those who were not injured helped others. A
separate place was designated for the collection of the dead. Any who seemed
capable were assigned to emergency stations to give assistance to those most
needy.

Priests were
moving among the dead and near-dead, administering the last rites. In the
first-aid stations all who could, helped collect the children who were lost or
alone. They were soothed and led in song to distract their minds. In the
turmoil Fidel and Santiago felt lost, for they knew no one.

“What will we
do now, Fidel? Do you think it was this bad in the hills?”

It was the
first time the thought had occurred to him. Was Santa Cecilia still standing?
Were his parents safe?

“We must try
finding some way of getting home,” he said. Santiago felt the tension mounting
as the destructive power of the catastrophe penetrated his stunned brain.

The earth
seemed quieted but one could never tell when the next after-shock would occur.
They seemed to follow in decreasing magnitude.

“Fidel, we’ve
got to get back to the inn and find the mule and cart.”

“Yes, we must
get back home as soon as possible. My mother will be sick with worry. I pray to
God that they were spared this destruction!”

“Perhaps not,”
Santiago answered impulsively as he recited his
Hail Mary
in hopes the
prayer would fly to heaven and appease the wrath of God.

“We’ll never
find out by sitting here. Come, let us go to the inn and see if there is
anything left of the place.”

Everyone but
the innkeeper had left. Señor Diaz had stayed behind to protect the property of
his guests and was doing so effectively by discouraging anyone from entering
with his presence and a loaded weapon cradled in his arms. When he saw the
boys, he rose and threw his arms around each in greeting, thanking God for
their safety. He told them to go try rescuing as many of their belongings as
they could find. He said he thought the mule and cart was unharmed. They made
their way to the stable and although the roof had collapsed, it had not done
damage because of its straw composition. The stone walls still stood. None of
the animals seemed harmed. Some of the furniture had been marred by falling
rafters. The boys were happy to see they still had transportation and would not
need to walk back to Santa Cecilia.

Santiago spoke
to the innkeeper and received permission to leave his charge of furniture and
other items with him. They would settle as soon as he could return with his
father. Don Emilio’s customers would not be in the position of buying his wares
any time soon after this tragedy. After the cleaning-up took place, available
funds would be spent on repair and reconstruction. Señor Diaz said he would put
the items in storage as a favor to Don Emilio and that the boys should not
worry about them.

The return
journey was made safer by the fact that they were not carrying anything of value
that could be stolen. Highwaymen were notoriously abundant after such events,
preying on refugees who traveled with all their belongings to mountain
relatives. The Lima road ran along a high bluff that went to Callao. It was now
crowded with the homeless. Many had begun to erect tents along the roadside so
that little clusters of tent-villages lined the highway. Campfires could be
seen everywhere. By the time Santiago and Fidel were out of the city’s limits
the sun had begun to end its morning light above the mountain’s ridges and the
Andes were silhouetted against a pale blue sky. It would take them the better part
of seven hours to reach Santa Cecilia, the tiny village on the slopes above
Lima.

The boys
stopped twice when invited to eat and drink, and shared the few provisions they
had salvaged with their hosts. They learned that Callao had suffered greatly
from a tidal wave and that much of its waterfront had been swept away. Word
began to spread from many places that devastation of equal force had been felt.
Fidel urged that they delay no longer but to strike out non-stop until they
reached their village. Each tried to remain calm but the worst thoughts crossed
their minds.

It took longer
to return because the road was uphill and the mule tired easily. They walked
alongside it whenever they saw it begin to lather. Santiago, normally talkative
and outgoing, was now silent and pensive. Fidel wanted to reassure him but he
knew that talking about what might have happened would only serve to enhance
the fears. Yet he had to say something!

“Come,
Santiago, don’t let yourself believe the worse has happened until we have seen
for ourselves. There is no need to let our imaginations run away and become
upset about something that might not be as bad as we think. Maybe they did not
get much of the shock up there!”

The
surrounding countryside proved this not to be the case as they began to see
that the shock had been as severe in the hills as it had been in the lowlands.
Fences were torn apart, having been moved several feet. Gaping holes in the
ground had swallowed tress so that only the tops were visible. Cattle, sheep,
and a variety of animals roamed loose. Chickens and pigs chased each other so
that the countryside resounded with the braying, clucking, squealing and a
multitude of other noises. They passed many people and shunned them as they
were shunned. Everyone had cause for suspicion of all who were unfamiliar. It
was for this reason that they would come no closer than a few yards when they
were hailed by a man after they had passed him. When he called Fidel’s name and
identified himself as the merchant who came to his mother’s shop to purchase
her weaving, the boys stopped. The merchant was returning from Santa Cecilia.
They sat beneath a tree as the merchant told them of what he had seen.

“I do not want
to give you bad news,” he hedged, “but things do not look good up there. Many
people were killed. The priest opened the church to be used as a morgue.”

Fear filled
the faces of the two boys and the merchant felt responsible to tell them as
much of the truth as he could.

“As far as I
know your mother was not one of them,” he told Fidel. Looking at Santiago, who
he did not recognize immediately, the man nodded.

“You are the
Cali boy? I know nothing about your family but I did not hear anything bad,
either. So perhaps everything is well.”

There was no
comfort in the thought as a feeling in the pit of Santiago’s stomach made him
weary and urged him to get home as quickly as possible.

“Fidel, we
should not stay here too long. Let us be off! Thank you for the water and the
information Señor. Our parents will worry if we do not return soon!”

Fidel nodded
and shook the man’s hand.

Anxieties
increased as they approached Santa Cecilia. The damage was intensive. Here too,
the church steeple had been toppled. Fields they passed were furrowed deeply
where the earth had rent itself. At several places they had to detour around
crevasses too wide to cross. Santiago decided to go with Fidel to his house, as
it was the first to be reached. Carlota Timuco was not home. After searching
the town they found her assisting the injured with several other women, under
the direction of Padre Lipolito. Once she was sure Fidel was safe and that he
was satisfied about her own safety, Carlota urged her son to go along with
Santiago. She knew how close the two boys were and of the nature of their
relationship!

Carlota had
long known of her son’s inclination. She adjusted to it by the deep love of him
and the teachings of her church. The Church instructed that it was not the
place to judge others, but to accept people for who they were. All were God’s
children! The Church preached love as the all-guiding force that led to heaven.
Carlota was one of the few Christians who practiced the teaching. If love was
what her son felt for the Cali boy, then it had to be good. She knew what the
priest would have said about the matter and understood the double standard that
existed with crusaders of the Church.

When Santiago
asked about his family, Carlota could not respond truthfully. She had heard the
news and did not want to be the one to tell him, but knew it had to come from
Don Emilio. Carlota was able to take her son aside and warm him so that he
would be prepared for the shock Santiago would experience.

“Do not leave
him, Fidel. Stay with him tonight and for as long as he needs you. Comfort him.
He will need your love and friendship more than ever!”

Fidel was
silent during the walk to Santiago’s home. He wanted to lighten the air but did
not know what to say.

“What did your
mother tell you?”

Santiago asked
the question as though he knew something had transpired between them. He turned
to Fidel and looked deeply in his eyes.

“I must know!
I think I do already..., but please tell me.”

Fidel knew he
had to tell the truth, for Santiago already suspected the worse and perhaps
believed that both his parents were dead.

“Santi, mama
told me she heard that your mother was killed when she was unable to get out of
the house in time. She was trapped beneath the rubble and your father was
himself caught in the eruption, here in the village. She died before he could
return to save her. I'm sorry... I know how much you loved her.”