The Blood of Kings

by John Michael Curlovich

  “You really love Danilo?” We were alone one night, studying for our classes.

  I nodded. “I never thought I’d fall for an older man. But after Tim…” I fell silent. The memory of him always left me uneasy.

  “Do the police tell you anything?” He set his book aside. “About what kind of progress they’re making, I mean.”

  I shook my head. “They come around now and then with questions, do I remember such-and-such. I don’t think they’ll find who did it.” This was not a comfortable topic.

  He groped for the right thing to say. “Some fiend, some psycho.”

  “Maybe. Someone who is lost, at any rate.”

  “I worry about you, Jamie. A man that old… it doesn’t seem right.”

  “I would have thought so too, last year at this time.”

  “Don’t you know any guys our age who…”

  “No.” I said it emphatically.

  “It’s because you never had a father.”

  “Maybe. I’ve thought of that.”

  “I don’t like the way he looks at me, Jamie. He’s a chicken hawk.”

  “I don’t think so. He says he’s as amazed by our relationship as I am, and I believe him.” This was less and less what I wanted to be talking about.

  He shook his head and went back to his textbook. “If you’re happy with him, then that’s great. I wish I could find someone who really…” He broke off self-consciously.

  “Greg isn’t the one, then?” It was the nicest news I’d had in ages.

  “No, I don’t think so. He’s too… too… I don’t know what. But you and Danilo. The two of you really kill me.”

  After a few weeks all the attention for Jus died down and Greg started hanging around our place again. Mrs. Kolarik didn’t like him, ever since the night he hurt Bubastis. She told him he’d better behave or she’d call the police herself. When he complained about it to Justin, Jus was obviously nervous about it.

  “She’s a fucking bitch, Jus. We need to teach her to mind her own business.”

  I couldn’t resist cutting in. “She likes us. Both of us, Justin and me. I think she feels a bit motherly and protective toward us.”

  “Fuck her.”

  I smiled. “If she’s your type, Greg.”

  I wasn’t really afraid of him, not anymore. But I knew he could still hurt me. He walked across the room and got in my face. “I’m talkin’ to my boyfriend, bitch boy. You stay the fuck out of it.”

  I laughed, “Oh, yes sir!”

  He pushed me and I stumbled a few feet back.

  Justin quickly got between us. “Why don’t the two of you stop it? We all have to get along here.”

  “Tell him to stop riding me.” Greg said the words into my face, not directly to Justin.

  He forced us apart. “I want this to stop, Greg.”

  “Then fuck you, too.” Greg got his jacket and stomped out of the apartment.

  For a moment neither of us said anything. But I couldn’t resist adding a smartass footnote to it all. “And you have doubts about my relationship. Has he ever hit you, Jus?”

  “No.” I think he was lying.

  “He will.”

  “No, Jamie, he wouldn’t.”

  “You see how he behaves.”

  Mrs. Kolarik interrupted us. She had just baked a chocolate cake, and she brought us the first two slices. It was delicious.

  * * *

  Archaic Egypt, the very earliest times, before the pharaohs, even. Danilo asked me to catalog a collection of pots and fragments of rock with inscriptions on them. They’d been sitting in the sub-basement for years, maybe decades, unlooked-at.

  The writing was crude, not the hieroglyphs I was becoming used to. And the art was too; the standards that defined Egypt’s art so beautifully for three millennia had not jelled yet.

  I sorted through them at a worktable in the catacombs. At my insistence, Danilo had had more lights installed. It was a bit of a strain on the department’s budget, but it made sense and it was long overdue. Even so, I was still uneasy when I went down there alone. Hell, I was even nervous when I was there with Danilo. On edge constantly. The slightest sound made me jump. Danilo had promised me I’d be safe as long as I avoided the lowest sub-basement, but…

  Among them I found a piece of granite with part of a relief cut into it. It appeared to be of two men kissing. I thought I could make out the name of one in the archaic script: Set. The other one must be Horus. The story of their love—or rather, of their sexual relationship—must go back to the beginning of recorded time.

  I took it to Danilo and showed it to him. He inspected it carefully, with a magnifier.

  “You can make out this ancient writing?”

  “Just a bit. Mostly I’m guessing.”

  “You’re a good guesser. And this is quite a find.” He switched on a reading lamp and inspected it more closely. “Yes. This must be the earliest depiction of them ever found. I’ll have to write a monograph.” He looked up at me and smiled. “Or rather, we will. You found it.”

  “I’m not an Egyptologist. No one would take anything seriously if it had my name on it. It would be like you playing Poulenc.”

  He got up from his desk and straightened his clothes. “You’re probably right. But even so, you’re the one who found it. And recognized what it is. Otherwise it might have sat in the catacombs for more long years. Most undergraduates would have simply put it back in storage. You deserve at least a mention.”

  There was a quick knock at the door. It opened and Feld came in. He had a student with him, a pale, slight, red-haired boy. For a startled instant, I thought he was Grant.

  Danilo beamed at them. “Professor Feld, I’m glad you’re here. Look at what Jamie’s found.”

  Feld examined it, turned it over in his fingers. He looked dubious; it wasn’t very impressive at first glance. “What is it?”

  Danilo explained what it was and why it was important. “A vital contribution to our understanding of the development of Egyptian religion.”

  “Oh.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “So, Mister Dunn has made a lucky find.”

  “Luck was a part of it, yes.” Danilo was finding his obtuseness or stubbornness amusing, I could tell. “But he recognized it for what it is. He understood at once how important it is.”

  Feld ignored this mild dig. “I wanted to introduce you to my new research assistant.” The young man took a step into the room. “Professor Semenkaru, this is Peter Borzage.”

  Danilo said hello and introduced him to me. We shook hands. He was queer, I was sure of it. “So, you found something important?”

  I smiled a smug little smile and nodded.

  “I hope I can.”

  “If you are as lucky as Mister Dunn, you will. Let’s go.” Feld took him by the arm, and they left.

  I stared after them. “Love in bloom.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought Feld had it in him. He’s married and says he’s Christian. He seems to think the Greeks and Romans were only important to the extent they paved the way for Christianity. Working with all those statues of naked athletes must have finally gotten to him.”

  “Little Peter is one of us.” I hesitated, not quite sure of myself. “Isn’t he?”

  “You’re learning. Quickly.” Danilo smiled and examined the relief again. “This really is an extraordinary find. Your name will be under mine on the paper, quite definitely.”

  “Now I belong to the ages.”

  He sighed. “Brat.”

  “Everybody gets the lover they deserve.”

  He swiped at me playfully, but I ducked and ran out of his office.

  * * *

  I had never really spent much time in the Greco-Roman part of the museum. But as I was leaving, I saw Peter there. He was looking up at a sculpture of a nude discus thrower, slightly larger than life-size. I had noticed it before myself, once or twice. It was a Roman copy of a Greek original. The lines of the body were perfect. Even
the way the pubic hair was rendered seemed sensuous. It was hard to mistake his interest in it.

  From the doorway I said, “A long way from Feld, isn’t it?”

  When he saw me, he smiled and waved. “Come on in.”

  I joined him and we shook hands again. “Borzage. Are you related to the director?”

  “What director?” His bafflement showed.

  “Nothing.”

  He was shorter than me, with a much slighter build. No one could mistake him for an athlete. His eyes were pale blue, and his hair was the most shockingly bright red. I couldn’t resist saying something about it. “They say King David had red hair.”

  “King David?”

  “You know, the one who loved Jonathan?” It was as bold as I had ever been with anyone.

  He blushed rather alarmingly. “I—I—I—”

  “Relax. You’re among friends.”

  “F-friends? I—I—”

  Oh. Oh dear. I hadn’t realized he was so easily flustered. “Never mind. How did you come to work for Feld?”

  “I’m in a few of his classes.” He was still looking at me as if I might bite. “I’m majoring in Classics with a minor in Archaeology.”

  Not exactly a career move, but then I was a classical pianist. He was a sophomore, like me. A native Pittsburgher. He lived at the Delta Kappa Tau frat house. He kept mentioning his “brothers.” I resisted asking the obvious question about life there, much as I wanted to know.

  My eyes were drawn back to the discus thrower. “These old statues are so beautiful.”

  He nodded. He couldn’t seem to find any words.

  “I’m on my way to lunch. Want to get a sandwich?”

  “No, thanks.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’m eating with Professor Feld.”

  “Oh.” I tried not to make the word too insinuating, but he caught my meaning.

  “We’re teacher and student, that’s all.”

  “Danilo and I seem to have started a fashion around here. Feld’s not the easiest man. I hope you get along with him.”

  “I like him.”

  Oh. No arguing taste. “Well, I guess we’ll be seeing each other around. Will you be doing any work down in the catacombs?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “My office is down the hall from Danilo’s. If I can be of any help—you know, getting oriented around here—just let me know.”

  “Thanks.” He shook my hand, rather stiffly. I don’t think either of us had any idea what to make of the other. But something told me…

  He looked so much like Grant.

  * * *

  We did see each other around the museum, quite a bit over the next several weeks. And I was more and more certain what I had in mind was the right thing to do. It wasn’t too hard to connive for Justin to meet the two of us “by accident” at the Z. And they hit it off exactly as I’d hoped they would. On our third get-together Jus asked him for a date. When they thought no one was looking they touched hands under the table. It was all so sweet. And better yet, it meant Greg was history, or would be before long.

  Danilo worked on his monograph. When it was nearly done, he asked me how I’d like my name to appear.

  “You mean I get to choose, like a movie star? Call me Cary.”

  He laughed. I knew what he was going to say, and the words came out of our mouths simultaneously. “He was one of us.”

  Again, he laughed. “You know me too well.”

  “That isn’t possible. I could never have enough of you.”

  “Flirt. Nearly all the great screen lovers were. Valentino, Gary Cooper, Chevalier…”

  “I already know all that. I’ve been a movie buff since I was a kid.”

  “And a gossip.” He grinned. “See? I know you pretty well too.”

  “You’re the one with all the backstairs news about Erasmus and James Buchanan, Danilo.”

  “Yes.” He was smug. “I am. But it’s hardly backstairs. First-hand would be more like it.”

  “You knew them? All of them?” I knew his passion for history, and it was fast becoming mine, too. He told me how Leonardo had spent time in prison for making love to an underage boy. He even had a photo of Clyde Barrow, autographed “To Danilo, with Love.”

  “As many as I could.”

  We headed to the Z, which neither of us liked. Actually no one liked it, but it was so damned convenient to everything on campus. Jus and Peter were there. The blush of new love was hard to mistake. We stopped at their table and chatted for a few moments, then left them to themselves.

  “I was asking seriously, Danilo.” I couldn’t let go of what we’d been talking about. “You seem to have known so many of our…” I found myself borrowing his phrase. “… our fathers and brothers.”

  He smiled a gentle smile. “A lot of them weren’t exactly fatherly. Or brotherly. But even without television and the internet, news traveled. When I heard about a king or an artist or a philosopher who, people said, was…” He grinned playfully and made a twisted little gesture with his hand. “I made it my business to seek him out and make his acquaintance and educate him.” He scanned the menu, as if everyone on campus didn’t know it by heart. “Some were grateful, some not. Scott Fitzgerald was unpleasant. Dag Hammerskjöld was cold. Nero was, well, Neronian.”

  I had to ask. I had no illusions that I might be his first love, but I had to ask. “Did you sleep with all of them?”

  “Not all, no.” He broke into a mischievous grin. “Most of the popes only liked boys. Let’s get something to eat.”

  It seemed so implausible. There were moments when I had my doubts about Danilo’s sanity. But I had seen him heal Bubastis. I had seen him go from older to younger time and again. Any scruples I had about him—about the way he stayed alive—disappeared when I was with him and felt his touch.

  There was a disturbance at the other end of the restaurant. It was Greg. He was at Justin and Peter’s table, shouting and banging his fist. There was some commotion and a campus cop escorted him out. Just looked a bit startled. Peter’s pale complexion had turned bright red.

  I told Danilo I’d be right back and went to their table. “Are you both all right?”

  The both of them nodded but didn’t say anything. I was tempted to tell Jus I-told-you-so, but what would have been the point? He surely understood. “Why don’t you come and join Danilo and me?”

  They said no thanks. They got their jackets and left. They weren’t talking to one another.

  * * *

  Sometimes I worked out in the pool late at night. I liked it when no one else was around; when I needed to think, it made concentrate easier. The water was a bit cooler, and I could swim for hours. My butterfly always needed work. I frequently thought of Tim then. Always with mixed feelings. His blood, his death had helped continue Danilo’s life. How could I know what to feel?

  One night after a long practice at the music department I decided I needed to work off some energy. The finale of the sonata still wasn’t coming, and I was angry at myself. Roland always told me it would take time. “There aren’t more than a handful of players in the world who can really do justice to that last movement, Jamie. I’ve told you. Ashkenazy, Pollini, Argerich.”

  “I’m not in their class.”

  “You will be, one day. But you have to take it slow, give it time.”

  I understood perfectly what he meant, but I was too impatient. Working on it always left me frustrated. I headed for the pool.

  The athletic complex always seemed strange to me when there was no one there, uncharacteristically peaceful, devoid of the usually abundant testosterone. And cool. There were only work lights on, so it was pleasantly dark. I stripped and got into my Speedo and plunged into the water. Almost at once I could feel myself relaxing, the tension dissipating.

  I swam for half an hour, and I felt wonderful. The rush of the water along my body was always so exhilarating.

  There was someone else in the building.

  I
didn’t make anything of it. One of the divers had had the same idea I did. Or maybe one of the runners wanted to use the track. Then I realized who it was.

  Greg Wilton was standing at the side of the pool, staring at me, or rather glaring, the hatred plain to see. His hands were folded behind his back. I hung motionless, watching him. I could tread water for hours, and he could never reach me in the pool.

  “Get out of there, faggot.”

  I laughed at him. “Come and get me.”

  “I said get out of there.”

  “Is that menace you’re trying to convey, Greg? You’re not doing a very good job.”

  He moved his hands. He was holding a baseball bat. “You fucked with me and my boyfriend.”

  “He’s not your boyfriend anymore.”

  A security guard came in on his late-night rounds. Greg glared at him, then at me. “Later, Dunn”

  I knew he was violent. I’d have to be careful. I chatted with the guard, who knew me from all the nights I swam there. After a while, when I was sure Greg must be gone, I got out and headed for the locker room.

  Greg was there, waiting. He swung the bat and hit me square on the head. Everything spun. I fell.

  “Don’t ever fuck with me again, queer boy.”

  He raised the bat. I winced, bracing myself for another blow to my head. Instead he hit my fingers. I felt them crack and I cried out in the worst pain I had ever felt.

  It wasn’t enough for him. He caught my fingers and bent them back till they were all broken. He twisted them.

  “Let’s see you play your goddamn fag piano now, cocksucker.”

  I cried out. The pain was terrible.

  Then everything went black.

  * * *

  Hospital room. Hospital smell in the air.

  I woke and looked around.

  Justin was at one side of the bed, Roland at the other. My hands were in casts. There were IV tubes in my arms, and some kind of monitoring device whirred and hummed on a stand beside me.