Visible Lives

by Stanley Bennett Clay

  I walked him to his job, sharing glances and smiles and silly conversation so common in the early stages of courtship.

  Courtship.

  My God, that’s what was happening. We were actually courting each other. I certainly knew what I was feeling inside about him, and I could tell that he was feeling much the same way about me. Though neither one of us uttered the L word, our eyes, and our smiles, said it all.

  “May I see you later, Étie?” I asked as I watched him unlock the door to the bodega.

  “Yes. When?”

  “When you get off work?”

  “That be nice.”

  “We’ll get something to eat.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now you know your country better than I, so why don’t you pick a place.”

  “Hmmm.” He thought long and hard. “How about Pizza Hut?” he finally said.

  “Pizza Hut?”

  “You like pizza, no?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “I like pizza too.”

  “Well then, Pizza Hut it is,” I said. “So I’ll be back here at four. Then we’ll go to Pizza Hut!”

  “Bueno,” he said, lingering in the doorway of the bodega. “See you later, my beautiful man.” He touched my face. I kissed his hand, watched him go inside. The cathedral across the plaza struck ten. I turned to it and smiled.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At exactly three forty-five I arrived at Bodega Colonial. It was my first time being there so late in the day, and I was surprised by the afternoon festiveness. Inside, customers milled, swayed to the merengue music playing from the radio, or just plain lingered. Some had gathered round the mounted TV set where a baseball game was being played. Others sat at the little tables outside and sipped rum and Presidente beer.

  Étie was busy and happy as he served up cold drinks, packaged goods, cold sandwiches, and warm laughter. When he saw me, his eyes lit up. He said something in rapid Spanish to the older man behind the counter, who waved at me and smiled, then beckoned me inside.

  “Jesse, this my boss, Señor Trujillo,” Étie said. “Señor Trujillo, esto es mi amigo norteamericano. Su nombre es Jesse.”

  “¡Hola, Jesse! Hola!” Señor Trujillo bellowed, pumping my hand with gusto.

  “Hola, señor.”

  He then turned to Étie. “Go, go,” he urged him.

  “¿No problema?” Étie asked sheepishly.

  “No, no,” Señor Trujillo continued. “You go. Have good time.”

  “Muchas gracias, señor.”

  “De nada, Étie.” He continued ushering us out the store like children stuck too long in the house.

  “Señor Trujillo seems like a nice guy,” I said as we walked down Calle Jose Gabriel Garcia toward the Condistre. The late afternoon sun reflected against a pink melon sky.

  “He is very nice,” Étie said softly, admiring the sky. “I tell him all about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Sí.”

  “So what did you tell him?”

  “I tell him how nice you are.”

  “So, you think I am nice, huh?”

  “I think you are very nice, Jesse.”

  At Pizza Hut we shared Cokes and a sausage and pepperoni pizza that Étie would not let me pay for. “I big model now,” he bragged, throwing his head back and sticking out his chest. “I make one hundred U.S. dollars in just one day.”

  I felt like I was in high school again, hanging out after the big game. The corny jokes we exchanged in that rear booth were not lost to language differences, and our raucous laughter made the restaurant manager look up more than once.

  Afterward, we toured the shops along the Condistre, bought toffee, and then went to the little park a half a block away. We sat on the warm grass. The sun had set and the lights from the Condistre illuminated the sky above us, filtering through the trees that surrounded us, painting a lovely, moody picture around us.

  I learned so much more about Étie as we sat there in the park.

  A self-confessed geek, he was always very smart and creative in school and, much to the consternation of his father, showed little interest in sports and outdoor activities, except swimming in the sea. Teachers took note of Étie’s intellectual and artistic abilities and started teaching him English as a second language in primary school, as well as computer literacy, which he took to very well, and encouraged him to join the school choir, which his father made him quit after coming home and finding him draped in sheets and tablecloths in front of the television singing along with videos of Madonna and Cher.

  “I guess mi padre was right,” he said a matter of fact, “I was sissy boy. But there is sissy part in all. How you say? Effeminacy? Science book say that. I know. I read. And no beating can destroy what The Father in heaven make. It is like being left-handed, white skin, black. You may no like, but all are in Heavenly Father’s garden. All His flowers, beautiful and good. My gay, beautiful and good. Your gay, beautiful and good. Our gay beautiful and good.”

  When his father put him out of the house and stopped paying for his schooling, Étie would roam the streets at night and sleep in the bathroom stalls of museums and libraries during part of the day. But when he would come out of the stalls, out of the bathrooms, he found himself fascinated with the artifacts of his country, and other countries. And the books in the library always held his attention. There were always many English books in the library, and he managed to match the spelling of English words with their phonetic sounds. He continued his education on his own.

  Though fifteen when his father put him out, Étie looked twelve. His youthful appearance made only menial jobs—shining shoes and sweeping out shops—available to him. Señor Trujillo would often see the scrawny little boy hanging outside his shop. Feeling sorry for him, he gave Étie food to eat, and Coca-Colas to drink. Eventually, Señor Trujillo started paying Étie to come and sweep out the shop.

  Étie never let on to Señor Trujillo that he was living on the streets, sleeping in toilet stalls, and bathing in the sea.

  On Saturdays and Sundays, the busiest days, Señor Trujillo’s wife would come and help out at the shop. Señora Trujillo and Étie got along very well, and Étie slowly began to open up to the older woman, though he did not let on that he was homeless.

  The Trujillos recognized what a hard worker Étie was, and how bright he was. Soon they hired him to stock the shelves and sell behind the counter. He had been working there ever since, was even able to save enough money to find a room to rent.

  “Then I meet boy. I twenty-two. He three years older. We fall in love. Live together. Have good life together for two years. Then I find out about him. What he do. So I leave. Move into new place. Get new room.”

  “What did he do, Étie?”

  “No importa,” he said coldly. “Only importante I leave him to his ways.”

  I could tell by his steely silence that the pain had not totally gone away. But I knew, knowing what kind of person he was, knowing his strength, that the lingering pain would not prevent him from moving on to a sweeter future. I knew that we could have something wonderful together; in spite of the pain we had both suffered.

  We saw each other every day that week, when he got off work. The next evening he took me to a mall in the city’s business district where we pigged out on ice cream and hamburgers. We went to the movies afterward and held hands in the dark of the cinema.

  I would not be able to see him until very late the next night because he had to do data entry for a weekly newspaper he worked part time for.

  We promised to meet at the little outdoor café he pointed out to me in the Condistre when he got off work. We met at ten, just in time to order before the restaurant closed. There were few customers, and we were the only patrons sitting out at one of the sidewalk tables. The Condistre itself was unusually quiet, as most of the businesses were closed, proprietors were gone, and save for a few adventurous tourists who strolled the cobblestone street hand in hand, the Condistre was empt
y of people but filled with romance.

  The setting was not lost on us as we dined under the moonlight.

  That Saturday, Étie’s day off, we decided to spend the afternoon at his escape. He brought his own swimming trunks this time, wore them under his pants. Carlos had given me a blanket and towels and I met Étie at Bodega Colonial. Señora Trujillo prepared a small basket of sandwiches, mangos, sodas, and candies for us.

  The water was warm and still. The setting was so quiet despite the rustling traffic on the Malecón high above us. It was as if we were on some remote enchanted island, a little bit of Eden created just for us. We played in the water and basked in the sun, had our picnic underneath the shade of a coconut tree. We stretched out on the blanket and napped for a while. It was so peaceful and relaxing that when I opened my eyes, I had no idea where I was, nor did I care. I slowly turned to see Étie staring down at me, wearing that beautiful smile of his. I smiled up to him. He leaned down and kissed me.

  “I love you, Jesse,” he then said, laying his head on my chest. I went weak. From what? I don’t know. Was it the scent of his hair, the touch of his softness so small in my arms, or the words that he said for the very first time?

  I love you, Jesse.

  I knew it, I felt it, I prayed for it. But hearing him say it was a new kind of feeling. It humbled me to a heaving. Tears swelled inside. I took the hand he had gently and slowly brushed against my cheek, and kissed it. It made him smile, and he looked up at me. I looked into his eyes. They, like mine, sparkled with tears.

  “I love you too, Étie,” I somehow managed to say. “I love you so…so much.”

  He turned to fully face me, to totally wrap himself in my arms; him looking up, me looking down, staring at each other with tear-filled eyes. He then snuggled into my chest, and I held him. I then said a silent prayer, thanking God and all His lucky stars. It was as if Étie heard me, heard my silent prayer.

  “Baby?” he asked.

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Will you go church with me tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “I want to thank Heavenly Father for giving you to me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Cedric, I’m in love!” I declared, rushing through the door of House of John, huffing, damp shirt open and flailing, swim trunks spilling out over my low-hanging shorts, my carry-on bag stuffed with wet towels, oily sun block, and gritty sand.

  “But of course you are,” Cedric mused with a philosophical ease acquired only by those who understand the marriage of tropical sun and white beaches lounged up against the Caribbean sea; what the vision, the aroma, the attended breezes conjure in mere mortal man.

  “No, Cedric, I mean, really in love,” I insisted. He looked up from his computer screen, assessed the dumb look on my face, my newly acquired tan, and then sighed. “What do you mean ‘really in love,’ Jesse?” he asked carefully.

  “I met someone.”

  “A local?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmmm,” he hummed.

  “What?”

  “Your dick and your ass are in love.”

  “No,” I protested. “I’ve known him for over a week and we haven’t even had sex yet.”

  “You will before your trip is over.”

  “This is the real thing, Cedric.”

  “How can it be the real thing in just one week, Jesse?”

  “I know what I’m feeling, Cedric. I know how I feel. And he feels the same way about me.”

  “He loves you.”

  “Yes!”

  “Be careful, Jesse. Don’t fall in love with a bugarrón. He only loves your dollars.”

  “No!”

  “He only does what he does for the dollars.”

  “He’s not a bugarrón, Cedric. He works at a bodega. In fact, he has two jobs.”

  “They all have two jobs, Jesse. They all work at a bodega, or selling trinkets in the Condistre, or as policías, taxi drivers, even husbands. But they’re struggling in a poor country, so they make ends meet working with the best they have to offer, their beautiful faces, their beautiful bodies, their beautiful sex.”

  “He’s not like that.” I looked Cedric squarely in his eyes. “Trust me. He’s not.”

  He could tell that I was dead serious, even if he thought I was dead wrong. He went back to his computer. I slowly started up the stairs, my head lowered, pissed off that anyone could think that about my Étie.

  I almost collided with Dr. Mo and his vacation boyfriend Tomás, who were coming down the stairs.

  “Well, if it isn’t the prodigal son.” Dr. Mo smiled. “Haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “I’ve been busy, Moses.”

  “So we hear.” He smiled slyly.

  “Hear what?” Sylvester asked, entering through the foyer from outside, followed by William, Martin, and Oliver Bevins.

  “Hey, Jesse, where you been?” Oliver asked.

  “Missin’ all the good action,” Sylvester snickered.

  “Not from what I hear,” Jarvis offered, coming in from the terrace.

  “Who? What?” The Hicks twins peeked in from the parlor where they were getting their asses kicked in a game of Uno with Carlos and a couple of locals.

  “Jesse’s got a boyfriend,” Jarvis sing-songed.

  “We all got a boyfriend,” Myron Hicks laughed.

  “Why you think we down here?” his brother Byron added.

  “No, I mean a real boyfriend.”

  “What do you mean, a real boyfriend?”

  “As in a steady piece.”

  “Well, hell, I got that,” Dr. Mo said, allowing big buff Tomás to squeeze his bony ass.

  “Naw, I mean like in lover.”

  “Okay, guys, look. None of you know what’s going on with me.”

  “That little model is what’s going on with you, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I ain’t mad atcha. I’d be tappin’ that ass too, phine as he is.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like, Jesse?”

  I felt like they were all piling up on me; the laughter, the coos, the snappage and the reads, the trivializations and wrong assumptions, making it something that it totally was not.

  “Hey, chill, y’all!” Father Martin yelled out, bringing everyone to silence. “Leave the brotha alone.”

  “Look, old man, you chill,” Sylvester laughed, breaking the silence. “You just worry about buying you up some dick so you won’t be alone.”

  “You know what?” I finally said. “Let me talk to y’all later.” I bolted my way up the stairs, stormed down the hall, entered my room, and slammed the door shut behind me. I couldn’t believe how angry I was, especially after having such a beautiful day.

  And then I thought about it. Did I really have any reason to be angry with any of them? We all came down here looking for the same thing. I just happened to find something different. I just happened to find something I had been looking for all my life and didn’t even know it. I shouldn’t be angry with them for not understanding. I should be happy that I understood. But still.

  There was a knock at my door.

  “Yeah?” I called out, trying to hide the frustration in my voice.

  “Jesse, it’s me. Will.”

  “Yeah.”

  “May I come in?”

  I hesitated for a moment. Then I gave in. “Yeah, man. Come on in.”

  “So, Cedric says you’re in love.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, if love makes you look like that, I don’t know if I want any parts of it,” he joked.

  I looked at him. I had to chuckle a bit. “Have a seat, man.”

  “Thanks.” He did.

  We sat there in silence for a few moments. I could feel him looking at me, but wasn’t sure if I was ready to meet his eyes.

  “So what’s his name?” he asked.

  I hesitated again. “Étienne,” I finally answered, softly, suddenly soothed by the image
of Étie in my mine.

  “Étienne,” Will repeated slowly, as if reciting a poem. “What a beautiful name.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know the guys are just messin’ with you.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Not too often one of the guys on one of these excursions falls in love.”

  “It wasn’t my intention, Will. Trust me. It just happened.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “What? You don’t think I’ve been in love before?”

  “No, man, I’m sure you have.”

  “Yes, I have. Not often, maybe a couple of times. But one thing’s for sure. Love is never a plan.”

  “You got that right.”

  “And another thing.”

  “What?”

  “You can never be too sure.”

  “I’m sure, Will.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Were you sure about Sean?”

  It was like a blow to my heart. I simply could not answer.

  “All I’m saying, Jesse, is that if it is what it is, then it is. If it’s not, then that’s okay, too.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re on vacation. Do whatever you want to do. And afterward, you’ll go home.”

  I didn’t feel like dining with the fellas that night so I strolled over to the Condistre and bought a couple of chicken burritos from a vending cart. Afterward I visited some of the shops that Étie and I had gone to three nights earlier. I made it a particular point to return to the jewelry shop we had gone to. When I first saw the beautiful gold crucifix and chain in the display case three nights ago, it caught my eye, but I didn’t know why. Now I did. I purchased it and had it gift-wrapped. I couldn’t wait to give it to him tomorrow before church.

  It should not have surprised me that he attended service at the beautiful cathedral across the plaza from Bodega Colonial. It was the perfect setting for my little angel. Because he had to work, we would attend the first mass at eight o’clock. I couldn’t wait.

  I stepped out of the air-conditioned jewelry shop and back into the warm night breeze, back into the pedestrian traffic of locals and tourists. I noticed a pair of lovers. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help myself. I stared and I smiled. I didn’t even notice the guy walking toward me, not until he spoke.