They picked up a breeze from time to time that carried them a few miles. They drifted. Sometime after midnight, Charlie told Peter to go below.
“Why don’t you?” Peter countered. “You never get enough sleep. Let me sit there for a while.”
“No, honestly, baby. I like it. You’d be bored out of your wits, but I actually enjoy it. God knows why. Get a decent night’s rest.”
“If you say so.” He kissed Charlie and went below.
Time drifted with the boat. An hour or two later, his eye was caught by movement in the companionway and he assumed that it was Peter returning. When he looked again he saw Martha stepping out on deck wearing her long dressing gown. She came aft and moved in beside him where Peter usually sat.
“What are you doing up here?” he asked in a muted voice, making room for her.
“I wanted to be with you.” Her hand went to his fly and began to unfasten it. His sex stirred and began to harden uncomfortably. He let her disentangle it from the confining folds of cloth. By the time she had done so, it was standing upright. She ran the tips of her fingers along it while it swelled and locked into immobility.
“All right,” he murmured. “You’ve seen what you can do to me. That’s enough.”
“No,” she whispered. “Not nearly enough. I want to kiss it till you come.”
“Are you crazy? Jack could come up at any minute.”
“He won’t. He sleeps like a log. Peter let me.”
“Sure, but he wasn’t in charge of the boat. Besides, I don’t want it that way. Nobody can do it right but Peter. I fuck you, remember?”
“Then fuck me.” She held his sex with both hands and bent toward it.
He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face. “How can I? You see how much I want to.”
“Yes. It’s too big and hard not to now.”
“Where can we, damn it? It’s not possible.”
“Below. Where we did before. Peter would if I went to him.”
“You stay away from Peter. I mean, we’ve all got to stop this while we’re on board.”
“How can we stop when you’re like this? Look at it. Your monumental phallus. You’re a taker. Take me with your monumental phallus.”
“All right, damm it. Go wake Peter and tell him to come up here. But I warn you. If we do it, we’ll do it with no holds barred. I’ll fuck you till you holler.”
“How marvelous.” She laughed softly. “I want you to make me holler. I feel like hollering just looking at it. Hurry!” She brushed his hand away and bent down to it and took the head in her mouth. Her teeth and tongue made him jerk up in the seat. She let him go and rose and hurried back to the companionway.
He got himself back into his trousers somehow and buttoned his fly with difficulty. His heart was beating rapidly. He felt in some obscure way that he was breaking the rules he had himself laid down. He was ashamed to face Peter, which made him angrily defensive. Peter appeared in a few moments, pulling on a sweater.
“You want me?” he asked, joining Charlie at the wheel.
“Yes. Take over here,” he said curtly. “We’re headed for those lights. I won’t be long.” He could feel Peter recoil from him as he took the wheel.
“What about Jack?” he asked after an instant’s silence.
“You didn’t let him stop you,” Charlie said accusingly. Peter said nothing. Charlie hated himself for having said it. Again, he felt a wrench deep within him as he sprang up and moved quickly away so that Peter wouldn’t see his erection.
Martha whispered his name as he entered the dark saloon. She stripped him below the waist while he was pulling his jersey over his head. She tangled her fingers in his pubic hair and cradled his testicles in her hand. She held his sex and lay back and he climbed in on top of her. She was already making her little moaning sounds. She cried out as he entered her and cried out again as he completed the long thrust of his penetration. Their bellies ground together.
“Does Peter make you scream for it?” he demanded. He kept his voice low but he didn’t bother to whisper.
“No. Oh, no. Only you, my precious.” She had made him jealous. The moment was coming when he would want her all for himself. After that, perhaps he would want only her. “You do it all this time. Everything. I won’t stir the soup. Make me come by just being there. You can, my lover. Only you. Your magnificent great cock. It’s so huge after Peter. Use it. Fuck me hard, precious.”
He did as he was told. They drove each other to a moaning, gasping, shouting paroxysm of desire, but the fierceness of the engagement didn’t dislodge from his mind the image of Peter sitting alone at the wheel. He had never left him before. He shared his hurt and loneliness. His pride was engaged in achieving Martha’s orgasm, but he longed to be sitting with Peter.
The sun was up when they sailed into the great circle of the bay formed by Santorin and its outlying islands. It was like sailing across the crater of a volcano, which was more or less what it was. One of the islands that formed the circle was smoking like a dump heap. They motored in toward a sheer cliff at the foot of which they could see cäiques tied up. High above, a town seemed to balance on its edge. Jack and Peter went forward to prepare for mooring.
“Today’s the day,” Martha said, standing beside Charlie at the wheel. She was gazing forward, prepared to help him with the motor. “I think Jack heard us last night. He’s acting a bit odd. It doesn’t matter. I’ve missed my period.”
He eased up on the helm in response to a wave from Jack. “You wanted to, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Heavens, yes. We’re going to have a baby. We can start to plan now.”
“Cut the motor down a bit. That’s good,” Charlie said.
“I’ve been thinking. You said you didn’t want the baby to have Jack’s name. I’m sure a good lawyer could manage it. I can get doctors’ certificates to prove he can’t be the father. There’s no reason why he should fight it. That is, if you want to marry me.”
“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that. OK. Neutral.” He swung the wheel and sprang to the rail to fend-off.
They were all busy for the next fifteen minutes getting the boat tied up and in order. When it was done, there was no further opportunity for private conversation. They discussed their plans for the day and agreed to meet back at the boat at sunset. Martha looked at Peter and Charlie longingly as they prepared to leave.
They had a dizzying ride on donkeys up the face of the cliff. Peter was quickly aware that Charlie was in a difficult mood. He was silent and unresponsive. He had been even more remorseful about the night’s incident than Peter felt he had any reason to be. It was the sort of thing that demonstrated the impossibility of their all living together, but he could put up with it for a few more weeks. When Charlie had returned from Martha, he had been angrily solicitous, obliquely apologetic. Peter hadn’t felt reproachful. He had made the most of Martha’s advances as a calculated challenge to Charlie. He had known the day before on the beach when Charlie had followed him that he had won.
The island had been a cult center in antiquity, celebrated for the beauty of its naked dancing boys; dedications to them from their male suitors remained, carved in stone. When they reached the town at the top of the cliff, Peter tried to make him laugh with joking references to “their” shrine and naked dancing boys in general but he failed.
“Come on, Peter. Cut all the camp talk, for God’s sake,” Charlie said shortly.
The unfamiliar use of his name told Peter that his mood was blacker than he had realized. Men surrounded them when they stopped to inquire about the site of the ancient city. There was much talk of food and they gathered they should take something to eat with them. They were escorted to a bare little shop where they bought bread and cheese and a bottle of wine and a tin of sardines. Back out in the street, they found donkeys awaiting them. Before they knew where they were going, they were astride and being led off, plodding daintily, by a small boy on a third donkey.
&
nbsp; It was the sort of expedition they usually liked—impromptu, haphazard, novel, stimulating to the eye, with a nice touch of the absurd to keep them guessing—but it failed to lift Charlie’s spirits. He made a few comments on the island landscape, high hills and glimpses of sea everywhere, and relapsed into silence. The mood lasted through a long donkey-ride, a visit to the ruins where Peter refrained from making any further references to the dancing boys, their meager lunch under an olive tree, the long ride back. Since he could think of nothing he could have done to cause it, Peter allowed him to brood in private. Charlie would tell him about it when he was ready.
When they returned to the boat at sunset, they found the Kingsleys finishing off a shaker of martinis. Peter saw Charlie pointedly snub Martha when she started to tell him about their day.
“That fucker Jack is really drunk,” he said when they were below changing their clothes. His tone was ugly.
“Not much more than usual,” Peter said placatingly. “Anyway, we don’t need him to get out of here.”
They returned to the deck and set about casting off without consulting the Kingsleys. When Martha saw that they were ready, she started the motor.
For the first time, Jack was definitely unsteady on his feet. They went forward to raise sail. The day’s northeasterly wind was dying. When they had the sails up, Jack swung the helm and cut the motor and headed south. Charlie and Peter stayed forward watching the sun set on the curiously menacing circlet of rocky outcroppings.
“It’s really spooky,” Peter said. “I’m glad we got off before it blew up. Did it depress you? You’ve seemed sort of funny all day.”
“No, I’m OK.” He saw some breeze coming in from the west. He started to call back to Jack, but it was so clearly visible that it would have been bad sailing manners to mention it. When he decided he couldn’t wait any longer, it was too late. A puff of wind hit them. The great boom swung in a heavy arc across the boat and crashed to the other side in a wrenching jibe. Charlie raced back along the deck, crouched down in case the boom swung again. He flung Jack out of the way and seized the wheel.
“You drunken bastard,” he shouted, trimming the main and getting the boat steadied. “Where do you expect to find another mast around here? Christ Almighty! Why don’t you stay below where you belong.”
“Really, Charlie—” Martha began.
“You shut up. Get the jib in.”
“Don’t you order her around,” Jack protested, sitting on the bench where Charlie had shoved him, looking dazed.
“I’ll’ fucking well order her around if I fucking well feel like it,” Charlie roared.
Peter had come aft and was staring at him with startled, protective eyes. Charlie turned to him. “Get us drinks, will you, baby? We all might as well get drunk.”
Peter was blushing as he hurried below. He returned with bottles and glasses and poured them whiskies and sodas while the Kingsleys watched in silence. Charlie drank thirstily.
“Good. Maybe Jack has something. We’ll go careening all over the Mediterranean. How about getting the mizzen up, baby.”
“What is all this faggy ‘baby’ stuff?” Jack demanded nastily.
“That’s us—a couple of fags. Still, we’re probably better men than you’ll ever be. If you only knew.”
“I think we’d better go below, Jack,” Martha said hastily. “Charlie’s in a nasty temper.”
“I’ll go before this goes too far,” Jack said, “but I think there’d better be a serious talk when we get into Heraklion.”
“Any time, any place, but preferably sober,” Charlie snapped. He finished his drink in another swallow and handed Peter his glass for a refill. Martha stood and waited for Jack. He stumbled slightly as he crossed the deck. They disappeared down the companionway. Charlie pulled Peter to the wheel without saying anything and left him there to work in the stern. When he had the third sail set, he returned to the wheel and elbowed Peter out of the way. Peter sat on the bench near him, waiting for him to speak. He had no clue what to expect next; he had never seen him quite like this. He knew his temper on the rare occasions when he lost control, but now his control seemed to be still operating. He seemed disgusted rather than angry; Peter felt outside it and was still content, therefore, to bide his time. They sat in silence as darkness gathered in around them. They finished their second drink.
“I suppose we ought to eat something,” Charlie said finally. His voice sounded normal but tired. “Would you go see what you can find?”
“Sure, darling.” Peter stood and moved toward Charlie and put a hand on his shoulder. Charlie held his knee and leaned his head against his hip. Peter could feel a tremor in the body resting against him. “I’ll fix you another drink.” He did so and went below. He was back in a moment. “Martha’s bringing us some sandwiches and soup.”
Charlie didn’t speak. Martha appeared in the hatch and lifted food onto the deck. Peter went to collect it, but she came on up and moved aft to the cockpit.
“Do you think it was a good idea to go quite so far?” she asked.
“There’s just one question I want you to answer and then you can go below,” Charlie said coldly. “Did you have that normal fuck with Jack we talked about?”
There was a long silence during which he could feel her struggling to decide whether or not to lie. “Yes,” she said at last. “I had to. We haven’t been able to talk seriously about the future. You haven’t known what you wanted. I had to think of the child. I thought I might have to convince Jack that he was the father. I haven’t known what to think. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.”
“No, you didn’t wait. You’ve got yourself covered all the way round. Very smart. You were right, of course. I never pretended you could count on us. Anyway, that settles it. Get the hell below.”
“Settles what? Please, my precious—”
“Shut up, goddamn it,” he roared. “You’ve done the one thing I told you not to do. I was sure you would. As it turns out, it doesn’t matter a damn, if that’s any comfort to you. Go below. I don’t have anything more to say to you.”
Her eyes glittered in the moonlight. Tears? She hestiated and then her shoulders sagged resignedly as she turned and went.
“Jesus!” Peter said when she was out of sight. “How are we going to go on with them after this?”
“Who said we’re going on with them?”
“We have to. We can’t ditch them now. What’s the matter, for God’s sakes?”
“You know what’s the matter. Jack for one.”
“There’s more to it than that. What were you saying to Martha?”
“You heard me. All that crap about being in love with me and she lets Jack fuck her just to be on the safe side. It makes me sick.”
“That’s not all. There’s been something wrong since this morning. Please tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Drop it, for God’s sake.” How could he tell him of the extent of his failure? He had already said too much about the hopes he had pinned on Martha. Now that they were dead, they seemed ludicrous and perverse. He longed to blot everything he had said about her from Peter’s memory. He didn’t want her in their life: he didn’t want their child. He had known it the minute she had mentioned marriage this morning. If marriage hadn’t been touched on before, he could understand it better, but she had only been echoing his own words. He had been entirely responsible for the whole situation. Every minute all three of them had spent together should have told him that his vision of their living together could never be realized to the satisfaction of any of them. Why had a chance, harmless word of hers opened his eyes at last? He had battled with himself all day, clinging to his vanishing hopes, but the image of Peter alone at the wheel vanquished reason—or perhaps restored it to him. His dream of fatherhood was dead. The baby would be the Kingsleys’; he had renounced his own child. All his natural instincts were blocked by a beautiful, effeminate young man. Not effeminate, some more judicious corner of his mind cor
rected. His beauty and exquisite youthfulness set him apart from other men, but there was nothing effeminate about him. There was nothing effeminate about the way they had both taken Martha. It would all be more understandable, perhaps, if there were. He was raw with failure. He had failed in whatever he had been trying to attain with Peter; now that it was all over, he hardly knew what it had been all about. The grand design was wrecked and blurred. His attempt to be a man like other men had failed. He hated the way he had spoken to Martha. He thought of what he had done on the beach the day before and hated Peter for driving him to it. He hated himself.
“Give me another drink, will you, baby?” he said quite calmly. “I’m sorry if I sounded cross with you. I’m not.”
Peter sprang to do his bidding. As he passed the drink, he leaned over and kissed Charlie on the top of his head. “Don’t worry about it any more. Jack’s drunk enough so he probably won’t remember anything about it tomorrow.”
“So much the worse for him. I don’t know why he hasn’t sunk the boat long ago.”
“Don’t you want me to take over for a while? You should rest. You haven’t slept since I don’t know when.”
“No. I’m fine. The wind’s coming around more southerly. We’d better get the sheets in.”
When they had trimmed the sails, Peter crowded in on the seat behind the wheel. He felt no response in Charlie’s body, only the tremor he had felt before. Something was still wrong. He couldn’t imagine what had affected him so deeply. Was it possible that he cared more about Martha than he had supposed? He had the impression that the brief, cruel exchange with her just now had been a farewell. He couldn’t be sorry about that but he didn’t want Martha to be needlessly hurt. He felt a surprising possessive tenderness for her. Even he had given her a few moments of ecstasy. She had been his girl. It created a tie. He was beginning to see some sense in Charlie’s plans. Of course, they couldn’t have her in the house but they could keep in touch with her, watch the child grow up at a distance, do things for it. There was something special about being a father, after all. To his astonishment, he found himself getting an erection as he thought about her. He switched his attention back to Charlie. Should he insist that he go below and get some sleep? He must be on the edge of total exhaustion after all the weeks of brief, interrupted sleep. Peter put his arm around his chest and hugged him close, trying to soothe the odd tremor he felt in him.
The Peter & Charlie Trilogy Page 66
