“Look around. Except for the river, nothing’s free to leave. Unless it’s something we don’t know about,” Jon added, trying to be accurate without giving anything away.
“Like what?” Alf asked.
“Like a spotted cat.”
“I’m surprised you believe in things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like animals no one’s ever seen. But we weren’t talking about spotted cats. We were talking about the way you feel about leaving this place. You said the other boys were animals who’d bite if you tried to free them, but we’ve grown up here, too. You’re not planning to bite anyone, are you?”
Jon turned on him suddenly.
“Did I say them and not us? Maybe what I saw in their eyes was a reflection. My teeth are as sharp as anyone’s.”
Jon opened his mouth wide and then shut it with a snap.
“You’re not like that,” Alf said, uncharacteristically refusing to be amused.
“How do you know, Alfie? What makes you think I couldn’t turn into a monster?”
Jon bared his teeth and growled. He knew that Alf hated being called Alfie and he also knew that Alf wanted a serious conversation, but he suddenly hated the idea of seriousness.
“Because that’s not what you are,” Alf said, shaking his head.
“How do you know what I am?” Jon repeated. “And how do you know what I couldn’t become? How do you even know what you couldn’t become yourself? You have teeth, too. You could bite hard if you wanted to.”
Jon showed his teeth once more in a comic grimace; then he turned and walked toward the lake, Alf at his heels. Tracing its shore, they reached the rocky spot where it became the stream that meandered into the next valley. To their north, the women had built their community—rectangular houses where they slept, four to a room, except for the Mothers, who had quarters to themselves; the refectory with its high, steeply pitched roof; a scattering of buildings for work or storage; and, in the center, the octagonal Hall of the Mothers. The girls’ cabins and dining hall stood at the west end of the village, while the boys’ quarters were off by themselves on rising ground. The older the boys, the higher their cabin—a rule laid down centuries ago. Each summer, after the oldest left, the sixteen-year-olds would carry their bundles to the highest cabin, followed by each age in turn, and the five-year-olds would march up from the nursery, where they’d been living with the girls. For the first weeks, you could hear some crying at night, but in time they grew used to their new life.
The valley lay between two ridges that reached out from the West Mountain, first spreading, then drawing close to force the stream and the road along its north bank into a narrow defile. Here, where cliffs made the south bank impassible, the women had blocked the road with a gate, next to which they’d built a tower with a wall up to an outrider of the Boundary Mountain—fortifications intended to withstand an invasion from the only direction they believed one possible.
No one knew what lay beyond the southern rim of the two valleys. As for the West Mountain itself, no paths led above the hemlocks on its lower reaches, and snow blanketed its heights year round. In contrast, the lower slope of the Boundary Mountain was considered part of the valley—as far as the rock face known as the White Wall. Boys were forbidden to pass beyond it, but its height made the prohibition needless—or so Jon had believed until he met John.
Turning away from the sun, Jon and Alf faced this panorama. Light still brightened the lake, but the shadow of rain clouds had fallen over the women and girls in the fields beyond the lake head. If it was a privilege to be a woman in the Valley of Women, that privilege entailed responsibility. Boys could sleep away their mornings, but the older girls joined the women in their labors as soon as the sun rose.
“Look—even on such a beautiful morning, it’s clear the valley hates the sun,” Jon said. “If I didn’t know we were headed for months of light I’d be certain that leaving was a good thing—even leaving with those jerks.”
“Good or bad—what does it matter?” Alf asked. “We have no choice.”
“That’s the rub. We have no choice in anything.”
“The girls say they’ll make us work.”
Jon sniffed.
“I’m not afraid to work.”
“But it’s not just work, you know. Audrey says they’ll fuck us up the ass. They have no women, so they use the new boys instead. What would you do if a man tried something like that?”
“Why ask such a stupid question?”
“They say it’ll hurt like hell.”
“Hurt? I’m not afraid of pain—and I’m certainly not afraid of those louts. But I’m hungry. If we get to the dining hall right away, we’ll be done before the twerps show their faces.”
Alf looked at him for a moment.
“I’ll tell you something, Jon. You think the other boys ignore you, but you’re dead wrong. If they pretend to scorn you, it’s because they know you avoid them, eating by yourself whenever you can. They may not have heard you call them twerps, but they know that’s what you think.”
“I’m not going to eat by myself this morning. I’m going to eat with you, Alfie. And a pleasant breakfast we’ll have, two pals side by side in the good ol’ boys’ refectory.”
“That just makes it worse. You know what they say about us.”
“No. What do they say about us?”
“That we do things together.”
“Do things? Of course we do things. Everybody does something. This morning we’re going to eat breakfast together. That’s doing something, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“So what is it they say?”
“That we mess around with each other. You know what I mean—jerking off together and that kind of stuff.”
Jon shuddered. Alf’s freckled skin gave him the creeps. How could you touch something like that? And the carrot hair around his dick. Ugh! Jon told himself Alf couldn’t help the way he looked, and when the other boys teased him, Jon always came to his defense. He’d even gotten into fights over it. But that didn’t mean he could imagine physical intimacy with Alf. And the worst thing was, Jon now knew Alf wanted it.
“They say stuff like that about everybody,” Jon said, “and they don’t believe it themselves—nothing they say means anything.”
“I don’t care, Jon. I don’t care what anyone says. You’re my friend—that’s the important thing.”
Of course they were friends, but Jon hated it when Alf spoke this way. Who was smarter and whom else could he talk to? In a way they were two of a kind. But their friendship belonged to the valley and the future Jon dreamed of had no connection with this place. Imaging the life he wanted to live, Jon always pictured himself alone—or with someone very different from Alf. A man like John, who wouldn’t need him the way Alf seemed to need him.
“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. Can’t we be friends without your talking about it all the time?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Forget it. Let’s go eat.”
In the barn-like room where they ate, each age group had its own table, a slab of wood polished by centuries of use. How had the women brought the monsters down the mountain? Jon couldn’t imagine them undertaking such an effort today. But of course there had been more of them in the past—or so they claimed. And perhaps the trees had been bigger.
Crews of women cooked the food, but left it to the boys to serve and clean up, with each cabin assigned duty days. The younger boys marched to the dining hall in groups, but the older ones made a point of arriving on their own time. They had the freedom, so why not take it? And the arrangement suited Jon. Porridge was much the same, hot or cold, but, arriving early, he could eat by himself. Or, like today, with Alf, who would have been okay if he hadn’t pestered him with questions. But Jon never lingered—the food was tasteless and he hated the noise.
▲
Jon had kept the greenstone hidden—when not wearing it, secreting it
in a crevice behind his bed. In the cabin, anything you cared about would be stolen or destroyed. Tug had started a collection of birds’ eggs, using a straw to empty each shell through a minute hole. They’d let him work undisturbed for weeks, until a row of speckled eggs was lined up on his shelf. But they’d been watching; and, once his effort was complete, two boys had held him down while a third used his thumb to smash each shell one by one to the gleeful applause of the cabin.
Jon hadn’t been there. He’d only heard about it later in the day. He’d wondered what he’d have done, faced with Tug’s humiliation. And the shells had been beautiful. But the lesson was clear. If you cared about anything they’d use it against you, and it was part of a pattern. He understood why some boys wanted to dominate others, but why did so many enjoy being dominated? Assigned dining-hall duty, youngsters worked as teams, but among the older boys self-appointed bosses gave the orders. The tallest in the cabin, Jon could have avoided work, but he made a point of volunteering. As he expected, the bullies ridiculed him for it; what he did not expect, the boys they bullied joined the jeering.
But, once he’d met John, this behavior mattered little. His secret connection with a world beyond the valley insulated him from mockery. Last fall, as soon as he could, he’d climbed John’s rock, which was exactly as John had described it, with a scooped-out depression to hide in. Invisible from the valley floor, he lay where John had lain, imagining that the passing clouds were fixed to the sky while he revolved beneath them, the master of time itself. The waxy smoothness of the broken arrowhead heightened his awareness of his own body, at once familiar and different—like the outline of another man. Unbuttoning his shirt, he ran his fingertips around his nipples and then down along the line dividing his chest. Touched the right way, his skin became wonderful. Even the fine hairs that began below his navel seemed to possess significance.
No single image focused the desire welling up within him—unless it was the image of John. At first Jon had given little thought to the resemblance between them, but now it seemed linked to their names. Picturing John was like picturing himself in the future, and, touching his hard penis, he wondered if John’s was shaped like his and if John felt the same desires he felt. He measured its length between the tip of his little finger and the end of his thumb and then held his hand high in the air like a banner. At the same time, he tried to imagine John beside him. Could anything be better?
“John” he whispered again and again. Or was it his own name Jon?
Returning his hand, a few spurts of fluid meant the moment was over. Once more he found himself lying on cold stone, watching the clouds darken, wondering why he’d allowed this place to mean so much. Boys jerked off every night in the cabin. Most tried to be silent, but you couldn’t help hearing them—and some wanted to be heard. Was this nothing different? Had their imaginings been anything less absurd than his? Using the edge of his hand to scoop up the mess, he wiped it on a ripple of stone; then he climbed down and made his way to the village, reaching it just as the first drops of rain began to fall. But the next afternoon he returned to the rock. It was his place now, and yet it was also John’s rock—both his own and someone else’s.
▲
Once the rains began in earnest, climbing John’s rock became difficult, but Jon managed it. The indentation had become a basin, but he’d sit beside it, gazing up at the White Wall, trying to determine where John had descended. To the West, a fissure split the cliff. Possibly you could work your way up there, pushing up with your legs and feet, grasping cracks and protuberances. But what if you became trapped? Tight spaces terrified him. Once, playing a game, Jon had lodged in a crevice and been unable to escape. He’d wanted to call for help, but repressed the urge. Cut and bleeding, he’d managed to free himself and dashed across the hillside, heedless of the other boys, who yelled he was breaking the rules. But rules didn’t matter. He’d needed to stand in the open, and, since then, he’d avoided places like that fissure, but what if it was the only way to follow John?
And so the winter had passed, until the steady rain became showers broken by hours of sunshine. With no ceremony, Jon and the other boys in his cabin had turned seventeen. Soon, the Bearded Men would return to Bent Lake. If he was to take John’s advice, the time for his climb had come, but Jon held back. As much as he wanted to free himself, he was unnerved by the unknown, so it was easy to postpone his decision.
▲
Their cabin had clean-up duty in the refectory, and Alf, as usual, was assigned the worst job—to wash dishes. When that happened Jon often helped him—it was the behavior his cabin mates mocked him for—but today he volunteered to clear tables instead. He disliked touching other boy’s uneaten food, but he wanted to leave the hall while Alf was still busy.
When he’d entered the building, the cabin leaders were clustered around the end of their table. They were planning something—he was sure of that. But whatever they had in mind couldn’t be important. They liked to pretend they were tough, but always backed down at a confrontation.
Once he’d finished his meal, Jon began clearing plates.
“I’ll take that,” he said to a boy who’d pushed his empty plate aside.
“Fine with us, Asshole,” Piers injected. “It’s the kind of work you’re good at. You’ll make somebody a good wife—washing and scrubbing and whatever. Nothing a real man would put his hand to. Have you seen any pretty flowers lately?”
Piers’s buddies chortled. Thanks to Marge, the flower story had become a standing joke, but Jon allowed no expression to cross his face.
“See you later, fellows,” Jon told them.
“Yeah, Asshole. See you later,” Piers called out as he sauntered out.
Jon popped his head into the kitchen, where Alf and Tug were washing dishes.
“See you later,” he repeated.
Alf looked up to see Jon leaving the room. But he was used to Jon’s going off by himself. It used to surprise him, but not anymore.
▲
The White Wall stretched further west than Jon had expected, but eventually he reached the place where the rock face broke into a series of clefts, the largest of which had been his goal. The afternoon sun made it impossible to make out the upper structure, but the higher rocks looked as if they’d been cut into footholds. Of John’s possible ascents, this was the most likely.
Pulling himself into the fissure, Jon struggled up a few yards, but, beyond the climb seemed impossible. Using all his strength, he edged his body higher, but he lacked the strength to hold on and soon slipped back, barely avoiding a fall. He was merely scouting the territory, but if this was John’s route, how could he possibly climb it? Angry and frustrated, he let himself down and set off for the village.
Directly in his path, a cluster of fallen boulders stood to themselves. With other boys, he’d played there as s child, but he expected no one around today—it was still cold this high on the mountain. Yet, as he approached, a boy from his cabin emerged from the shadows and stared at him in confusion.
“You can’t pass this way,” he told Jon. “Piers said nobody . . . ”
This was the last straw. Jon wasn’t going to let a pipsqueak order him around.
“I’ll pass where I want,” Jon said.
The boy ran a few steps ahead, trying to bar his way, but, thinking better, he sprinted off. “Asshole,” he called out from a safe distance, and then disappeared.
Passing between the rocks, Jon found a group of boys in the middle of the open space, three surrounding someone on his knees and others looking on. The boy on his knees was small like Alf—but his hair was blond, not red. It was Klei from the sixteen-year-olds’ cabin. One boy was grasping Klei’s shoulders, holding him down. Piers, he realized. Jon saw a flicker of pale skin from his body—that dick Piers liked to show off with a hard-on in the morning. “Take a look at the biggest one in the valley,” he’d say, strutting around the cabin.
Jon was close enough to hear them now.
; “You know you want it,” Piers said. “Just wet your lips and relax. It’s a mouthful, but if you won’t cooperate, I’ll give you something that’ll hurt a lot more. You ever heard of a butt fuck?”
Klei looked up at him without saying a word.
“And from me that’s gonna hurt. You’re a lot better off taking it in the mouth. I promise to come nice and easy, and you’ll like the taste. Boys like you always do.”
“You’re doing nothing to him,” Jon said, striding into the circle and striking Piers in the head with his fist. Piers stumbled backwards and fell, hitting one of the boulders; then he slumped to the ground. The other boys looked at Jon, first surprised, then terrified.
“You’ve killed him,” one said.
Then they all ran from the place.
Jon pulled Klei to his feet.
“I saw what they were doing to you.”
Klei looked at him strangely.
“They tricked me . . . it wasn’t my idea . . . but what happened to Piers?”
Piers still lay on the ground, but his eyes were open and he was watching them with a vacant stare.
Jon wanted to leave him there, but that was impossible. He and Klei helped Piers stand, and Jon pushed his shriveled dick back into his pants. Then, with difficulty, they led him down the slope toward the cabins. At some point, Jon realized that Piers was trying to speak, but his words came with effort and saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Something serious had happened to him. Something serious had happened to all of them.
Chapter Three
The Mothers weren’t questioning only the eight boys who’d witnessed the incident; they’d summoned everyone from Jon’s cabin, and Jon saw at once that they blamed him for what had happened. One by one, each boy was led into the Hall—all but Jon himself, whose testimony would come after the others. That was an advantage, wasn’t it? He’d have the last word, and it was absurd to think he wouldn’t be absolved. The facts spoke for themselves.
Alf was the last before him to be questioned, and that, too, was in Jon’s favor. Alf would stick up for him. Yet Alf appeared disconcerted when he emerged from the Hall. He glanced at Jon and moved his lips as if to convey a message, but the guard ordered him off and he scuttled away with only a quick backward glance. Jon expected someone to come for him now, but no one appeared. Only after a long time had passed did the door open and a woman motion for him to enter.
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 3
