“An excellent idea, but the bed’s rather small for more than two at a time,” Uver observed.
Cristiano had a solution. “Let’s do what we did in Guarás, on Good Friday. We can take the mattresses and put them down on the floor to make one big bed.” He smiled. “And this time, we need not concern ourselves about whether our activities are appropriate, or inappropriate. We are not under my mother’s roof. We are under Sebastien’s roof, actually.”
“Yes, and I think you men already know that I’m a tolerant landlord,” Sebastien quipped.
They quickly carried out the proposed plan, fetching the mattress and bedclothes from the other bedroom. Soon, an extremely inviting-looking improvised bed took up most of the floor space in the room.
Sebastien had set the lamp down on the bedside table, and now he turned its flame down low, leaving most of the bedroom in darkness, but generating just enough light so that they could see each other’s naked bodies in the gloom. The fire in the stove had burned itself out. Sebastien opened the bedroom’s single window, letting in the damp night air. In the distance, he saw sheet lightning, flashing across the black sky.
“Come to bed,” Cristiano urged Sebastien and Uver. Estevao had already joined Cristiano on the two pushed-together mattresses, and was caressing him.
“Rafael?” Sebastien asked.
“Nothing ever wakes him up at night,” Cristiano assured him. “He sleeps the sleep of the just—or of the chaste,” he added, wryly. “Which is more than any of the four of us can say for ourselves, I’m afraid. My instincts tell me we are not likely to get too much more sleep tonight.”
Sebastien and Uver got into the bed, one on either side of Cristiano, who embraced them both. Estevao, true to form, was already toying with Cristiano’s cock. Cristiano let out a faint moan of pleasure. He turned his head to kiss first Sebastien, then Uver, on the mouth.
“I think, Cristiano,” Uver said, with his habitual politeness, “it is time you and I became better acquainted.”
“I think so, too,” Cristiano breathed. “Provided it is all right with Sebastien?”
“Gentlemen,” Sebastien assured them, as he felt an unseen hand grasp his own stiffening cock, “I couldn’t agree more!”
Chapter Twenty-Six:
Family Ties
Sebastien was delighted—senhora Erendira and Bienvenida had accepted his invitation to come to the fazenda as his guests. The prospect of being a host to the two women spurred Sebastien to a flurry of activity.
“It’ll be your job, Cristiano, once they get here, to persuade your mother to stay for longer than just the ‘few days’ she’s agreed to,” he told his cousin.
“I’ll do my best. I can be very persuasive, as you well know,” Cristiano replied, with a sly grin.
Senhora Beatriz, the housekeeper, and Ignacia, the cook, were models of efficiency. Sebastien rarely had to give them much in the way of specific instructions. This, however, was an exceptional situation.
“I want senhora Erendira and Bienvenida to be given the best two guest rooms,” he told Beatriz. “There must be fresh flowers placed in the rooms every day. Ignacia, you know what dishes senhor Erendira particularly likes, so make sure to put them on the menus. I want both of the ladies to be treated like queens while they are here. They mustn’t be allowed to so much as lift a finger for themselves. I want them to be waited on and catered to, like royalty.”
Ignacia was skeptical. “Knowing senhora Erendira—and Bienvenida—it may be difficult to keep them out of the kitchen. They will both want to put on aprons and help us with the cooking. Do not forget, senhor Sebastien, that it was the senhora who taught me how to cook.”
“Well, let them help you, as long as you don’t mind, and they’re doing it just for their own enjoyment. Otherwise, I want senhora Erendira to be treated as though she were my own mother.”
As he said this, Sebastien tried, and failed, to picture Adrienne making herself at home on the fazenda. He had to smile.
“Everything will be done exactly as you wish, senhor Sebastien,” Beatriz promised him.
Sebastien sent Uver, who he knew was a good driver, in one of the cars to pick up the two women.
It turned out to be a successful little house party. Sebastien encouraged Cristiano, without neglecting his duties, to spend as much time with his mother as possible. Sebastien made a point of being home for lunch, so he and Cristiano could join the two women for the meal. When the men were busy, senhora Erendira and Bienvenida enjoyed the company of the other women on the fazenda, who were all old friends of theirs.
Every evening, there was an informal dinner party. Sebastien invited Anibal and his wife, and Joaquin, to join them.
“It’s good to see some of the places around this huge table occupied, for a change,” Sebastien commented on the first night as he sat at the head of the table in the dining room.
“Yes, this is like the old days,” Anibal agreed, “when there always seemed to be visitors in the house.”
“I am going to have to make the acquaintance of some of our neighbors, on the other fazendas,” Sebastien said. “So I can invite them here, as well.”
Joaquin laughed. “Be careful, though, Sebastien. Word has already gotten around that the new mestre of Saõ Martinho is an eligible young bachelor. Some of your neighbors have unmarried daughters. When they come here, it will be to speak of arranging a marriage.”
“Then, there is the rich widow who lives on the western side of the island—” Anibal began.
“I’m told she has many lovers. Two or three at a time. All of them strapping young men in her employ,” Cristiano said. “Perhaps I should apply for a job on her fazenda?”
Everyone at the table, with the exception of Sebastien, seemed to know all about this woman. “The woman is old enough to be my mother,” senhora Erendira exclaimed. “It’s a disgrace.”
Bienvenida disagreed. “Oh, I am not so sure, senhora. It might be very pleasant to have a young man around the house, to help out. Or, better yet, two young men. One to act as a spare, when the first one gets too tired to do his work!”
Sebastien was delighted to see that senhora Erendira joined in the general, ribald laughter.
“But imagine if Sebastien were to marry the widow,” Cristiano said slyly. “His lovemaking would probably be too much even for her. She would die of her love for him, and then he would inherit that fine fazenda, which would make him one of the biggest landowners on Marajó.”
“No, one inheritance in a lifetime is enough for me,” Sebastien said quickly. “I hope I’m not a greedy man.”
Senhora Erendira, he noticed, was looking at him, with a somewhat enigmatic smile.
Sebastien set aside the time, one afternoon, to have tea with senhora Erendira. They sat together in the library.
“I feel strange, sitting here in Tio Gil’s chair,” Sebastien said.
“Why? You look as though you belong there.” Senhora Erendira glanced around the room. “Everything here inside the house looks the same. You have not changed anything.”
“I didn’t see any reason to.”
“But this is your house now. It’s not a museum, or a shrine. You must change whatever you wish, to suit yourself. Unless—” The senhora hesitated. “Unless, of course, you plan to dispose of the property, eventually.”
“On the contrary, senhora Erendira. I’ve already decided to make the fazenda my secondary residence, after my home in New York. This may even become my primary residence, someday. I’m going to have to return to the United States, sometime during the summer—I mean, during the winter. I keep forgetting that right now it’s fall down here, not spring—to take care of some business. I hadn’t intended to stay here, on this first trip, for quite so long. There are a few loose ends back home that I need to take care of in person. I intend to take Estevao along with me. I think the trip would be a good experience for him, and of course he’s already decided that I cannot be trusted on my own, without him ther
e to take care of me. Certainly Anibal and Joaquin—and Cristiano—can manage the fazenda perfectly well, in our absence. I imagine it will be a brief absence. And then, when we return, I plan to get down to some real work. The job of mestre isn’t one I can just jump into overnight. I will need to grow into it, gradually. And I will need Cristiano’s help—and the help of all the other men. The women’s help, as well. Including yours. I hope you won’t mind if I occasionally turn to you for advice.”
“It would be nice to think I could be of some small help to you. You seem to have given the matter a great deal of thought.”
“I have, and I hope this plan meets with your approval.”
“My approval, Sebastien? You hardly need my approval. I have no say in the matter.”
“Maybe not officially, but emotionally…I respect your opinions. Please feel free to share them with me.”
“Then I won’t hesitate to say how glad I am that you’ve decided to make the fazenda a part of your life.”
“It’s the most important part of my life, now. Perhaps you are wondering why I haven’t suggested taking Cristiano to New York with me, along with Estevao?”
“That possibility hadn’t occurred to me, Sebastien.”
“But Cristiano and I have discussed it. The truth is, I need him here, and especially in my absence. And—if Cristiano and I truly have feelings for each other that go beyond what cousins naturally feel toward each other, then being separated for a short while can make no difference.”
Senhora Erendira smiled. “Perhaps…both of you wish to put these feelings to the test?”
“Perhaps,” Sebastien admitted.
“I do not think either of you has much to fear.”
After dinner that evening, the group adjourned to the game room. Sebastien was surprised to discover that both Bienvenida and Cristiano were card sharks. They quickly got two games going, at adjacent tables.
“Aren’t you going to play, Sebastien?” Cristiano asked.
“I’ll watch. I really don’t know how to play any card games,” Sebastien admitted. “Except for solitaire.”
Cristiano seemed genuinely shocked. “Really? Never mind. I will teach you, starting later tonight, or tomorrow.”
Senhora Erendira excused herself. “I want to change my shoes.”
Sebastien watched the card players. Bienvenida was winning.
Cristiano’s mother returned. She had indeed exchanged the fashionable high heels she had worn to dinner for a pair of sensible-looking flats, and she had a cashmere shawl draped around her shoulders.
“It’s warm tonight,” she remarked. “I think I will go for a walk. I’m curious to see Sebastien’s namesake, this new bull calf I’ve heard so much about.”
Cristiano started to get up from his seat. “I will go with you.”
“No, stay here and enjoy your game. I know my way to the barn and the pens. Unless Sebastien would like to walk with me?”
“I’d like to, very much,” Sebastien said.
He escorted senhora Erendira out of the house. The deep indigo night sky was studded with stars, and a crescent moon rode high above the horizon. They went to the pen where Sebastien the bull was suckling contentedly at his mother Albertine’s teat.
“It’s hard to believe he was born only a little while ago. He’s already so big,” Sebastien said.
“A new life,” senhora Erendira mused.
They strolled across the lawn.
“This is the time of the night that Gilberto and I always set aside, to spend together. We would sit together—usually in the library—or walk together, the way you and I are walking now. And we would talk. He would tell me about what he did during the day, outside the house, and I would tell him what I had done inside the house. We would share trivial things, like any old couple. But now I look back on those quiet, ordinary evenings with such gratitude. The memory of them will sustain me for the rest of my life. That is what I wish for you, Sebastien—that you will find someone to talk to, to share things with, like that. Another man,” she specified, “since that is where your inclination lies. Perhaps you have already found someone—at least for the time being?”
“Perhaps.”
“My son tells me that you and he are in love with each other.”
“Has he?” Sebastien said, stalling for time.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed. I am Cristiano’s mother. Everything that concerns him, also concerns me. Although I try not to be the kind of mother who meddles in her son’s affairs.” She smiled. “By which I mean his day-to-day affairs—not only his affairs of the heart.”
“I’m glad Cristiano feels comfortable discussing such things with you. He doesn’t know how lucky he is. I don’t have that kind of a relationship with my own mother.”
“How sad.”
“I’ve led what many people would call a rather sheltered life. Materialistically, I mean. I’ve never had to worry about money, or earning a living, or about other material things. Emotionally, on the other hand—I’ve sort of had to make my own way. Not that I’m complaining—growing up that way can toughen you up. Make you self-sufficient. Perhaps to a fault, but forced to rely on yourself, to make your own decisions, nonetheless. What I’m trying to say, senhora Erendira, in my roundabout way…when this attraction developed between Cristiano and me—perhaps, since I am a little older than he is, and a lot more experienced in such matters—I should have discouraged it. Resisted it. But I was selfish. I didn’t want to resist.”
“There’s no need, my dear Sebastien, for you to be apologetic, either. Did you think I would be judgmental? I’m hardly in a position to pass judgment on others, remember. Here in Brazil many of us may take a pragmatic attitude toward morality. But, in the eyes of some people, I am an adulteress and my son is a bastard. I’m willing to answer for my own sins. But neither Cristiano’s father nor I ever wanted him to suffer for the choices we made. And we did choose. Your uncle and I were not foolish, impulsive young people when we fell in love. I thought that I was settled in my way of life, as did he—that our individual paths were mapped out for us. We did not expect our paths…to cross quite so decisively, and then to run parallel to one another.
“Do you know what I did, before I gave myself to Gilberto for the first time? I prayed for guidance, yes, because that is what I had been taught to do, ever since I was young girl, whenever I had a difficult decision to make in my life. But then I sat down and, like any good housekeeper, I drew up a ledger. I wrote down the pros in one column and the cons in another, and I drew a line down between. I sat there and stared at that paper for a long time. And do you know what eventually decided me, what tipped the balance in your uncle’s favor?”
“Please tell me.”
“I picked up the pen again and wrote, in big letters, in the ‘pro’ column, ‘I love him.’ And then I tried my best to think of something to write in the ‘con’ column, to counteract that, to refute it. I could think of nothing. Finally, I crossed out everything in the ‘con’ column, and then I crumpled up the paper and threw it away. I knew it was like throwing the dice. I was taking a risk. But I have never regretted having done so.”
“Did you ever tell Tio Gil about how you tallied up the pros and cons?”
“Oh yes. We kept nothing from each other. How he laughed. But then he became serious again, which was his way, and he took me in his arms and looked at me, in that way he had that made me feel…well, let us just say that it made me feel as though nothing else existed, or mattered. And he said, ‘Years from now, when we are very, very old, you must make a list of the pros and the cons again. Only then, you will have the advantage of retrospect.’ I must do that, someday. I do not believe there will be much to enter into the ‘con’ side of the ledger.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. I’m glad for you.”
“But we were not speaking about me. We were talking about you and Cristiano. I have a secret, although it’s one you may have guessed already. Of course I
love all my children. But Cristiano is my favorite—for many reasons.”
“Understandably so. And it’s every bit as understandable that you should feel very protective toward him.”
“I don’t think that you are a threat to him, Sebastien, if that’s what you mean to imply.”
“It was, in a way. You mentioned risk taking, a moment ago. I’m not sure I am such a good risk. I have never been in a serious relationship. I have never loved anyone.”
“Only because you have been afraid to.”
“You see right through me, don’t you, senhora Erendira?”
“I think I understand you. Up until now, you have not been willing to believe that you are worthy of being loved.”
“I’m beginning to feel more transparent by the minute,” Sebastien joked.
“I want you to be loved. That is the gift I would like to give you. Think of it as Gilberto’s true legacy to you. If you are concerned about my feelings—do not be. I give you and Cristiano my blessing.”
“I don’t quite know what to say. ‘Thank you’ seems rather inadequate.”
“You need say nothing. But you must forgive me for saying one thing more. We have been honest with each other. We are friends. I love Cristiano, but that does not mean I am blind to his faults. No one is without them. Have you considered the fact that he is attracted to both men and women? Have you considered the possibility that he might, one day, care for a woman—in a different way than he cares for you, in a lesser way, perhaps, but still—in a way that might result in his fathering a child, or even wanting marriage?”
“I have thought of that, yes. I’ve tried not to enter into this relationship blindly, but to consider all of the possibilities.”
“Then you are even wiser than I gave you credit for. Would you be willing to share Cristiano with a woman?”
“I believe so. Perhaps, senhora Erendira, like you, I would have to draw up a ledger, first. But I already know what decisive weight I would have to throw into the balance. It would be the question, ‘Am I better off with him, or without him?’ and the answer would be ‘With him, because I love him.’”
Brazilian Cattle Baron (Siren Publishing Ménage and More ManLove) Page 50
