Maybe—Tomorrow/Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
GLENN ROGERS SAT BACK IN THE leather seat of the cream convertible and pushed his legs way out in front of him. From time to time he gazed at Gaylord with increasing admiration, not unmixed with awe. He had never heard of a boy who had never been fishing, and the consciousness that other things might exceed it in fun and opportunity, opened new vistas to him. Moreover, the thought that Mr. Le Claire had never taken his son fishing puzzled him. Still, neither had his father taken him. He had always gone alone or with friends. He wondered at Gaylord's likes and dislikes and hoped his suggestion would not end in disaster. After all, he didn't know too much about Gaylord. He was certainly not well informed about his hobbies. But now that the question had arisen, he dismissed it easily, with the certainty everything would work out. Only Gaylord was so advantageously placed that he could choose or pick where he would go or what he would do. Would he have chosen this himself?
"Don't expect too much, Gay."
Gaylord, now well along on a strange road, said he didn't. That anything would be better than staying home or going to a movie. "The woods hasn't been cleared out," Rogers went on. "Guess you'd rather have gone some place else."
"Glenn Rogers stop worrying about me. I'm thrilled to death about going. Why today, I'd rather be out in the woods fishing than any place I know." He spoke reassuringly, easing Rogers' fear.
As they rode along, Rogers pointed out familiar landmarks; Old man Turner's water well, where, he said, when they were pumping for the rice fields, he had once gone swimming; in that big house lived his widowed aunt, she was his mother's only sister and had six kids; no, that field wasn't oats, it was flax.
"Turn here, Gay."
Gaylord obeyed and turned down a narrow dirt lane. The air was warm and seemed to cheer him. It was good to be out of the heavy traffic where you had to be so careful. Good to be able to drive at ease and watch the moving landscape.
He reached a wooden gate and stopped. An immense chain circled it and a cedar post and he wondered how Rogers would ever open it. It was both fascinating and puzzling to him because as if by magic the gate swung open under Rogers' touch. Giving it a shove, Rogers drew back to let him pass.
Rogers jumped back into the car, said, "This is the farm. Now just follow this path until I tell you to turn. Durn it's rough. Not like it used to be. But you can't get people to keep your place as good as you would. I used to have it smooth as glass … except when it rained … boy, it's impossible."
"I don't mind the bumps, and I bet it is bad when it rains … it's so black."
"That's our old house," Rogers pointed to a small wooden house with a porch, which, as Gaylord first peered at it seemed to consist mostly of small brightly painted window frames, though these were flanked on either side by white walls. It wasn't an unattractive house, and he was presently aware of the many blooming rose bushes around it. He turned a questioning gaze on Rogers. "Who planted all those rose bushes?"
"Mother," said Rogers, whose natural orbit surrounded him, including the spreading tree on the right side of the house.
"They're sure in bloom."
"We won't stop now," Rogers said good-naturedly. "But if you want some we can stop on the way back."
"I don't want any … they're too pretty to pick and by the time we got home, they'd be dead. Thanks anyway, Glenn."
They passed the house; stables; and fenced in corrals; over an open cattle guard, and headed for a solid line of trees outlining the horizon in front of them.
"There's Jake," cried Rogers … "Hi, Jake." He waved his hand.
Gaylord turned when Rogers referred to "Jake." He saw a brown faced middle aged man, dressed in overalls, sitting on top of a red tractor. He waved without speaking and continued down the plowed rows as unobtrusively as he had approached.
"Jake and his wife farm for us. They're not bad renters. She dips snuff; that's what Mother doesn't like."
"I don't see why anyone would want to use that nasty stuff."
"I don't either but she does. Spits in a can and has a piece of stick in her mouth all the time." Rogers' hand went in front of him. "See that big tree over there?" Gaylord nodded. "Pull up under it and your car will be in the shade."
"You mean this is it."
"This is it."
"I don't see any creek."
Rogers laughed, then grinned. "It's just in the woods a little ways … you'll see it."
He stopped under the tree's low branches and they both got out.
Gaylord pulled at the moss that hung from them like beards from old men. He remembered another woods of days past … A woods and creek that ran through the oil field he used to live in. He remembered how they used to run hand in hand across the yards, and then crawl under the barbed wire which protected the creek and woods from the cows which grazed among the yards.
Safely inside, he and past playmates used to play in the small creek, they fished for minnows, with bent pins for hooks, and grasshoppers for bait.
All the memories of the creek running under the cluster of willows were so acutely happy that they forced a sudden longing to Gaylord's eyes. In those days he had been joyous with every sense of the body. He had often thought since that that kind of happiness would never come again. That it had been lost when they had moved away … perhaps he had been wrong …
Gaylord's eyes were brought back to the present by catching the glint of light on the box under Rogers' arm. And now Rogers looked at him and bade him follow.
"These sandwiches sure are going to be good," Rogers grinned.
"I hope so … is the box heavy?"
"No … it's not heavy. Come on, Gay."
The last outline of plowed fields dropped behind them and with it the smell of dust. It gave way to a fresh clean smell of things growing. Gaylord realized with little amazement that they were already in thick brush. Why they had only started and already the thickets lay behind them. A squirrel dashed past and scampered up the beaten bark of an old tree. Gaylord, startled, walked closer to Rogers. Walked on the thick mold beneath his feet. The wet scent of decayed wood and loam came up into his nostrils like something new and undiscovered, and each sound, each step, seemed to intensify the stillness, the mystery of the place.
He saw a lizard sunning itself under a sun spot and somehow he was not scared or surprised when it scampered for new grounds. He was thinking of snakes now and with the thought came a big splash of water. This scared him. Panting and grabbing Rogers, he asked, "What was that?"
"Just an old bull-frog," Rogers replied unconcerned. Then he remembered the tone of the voice. Turning around, he said, "Nothing to be scared of, Gay."
"It scared me … I was thinking of snakes."
"There ain't no snakes here." A little white lie wouldn't hurt.
"I hope not. I hate the slimy things." He heard the sound of his feet trying to keep step with Rogers. "How much further?" he asked.
"Not very far. Tired?"
"No. Just wondering."
"Hot?"
"Sort of."
Rogers wiped his brow. He looked at Gaylord, saw no sweat, and the thin shirt was not sticking to his slender body as his was. Then, at last he announced, "We're almost there."
Gaylord gave a deep sigh, "I'm glad … these thickets are pretty rough …"
After about ten yards they came to a clearing worn bare of berry thickets and grapevines. The creek ran smooth and quiet sunbeams glimmered and flashed on its moving surface. No rocks, no rapids, disturbed or darkened its cool color. It mirrored only the image of arching green.
Gaylord liked what he saw and dreamily followed the flight of four dragon flies that skimmed the surface of the water under the arch of trees. He watched them until they vanished. The green world swam about him, blocking out the glaring outside world on all sides, and the high bending trees followed suit. Patches of sun, shining like spotlights, formed on the cool short grass, the sand and the clear water. Now and then the deafening silence was broken by the chirp of a bird, crickets, and occasionally, the splash of a frog.
"Glenn," Gaylord said with an air of enchantment … "this is beautiful … just beautiful." His boots sank in the soft sand. Beige sand that continued in a gentle slope until it melted into the clear water.
Memories, the greatest of arts, re-created for Gaylord scenes out of the past that must have taken place here. Scenes, now in action, now in words, bits of dialogue, touched him deeply remembering all the time that this was Glenn Rogers' paradise … or had been.
And then Rogers made it more fascinating by saying that he had found several Indian arrows. He had even found an old rusty hatchet.
Gaylord could see their naked red skins plainly as he listened. Could see the tepees they lived in and the cruel tomahawks they scalped with. They must have been a carefree people though, living all over America long before the pioneers came. He said, "I saw some Indians in Oklahoma City. 'Course they don't look like they used to. I don't guess they do. Dad says there's lots of them in Arizona. Live on a reservation."
"I'd hate to live on one, wouldn't you?"
"I sure would. Guess you'd have to get permission to do anything on a reservation. Probably even to leave it …" Gaylord grinned, "if we lived on one … we couldn't go fishing, could we?"
"That's right, we came here to fish, didn't we?" Rogers got up from his squatting position. "I've some poles and a seine over by that shed I built." He pointed to a small shelter almost hidden with brush. Three hand made poles lay against it and continued up the tree trunk. From inside the shelter he drew a tarpaulin, unfolded it and brought forth a seine.
"Dam, you're smart, Glenn," Gaylord said, by his side.
"Ya want a nickel?" Then he brought out a shovel. "And if we can't catch any bait we can dig for some. There's lots of worms."
With only their shorts on they pulled the seine through the shallow water, and it wasn't long before they had a can full of minnows. Gaylord fell once but he only laughed and pulled at the wet shorts sticking close to his body. Rogers baited one of the hooks and handed the pole to Gaylord. Then he baited one for himself. He heard an owl and hooted back at it. Then, together they threw their lines.
"Bet ya I catch the first one," grinned Gaylord.
"You won't if you stay there … better try over here."
He didn't mind. After all he didn't know anything about fishing but Glenn did. They were silent after he had moved to the spot Rogers had indicated.
"What kind of fish are in here?" whispered Gaylord.
"Perch and catfish."
"I hope I catch a perch."
"I hope you do too," smiled Rogers. Let him catch one, he prayed. Let his hook go under real quick and let him pull out a perch …
"I've got one …" Gaylord cried and pulled a small sand perch out of the water. "I've got a fish."
"Damn if you haven't. Want me to take him off for you?"
"Yeah, but don't hurt him," giggled Gaylord seriously. Rogers laughed. "He's already hurt."
"He's not so small, is he?"
"He's not so big," grinned Rogers holding the perch in his hands which he stretched out to Gaylord. "Here," he grinned, "want him?"
"No … don't they stick?"
"Feel."
He felt of the flopping fish in Rogers' hand, and added, "Isn't he pretty?"
"Yeah … wish he was bigger."
"He's big enough … bait my hook and I'll catch a lulu this time."
"Ok … I'll spit on it for luck."
They stood motionless for a long time and the warm fragrant air filled his lungs deeply. Gaylord wished for another bite, and Rogers helped, but the creek seemed vacant. He watched a bird fly skyward … it seemed so free … so happy … now, he remembered Blake and with it came a confused emotion. He turned and looked at Rogers, leaning against the end of a tree stump.
"Glenn," he said slowly.
"Yeah?"
"Let's go swimming."
"I was just going to ask you if you wanted to … I think you caught the only fish in here." He threw his pole on the sand … "Come on … I'll beat you in."
Rogers threw his shorts on the sand and ran naked for the water. He was not embarrassed here. This was his hide-out from the outside world. The spot he loved best. There in the quiet running water under the trees whose roots reached down into the sandy soil and fixed themselves in the bank like a protecting hand, he had swum many times. Lying at their base he had looked up into the sky and dreamed of being twenty-one and of all the things he would then be able to accomplish.
Gaylord's eyes traveled over Rogers' body, he felt that there was in Rogers a memory of Blake which expressed itself in the flesh, in Rogers' skin, and in his eyes and hair, especially in the warm light of his eyes. The body reminded him of a graceful tree that had sprung up adventitiously, from the chance dropping of a seed.
To rid what he was feeling Gaylord drew off his shorts and splashed through the water. For some reason or other he wasn't ashamed for Rogers to see him naked.
In the water, a few minutes later, Rogers swam over to the cliff and scampered onto a log that extended over the water. Rogers stood naked there on the end of the log, his hands on his hips, his eyes on Gaylord and the dimples in his cheeks were very deep.
Gaylord looked up at him and grinned … Well, he thought, you've got your wish … Gaylord Le Claire … There's Glenn right before you and he's as naked as a newborn babe.
Gaylord watched and admired the developed naked body. He wondered what was going on behind the smiling eyes … wondered what was going through that handsome head. He wondered all this, as he watched the muscles of the arms and legs expand with each movement … watched the sun play over the dripping hair and hips. Rogers stood grinning, his hands on his hips, at him and there was a playful twinkle in both their eyes.
Well, Gaylord, he thought, you've got your wish. Take a good look … and he did exactly that. He started from the feet and ended at the grinning eyes. Then went back over the naked oven-brown skin, and the dripping water seemed to melt from its warmth. An undercurrent pulled at his feet and he braced himself to meet it. The stillness lay around him and the shadows made valleys between the brush ridges, deep and cool. Rogers broke the silence with a yell.
"Here I come."
Below Gaylord, in the obscure depth, something moved and touched his leg. He uttered a scream of delight and with strong movements tried to swim away. A burst of bubbles burst before him and Rogers' head appeared close to his own.
"Boo," Rogers cried.
"Glenn …" laughed Gaylord. And a sudden warmth shot through him on feeling the other's hands around his waist … They clung together a second laughing, and the warmth grew greater as their bodies touched. Gaylord's sides ached with pleasure under the other's strong hands and he wanted to kiss the grin so close and yet so far away.
Gaylord was afraid Rogers would read his eyes, and a strange new sense of shame, a hot flush, as though he had fever, swept through him. He pushed away the shoulders his hands had rested on.
Then Rogers laughed. He laughed and drew Gaylord to him again. "I didn't scare you, Gay, did I?" he asked.
Gaylord tried to laugh. "Course not."
And while Rogers talked, Gaylord listened … frightened, like a mouse in the paw of a cat.
"I sure didn't mean to … I'd never want to do that, Gay."
Pensive, Gaylord listened to the pulse of silence and the water. The water alone endured the same. The log still lay at the limit of the land and the creek ran on down its pathway to some unknown end, tracing a word of prophecy and recollection. But this was not a period for dreaming. It was time of awakening to the fact that if he and Rogers stayed in this embrace much longer, he would inevitably yield to this passion engulfing his being. This attraction was too strong to find easy or swift appeasement, and it was quite possible it might explode unless Rogers released him. He was thankful for the water … thankful it wasn't too clear … but Rogers could feel his tense body growing more so with each passing second. He couldn't hide from this.
Then, Gaylord Le Claire, that sober young man whose wet hair hung over his forehead, and whose blue eyes were tense, would lie a long time in his lonely bed and wish it had never happened. And yet to just kiss those lips so close to him would be so wonderful … But he shouldn't … it wouldn't be fair to Blake but still the longing was there. And in the warm water a shiver went through him.
"You're not cold are you Gay?"
"No Glenn," he answered … "I'm not cold."
"Are you scared of water?"
"No … silly … it's not the water …" He broke away and there welled up in him stronger than ever that he must get away. He was not going to do anything he might regret. He was going to be like normal boys … not like the ones he had seen in New Orleans. He looked back at Rogers and called out, "I'll beat you to the other side."
"Better hurry then," screamed Rogers and started swimming after Gaylord.
Gaylord did reach the other side first but as he tried to scale the clay bank bordering the water's edge, he slipped. Rogers' embrace was waiting. Gaylord stood so still that Rogers looked at him puzzled. Then he moved and put one hand on Rogers' shoulder. "I slipped," he grinned. "Thanks for catching me." His hand remained on the wet flesh.
"But you beat me. I didn't know you were such a good swimmer."
"There's lots of things you don't know about me, Glenn." Now why did he say that?
"Is there," grinned Rogers. And the way he said it, putting his hands around the other's waist, made the blood rush to Gaylord's head.
There was a blast of sound, a splash of water behind him and Gaylord tightened both hands around Rogers' neck. "Is that somebody?" whispered Gaylord.
"Just another frog, Gay."
"Phew … guess you know I'm a baby too." He let go of the shoulders.
"You're not … I'd be scared too in a strange place, but I don't think nothing could scare me here."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
Gaylord wished the hands around his waist would draw him close, but they just stayed there. For Gaylord everything seemed to stop. He heard a bird's shrill cry in the tree overhead. It sounded to him like a cry of a male in search for a mate. He felt that old urge returning and dug his toes deep into the sandy bottom of the creek. Then all of a sudden, for a quick second, his hands came up to Rogers' face and he patted the wet cheeks. Then he broke away quickly and yelled … "I'll race you back," and with a swift lunge he was on his way. "Glenn doesn't feel the way I do," he thought, swimming through the water. "He doesn't know … he probably thinks I'm a funny guy …"
They lay together on a bank of soft white sand, lay naked, and let the breeze blow over them. It was a little breeze, swishing through the tall trees, rustling the leaves of the creek bushes. There was the sound of frogs and every now and then a quick splash of water. And there were wild roses blossoming around them. You could smell them in the breeze. They lay on their bellies and used their arms for a pillow. After a while, Gaylord raised his head from his arms and looked at Rogers, who grinned back at him. Gaylord said, "It's good just to lay here … I feel so relaxed after swimming …" He stretched his legs out full length and dug his toes into the sand. Gosh, the warm sand felt good next to his naked body. So soft and warm.
Rogers agreed and raised his head. He rested on his elbows. He was content here in his haven. There was nothing to worry about here. No fences to fix … no cows … no nothing. He picked up a twig and pulled it through the sand, drawing nothing, writing nothing. Gaylord raised on his elbows too and watched.
"Let's come back here again … Glenn … real soon."
"You just name the day."
"Next Sunday?" He picked up a twig too, and on the sand he wrote B … O … B … Then he wrote G … L … E … Suddenly he realized what he was doing and quickly scratched over it. He turned over on his back and looked into the green trees overhead. To hide what he was feeling he grabbed a hand full of sand and let it run through his fingers.
Rogers rolled on his side and faced Gaylord. "Next Sunday's a date then …" He took a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers. "I'm glad you like it out here … I just love it." He sighed deeply. "Gosh … I wish we could come out here every day."
"I do too."
"You want to fish some more?"
Gaylord looked into Rogers' face. "Do you?" he asked softly.
"I asked you first."
"Oh … not particularly … unless you do."
"I don't care to."
The soft brush of the wind swayed the branches overhead and small specks of light shone through the clusters of leaves and danced on their naked bodies. One so brown … one so fair … Rogers picked a rock out of the sand and tossed it into the creek. "Gay," whispered Rogers.
Gaylord dared not open his eyes or speak. In this wild and somewhat fearful moment, he became tense and frightened. Frightened at the thought of what he would do if Rogers suddenly kissed him … Rogers had read the name he had written in the sand, and a funny look had come over his face. Had that started something? He could not answer for the sudden lump in his throat.
"Gay?" Rogers repeated.
He opened his eyes ever so slightly, breathed, "Huh?" He looked at the other's soft eyes and didn't care then …
"I'm hungry, aren't you? Let's have a sandwich." Rogers brushed at the sand on Gaylord's chest. Tickled the flat bare stomach.
"Ouch … I'm ticklish," Gaylord cried.
"How about here?" Rogers asked menacingly digging into the other's ribs … "Are you ticklish here?"
"Yes …" cried Gaylord and he tried for Rogers' ribs, but Rogers was too fast. He laughed and sat on Gaylord's stomach … "How about here …" he reached for the arm pits …
"Don't Glenn …" cried Gaylord …
"Ok," Rogers laughed. "Let's have a sandwich." His hand came down and patted Gaylord on the thigh. "You're not mad, are you?"
"No …" grinned Gaylord. "I'm not mad."
He watched Rogers get up and stand over him for a second. Watched him walk over and pick up his underwear. He's cute, he thought as the naked buttocks disappeared, behind the shorts … He's real cute. He wasn't even thinking of me … he was thinking of something to eat … just like a man … I'm glad he was though … Maybe he was afraid to make the first move. He must have been thinking the same as me … Surely he felt the same emotions … I'm glad he didn't say anything … I'm glad he didn't …
"For Christ's sake," Rogers cried. "Look at these damned ants." Rogers held up a slice of bread and tried to brush off the thousands of insects covering it. "All over everything," he said with disgust. "Look, Gay. Ants all over … all over our lunch."
Gaylord got up and laughed heartily. "Good ants," he said, pulling on his shorts over his legs. "Guess they got hungry too." Rogers gave him a puzzled look. "You're not mad … what are we going to eat?"
"Let's eat ants and all." He walked up to Rogers.
"Ok … Here's a lulu … take a bite." Rogers held a ham sandwich close. Gaylord gulped as the black moving ants almost touched his lips.
"No … no …" he cried gleefully, and knocked it out of Rogers' extended hand. The bread landed on the sand … "I'm not hungry …"
He watched Rogers battle with the sandwiches. He blew on them, hit them with his hands, grinning and talking all the time … It was unbelievable and yet, obviously, true, this friendly feeling which now swept through him bore no sexual passion.
Unconsciously, he watched Rogers. Watched the dimples grow deep as he was handed a sandwich. "Sure there aren't any ants on it?" he grinned.
"I don't see any, do you? I think I got them all off."
"No … I don't see any," Gaylord said, taking it and after a close examination took a bite.
Rogers did the same … said, "Good, isn't it?"
"Sure is …" Gaylord answered … looking into Rogers' face, between the developed legs for a split second, then back again into the dimpled face.
"I'm hungry," grinned Rogers. "I always get hungry out here … I could eat a horse." He pulled on his shorts. "I feel like I've got ants in my pants."
"So do I," Gaylord grinned … "Stop scratching, Glenn …" Suddenly he wasn't hungry for food. He was hungry for affection … and wanting what he remembered. He had once said, I hate the world of men. They have hurt and killed something in me. I don't care for them … that much. But now it wasn't that way. Rogers was a man … Fully developed and very desirable. He sat there in the lurid evening, nibbling on his sandwich, thinking of Rogers' naked body … also thinking of Robert Blake, who had not called. And he thought of other men, Paul Boudreaux, Gene Limbeaux, Claude. What was Claude's last name?
And as he sat there, he wound and unwound in his mind the skein of his life that was lived in New Orleans. A life that seemed rooted in the shadows of a club, flowered in a room void of sunshine, living a brief while on the crammed sidewalks of a city, and returning suddenly into darkness, the same web of darkness and blind hunger from which it had arisen.
Gaylord's thought then dwelt on what Paul Boudreaux had told him. That possibly through shots, doctors, men and women sexually attracted by their own sex might be rendered normal.
But now looking at Glenn Rogers, Gaylord knew that he had no wish to conform to a standard alien to his nature. He thought of Robert Blake again. Blake was a wonderful person, a person so broadminded in his way of life that trivial matters, and they were trivial, meant nothing to him. He understood and accepted them. He was a real man too, tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong handclasp … a man you could love and trust. He made you feel as though you had filled your lungs with a wind that had blown to you direct from the sea, or from the heavens …
Of all that Paul had said, Gaylord liked best the idea that the shadow world might be one of Nature's experiments. He saw Nature as the great designer, the great creator, fashioning the earth and all that is therein, experimenting, revising, working with vast numbers. He remembered that Paul had said there were thousands of such men and women in the United States alone.
Thus the thought of shots or doctors which might present him with normality made no appeal to Gaylord, since he was part of a great experiment in creation, and looking into Rogers' eyes he wished that they had kissed. Perhaps that climactic scene would have at last answered the confused drama in his heart.
But you weren't even thinking of me, Glenn, he thought. You were thinking of something to eat. But I got my wish … I've seen you naked …