Forth into Light (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (33 page)

“Of course, but when your son explained to me that Mr. Cochran was eager to be away, we naturally attended to it. They were to catch a plane to the States, is that not so?”

“Yes, a plane to the States,” George repeated. In his mind he was replaying the scene with the boy yesterday afternoon. Jeff had made it clear that he hated life there. Perhaps the banning of the bar had been the final straw. Perhaps he had sought Mike out and asked to go with him. Perhaps he had said things that had made Mike agree as a discreet act of friendship. In all fairness to Mike, it was a possibility. He could hope that that was the way it had been.

He drank his beer and made the necessary replies to the captain’s remarks. Courtesy required that he stay a few more minutes. When he indicated that it was time for him to go, the captain gave him a portentous look.

“Don’t forget what I have told you, Mr. Yorgo. These are not idle threats. I prefer to direct events here in my own way. It is for the best of the many. I do not permit interference.”

“I’m going to look into it. I have to do what my conscience dictates. Thanks for making your position clear.”

They nodded to each other and George rose and left. He crossed the square purposefully, but as soon as he was out of sight, his pace slowed. Out of the chaos of thoughts and feelings in him, he singled out his indifference to the captain’s final warning as a guarantee that his principles couldn’t be shaken. Justice was justice. His commitment to it was unwavering.

Admirable, unless it was based on an inability to believe that it could happen to him. Countries didn’t expel the George Leightons of this world; he had a whole cultural apparatus behind him. If he could be expelled, he had deceived himself about all the foundations on which his life and work were built, and Mike Cochran was right.

Mike Cochran. He mustn’t admit his suspicions about Mike; he couldn’t permit himself to imagine Mike finding pleasure in his son’s body or all his purpose would be swept away in mindless rage. Their old intimacy would forbid it; it would be incest of an inexpressibly obscene nature. He and Mike had loved each other deeply, so deeply that it had always hovered on the verge of some physical expression. At the time, he would have been indignant at the suggestion of homosexuality but with the passage of years, understanding and tolerance of himself as well as others had opened his eyes to the fact that only the slightest alteration in the chemistry of either of them could have turned it into sexual passion.

In that sense, his son was their son and, no matter how depraved or perverse, Mike would be as incapable as he himself of having a physical relationship with the boy. No, Jeff had seen in him a godsend and had talked him into giving him the trip. After all, he was due to leave in a few weeks anyway. As for Dimitri, if that was the way Jeff was going to go, better for him to be where his choice wouldn’t be limited to bar boys. He couldn’t be deeply concerned about the “unnatural act.” He could think of no act of which the body was capable that could be reasonably deemed “unnatural.”

Sarah would know the details of the boy’s departure, but he couldn’t speak to her. Not yet. Perhaps Jeff had left him a letter of explanation. If not, he knew several trusted friends who could check up on him in New York or Hollywood or Cambridge or wherever he ended up.

He came to a street that led down to the port and hesitated but went on. Everybody would be heading home for lunch by now. Since he was powerless to pursue Jeff and was uncertain whether he should even if he could, Costa remained his first immediate responsibility. He was shocked by his ignorance of the country’s legal system. He would have to go to Athens and find out. There were a number of people he could go to for guidance. But to go to Athens involved going to the house and he couldn’t imagine any confrontation with Sarah that wouldn’t leave him permanently crippled and incapable of action. Perhaps only expulsion from the country would force an awareness on him of how finally and completely and thoroughly his life here had run its course.

He came to a street that led back and up and would eventually, in a roundabout way, take him past his house. He turned into it and started climbing. He might try to sneak in without seeing Sarah. Or perhaps she was off being consoled by Pavlo. An image of the naked girl he had been sleeping beside passed through his mind. He remembered that she had been very sweet and willing up until the time he remembered nothing. Peterson’s girl Lena.

He would have to borrow some money for the trip to Athens. He thought of Mike’s check again. He felt his pockets and found nothing but an almost empty pack of cigarettes. He remembered suddenly that he had torn up the check some time during the evening. He remembered the bits fluttering away behind him. Money from Peter. Clothes and passport from the house.

Lena’s long seductive body crossed his mind’s eye again. It was too late to catch the afternoon boat. He wouldn’t be able to get away until tomorrow morning. The police chief wasn’t likely to put special transportation at his disposition. If life had to be rebuilt from the beginning, a body was as good a start as any. Forget for a moment the big experiences, the big aspirations and passions and commitments. Were people incapable of bearing happiness? Had life been too good? Had Sarah’s impulse to destroy felicity been a normal and inevitable one? Begin all over again with a body. Lena’s was a lovely one.

At the next juncture of small stepped streets, he altered his course once more and headed across on the level for Joe Peterson’s house.

Charlie was dissatisfied with his afternoon’s work. He put down his brushes and took a turn around the studio, stroking his naked chest as he paused in front of the half-dozen unfinished canvases propped up here and there, trying to redefine his intentions in each. Their cool mathematical elegance, which had won him considerable fame, stirred a curious uneasiness in him. Were they as dead as they seemed to him now?

He had been restless ever since he found Peter’s note on the bed before lunch. A sudden crisis had apparently arisen, but he couldn’t adjust to this unexpected departure. He was glad Peter was having fun with the girl but their being off on a yacht together changed it somehow, cut him off more completely than he found easy to accept.

Martha had returned from the port late for lunch bearing strange tales of arrests and additional departures. Jeff and Mike Cochran. Jeff and George’s money. Apparently Peter was to play some part in untangling the snarl. Jeff was gone and Peter had gone after him.

The thought nagged at him all afternoon. Peter was with the girl, he repeatedly reminded himself. Jeff was with Mike. If they saw each other it would be only about the money business. Or perhaps Martha had got it wrong. Perhaps Jeff hadn’t gone off with Mike in the way everybody was assuming, but was fleeing justice in his overwrought way and would be sent back by Peter. Since they were all traveling on yachts or under police auspices, anybody could turn up at any time, independently of the regular boats. He would go down and find out what was going on as soon as he was finished for the day.

He returned to his brushes and cleaned them carefully. It was early to quit, but his concentration was broken. He crossed terraces and courtyards and went to his room and showered. Drying himself, he stood in front of the full-length mirror and checked his body critically. Bearing up. And there was that, he thought wryly as he dropped his eyes down to the base of his flat abdomen. After a good toweling, it was startlingly conspicuous, exaggerated esthetically, throwing the lines of his body out of balance. Monumental. It was the reason why parading naked in front of somebody seemed to him very nearly a sexual act. Considering the attention it had always commanded, it was surprising that he had been able to discipline it so easily into assuming the relatively minor role it now played. Ridiculous what power this length of flesh had wielded—over himself and others. Peter was still fascinated by it and would still gladly offer his body to its demands, but his craving for it had been broken and he wouldn’t do him the disservice of subjecting him to its tyranny again. After the years of taking, it was a joy to be able to give himself for Peter’s satisfaction. A joy, and so much safer. At times, he was filled with a wild urge, directed at nobody in particular nor toward any particular act, to give full rein to the extraordinary instrument, to let it rage through life as it had once done. The fire was not completely extinguished.

He looked at it in the mirror, long and jutting massively after the toweling, an entity that seemed somehow separate from himself, the adversary identified in his mind with the baseless sense of superiority that had been bred in him in his youth. Rather a waste to keep it so thoroughly under wraps, he thought wryly, but that was the way it was. He moved a hand to it, startled as usual at what a handful it was, and gave it a few long strokes, watching it lengthen, swell, stiffen with the reinforcement of blood. That was all it was—a flexible vessel filled and stretched to capacity with blood until it was forced to stand upright. Ridiculous.

He dressed in well-cut, closely fitting linen slacks and a pale-blue sports shirt that showed off his deeply bronzed body to advantage, taking more trouble with his appearance than he generally did, feeling like showing off a bit in spite of himself. He heard the children clattering about somewhere in the house and his private smile broadened. He hoped Peter would come back tomorrow. The children missed him almost as much as their senior daddy did.

He went down through the house to Martha’s quarters and found her just emerging from the bath in a peignoir, looking sweetly plump and dewy. Her eyes lighted as he entered.

“My. Aren’t we looking gorgeous this evening,” she greeted him.

“Hi, honey. How about going down to the port for a drink? I feel like a stroll and a gossip.”

“Oh, darling, do you mind going without me? I promised the children I’d read to them. I’m luxuriating in the house now that that ghastly heat has broken.”

“That’s all right. Mostly, I wanted to talk to Sid.”

“Do. You’ve been working too hard. Thanks for asking me, sir.”

He laughed and approached her from behind where she had seated herself at her dressing table and leaned over and kissed the top of her blonde head. She held his big hands and dropped her head back briefly against him. He gave her hands a squeeze. “I won’t be long. There might be some new developments.”

In the old days, at the start of Peter’s business trips, he had always been slightly self-conscious with her, sensing in her a suppressed keyed-up anticipation that corresponded to nothing he felt in himself, but it was a phase that had passed. She might still want him to make love to her, but it no longer seemed a great need. Perhaps they would get together tonight. It was probably the break in the heat that was making him feel sexy. He wished Peter were here.

He dropped her hands and turned from her. “See you in an hour or so.”

He found the port looking oddly deserted. A few men, young and old, were scattered around the tables in front of the cafés. The only females in sight were at Lambraiki’s where the big table was only half-occupied. Everybody recovering from the earthquake? He saw that Sid was there and the Varnums and the nice writer-painter male couple and Sarah without George. He was greeted with an enthusiasm that made him feel like the fellow survivor of a shipwreck. He started to sit with Sarah, his best friend on the island, but he didn’t know how much she knew about Jeff and decided he’d better be briefed by Sid. By the time he had pulled up a chair beside him, half a dozen conversations had been resumed.

“You’re just the man I wanted to see, friend.” Sid kept his voice down and muted his usual theatrical extravagance so that, although they were surrounded by people, he achieved the effect of privacy. “Did you know Dimitri has been let out?”

“Martha said she’d heard he was going to be.”

“In the clear—for the moment. Now get this.” Sid lowered his voice still further. “It wasn’t easy, but I’ve made him promise to give the money back in the morning. I’ll take it to George, no questions asked, until we find out what story Peter has fixed with Jeff.”

“At least that’s cleared up. I wish Peter knew. It would make it easier for him to spring Costa.”

“He’ll probably find out from the police up there. George will make sure they’re informed.”

“Where
is
George?”

“Haven’t you heard? He’s shacked up with Joe’s bunch and won’t come out. I’m going to go see him in a little while and give him the word. Good old George. He’s broken out at last.”

“For Christ’s sake. How’s Sarah taking all this?”

Sid seemed to vibrate with inner glee. His bold Semitic head bobbed closer. “She’s being noble and long-suffering. We haven’t told her where the money went. Part of their house fell down last night.”

“Oh, great.” Charlie was distressed for both of them, but his sympathy was tempered by impatience. He found it difficult to understand why intelligent adults couldn’t come to terms with their problems so long as there was love between them. “Does she know about Jeff? I mean, is Cochran definitely for boys? Is that what that’s all about?”

“Oh, man. Even
I
saw that. I think Jeff has really fallen for him, but I haven’t mentioned sex to Sarah. Jeff asked me not to.”

Laughter broke out around them. Charlie stole a glance at Sarah. She was sitting slightly withdrawn, a brave little smile playing across her lovely face, but there was something crushed in the way she sat and her eyes were liquid with the suggestion of tears. “Well. Maybe I better try to break it to her gently. Just as a possibility. Peter’s going to have his hands full in Athens.”

“He was looking great today. What a guy. And that broad. You guys have all the fun. Things were really humming between them. You know what? I think I ought to broaden my experience. Take Jeff, for instance. I could almost have had a thing about him. His mouth is like a goddamn jewel. I want to take it and wear it like an ornament. Hey, how’s that for queer? My big problem is, guys don’t seem to go for me.”