PEG BOY (28 page)

Anthony Bolen
remained confined to bed in a darkened room for eight days. His burns were
dressed by his wife and the doctor visited daily. The only sounds he made were
screams when he drifted into sleep and the nightmare returned.

Santiago had
spent time planning how he could achieve making Bolen want him as his
permanent
boy
. He had decided to mention this possibility that evening, and was
disappointed when Bolen did not come. Santiago assumed Bolen had decided to
favor Vincent instead, knowing the connection between the two was still being
maintained, the thought of which undermined his hopes. He became depressed and
depression turned into anger when McIntyre, seeing the boy not meeting his
scheduled customer, sent him two new men. McIntyre had heard about the fracas
in
Little Chile
, and of Bolen’s injuries and decided not to inform
Santiago, letting him stew in his anger.

Bolen did not
appear the next day or the day after that. Although Santiago ached to ask McIntyre
what might be wrong, as he sensed the man knew something, he would not give him
the satisfaction. He was badgered by Kim’s insistent questions of where Santiago
thought Bolen might be, when he thought the man might return, and whether he
would ever return at all. Kim even suggested that they had been abandoned, as
though an existing commitment existed. The only time the boy was calm was when
he was drugged, a state maintained through McIntyre’s indulgence.

Both boys
regularly smoked each morning as soon as they awoke. It was usually Kim who
came to Santiago’s room to crawl into bed with him, getting comfort from the
contact. Although neither had been heavily sexually active with each other,
there were times when Kim was aroused by the closeness. Early morning and the
heat of their bodies when clasped in each other arms had such an effect. The
boy would get an erection and Santiago could feel it hard against his back.
Sometimes as he held Kim, his hand would stray to the little penis and he would
feel it jump to his touch. When this happened his own cock would respond but it
never went beyond affectionate play. Santiago was satisfied with holding and
caring for the boy and knowing that he too, was needed. On one such morning
they lay together for a long while, each comforted and silent. Santiago’s cock
was hard as he held Kim’s penis, his other arm wrapped around the boy’s
shoulders. This morning they found themselves unable to lie still as they were
used to, but rather Kim began to masturbate himself as he turned to Santiago
and buried his face against the boy’s chest. The young boy moved his mouth to
Santiago’s crotch and took the penis in, sucking on it while he continued to
masturbate. After, each slept soundly until it was time to rise.

They had
washed and ate together, then went to the roof for air. There they found
Richard, one of the boys with whom they had occasionally spoken and felt comfortable,
sitting by himself. Richard was not hard like the other boys, but simple, or so
everyone thought.

“Here,” he
said, moving to make room for them. “Take some of this blanket. It’s nice and
warm this afternoon. Christ..., I get so fed up with the stale air in there and
all that awful smoke.”

They boys
removed their clothing and sunned themselves, their unashamed nakedness being
the norm in the peg-house.

“How’s the
boy…?” Richard asked Santiago, nodding toward Kim, noticing how drugged he
appeared.

“He is not
meant to be in a place like this,” Santiago spoke quietly, seeing Kim already
drifting off to sleep.

“Few of us
are!” Richard laughed. “But when there’s nowhere else to go and it’s tough to
complain isn’t it?”

Santiago
watched Kim, his face having taken on a peaceful appearance in sleep. “I must
admit that it could be worse. But for him, I think it is killing him.”

“Like it
killed his brother?”

Richard looked
at Santiago, watching his reaction. Santiago sensed the boy was not as dense as
he appeared.

“His brother
was killed by someone in this place, not by the place itself.” Santiago edged
on.

“Does he
know?”

“I think he
suspects. I think he knows somehow. But for now it is not something we speak
about.”

“You like him
very much, don’t you?”

Santiago’s
eyes were closed and his hands folded behind his head.

“I suppose you
are going to ask what everyone else asks…, are we fucking?”

“No, I wasn’t.
I know you’re not!”

“You do?”

“If you were,
you would not get along as well as you do.”

Santiago
realized Richard was not as dense as he made himself out to be.

“Tell me,” he
said, raising himself on one elbow and looking at the cross-legged boy sitting
beside him. “Why do you do what you do?”

“Do what?”

“You know...,
behave as though you are stupid.”

‘What makes
you think I’m not?”

Santiago
smiled knowingly. “I know you’re not!”

“Well, don’t
let the secret out.”

Richard turned
onto his stomach to let the sun get to his back.

“I wouldn’t
want to have to live up to any higher expectations than are currently required
of me. I’m satisfied..., they are satisfied..., and McIntyre is satisfied.”

“What are your
plans?”

Santiago
wondered what it was that the boy hoped to do or become. He knew Richard’s time
at the peg-house was limited. It was for all of them. Most boys were finished
with their careers by the time they turned seventeen or eighteen.

“I don’t think
McIntyre will be keeping me here long. He’ll probably send me back to the
boardinghouse once he’s replaced me with a younger and prettier boy.”

“Is that what you
want?”

“What I want
is a roof over my head and food in my stomach, opium to smoke and someone to
pay the bills. My needs are simple.”

They laughed,
realizing how much alike they were. But Santiago wanted more. He wanted to have
money and to be free. He wanted to have someone to love. He wanted to have
whatever it was possible to get.

‘I want more.”

“Not much hope
out there, is there?”

Richard said
the words as fact.

“I thought
there was.” Santiago said, with a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“You mean you
are not sure about the man you have been seeing who is in love with you?”

The
observation surprised Santiago. “You think he is?”

“You think he
is not?”

“Until last
Wednesday I thought he had some interest. But it has been a week since he has
been here. He used to come see me twice a week.”

Richard knew McIntyre
had avoided mentioning Bolen’s absence intentionally. There was more to the
omission that met the eye. He found it necessary to swear Santiago to secrecy.

“There’s a
good reason, you know.”

“What do you
mean?” Santiago saw that the boy knew more than he was saying.

“Tell no one I
told you?”

“I promise.”

The thoughts
that passed through Santiago’s head made him dizzy. Has Bolen decided not to
come back? Had he taken Vincent away from Belle’s and set him up as he,
himself, had hoped? Perhaps Bolen had found someone else. Would he ever see
Bolen again? Could he retrieve his nugget, or had it been lost?

“Tell me,” he
said, urging the boy to speak.

Richard leaned
close, looking around to see if they were being watched.

“Bolen was
burned badly in a fire. The Spanish section was attacked by the Hounds last
Wednesday. He rushed in to help some women and children and was caught in the
flames.”

“Then, he is
not dead?”

“No. At least,
I don’t think so. A man who sees me regularly, told me about it. He said many
people were killed. Many of them were children. Bolen was one of the Yankees
who helped.”

Santiago felt
relief and distress all at the same time. Bolen’s absence had not been because
he had deserted him. He had not been replaced by Vincent.

“Do you know
how badly he is hurt?”

“Bolen is
hurt...?” Kim had awakened and had been listening. “Then he has not forgotten
you!” He was looking at Santiago with a smile.

“We know
little.” Santiago hushed him. “I only know that he was hurt and has been unable
to move.

“Can you find
out more for me, he asked his new friend?”

Richard
nodded. “I’ll try. Are you serious about him?”

“He has been
good to me. I am concerned.”

“I am
sure
you are!”

Richard
winked, having noted the intensity of both their faces. He was sure that the
concern was more than friendly curiosity.

B
elle
Pendergast had heard rumors and what she heard made her angry if the rumors proved
true. She knew Samuel McIntyre was a brutal and degenerate man. She had never
believed otherwise. Belle was not unfamiliar with brutality, having been the
product of severe abuse herself as a child. She understood life could be
unpleasant. But there were limits to brutalities. Rumors however, were rumors!

There were
unspoken agreements within the community known as the
Barbary Coast
that
allowed for whatever behavior the climate would bear. Crime was rampant in this
deplorable hell-hole, and much of it waged among its own population. Murders
and sudden disappearances were common. Owners of gambling halls, houses of
prostitution, and opium dens had banded together to fight outside interference
from the few attempts by the expanding town to bring about law and order. Too
many men with well-known names and of high-position had become caught in the
web of crime and could not afford to be exposed when word got out names
divulged of their sexual proclivities and activities. Of the elimination of an
insignificant immigrant child involved in prostitution, little would be done.
Belle decided to wait before intervening. Perhaps if the rumors about how badly
McIntyre was treating his boys were true, she would hear more.

Belle heard
about the attack on Little Chile. On the day following the massacre she walked
to the site and saw the devastation. Not all the bodies had been removed and
she wept at the sight of the charred remains of a woman whose child still clung
to her breast. The stench was more than she could bear. Upon her return to the
salon, Belle sent for the clergyman who sometimes came to buy her boys, and
gave him an envelope that contained a thousand dollars with instructions that
the money was to be used to immediately build shelters for the survivors. They
were to be given whatever provisions they had lost. Belle and whoever else she
could convince to contribute, would cover the expenses. Her only provision was
that expenditures were to be carefully accounted for and no one was to be told
of the source of the money.

Belle was
saddened by the news of Anthony Bolen’s injuries. Vincent sat in her office
waiting for her to finish making notations in her ledger. She had sent for him
that morning with word that she had an errand for him to run. He watched her
now, this woman who in recent weeks had become such an important person in his
life. He liked her because of how differently she operated her business
compared to McIntyre. Vincent was unrestrained and free. Belle seemed more a
friend than employer. She allowed him to make the final decision in choosing
clients. She never forced or urged him to go with anyone she suspected of being
dangerous. Where McIntyre had attracted this sort of clientele, Belle avoided
them.

Finally the
ledger was closed and she and brought out a long-stemmed pipe and tin of opium
from one of the deep draws of her massive desk.

“You do the
honors,” she said, handing him the paraphernalia and watching as he pushed the
gummy substance into the bowl.

“As you
know..., I’m sure you’ve heard it from the other boys that there was an
incident that happened two days ago. One of our very good customers was
injured. It was your Mr. Bolen. I know how fond he is of you and how much you
like him. I’m sure you have been worried. I brought you here to let you know
that I have learned of his condition.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, Vincent,
he is not. His injuries are serious, however. I met the doctor this morning
while shopping at Crawford’s Mercantile. He said Mr. Bolen was not responding
to treatment as he had hoped. Apparently he had a bad night and the Doctor is
worried.”

Belle did not
mention that the Doctor had also expressed concern for McIntyre’s operations,
suggesting that there were things going on that he could not talk about.

“What will
happen?”

“I don’t know.
I do know I want to do something for him and knowing how close you are to him,
I thought the best one to take a message to him was you. Could you do that for
me?”

“Of course!
But how will I get to see him? What about his wife?”

“You will need
to be patient and wait to be alone. I have a little note that I want you to
slip to him, but only if you see that he is capable of reading it. Be sure he
is conscious enough to see it then destroy it. At the same time it will give
you opportunity to have a few words together.”

“But who will
I say I am? I can’t tell her I am coming from you. I can’t say that I’m his
prostitute. What will I use for an excuse to see him?”

“You will tell
whoever answers the door that you are an employee at his warehouse, and that
you have information to pass on and that you also wanted to pay your respects.
There should be no reason for them to suspect anything. I have already arranged
for someone at the warehouse to verify you, if asked.”

“But what if
his wife should question me?”

“Vincent,
trust me that I would not be sending you if there was danger. I would not place
Mr. Bolen in such a sensitive position. He and I have spoken many times
together over a glass of wine. He has talked about his family. One of the
things he said was that his wife has never taken any interest in his business
other than the amount of money it brought her to spend. Mrs. Bolen will not
know who you are.”

The Sunday of
Vincent’s visit was warm and the early morning fog had lifted before noon. The
streets were filled with people and carriages. Vincent decided to walk to the
Bolen mansion so that he would pass McIntyre’s peghouse. He had been by several
times before but had been unable to tell anything from looking at the outside.
There were too few windows. As he approached he noticed several carriages
waiting in the narrow alley, their rich owners no doubt enjoying themselves
inside. Above the alley he noticed two figures near the edge of the flat roof,
looking downward to the street. One of them was Santiago. Vincent knew the
danger of calling out his name. If McIntyre’s men were in the vicinity, he
would be chased away. Vincent had tried once before to see Santiago but had
been stopped at the door. He had even asked Belle to intervene for permission
for a visit, but she had either forgotten or had chosen not to get involved.
Now they were looking at each other, separated by a height of forty or fifty
feet.

Santiago
motioned for Vincent to go down the alley, to the rear of the building. The
structure had been built close to the face of a hill that rose sharply and high
enough that, from the top of it one could look down to the rocky cove below.
Vincent saw that if he climbed the hill he would be as high and at the same
level with the roof upon which the two boys were standing.

Soon they were
looking at each other with only fifteen feet between them. Vincent was amazed
at the change he saw in his friend. Santiago was thin and was pale in
comparison to when they had first met. Vincent recognized the other boy as one
of the twins McIntyre had bought. The boys were able to speak to each other
across the space without shouting. Santiago looked worried as he constantly
looked behind him to see if they were being watched or if someone else was
coming.

“Quick,” he
said. “We have little time. I’m sure one of his men will be up here soon. They
just came after Richard, and they’ll be looking for us next. People are
beginning to arrive and we’ll be needed downstairs.”

“How are you?”
Vincent asked.

“I live from day
to day. You remember Kim..., he was here just before you left?”

The little boy
waived, but said nothing.

“Tell me...,”
Santiago continued cautiously. “How is it working where you are. Are you
happy?”

“I would never
come back.” Vincent said emphatically, showing his disgust for McIntyre’s
operation. “I am actually treated like I am worth something..., not the way
that bastard McIntyre used to treat me! I wish you could leave as well. Do you
know who I am on my way to see?”

“Who?”

“Bolen. He was
hurt. Did you know? Belle is sending me to him.”

“I found out
this afternoon,” Santiago said, all the while watching the street so as not to
be seen by anyone who might report them.

“Is he badly
hurt?”

”Belle said
the doctor told her it was serious. She’s sending me there to say hello for her
because she knows I’ve wanted to see him. I’m supposed to be one of his
warehouse workers. Think I can pass for one”?

“Yes, I
suppose you could.”

Santiago was
suddenly filled with the tension of being confined and was jealous at seeing
Vincent able go wherever he pleased. He felt envious of his friend being on his
way to see the man on whom he depended for his freedom. Santiago felt trapped.

“He has been
coming to see you, hasn’t he?”

Vincent asked
the question without rancor.

“Yes, he had
been coming almost every week,” Santiago answered, feeling some guilt.

“He likes you,
you know. He’s told me that.”

“Does that
bother you?” Santiago asked, concerned about Vincent’s influence.

“Yes, I
suppose it does. I can see why he likes you. You are beautiful. He likes
beautiful boys! I like you too, Santiago. I have missed you since we have been
separated.”

“And I feel
the same, my friend. Why does it have to be like this?”

“Perhaps
because it is the way you want it!”

“But I don’t!
Oh, I don’t mind what I do. Sometimes I like it. But I don’t like where this is
all going. Kim is not feeling well. I need to do something about that. Do you
think Mr. Bolen could persuade Belle to get us released from McIntyre? I do
want to get out of here..., especially for him!”

Kim sat close,
looking frightened and desperate, like an animal caught with no hope of escape.
Vincent felt a twinge of sympathy for the boy and recalled some of his own
experiences.

“I don’t
know,” Vincent said, hearing the frustration in Santiago’s voice. He saw how
the younger boy clung to Santiago’s side and wondered about the relationship,
remembering how close the twins had been to each other.

“Please,
Vincent, when you see Bolen tell him that I hope he gets well. You know I am
concerned about the item I put in his care. If anything should happen I don’t
know that I would get that back.”

Vincent heard
a carriage approaching down the alley. Thinking it might be McIntyre, he
hurriedly said good-bye.

“I’ll speak to
him about it if I have a chance, Santiago. When do you think you could be out
here on the roof again?”

The boys were
allowed to come out only occasionally and without schedule.

“I’ll try to
come tomorrow, at the same time. Quick, hide yourself..., I hear someone coming
up the stairs!”

Santiago ran
back to the spot where they had been laying on a blanket just as the door
opened and one of McIntyre’s men came out, looking around. Vincent hid behind
bushes, waiting, trying not to move and give himself away. Below a carriage had
pulled up and it was, indeed, McIntyre. He entered the building followed by two
men holding and pushing two boys ahead of them with their hands tied behind
their backs.

The Bolen
house sat imposingly alone on a small rise near the top of one of the seven
hills. From its location a panorama of the entire city could be seen. Much of
it was made of wood, but the foundation was one of huge rocks hewn from the
nearby cliffs. A dirt road wound its way up to the portico, one so grand that
Vincent felt reluctant to use it. He was more inclined to walk to the rear of
the house to the servant’s entrance. But he did not and swung the knocker three
times before a black woman opened the door cautiously. When he told her he was
from Mr. Bolen’s work place, she led him in. After taking his hat he was asked
to be seated in one of numerous chairs that lined the long entryway. After some
time, a short and stout woman, one with rounded face without expression,
approached. After a few moments of silence while she looked him over, she
spoke.

“Well?”

Vincent was
unsure as to what to do next.

“Speak up,
boy! What do you want?”

“I’m here to
see Mr. Bolen.”

“Mr. Bolen is
not well. Who are you?”

“My name is
Vincent. I work for Mr. Bolen at the warehouse. I heard he was injured and
wanted to pay my respects and wish him well. Some of the men asked me to come.
Mr. Bolen has been good to me.”

“I’m sure he
has,” she said suspiciously with a look of anger in her eyes.

“I’ll tell him
you stopped by. What did you say your name was?”

“Vincent,
ma’am.”

“Yes..., well
Vincent Mr. Bolen has been hurt badly and is not up to seeing anyone.”

“Not even for
a few minutes, ma’am? I won’t tire him, I promise.”

Charlotte
Bolen scrutinized the boy. He had looked almost crushed when told he could not
see her husband. There was something about him that she liked in spite of her
suspicions. What he lacked in culture and finesse, he made up in grace of
movement and she found herself relenting.

 “You must
promise to stay only a few minutes, then. Come with me.”

The wife and
boy climbed a long and winding staircase. Vincent stayed close enough behind
Mrs. Bolen to hear the rustling of her many petticoats beneath her skirts. He
was led down a wide corridor that followed the curvature of the house.

Anthony
Bolen’s room was in darkness. Once his eyes adjusted to the shadows, Vincent
could see Bolen lying on a large bed, his body almost completely wrapped in
bandages. Little of the face was uncovered save for the eyes, mouth, and nose.
Bolen suddenly sat up in bed when he recognized Vincent, surprised by the visitor,
but he said nothing.