Harlan's Race

naturally.” “What makes you think so?”
    ‘You’ve set a pattern of how you see him. Break it.”
    His eyes held mine. He swallowed again, nodded.
    A deep booming came up through the sand under the house — the surf must be tremendous now. I kept working, felt him shifting a little under my fingers — hardened muscles yielding ever so slightly. He was so hungry to feel touch — to feel life, like every human, even a baby. New Age talk about “seeing energies” had always sounded like a lot of crap. But I swore there was a fragile glow of blue, like northern lights, in the air around him. As I worked deep in the contracted muscle-strands along his back and thighs, he started groaning softly with pain and relief. All of a sudden I felt the hoarded pain of his life flowing into my hands and arms. Now and then, a hologram flashed around him, as if I was dreaming with my eyes open — burned children, helicopters exploding, gunfire blowing men’s bodies apart.
    ‘Til watch your back while you sleep,” I said. “Have the worst of my own dreams along with you. Will that help?”
    “Maybe. Release me, will you? Got me relaxed.”
    “Only if you face me.”
    In the dark room, a pyramid of embers glowed in the open stove, licked by blue flames. Quickly, not to lose the feeling around us, I shed clothes and lay facing him, our bodies barely grazing in the radiant heat. His knees were quivering— he was like a boy about to have his first time. Working with one hand, I kept up the slow, loving pace, letting massage become caressing. After a while, his hand lay shyly on my hip. He was vibrating like a blossom about to fly apart in the tiniest breeze. Little by little, he let me press against him, slide my arms around him. As my hand finally slid under the towel, and took hold of his cock, his forehead was barely touching mine.
    “Carinito ...” he murmured. Our firelit faces were bathed in each other’s rough breathing. Then his lips searched for mine — that terrible jungle-fighter giving me the shyest kiss that I’d ever had, saying that he trusted me.
    Gently I kissed him back, stroked him, felt him gather courage and will, move against me — that ocean of his giving up the first of its drowned ships. I helped him drive the surge as high and intense as we could. Jesus, how I wanted to go into him, but his psyche was too fragile for that. So I held back, and let my hands and my mouth say Alive. The house shuddered with waves breaking just beyond the barrier dune. He was fighting for his life against me, panting. Our breaths, bursting together, were lost in the hot wave of release.
    Heavy against me, he fell asleep first, eyelids twitching in REM sleep. His Maiy medal slid back over his shoulder.
    The fire had gone out, but our bodies glowed under the covers. I was in his dreams. Or he was in mine. A dark body loomed at me, roiling like a river, muscles sheeting over the bones like water over rocks. Hot for him, I tried to go into him, but he simply flowed over me and swallowed me like a waterfall. Deep underwater, the current tumbled me along the bottom, through clouds of war debris, and flashing silver fish. Mutilated corpses bumped past me. Getting my footing, I started to run against the current. He was there again, just ahead of me, running in light that rayed down through the water. His strides were infinitely slow. The long hair streamed back, over a torso dappled in shadow. I pulled up my kick and overtook him for the first time. He turned his head to look at me. I saw his face. He was Chris.
    As I reached for Chris, he dissolved into a swirl of silver fish.
    A gray dawn lit the ice-cold room. Dressing, we yanked open the emergency-exit window. Wet wind filled the room, blowing papers off my desk. A changed world met our eyes. Three inches of wet snow had fallen on Fire Island. The white shore curved away into a stormy indigo distance. Willows bent into white arcs. Blinking dazedly, we climbed out the window, onto the snowy roof. Down below, a buck deer stared up at us, with willow bark hanging from his mouth. When Jess scrambled out too, the deer bounced away into the brush, with snow cascading over his antlers.
    Chino stood there boldly on the roof, in plain view, loose hair blowing, and I suddenly realized we were no longer a target here.
    Why was I still dreaming about Chris? That boyhood myth was dead. Maybe the healing would take me longer than I thought.
    On the beach below, ice-green