In the Land of the Long White Cloud

laid his hand on Lucas’s shoulder and was now running it slowly down his arm in what could almost be called a caressing gesture. Lucas could hardly miss the invitation underpinning Copper’s words—but he was undecided. There was no question he owed Copper something; the older man had been good to him. And hadn’t he thought about sharing a bed with a man his whole life? Hadn’t images of men come to him whenever he pleasured himself and when—with God as his witness—he had lain with his wife?
    But this here…Lucas had read the writings of the Greeks and Romans. Back then, the male body had been the quintessential ideal of beauty; love between men and youths was not considered objectionable as long one did not force the boys into it. Lucas had wondered at the pictures of the statues that had been created back then. How beautiful they had been! How smooth, how clean, and inviting…Lucas had stood in front of the mirror and compared himself to them, had attempted the poses those youths had assumed, had dreamed of himself in the arms of a loving mentor—who certainly looked nothing like this whaler. Though he was friendly and good-humored, he was still massive and reeking. There was no possibility of washing himself that day on the
Pretty Peg
. The men would slip between the decks, covered in sweat and filth, sullied with blood and slime…Lucas pulled away from Copper’s inviting stare.
    “I don’t know…it was a long day…I’m tired.”
    Copper nodded. “Don’t worry; go to your berth, boy. Relax. Maybe later I could…well, I could bring you something to eat. Good chance there’s even whiskey around here.”
    Lucas swallowed. “Another time, Copper. Maybe in Westport. You…I…don’t misunderstand me, but I need a bath.”
    Copper let out a booming laugh. “My little gentleman! Fine, fine, I will personally see to it that the girls draw you a bath—or even better, for the both of us. I could use one too. Would you like that?”
    Lucas nodded. The important thing was that the man leave him alone for today. Full of loathing and disgust for both himself and the men whom he had joined for this adventure, he retired to his flea-ridden bunk. Perhaps the fleas would be put off by the stench of blubber and sweat. A hope that quickly proved futile. On the contrary, it seemed only to attract more bugs. After squashing dozens of them on his body, Lucas only felt dirtier. Still, as he lay awake, listening closely to the laughing and shouting on deck—the skipper had evidently offered up the whiskey—and finally to the men’s drunken songs, a plan began to form in his mind. He would leave the
Pretty Peg
in Westport. He didn’t care whether he would be in breach of contract or not. This life was altogether too unbearable.

    His escape had actually been rather easy. The only problem was that he’d had to leave all of his belongings behind on the ship. It would have looked suspicious if he had taken his sleeping bag and his few articles of clothing along for the brief shore leave the skipper had allowed the men. He took a few things to change into—after all, Copper had promised him a bath, so he could justify them on those grounds. Copper laughed about that, but Lucas did not care. He was only looking for an opportunity to run away. This quickly presented itself when Copper consulted with an attractive red-haired girl about finding a bathtub somewhere nearby. The other men in the pub were not paying attention to Lucas; they only had whiskey on their minds or were staring at the girls’ ample curves. Lucas still had not ordereda drink, and thus avoided the guilt of skipping out on his tab when he now stole out of the bar and hid himself in the stables. As it turned out, there was a rear exit. Lucas took it and slunk across a blacksmith’s yard, a coffin maker’s shed, and a few unfinished houses. Westport was indeed a dump—he had been right about that—but it was also true that it was being built up.
    The village was situated on the bank of a river, the Buller, which was wide and calm where it emptied into the sea. Lucas made out sandbanks interrupted by a rocky bank. Most importantly, though, a fern forest began just beyond Westport, a deep green wilderness that looked, and likely was, completely unexplored. Lucas looked around, but he was alone. Apparently, no one else sought the emptiness beyond the houses. He would be able to flee without being seen. Once he’d decided on a course of