The Artists - 9. The Work of Many Hands

The first thing Casey noticed about Peter’s driving was that he was extra careful and a bit too slow, which didn’t fit at all with the car, a red ’97 Corvette. New to the area, Casey had no idea whether they were heading directly to the University Medical Center or Peter was taking secondary arterials to avoid too much traffic. He just sat back and tried to enjoy the ride.

Unfortunately, Casey’s mind was too busy to relax. Six was still in the hospital, in a coma, which the doctors couldn’t explain. Jim was gone because of what he did to Ben. Ben was gone because of what he did and what Jim did to him. Kevin was at the hospital with Six most of the time. Eric was out of the house a lot either at work at the college, at the lawyer’s dealing with the Jim and Ben situation, or with Kevin at the hospital. Peter and Euphorbia were there, but Casey was beginning to realize both of them were very reluctant to get seriously involved with him in light of what happened between Jim and Ben.

Then there was Cheri. They hadn’t been on a date, yet, but it was inevitable. Casey still hadn’t figured out if Cheri was a slightly effeminate guy, a slightly masculine girl, or something in between. He wasn’t worried because Cheri never made any issue about anything other than she lived a couple blocks away, could use her mom’s car if they wanted to go out sometime, and Friday nights were best for a date (hint, hint) because her mother was always out until after midnight. Casey was certain where she was leading him and was equally certain he didn’t know if he wanted to go there. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find a dick between Cheri’s legs; and, admittedly, he was nearly equally sure he didn’t want to discover the absence of a dick. He just wasn’t sure what he wanted.

He’d never been this close to another person, well, except Peter and Euphorbia with whom he was still spending the night. A cup of herbal tea followed by an herbal bath. They slept naked, usually with Peter spooned behind and twiddling with one of Casey’s nipples while they talked about the day’s events, Casey’s dreams for the future, or Peter’s memories. When the alarm woke them Casey went down on Peter. It was never quick or without emotion, but Casey was new to having sex with a man and Peter wasn’t offering any instructions. It simply happened.

Now, Cheri was worming her way into Casey’s life. She wasn’t a beauty, but wasn’t ugly either. She was rather plain and unassuming except when around Casey. They hadn’t kissed, but he knew if she got him inside her apartment their lips were destined to meet, which might not be such a bad idea since he and Peter weren’t kissing. Well, he kissed Peter’s body, nipples, abdomen, dick, and balls, but he never kissed him on the lips. Peter wouldn’t let him. He said they’d get too close if that happened.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Peter said. “Nervous about the examination?”

“No, it’ll be a poke, a prod, a blood test, and maybe an x-ray,” Casey said. “I was thinking if I should stop sleeping with you.”

“That would be my advice,” Peter said. “I’m too old for you.”

“Why? It’s not like you’re fucking me,” Casey said. For a brief moment he thought about Peter fucking him for the first time. They’d do it without a condom or at least he’d ask Peter not to use a condom.

“That’s what people will think,” Peter said. “The other students will be arriving this weekend and people talk.”

“Meaning Tiffani,” Casey said. He hadn’t seen much of her since Six had his accident. He simply assumed she was with Karl.

“And, others,” Peter said. “There are very few secrets in the house. Do you want people thinking you’re as queer as they thought you were down in Rancho Cucamonga? You know, you’ve done quite a bit to prove you’re not gay, but if people find out you’re sleeping with me, they’ll assume you really do like it up the ass.”

“But it’s not like that,” Casey said. They’d had this argument before and he knew it was the truth. That first night had been special. A gift of love between them, but it was impossible. Plus, he wasn’t quite certain, yet, that he was gay enough to take the taunting and derision. It’d been tough enough in high school, but here at college it might be different. “And, well, I like doing that for you in the morning. I know you like it.”

“Yes, I do, and I’ve thanked you over and over,” Peter said.

“Can I still come down to see you?” Casey asked. “You know, at night, when you’re there. Can I come and see you? Maybe I could do it then. It wouldn’t have to be every night, just so people wouldn’t talk, but I know you like it when I do that and I like it too because, well, it makes me feel good making you feel good. You know?”

Casey turned away and looked out his window. They were going down a one-way street with a lot of small business and a few older houses set up above the road with rockeries or concrete retaining walls. He imagined an earlier time when Peter might have come down this road when everything looked newer. Maybe that was why they were coming this way. It was familiar to Peter.

He looked over at the older man and noticed the eyebrows were neatly trimmed. They were Euphorbia’s eyebrows. The salt and pepper hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Put the man in a frock, a little lipstick, a touch of eye shadow, and Euphorbia would be sitting over there driving. Except Euphorbia didn’t drive the car, she drove the van they used to go to the airport to pick up students and to the cash and carry grocer to buy supplies for the house.

Also, Euphorbia drove a little faster and a lot more aggressively. She yelled at other drivers, gave them the international hand sign for “Look up! It’s a bird!,” and scared Casey so much he offered to drive, to which she glared at him and said, “You think my driving is bad? You should ride with Peter!”

And, now, he was riding with Peter, who Casey was slowly becoming aware of wasn’t making any left turns, was waiting for the near total absence of cross-traffic before crossing an arterial, and had a hard-on, which caught Casey’s full attention to the point where he wasn’t watching Peter’s driving anymore. Was it because of their conversation? Had Peter gotten hard at the thought of Casey blowing him, again?

It was so obvious it made Casey uncomfortable. He wanted to look out the window at the passing businesses, parked cars, increasing number of people his age, which he assumed to be students at the university. There was a street sign a few blocks earlier that said they were entering the University Neighborhood. Casey didn’t know they were about four blocks from the center, the Ave where hippies gathered in the Sixties, drug deals could be had on any number of corners, and where up until a few years earlier, street kids hung out spare changing or offering something personal down an alley for a few dollars more.

Yet, it was there pressing out against the loose fabric of Peter’s khakis. Casey stole glances at it while pretending to look out the window at the passing scenes. Soon it became the center of his focus and he felt his eyes being drawn to stare. They were fixed, glued, fastened to the object of his morning desire. He wanted very much to reach across the center console and place his hand over it as if to hide it from others.

He suddenly felt possessive toward Peter’s erection. He’d had it and its offering in his mouth for nearly a week and to see it displayed there without having the opportunity to please Peter made Casey feel somewhat angered. It was as if Peter was advertising his willingness to have sex with whoever might see the prominent bulge in his pants.

Realizing there was absolutely nothing he could do about it right now; Casey finally turned away and stared out the side window.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

“You don’t know?” Casey replied.

“What am I supposed to know?” Peter asked.

“God, Peter, you’re all boned up and you don’t even notice or care,” Casey said. “What’ll people say if they see it?”

“No one is going to see it,” Peter said. “And, if they do, so what. Most of them won’t even know what it is and the ones that do will figure I’m taking you home or to a motel to bang your ass, but no one is going to see it unless I run into them and they crash through the windshield. You know what you need to do; you need to loosen up a little.”

Casey looked at Peter and then turned to watch whatever was outside the car. He wasn’t going to sleep with him tonight and in all likelihood wasn’t going to suck his cock anymore. Something changed between them and he didn’t know what it was. All he knew for certain was whatever chance they had was now gone and he didn’t know how he let it go.

Tiffani lay sprawled on the floor of her studio, blood oozing from a cut under her left eye. Karl stood over her clenching his fists, his face contracted into a scowl. No one had ever hit Tiffani, including her parents who didn’t believe in spanking. No one had ever touched her in anger, yet here she was lying under her boyfriend who had just done exactly that.

“I told you I’m going to a party with the boys,” Karl said. “Girls aren’t invited.”

“You didn’t have to hit me,” Tiffani cried. She was so shocked that Karl actually hit her that tears had yet to rise in her eyes. The pain, though, was beginning to seep into her awareness. It was a sharp stinging feeling not unlike hitting her thumb with a hammer, which she’d done enough to be wary of tools like that.

“Maybe I did, just to teach you who’s boss around here,” Karl said. He made a move to kick her and she turned away from him. He laughed. “Besides, when that bruises up tonight, you’re not going to want to go anywhere.”

Tiffani didn’t move as Karl left her suite. She didn’t know what to do. She liked Karl a lot, but to be hit by someone, that was an entirely new experience. Could she continue to see him if there was the possibility he’d hit her again? Did she like him enough to say it was love and was her love strong enough to bear the pain of his blows?

She’d heard about people in abusive relationships, but was Karl actually abusive? Sure, they hadn’t actually had sex. She’d touched him a couple times when they were making out and he’d come in her hand, but he hadn’t made a move to touch her. She knew he was bi or, rather, he said he was bi and they’d have sex when he was ready.

She definitely didn’t want to get hit anymore. This was the first and last time. If Karl made any move in the future to hit her, she’d dump him and start wearing clothes that made her look more like a girl than a boy.

“How’s my boy this morning?” Kevin asked the nurse as he walked into Six’s room.

“He seems to be doing better,” she said, “but he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“I don’t suppose we have to worry about that, yet,” Kevin said. He put the chair beside the bed and sat down.

“You’ll have to talk to the doctor about that,” the nurse said. She finished tending to her patient and left the room.

Kevin took the boy’s hand in his and tried to think of an appropriate prayer as if that might help Six. Kevin didn’t really know if his nephew went to church or which kind if he did; and, since he wasn’t a practicing believer in any of the religions derived from the sons of Abraham, Kevin was at a loss for the appropriate words for Six’s situation. The boy was healing from his ordeal. There was no sign of infection from the abdominal wound, the trauma to his penis and scrotum, or the scratch on his eyeball. Other than not waking up, everything was okay.

“Wherever you are, whatever you’re dreaming, I want you to know I’ll always be here for you,” Kevin said as he gripped the boy’s hand. “We’re family and we have to stick together. If you need anything, anything at all, I want you to feel free to come to me.”

Kevin placed the limp hand back on the bed and stared at the ficus in the corner. He never noticed it before and was surprised a hospital would allow a houseplant in a patient’s room, but North Park Memorial was a rather forward-thinking institution that had always prided itself on being at the crest of innovation, so maybe houseplants were okay. Still, for some unexplained reason Kevin was uncomfortable with the shrub in the corner.

He went over to it and tried to move the planter, but it seemed to be somehow secured to the floor. That probably prevented visitors from walking off with them, thought Kevin. He looked at his hands and they were covered with soil from the planter. He looked at the ficus and he could’ve sworn it was laughing at him.

He went to the sink and began to wash off the soil. He heard something that sounded like the rustle of leaves, but when he turned to the ficus it wasn’t moving. He rinsed off his hands and dried them with a couple of paper towels. He felt as if the ficus was staring at him. It was almost as if it wasn’t a ficus at all, but some other form of life that had disguised itself as a ficus in a hospital room.

Kevin shook that thought from his head. It was stupid to think things like that actually occurred. It was make believe dreamed up by writers, like him. Maybe that’s what was running through his mind, a story about a ficus in a hospital room; not something sinister because he never wrote those kind of stories, but he might write one about a good spirit that took care of scared children and looked like a ficus. Unfortunately, this ficus didn’t look friendly at all.

The boy sat at the wooden table eating the soup the woman made for him. The green and brown bits in the yellow broth tasted earthy almost like the smell of his mother’s vegetable garden at home when he used the hoe to remove weeds. He was surprised he was hungry and could eat. The old man said he was only the spirit of himself, but many things were very real, like having to go out to the privy.

The cottage looked like something he’d seen on a Disney cartoon, very much like something in a fairy tale. The woman was young, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, and her long, straight, blonde hair hung down over her shoulders. Her plain gray frock was held with a blue cord around her waist. She kept herself busy with odd tasks of mixing potions, grinding herbs, and cooking.

The eagle stayed with the boy, following him around like a little puppy. Luckily, the eagle seemed to be housebroken because it went to the door when it needed to go out. The woman caught mice for the eagle.

The boy was naked and that didn’t seem to bother anyone. He asked the woman about it, but she simply shrugged her shoulders. For the first few days he was there, he spent most of his time on the pallet she laid out for him in a dark corner beside her bed. She bathed him out back beside the trail to the privy. There was a patch of round rocks he’d stand on while she soaped him with a sponge and rinsed with a bucket of warm water.

After a while, the boy figured out the woman either didn’t speak at all or didn’t speak his language and remained silent because she figured it was useless to attempt to verbally communicate. They did communicate, though, with hand signs, facial expressions, and a few times when he thought about being there alone with her, she came to his pallet and sat down beside him. She held him in a comforting way and he felt better for it.

The old man stayed away for over a week and when he returned the boy said he wanted to leave.

“You’re not going anywhere right now,” the old man said. “We have to work on your training.”

Training?

“Yes, you have to kill your demon,” the old man said. “That’s the only way you’re going to be able to get rid of it. Sorry, but that’s how life works.”

But its got fangs and claws; and it’s much bigger than me.

“You conjured it up, you destroy it, or it will destroy you. Come on outside.”

The old man went out the door followed by the eagle. The boy remained at the table staring at his cooling soup. He suspected this was one of those moments in life when you’re offered a choice, a fork in the path of life. He couldn’t remember ever having such an obvious opportunity to make such a decision, but suspected it had happened before. It was only logical.

That day in the used bookstore came to mind. He went looking for something about bicycling, anything about bicycling, and found a great book, an autobiography, by a racer from the early days. On his way to the checkout counter he saw the book or, rather, he saw the leather wrap with the strange symbols on the outside. He unwrapped it and without looking at the title page, introduction, preface, or table of contents he began reading:

Oft comes a man to the mountain
Yet wary hearts linger
High above the clouds He waits
To touch the soul of the Seeker

“Stop that this instant!” The old man exclaimed as he ran into the cottage and slapped the boy’s face.

The boy stared at the old man, at the hand that just struck him. No one had ever done that to him. He’d been spanked a little when he was just a kid, but no one had ever struck him in anger. He stood up angrily. There were barely inches between them.

“Every time you quote that book, even in your mind, you give your demon more strength,” the old man said. “You’re going to have a hard time killing it as it is right now without constantly quoting from that book. Now, come on and let’s get busy on how to kill a demon.”

The boy hadn’t noticed, but the eagle had come in with the old man. It was standing next to him as they watched the old man go outside, again. It poked the boy’s leg with its beak.

You want me to go with him, right?

The eagle screeched.

“It’s called a digital exam because I use a finger to check your prostate,” Doctor Larsen said as Eric lay on his side on the exam table. “I’m surprised at you Eric, you’ve been coming here for how many years and this is your first exam? Shame on you! Now relax, this shouldn’t take more than a moment.”

“I thought this was usually done with me standing up,” Eric said.

“Too many patients pass out that way,” Doctor Larsen said. “I’m too old to be picking up all that deadweight.”

“Pass out? From what?” Eric asked.

“It seems some men have a fear of someone sticking a finger into their rectum,” Doctor Larsen said as he eased his finger through Eric’s anus. “You’re not like that, right?”

“No, I don’t have a problem with that,” Eric said.

“How’s Kevin?” Doctor Larsen asked. “Hmm, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s worried he’s getting fat and not exercising enough,” Eric said. “What was that hmm for?”

“Uh, well, we’ll talk about it after you get cleaned up,” Doctor Larsen said as he withdrew his finger.

“No, talk about it now,” Eric said. He knew what the doctor was going to say; an hmm on a prostate exam usually meant only one thing.

“Okay, I felt a lump,” Doctor Larsen said. “It might be nothing or it might be something. I’ll write a referral for you. They’ll probably want to do a biopsy.”

“Oh, god, I knew something was wrong,” Eric said. “I knew it. I told Kevin there was something going on, but he didn’t believe me. God, cancer, what am I going to do?”

“First off, we don’t know if it is cancer,” Doctor Larsen said. “It could be benign, but I’m not the one to ask. Second, I want you to work on not worrying. Watch a funny movie, read a funny book, laugh a lot more, tell yourself jokes.”

“Why should I do that?” Eric asked.

“Because you’re worrying yourself sick and if you don’t start having some fun with life, you’re going to worry yourself into a coffin.”

Ben sat on his bed in his new dorm room. At least he was still at North Park, they could’ve thrown him out for what happened at Charles House, but with what was going on between him and Jim, well, they figured he was still due an education. He wanted to get back to the house, but that just wasn’t going to happen right now.

He jumped out of his reverie when the door opened and a tall, extra large boy came in with two duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. Behind him, a tall muscular man, maybe his father came in with a backpack and another large bag. Ben watched them wondering if they were going to ask for his help, but they generally ignored his presence.

“Well, I guess this is it until Thanksgiving,” the man said. “You be good and do what your coach tells you.”

“Sure Dad and thanks for the ride,” the boy said. “I know you probably missed some work.”

“Don’t worry Jason, you’re my only son, I’ll do anything for you,” the man said. He wanly smiled at Ben and left the room.

“Hi, I’m Ben,” Ben said.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll talk later,” Jason said. “You’re not a faggot, are you?”

“No,” Ben said, wondering why the question when they were supposed to talk later.

“Good, I hate faggots. My roommate last year was a faggot and I had to put him in his place a couple times. I really don’t like beating up guys if I don’t have to.”

‘Oh, great, I’ve gone from forced sex to physical violence,’ Ben thought as he watched Jason put his stuff into drawers and wardrobe. Ben recognized Jason. He was the tight end on North Park’s football team; a real killer according to the rumors in the locker room.

“You play any sports?” Jason asked.

“Soccer and rugby,” Ben said.

“Ever play football?” Jason asked. He walked over to where Ben was sitting.

“No, it never interested me,” Ben said.

It happened in a flash. One moment he was sitting on the bed and the next he was barely on his feet, being held up by Jason’s hand grasping his collar. The next moment might have been the end, but Ben was still working out and had the abs to absorb at lot of Jason’s punch to his gut. Ben didn’t know what to do. He could fight and risk being thrown out of North Park or he could rollover and let Jason decide what was to happen next.

“Soccer and rugby are sissy, faggot sports, but you definitely aren’t a sissy,” Jason said as he threw Ben down onto the bed. “I’m thinking you might be the other, even though you denied it. You ever suck cock?”

Ben watched Jason pull out his hard-on. It wasn’t all that big, maybe a little on the small side of average.

“I know what you’re thinking. If I suck it, will it only be this one time. No, if you suck it, you’re my boy and I’ll do to you whatever I want, including beating the crap out of you whenever I feel like it.”

“You can’t do that,” Ben said. He was up again and pain shot through his gut from another assault by Jason’s fist and then came the unexpected one to his face. He fell back onto the bed.

“I can do whatever I want,” Jason said. “And there is nothing you can do about it.”

Ben thought about his new living situation. The sex wouldn’t be so bad, he’d already done it with Jim and one of the seniors from last year. They were both gone so it would only be Jason. He knew he’d be fucked. It always came to that.

What could he do? He was already on probation. If he said anything to anyone, it would be the all-star tight end’s word against a suspected criminal. Who was going to believe him? His hands were tied. There was nothing to do except sit up and put the thing in his mouth.