Goldfinch Chapter 17
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"GOLDFINCH" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.
GOLDFINCH
by Andrej Koymasky © 2018
written on April 3, 1986
Translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by
Tom (chap. 1 to 4) and by Gilles (chap. 5 to 17)
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THIRD PART
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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Patrick had the impression that the second gaoler was late, but he was not sure, as in his condition it was more and more difficult to have an exact notion of time. How many days had he been a prisoner? He was completely unable to say, but it had to be many.
When he saw Clement again, he understood that he was right -- the younger one hadn't come. What could this mean? Possibly just that he ran away not to be an accomplice of Clement? If it were so, his attempt to make, somehow, the youth help him, had failed miserably.
>From Clement's words he understood that he was not aware that the other gaoler had not been there that day. Unless it were Clement who told the youth not to come... Possibly the youth talked or his persecutor got wind of something... but he discarded this hypothesis -- Clement behaved exactly like always. He heard from Clement that Kutkhay had also sold Barney. Who knows how his Goldfinch was? This concern was what bothered him the most, that made Patrick worry. It pained him more than the lashes he often received, more than the sexual violence to which he was methodically submitted, more than the damp cold that gnawed at his flesh and bones, more than being still tied up in that position -- his skin covered with sores, from constant contact with the rough pallet, that were starting to seep and burn terribly...
He was afraid he would never again meet his Goldfinch -- this fear oppressed him like a lead cloak, a truly unsupportable thought. Time seemed to never pass. "Sure," he told himself, "I never had so much time to think before as I do these days..."
At times he felt as if he were going crazy, he had too much time to think! At times, luckily, he fell asleep. When he woke up he was unable to say if he had dreamed or not. There were periods, he could not say for how long, of complete oblivion, of relative relief. But he woke up each time in worse condition.
He thought back on his life, and was more and more aware how lucky he was to have met his Goldfinch, to have received his so intense, so beautiful love... Yes it had been worth living -- but he wanted to continue to live, he wanted to be united again with his lover and beloved.
Suddenly he heard an unusual noise, then a voice -- it was strange, neither of his two gaolers ever talked before being with him... Several voices... He had a jolt -- had his friends found him? Or was it just people passing there by chance, exploring the ruins? Possibly kids playing hide and seek... Or was it that this time there were many because they came to kill him... He could only wait. Or, perhaps, he should call out, in case they were strangers, not knowing he was there, kept prisoner? After all what did he have to risk by making himself heard? Nothing. Rather, he had everything to gain. If they were his gaolers, at most they would laugh at him... So he shouted with all the strength that he still had.
"Help! Help! I'm here, help me! Help!"
When he was silent he heard that the voices were now excited, were calling... were calling him! He then shouted again and again until he recognized Hugo's voice calling from behind the door. Yes, that was really Hugo's voice, and he soon heard banging on the door and understood they were trying to break it in, not having the key. There was finally a very loud crash, the sound of rubble falling, and the door yielded, falling to the ground. Lights, indistinct silhouettes entered, voices and Patrick had a nervous breakdown and started to laugh and to cry at once. Hugo crouched near him and gave him a light caress on a shoulder.
He said with tenderness: "It's over, Patrick, we are here... it's all over... Calm down, my friend, it is really over, thank heaven."
How sweet, agreeable, friendly, was that voice. Delicate hands untied him from the pegs then somebody murmured: "Good Lord! Look to what they have reduced him" Poor Patrick, what a horrible thing."
He felt them very slowly turning him over, lifting him up, and then found himself sitting up on the pallet, held up by Hugo's arm around his shoulders, and then he felt terribly weak.
With the barest hint of voice he asked to Hugo: "My Goldie... how is he?"
"Fine... he will be back soon, He is OK."
Then Patrick let himself go, with no strength left, leaving it to his friends who were rescuing him to do everything. They gently wrapped him in a clean blanket, lifted him up very carefully and carried him outside. The bright daylight wounded his eyes, so long used only to darkness, and he had to close them, dazzled. The pure air filled his lungs, almost burning them; it caressed his mangled skin with a mixed sensation of pain and relief. They gently laid him in the flat bottom of a cart on a soft couch and they started out at once. The cart went very slowly so that Patrick's body did not suffer too much from the jolts due to the white road's irregularities. Lee sat near him, Patrick's head on his lap, and with a clean cloth gently cleaned his face -- it was almost a caress, light, tender, gentle.
Patrick opened his eyes a little and managed the bare sketch of a smile: "How good it is... to see you again... I was afraid... It would never again happen."
"Shush, don't exert yourself. We, too, are so happy to have at last found you. The nightmare has ended happily. We all were in so much pain for you, and we missed you so much, all of us." he said with a smile, while tears were flowing from his eyes.
Patrick nodded, then asked again: "And my Goldie?"
"He is not now in town, he will be back in several days. He had to go to Abilene."
"So much the better... he must not see me... in this condition... He would suffer too much... And I now must be... really repugnant, right?"
"No, I am sure that at in his eyes you will forever and always be wonderful." Lee answered with a gentle smile.
Patrick nodded and closed his eyes again, lying limp, exhausted. The cart finally reached the edge of town and slowly went up the road, passing in front of the prison. As soon as it was seen, the crowd of people waiting for the cart, seemed to sway. An indistinct murmur arose from the crowd, then fell silent and the compact mass of bodies opened at the passage of the cart. Patrick still had his eyes closed, the blanket wrapping him let only his pale face, suffused with suffering, still, be seen.
Someone asked, in a tone filled with anxiety: "Is he still alive?"
"Yes, thanks to God."
Another asked; "Let us see him... what did they do him? How is he?"
"No, let us pass. We have to take him immediately to a bed. Rather, call a doctor." Hugo answered.
Patrick opened his eyes and tried to sit up. His blanket slipped away from his chest and everybody could see his tortured flesh. A horrified moan rose from the people, increased, seemed to fade out, strengthened, until there sprang out a voice, clear, terrible in its hardness.
"Let's go, It was enough. That monster of a Miles, or Stevens or Clement or whatever the hell is his name, has to die!"
Henrietta, seeing the mass approaching the porch in front of the prison, shouted with a firm voice: "Stop there, all of you! Clement has to be judged, and punished, not lynched! Don't come any closer!"
The crowd grumbled, pushed, Henrietta shouted again, the sheriff and his men brought their rifles to the firing position and cocked them. Then Patrick, who, notwithstanding his pitiable condition, guessed what was about to happen, trying to be heard by the crowd, said: "No, you should not do that, please. Don't put yourselves on his level. Please..."
Somebody near the cart shouted asking for silence: "Mr. De Bruine is talking, is saying something -- shut up everybody, let us hear him!"
Soon they were again silent, turned towards the cart. Patrick gestured to Lee to help him to stand up, then, held up by the strong arms of the young man, who arranged the blanket over his body, with but the faintest hint of voice, making an enormous effort, said: "You should not kill that man, I don't want that. His death now would just be a dirty revenge that would only make me ashamed of you. Just wait until I recover, and there will be a regular trial -- the law will punish him, not us. His life doesn't belong to us, none of us has the right to dispose of the life of another man, not even that of the worst of men."
Tired by the effort he had exerted, he drooped, repeating: "I beg you... I beg you..."
Then those men that indignation and anger had made decided to kill, calmed down and when the cart moved again, they accompanied it in a silent cortege to the Van Kleft villa, where all of them had gone to live after the fire at the Villa De Bruine. While they were transporting Patrick's almost lifeless body, the crowd gradually streamed away, each one going back to his house, to his job. Just a small group remained in front of the entrance. The doctor came and visited Patrick. Helped by Lee he cleaned that tortured body, carefully washing it with cloths soaked in warm water, cleaned the wounds one after the other with delicate care, and spread on them an ointment to accelerate healing. When he left the room, leaving Patrick to the cares of the indefatigable Lee, he found all the other members of the family anxiously awaiting him.
"He will recover soon, don't worry. I didn't find anything really serious, happily, just a terrible physical stress, scattered wounds, but all quite superficial, caused by repeated lashings, by the too tight ropes tying him and ulcers from the forced decubitus. He needs absolute rest, and good nutrition, light but substantial. I will come often to see him, but with Lee at his side, he is in good hands. Good Lord, I never saw anybody lashed with such doggedness, not even the most rebellious of slaves. Whoever reduced him to such a state is a psychopathic madman, a beast, not an human being. But Mr. De Bruine is a strong young man and if there are no problems he could heal in forty days or two months... And he probably, save in a few places, will not even have scars..."
In turn they watched over Patrick, who slept for more than a day without ever waking up. Then he started to have periods of sleep alternating with those of wakefulness. His strong constitution, as the doctor foresaw, was making him recover quite rapidly.
When Kutkhay came back, so soon as he heard that Patrick had been found and was now safe, he ran in his room to see him again. He found him asleep. Jack, who was watching him in that moment, stood up and silently went out of the room. Then Kutkhay, his eyes swollen with tears, sat besides the bed and started to brush his lover's hand gently with his fingertips, looking at the skin of his arm marked by deep abrasions, but less swollen.
When Patrick opened his eyes again and saw Kutkhay, his face brightened in a radiant smile: "Love! You are here, at last. How are you, are you fine?"
"Rather you... you my sweet love, how are you?"
"You see me... they are putting me back on my feet again. But now that you are here, I feel fine. How much I missed you, my love, all this time. I just thought of you, do you know? I was so afraid not to see you any more..."
"No, don't say that. What would I have done if you didn't return? No, my sweet love... How much you did suffer..."
Kutkhay eyes were glossy with emotion, pain, love. Patrick became aware of that and, raising his arm, caressed him on the cheek, with endless tenderness: "No, it is all over now, we are again together. I'll recover fast, you'll see, and all will be back as before. I desire you so much, love, I want to make love with you. I missed you so much!"
"We can't now, we have to wait until you feel better. I too want it so much, you know? But we will make love soon, don't worry. Now you just have to get better, to recover, then we will make up for all the time we were parted. We have all our life ahead of us, now..."
"But at least a kiss... you can give me one, can't you?"
"Of course, my love."
Days passed and Patrick, cared for by Kutkhay who didn't want to leave him even for a moment, gradually healed.
Meanwhile Hugo went to fetch from the federal marshal a certificate wherein was stated that Jimmy and Barney had been sold against the will of their master, and immediate restitution was to be made to their legitimate owner. They had to declare that the two young men were still slaves, as Abilene was in a southern state and according to local law freedom of slaves was not recognized; therefore, without this subterfuge, they would not be able to free the two young men. So Hugo and Rod left at once for Abilene to rescue their two friends.
Henrietta summoned a good architect to begin plans for a new villa, larger and more beautiful than the one burned out, more functional and modern, conceived so that each couple would have ample reception rooms and guest quarters, as well as the usual living space. There were to be small houses for the personnel, the center to receive runaway slaves, with a medical room, a school, the storehouses, and stables. To have more space, they decided to buy a neighboring villa, then demolished it and joined the two properties.
Soon Patrick was able to get up from his bed, and first of all he wanted to make love with his Goldfinch. Then he also wanted to start gradually reassuming the care of the family business, so long neglected, and of the rebuilding of the villa.
Hugo and Rod came back with Jimmy and Barney. Patrick wanted immediately to thank them: "I owe it to your sacrifice that I am still alive -- thank you for not abandoning me. You really are two friends, no, even more, my brothers -- you could not show me better than by what you have done, what you feel for me."
"What are you saying, Patrick! We owe you our freedom and all we are. We will give again ten, a hundred, a thousand times all we have, also our lives, for you or for our other friends. Each time it were needed. And then, are we or not, we too, De Bruine?"
Patrick was deeply moved and happy. The family was again united, now even more than before, and all felt it to be a unique thing, beyond their skin colors, beyond their origin, beyond anything. When Patrick was again able to go out, the Clement's trial was held. On Patrick's and his family's decision nothing was said about the sexual violence he had had to undergo, only about the man's personal hatred for the anti-slavery cause. The trial was carefully followed by the people and the media, and at the end, having proved Clement's intention to kill Patrick, and Clement himself had insisted on this point all long the process, he was sentenced to death, and the sentence was carried out soon after the trial.
Those facts also had a side effect -- the anti-slavery cause found new supporters and not a few newspapers, beside Hugo's, censured the barbarous methods of the anti-abolitionists, who treated a political opponent even worse that one would treat the worst criminal, showing inhumanity and cruelty. A newspaper affirmed, quoted then by many others, "When one defends an unfair, lost cause, he loses the sense of morality. Who acts righteously has no need to use violence..."
Villa De Bruine - Van Kleft was rebuilt in Italian neo-classical style -- it was really very beautiful, comfortable and expansive, and at its opening party were in attendance all the most influential families of the state, as well as people from all stations, ex-slaves, politicians and reporters.
Mike, Mark, Matt and Luke were growing up well, in harmony. Jimmy and Barney adopted two little orphans, Tommy, an eleven-year old mulatto, and Edward a black boy seven years old. Soon the adults became aware that there was some tenderness between Mike and Mark, and everybody followed with pleasure and affection the two children's blooming relationship.
Barney continued to have adventures outside his union with Jimmy but the latter didn't complain, according to Barney.
"Aren't you aware that you risk making Jimmy suffer? And Jimmy doesn't deserve that, don't you think?"
But Jimmy himself excused him: "It is this way, my Barney... he needs some escapades, at times, but I know he loves me, he will never leave me, therefore I accept him as he is. He is and remains my Barney, my splendid man. And then, sincerely, I too have had at times my little adventures with some of Barney's conquests... At times a threesome is also good..." he said and blushed.
Barney added: "Don't you see, Patrick, I love my man, for him I would be ready to have my head cut off. But I am a hot-blooded man, to see a handsome boy and to understand that he too wants to do it with me, makes my head spin, I can't resist. I have to take him to my bed... But I love only Jimmy, I swear, Jimmy makes my head spin more than anybody else..."
When Mike asked his father if Mark could move forever into his own bedroom, Patrick told him gently: "Are you sure, Mike? It is a rather important step, what you desire to do. You both are still so young... isn't it better for you wait some more?"
"We know each other fairly well... and we are near our sixteenth birthdays... We both really desire it, therefore... please, Dad? Mum said it is up to you to decide, so..."
"All right, then. I'll have another bed put in your room before tonight, all right?"
"Instead of another bed... can't you have them put a double bed in place of my present bed? Anyway, we will always use the same bed, so..." the boy said with sly eyes.
Patrick smiled, caressed him and nodded. Mike embraced and kissed him with affection and joy: "Thank you, Dad. I knew I could count on you."
Kutkhay and Patrick celebrated the fifteenth anniversary of the first day they made love. They decided to have an intimate celebration, making a journey in one of their ships, and they invited all the couples of their friends, including Mike and Mark who were now officially together, notwithstanding their young age, with everybody's assent.
Patrick, so that Kutkhay wouldn't discover it beforehand, had the ship take a special route, so that on the dawn of the eighth day of navigation in the open sea, they reached the bay of his beloved's native village.
When Kutkhay woke up, he stretched lazily, then embraced Patrick as he always did, and kissed him. His lover, after kissing him back and caressing him for a while, invited him to dress and together they would go on deck where the others were waiting for them. Kutkhay, unaware, left their cabin, greeted his friends and when he noticed they were unusually cheerful, he lifted his glance, looked toward the land, and at once became silent.
"But... but this is... this is my old village!" he exclaimed filled with amazement, looking at Patrick.
"Yes, my love. Here we met for the first time, therefore I thought it was the best place to celebrate our fifteen years of love. Nineteen since we first saw each other... Would you like to land? The boats are already prepared, and the village people are all on shore waiting for us..."
They went ashore. Kutkhay was really excited. But he told Patrick and the others that he didn't want to be recognized. Almost certainly his former wife and his son Samanah were still alive.
Patrick proposed they take Kutkhay's son back with them: "So we won't need to adopt anybody, what you think? I would be really happy having him with us..."
"I don't know, love. Of course I would love that, but... he is now almost twenty years old and... he can even be a father in his turn..."
The village people, although now the ships of the white men came more and more often, were waiting festively on the beach. Kutkhay talked with them and to his relief nobody seemed to recognize in that white gentleman the old Kutkhay. After a while, talking with the village people, he managed to single out his son. He was a handsome youth, slightly less tall than Kutkhay, darker of skin, his hair straight and black, long to his shoulders, a proud gait. Kutkhay managed to talk with him -- he was married and had two children.
"Samanah, are you happy with your wife?"
"She is my woman..."
"And are you happy with your children?"
"Sure, everybody is proud of his children. Don't you have children?"
"Yes, I have a son... but I haven't seen him for so many years..."
"The same with me and my father."
"Really? How did it happen?"
"He disappeared during a night... The spirits kidnapped him."
"Did you miss him?"
"Tumchey became my father."
"How was your father?"
"Handsome, they say... strong... a dreamer... a good hunter."
"Wouldn't you like to meet him again?"
"Now my father is Tumchey." the young man quietly concluded, without showing any emotion.
Kutkhay silently nodded, then asked him: "Would you like to come with us, to live in the white men's town? I would be glad to take you with me..."
"No. I am well here, I miss nothing here, I have a sweet wife and two handsome children. I am amongst my people."
"You are right, son." Kutkhay said using the old way of the adults to address the younger, but charging it with the real meaning of that word.
Then he translated to Patrick the dialogue he just had: "Do you see, my son feels well here, he has no desire to leave. He is a child of his tribe. I don't think it would be wise troubling him. He is right, his father now is the husband of his mother, my brother Tumchey. I am nothing to him anymore. He doesn't hate me, he doesn't love me, I don't exist any more in his thoughts, in his life. And after all it is better this way, for both of us."
Patrick understood, and he just hoped that Kutkhay didn't suffer because of that. So he asked him: "And... could you get news about Mokoa?"
"No, nobody ever heard about him after that time. He too, like me, disappeared in the nothing. And there is a new Mokoa, a boy six years old. But there is not yet a Kutkhay..."
"I may have been wrong to bring you here again... I thought I was giving you a present, and instead I may have opened old wounds..." Patrick said hesitantly.
"No, my love. On the contrary, I am really glad I could come back here. I know now for sure, even more than ever, that I belong to you, that I belong only and totally to you. Here was a part of my roots, but now I am transplanted and I can live well only with you. This place, these people, are now just part of a faraway memory. My place, my people, my country, all is just our home, amongst our friends, in our land. Therefore, whenever you wish, we can return to the ship and resume our journey."
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