Goldfinch

Goldfinch Chapter 5

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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SECOND PART
CHAPTER FIVE

**

The ship had to stop for several days because they had to repair a small hole caused by a submerged rock. The chief assured the strangers of wood, food and water. They presented him with two muzzle- loaders, powder and ammunition, some blankets and various knick-knacks. Kutkhay used all his time as interpreter and was of some help. He was very proud, because at the village nobody knew of his ability, so that soon he was treated with some respect even by the elders.

But Kutkhay had only one desire in his heart: now that he no longer had his Mokoa, he wanted to go with the ship, to live with his father's people. When he had singled out the chief of those men, the ship's captain, after hesitating for a long while, he found the courage to talk to him.

"Men repair ship, when all end, I on ship go." he said full of trepidation, spying the man's reaction.

"Would you like to come with us?"

"Yes. Would like come us." the boy answered.

"But you can't come with us. This is a merchant ship and anyway you don't have a ticket."

"Merchant? Tikket? I no understand."

"You cannot come on the ship." the man repeated with patience.

"I gift give."

"No, no, you need money, a lot of money."

"Money? I money no understand. I on ship go?"

The captain had the patience to make the boy understand that his request was pointless. When at last the boy understood, he felt very bad. He tried to discuss it with the captain, but finally he had to resign himself to the situation. Kutkhay became very sad, he had always hoped, in secret, that his father's people would take him with them.

He was sitting on a stone, down in the dumps and dejected, when another boat came from the ship. He watched it: on board, besides the sailors, there was a young man. His hair was light brown, almost blond, straight. He wore a light green and cream suit that Kutkhay judged to be very beautiful. The man had luminous eyes, a faint smile on his sensual lips, and a proud and straight pose like a real chief. He wasn't wrong: despite his youth, everybody showed toward him a respectful and deferential attitude. He must have been the same age as Kutkhay's older brother, or perhaps a little less. Kutkhay felt literally fascinated; he forgot his sadness and lost himself in the admiration of the newcomer. His face had fine features, his movements were strong and confident but elegant. And the voice... the voice was deep and warm and sent quivers down Kutkhay's spine.

"I decided to go ashore for a while." he declared to the captain of the ship.

"Yes, sir, very good, sir." the man answered, evidently obsequious.

Kutkhay was carefully listening but couldn't hear all the words. Then the young man asked: "May I have a little water?"

Kutkhay this time understood, and darted off to his house, coming back with a wooden bowl filled with fresh water that he held out to the foreigner. The man gave him a nod of thanks, smiled, took the bowl and drank with pleasure. Kutkhay observed the beautiful lips against the rim of the bowl, and the long tapering hands and felt a shiver like pleasure run down his body from head to foot. He felt so excited that he was not even able to say a word. The young man gave him back the bowl then went away talking with the captain.

The boy remained there, the empty bowl in his hands, still and fascinated, following him with his eyes.

That man was the real chief of all the foreigners, he felt it; he had to be the great chief of all the foreigners' tribes! How did he call him, the captain? "Sir"? Was that his name or the title of his rank? He couldn't remember having learned that term, so he run to see the shaman to ask for an explanation. The shaman was acting as interpreter. During a pause, the boy asked his question.

"No, it is just a respect word, as you call the elders of the tribe fathers."

Kutkhay scratched his head: "But who called him sir was older than him." he objected.

"I didn't say it is the same thing. You say sir to a person of higher rank; do you understand now?"

Kutkhay nodded yes then said: "And he must be a great chief..."

"That man is the son of the owner of the great boat and of many, many other great boats."

Kutkhay nodded again; he had understood rightly that that man was of a very high rank. But if he was a so important person, he certainly couldn't be the first to talk to him. Yet he had broken the rules by talking to the chief of the great boat's men... He couldn't continue that way. The only hope was that the other would decide to talk him first. So he had to follow him, to appear willing to help and who knows...

He looked around for the "sir" but couldn't see him. He asked his friends and was informed that the man went into the hinterland, escorted by the men with the thunder-sticks, to do a short exploration. He asked which direction they went, and left, determined to find them. He wandered in the woods until he spotted the traces of the things the foreigners wore on their feet. He followed their marks, but when he reached the rocky terrain, he lost them. He went all around hoping to find them again, but without results. When it was getting dark, he went back to the village and found out that the "sir" was already back on the ship.

"He will probably be back tomorrow..." the boy said full of hope.

But the next day the chief sent him to hunt with the others, to provide meat for the strangers. Kutkhay would have remained in the village, but couldn't disobey an explicit request of the chief of the village. So, although reluctantly, he left with the others.

They were absent for three days and finally they were back, loaded with prey.

As soon as he was back, he asked about the "sir" and they said he was on the ship. But he was told also that the damage had been repaired and that the ship would leave the following day at dawn.

Kutkhay felt lost.

He had to see the "sir" again; he had to leave with his father's people, but how, what to do?

At night he entered his house in bad mood. When his wife approached him, he send her away with harshness. He couldn't sleep so he went out.

The ship lanterns were mirrored in the placid water. He looked at the gently swaying massive structure, barely lit by the last quarter of the moon...it was not so far from the coast...and he was a skilled swimmer...

A sudden idea struck him. He touched his talisman, then the whistle he had at his neck, and then, determined, he entered the water without any noise.

When he was in up to his armpits, he turned toward the village: all was silent, everybody asleep, nobody had seen him. Then he immersed himself and swam underwater toward the great boat, emerging just in time in time to breath, careful not to make the faintest sound until his body brushed the wood of the great boat's side. He swam round it until he found the anchor chain. He tried it and felt it was slippery but strong. He tried to climb and learned that by carefully slipping his feet inside the links, it was easy to climb. The only problems were to make it not squeak in a different way, and to not be seen by the great boat's men. He knew there were not less than three going up and down the deck all the night long.

Very slowly he climbed, link after link, until his head reached the escape hole of the chain. He looked through and saw no movement. So he climbed a little more and managed to slip into the hole. Leaning carefully into the ship he saw a man with a lantern coming toward him. He leaned back and felt his feet slipping away from the chain. He clung with both hands to the rim of the big hole and managed to hold on.

The man passed in front of the hole, but was looking out of the ship's side from the parapet, so he didn't see him. The sailor went away at a slow pace and when, by the sound of his footsteps, Kutkhay judged he was far enough away, the boy hoisted himself on board using just his arms' strength. He slid through the hole and finally felt the wooden boards of the floor of the forecastle under his body. He remained still for a while, to catch his breath. Then he looked around to find a place to hide. He saw many strange objects, things never seen and that he didn't know, but nothing that could offer him a safe hiding place. Then, with extreme caution he slowly stood up until he could see the lanterns of the watchmen. They were still far from him, but one was approaching.

Furtively, keeping an eye on the lanterns and on the floor in order not to trip, he could move to one of the stairs going to the main deck. To go down meant to expose himself too much. He considered the situation and understood that he had to reach the other stairs. While the watchman was climbing that one, he could let himself slide down at the side of the other. One of the other two men, meanwhile, would be at the stern and the other at his side, but going in the opposite direction and showing him his shoulders...

He waited and did as he thought: all went smoothly. His bare feet made no noise on the floor boards. Slowly, moving from one point to another only after careful observation, he reached the hatchways to the hold. One was open and a small rung ladder went down into the darkness. Kutkhay listened to be sure that from inside there came no sound of sleeping people, then went down slowly, just in time before a watchman came near the hatchway.

After a while he got accustomed to the inside darkness and started to distinguish, if not the objects, the heaps contained there. He continued to go down slowly until he felt the floor under his feet. Then, touching with his hands those heaps he could guess at more than see, testing with caution the floor at each step, he started to move, trying to go away from the ladder, and hide as best he could.

Time passed, marked by the sound of the watchmen's steps over his head. Then from the hatchway started to come a gleam: dawn was breaking. As gradually the light's intensity grew, the object's outlines became more defined and Kutkhay could better see the hold around him, so that he could find a safer hiding place.

He settled down behind an enormous crate, in a narrow space between it and the bulkhead and laid down exhausted by the nervous tension of those hours. He heard the ship wake up, the men's voices, the sound of their steps; soon the entire boat was filled with sounds and noises. The sun started to rise on the horizon and more and more light entered from the hatchway.

And the ship creaked, the anchor was hoisted on board, clanking heavily, whistles resounded with different modulated tones, a bell rang, the ship groaned again... and Kutkhay was certain that the big boat was leaving the bay toward the deep sea.

By now, they must have left. Happily he relaxed and plunged into a deep sleep, rocked by the gentle rolling of the ship. He woke up and slept again twice, and the second time he understood by the lessening light that the day was at its end. He slept all the night long. Now that he had gotten used to the ship's squeaks they no longer woke him up. And each time he was falling asleep, again he was happy and blissful, trying to imagine how the place would be where he would disembark: the land of his unknown father.

The following morning his waking was abrupt and unpleasant: two strong and hard hands were bodily lifting him up, while a horrible voice was shouting incomprehensible words. A sailor had gone down in the hold for some strange reason, had gone to look in that secluded corner for some even stranger reason, and had discovered him.

The man lifted him easily like a weed and brought him upstairs. His yelling had attracted several sailors, so when they emerged from the hatchway, Kutkhay, who hadn't ceased to wriggle, found himself completely surrounded. He felt hands on his body, hands and more hands; he felt himself being pulled and pushed while everybody was talking at the same time, saying things that Kutkhay couldn't understand, both for the fear that seized him and for the confusion of the voices.

He tried to speak, to say something in the strangers' language, but his brain was as if it were empty, and from his throat came out just inarticulate sounds.

Meanwhile the men had tied him up and were discussing what to do with him: some were saying that they had to call the captain and ask him to decide, others that they just had to throw him overboard -- that's how it's done with stowaways --, and another proposed keeping him as a ship's boy until the next port and then putting him ashore. It is not that the second were sadistic or bad men, nor was the last gentle or altruistic. It was simply that to throw stowaways overboard had been the rule until then on all the ships and only just then was this custom changing. As for the proposal to keep him as a ship's boy until next port: ship's boys were always young lads who during the journey, besides being made to work hard, were used as sexual relief for the sailors; and Kutkhay was young and handsome...

The party wanting to throw him overboard was growing and taking control. The boy had been lifted up and they were carrying him toward the stern to cast him overboard. Now the discussion was about whether to throw him out tied or untied... They decided to untie him and also to throw him a piece of wood or something to help him float.

They were freeing him from the ropes when suddenly a voice was heard: "What's happening? What's all that din!"

Everybody stopped, recognizing the voice of the captain who had appeared on the upper deck. They were explaining to him what happened, when at his side appeared a second person, the ship owner's son.

The sailor acting as spokesman was ending his speech: "... and so we decided to throw him overboard, that's how it is done with stowaways, and then throw him something to float on, and who knows but that he might be lucky enough to reach shore somewhere..."

"It's OK as you decided. After all he is just a savage..." the captain interrupted him with a shrug.

But at that point the ship owner's son intervened with a tone that admitted of no objections: "Put him down immediately. On the ships of our company nobody will be thrown overboard for any reason."

"But he is a stowaway, sir!" an old sailor protested.

"No. From now on... he is my guest." the young man dryly answered, then looked at Kutkhay and asked him: "Do you understand our language, boy?"

A sailor said, laughing: "How do you think he can understand, he is just a savage!"

But another readily intervened: "He was one of the interpreters."

Then the captain looked at him more carefully and recognized him, so he told the young man about the boy's request and the long discussion they had.

The ship owner's son, with a smile, asked again: "So, you can speak our language."

"A little speak, sir." the boy answered still trembling.

"What's your name?"

"I... what name?" the boy asked uncertainly.

"Yes, your name. What do I call you?"

"Yes, name Kutkhay is."

"Come here, Kutkhay."

The boy, now free, approached a little awkwardly.

"Do you want to work for me?"

"I work, I slave to sir!" the boy, radiant, answered.

"Come with me, then." the man said to him.

He put a hand on the boy's shoulder and led him to his cabin. He made the boy sit in front of him and, after giving orders to his servant to bring a tub to bathe the boy, started to talk with him. Although with some difficulty, they managed to understand each other.

In this way, Patrick De Bruine learned that the boy was a half-breed that he wanted to know his father's land, and wanted to live with his father's people. Patrick soon felt an instinctive liking for Kutkhay, so he entrusted him to his servant to wash him and to find him suitable clothes. Then he ordered him to start to teach the boy some easy work to do.

"The boy seems good and intelligent and with a little training he can became a good servant."

"As you wish, sir." the servant answered, starting immediately to take care of the boy.

The first thing was to teach him the use of soap and towel and comb. Then how to wear and fasten the clothes he procured for him. Then he taught him how to polish his new master's boots. For Kutkhay had started his insertion into his father's culture.

The boy was happy: he was learning a lot of new things. He was fascinated by everything, but above all by the ship, so big and so skillfully built, and by the profusion of metallic objects he saw all around. Two more things made him really curious: the window's glass and the mirror.

He discovered the glass when he tried to lean out of the window of his new master's cabin and hit his nose against it. Amazed, he cautiously stretched out a hand to touch that strange thing.

"Hard air?" he asked, stupefied, looking toward his master who was laughing, amused at the boy's surprise.

"No, it's glass."

"Glass? Name glass?"

"Yes."

"Nice glass. This way wind stop but light not stop!" Kutkhay declared, satisfied, caressing the smooth surface with the tip of his fingers.

Then Patrick thought about the mirror. He took it and showed it to the boy. He looked at himself in the mirror, knitted his brows and saw the reflected image doing the same. He turned toward his master and said:

"This like hard water, I see I. But no water. What name is?"

"Mirror."

"This mirror is. Very good mirror and useful. I see better than in water. Like glass but not like."

The master thought that the boy had to be really clever to have immediately understood that it was his image reflected as in water, and not a magic thing as primitives often thought. And also to have in some way assimilated the mirror and the glass when he had just discovered both.

Thus, in his mind the idea took shape to teach the boy. Perhaps he could even teach him to read and write...

So he took a paper and a pen and said: "My name is Patrick De Bruine. Look, it's written that way." and traced it in clear letters.

Kutkhay looked carefully, than asked: "You draw what?"

"My name. What is your name?"

"I Kutkhay."

"Well, I write: Kutkhay. Look."

"I write, what is?"

"Your name: k, u, t, k, h, a, y, you see? This is a k and this also."

The boy seemed not to understand; he knitted his brows, then asked again what that strange drawing was. Patrick, with patience, wrote other words that he then pronounced and analyzed letter by letter. And then he had the idea to make just some simple sounds and to write them. Several hours were spent in that way, but at the end the boy seemed to understand and exclaimed:

"If you say PEN you first write P like PATRICK!"

The young man was triumphant.

"Good, very good! Tomorrow we shall continue. You'll see; I'll teach you many things and thus you will became learned like a white man."

The boy was glad to see that his master was happy with him. Just to see him happy, he would even have learned to draw sounds, although he thought it was a useless thing.

At night, Patrick had a straw mattress for the boy put in his cabin near his berth. Kutkhay watched his master undress until he wore just the cloth underpants, and saw that the young man was really beautiful: he had a lean and athletic body, almost hairless, with perfect proportions. He thought that he was really lucky, because he was with the man who had fascinated him, and his master, besides having rescued his life, was good and beautiful, knew so many things, and was a person of very high rank...

He fell asleep on his mattress on the wooden floor, feeling happy.

In the following days he learned many things, both practical from Patrick's servant, and theoretical from his master. He started to write and was learning with a speed that never ceased to marvel his master. When at last the ship reached its home port, Patrick went ashore taking with him both his servant and Kutkhay. While the first was loading all the luggage on the coach that had been left at his father's warehouse, Patrick took the boy to a barbershop to have the boy's long hair cut in the white man's fashion. Kutkhay was a little sad to loose his beautiful head of hair, for in his village it was a matter of pride for people to have long hair. But he had noticed that his father's people, and also his master, had short hair and thought that, this way, he could look like one of them, and that comforted him. And above all, he wouldn't thwart his master.

When he saw Patrick's satisfied expression, the boy didn't think any more of his lost long hair. Patrick also bought him some clothes to replace the sailor's clothes that he had worn on board.

When Kutkhay saw himself on the shop's mirror, he observed carefully his appearance and then said: "I, all to equal see, no difference see."

"It's true, you could really be thought a white man." his master gladly admitted.

At the beginning he felt a little uneasy, mainly because of the shoes, but he tried not to show that to his master. Also, in the town Kutkhay was fascinated by many things: by the horses which he saw for the first time and by the coaches, by the houses, big and so many, by the carefully laid out gardens, and by the women wearing colorful dresses, lavish and rich.

About women he made his master laugh for a while when he said that, not having seen a single woman on the ship, he thought that in his master's people there were no women.

"But how can babies be born, without women?" Patrick asked him, amused.

"Know not, but perhaps possible, no? Many strange things you people knows!" the boy answered.

"But that is something we are not able to do yet. To make a baby we still need a male and a female, even in my people!" Patrick answered smiling.

The boy asked the whys of everything, the meaning of new words, and his English was also improving. Having a good memory and a quick and lively intelligence, he learned rapidly, although at times he had difficulty in grasping some concepts. For instance, he didn't understand what money was, what sense its use could possibly have. Patrick decided to go back to that argument later.

During the journey, inside the coach, Kutkhay talked and asked questions indefatigably, and Patrick willingly and gladly answered, explaining to the boy everything he was able to make him understand. He had difficulty also explaining to him the usefulness of watches.

"But noon, I see sun, no? I understand." Kutkhay concluded with an obvious tone after the umpteenth example Patrick tried.

The man decided again not to insist and preferred rather to correct the syntax of the boy's sentence.

When they reached the large mansion where the De Bruines resided, Patrick enthusiastically introduced the boy to his family, telling his story: how he rescued him saying that he meant to keep him as a personal servant, and that he intended to give the boy a sound education.

His father, a rich banker, ship owner and merchant, accepted without a problem what he interpreted as his firstborn's caprice.

"That's good, young Pygmalion, one more servant can surely not constitute a problem for us. Find him accommodation and be careful he doesn't become bigheaded. And make him wear a servant's livery."

Patrick asked his father if he could use the small room communicating with his bedroom, furnishing it so that could be used by the boy as his bedroom. The small room until then had been used as a lumber-room, but it had a small window. The slaves emptied it taking the contents to other lumber-rooms. A bed, a chair, a small table, a chest, a little commode and a shelf were found and placed there, so Kutkhay was settled.

Then Patrick asked his sisters to help him educate the boy, to teach him to read and write and make basic calculations, and asked the butler to help the boy become part of the life of the house, giving him some small tasks, but, however, leaving him time to be his personal servant and to study.

Kutkhay's way of expressing himself improved rapidly. Moreover, he applied himself to the service of his young master with a total enthusiasm, care and dedication.

When he was in his small room at night, at bedtime, Kutkhay undressed completely: although he had adapted to the westerners' clothes, he felt bundled up and didn't like that sensation. And also in daytime, when he was alone in his room, he just wore pants and walked barefoot. Of course, when he had to do service in the house, or his young master had him going to town, he would dress up completely and even wear shoes.

Kutkhay loved very much to help his master dress and undress, because in those moments he could admire his beautiful body. The boy had an excellent innate chromatic and aesthetic sense, so that little by little he started to advise Patrick as to the clothes to wear when he dressed in the morning or when he had to change clothes during the day. Patrick was pleased to listen to the boy's advice.

Kutkhay had been living at the De Bruine Mansion a few weeks, when one day Patrick asked him: "Has your name a meaning, Kutkhay?"

"Yes, master, all names have meaning in our village."

"And what does yours mean?"

Kutkhay was perplexed for a moment. The meaning of a man's name is a secret, and only known to the initiated men of the tribe. Not even the women could know it. But he belonged to his master's tribe too, and his master was an adult... Could he tell him? To know the meaning of a man's name means to have power over him... But he had given himself to his master, and so perhaps he could...

Patrick read the perplexity on the boy's face, and asked him what the problem was. Kutkhay explained it to him.

Patrick understood the boy's problem: "If you feel you cannot tell me, it's OK."

"No, I want say you. But not all know, after. You only..."

"I agree. You and I shall be the only ones to know it."

"It is name small bird, master."

"Which small bird?"

"I not know name in your language, but..." Kutkhay said and started to describe it.

After a while Patrick led him to the library, took some ornithology books and started to browse through them, showing the illustrations to the boy. At last Kutkhay recognized the bird and pointed it out.

"Ah, but this is a Goldfinch. And in Latin Cardueli Tristis, or Chardonnet in French. So, I will call you Goldie, my little goldfinch. And nobody will understand that Goldie comes from goldfinch and not just from gold. This will be our secret. Do you agree?"

Kutkhay mouth opened in a wide smile: his master had bestowed a new name on him, so now he belonged to him even more than before. And also he liked the sound of his new name; yes it had a very good sound, he was very proud of it. And when he was alone, he tried to write it and he liked it even more than before.

That night, naked in his little bed, Kutkhay fell asleep full of happiness.

But in the middle of the night, he woke up. At the other side of his door, his master was sleeping. He felt very strongly the desire to look at him, admire him. Slowly he rose up and tried to open the communicating door, without any noise. He entered his master's room. Patrick was sleeping deeply, and his faint breathing was barely heard.

Kutkhay approached in perfect silence, his bare feet light as feathers on the wooden floor of the room. He drew nearer and looked at the body of his young master, softly abandoned on the wide bed. He felt tempted to brush it with a light caress, but he refrained, afraid he would wake him up. He looked so defenseless while sleeping!

His fair and velvety skin was lightened by the moon's rays that soaked the room, entering by the wide open window. The big curtains barely wavered. Patrick slightly moved his head and his blond hair shone as a fall of golden specks.

The sheet of light batiste outlined his form, leaving uncovered his wide, smooth and sound chest, where two dark and small nipples surrounded by a thin golden down stood out.

"How beautiful you are, master!" Kutkhay thought.

He crouched on the carpet without loosing sight of the shape lying on the ancient big bed. Now he could see him in profile. He was happy he could admire that beautiful body at his ease, with his master unaware. He loved the idea of watching over him. He would have liked to completely unveil that body, to admire it in his totality, but he restrained himself. His eyes were closing but the boy, stubborn, tried to keep them open, caressing with his eyes those beautiful shapes. He was admiring that profile rise and lower at each breath.

"Sleep without worries, master. Your Goldfinch protects you." the boy thought, feeling flooded by a tender warmth. But sleep weighed down on him, making his lids heavy and, imperceptibly, he fell asleep. His body unconsciously curled up seeking shelter from the night coolness in its own warmth.

The moon had set and the sky was starting to change slightly its colors, lighting up little by little. The birds of the wide garden woke up and started to trill aloud, greeting and heralding the new day. Patrick emitted a faint moan and turned wrapping himself more tightly in the sheet. Kutkhay woke up with a start and, alarmed, looked at his master. He saw that he was still sleeping and relaxed. He looked out of the window. The sky was now the color of a pearl and grew lighter second by second. He stood up on the carpet and again approached the bed. Patrick's face was serene, relaxed. His barely opened lips seemed to smile.

"Your smile is a sun ray!" Kutkhay thought tenderly.

He reached out a hand but stopped before touching him. He hesitated a little, uncertain, but then withdrew it and let out a silent sigh. Then, careful not to make any noise, he went back to his room, lay on his bed, and covered himself with the sheet, falling asleep at once, while thinking that he could watch his master that way every night...

It was around two hours later when Patrick's voice brought him again to consciousness: "Goldie! Wake up!"

He jumped out of his bed, hurriedly slid a smock and trousers on his bare body and ran barefoot to Patrick's room.

"Here I am. Did sleep well, master?"

"Yes, thank you. Prepare the washbasin, then my clothes."

"Yes, master. Is the pearl silk suit good?"

"Why the pearl color?"

"It is color of this morning sky, master."

"Oh, I see. Then it is OK." Patrick answered with a smile.

He liked the reasons that the boy found each time when suggesting he wear one suit or another. Kutkhay briskly started his work. He went down to the great kitchen to get warm water from the fireside cauldron. He filled a big jug, mixing it with cold water and testing the warmth with his finger, and then went to the wardrobe to take a fresh clean towel and returned to his master's room. Patrick got out of bed and stretched voluptuously. He just wore light silk underpants and Kutkhay, holding his breath, admired the beautiful body tensing and relaxing in the light of first sun. While Patrick made his morning toilette, Kutkhay went to the wardrobe to choose his master's clothes. The man willingly left even the choice of accessories to him, confident in the boy's taste. Kutkhay was really proud of this task. He choose the shirt, the vest, the jabot, the socks and the shoes, and all that was needed so that it matched perfectly with the suit.

Each time they went downtown together, Kutkhay carefully observed how the other young masters were dressed, trying deeply to understand the secrets of their elegance, but then he worked out his way what he had learned, and the result was a combination of clothes that was at the same time fashionable but original.

Back to the room, he arranged everything in good order on his master's bed while Patrick was vigorously wiping himself with the towel.

"Sir goes to walk, this morning?"

"Yes, more or less. I have a meeting with the barrister, then I have to go to the post office."

"You want me going at post office, master? I know were is."

"No, it is not necessary."

"I warn the coach man, or master take his horse?"

"No, I will go on foot."

"I prepare the light cape, then?"

"Yes, that will be good."

The boy went to the wardrobe, choose a matching cape and a top hat, carefully selected a walking stick, and brought everything to the room. Patrick had put on the shirt and the long white silk stockings. Kutkhay handed him the clothes one after the other, admiring him while he was dressing. His young master seemed so beautiful to him, naked or dressed. He was really a lord.

As soon as Patrick was ready, Kutkhay took the cape, the top hat and the walking stick rapidly to the entrance hall, then rushed into the kitchen: "Annie, is young master's breakfast ready?"

"'Course, 'course, it's there on the table. But if the old master sees you dressed that way... why didn't you put on the livery?"

"After!" the boy answered taking the ready tray that the black woman had pointed out to him and running toward the dining room.

"If you run that way, you'll stumble!" the cook shouted behind him, shaking her head but smiling tenderly.

Kutkhay didn't even hear her. He waited on his master with care.

"Goldie, wait. Go put on your clothes. I've decided you will come with me. I have to make some purchases and you will carry the parcels."

"Yes master, soon, master!" the radiant boy said and rushed up on the big stairs jumping the steps two by two. In the twinkling of an eye he had put on the nice green livery, checked in the mirror that everything was in perfect order so that his master would not give a bad impression because of him, and was downstairs just in time to help Patrick put on his cape.

Patrick went out, followed by the boy and headed at a fast pace toward the center of town. He didn't really need the boy holding his purchases, he had to buy just a very few small things, but he loved to be out with Kutkhay, to talk with him, to make him familiar with the surroundings, to teach him new things... and to have him nearby.

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 6

Please, donate to keep alive Nidty site, that allows you to read these pages, Thank you - Andrej

In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is

http://andrejkoymasky.com

If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help me revising my translation into English of another of my stories, send me an e-mail at

[andrej@andrejkoymasky.com](mailto:andrej@andrejkoymasky.com?subject=Your Stories)

(I can read only English, French, Italian... Andrej)