SNOT-BOY 8
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"SNOT-BOY" 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.
SNOT-BOY
by Andrej Koymasky © 2019
written on May 1st 1990
Translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by J.O. Dickingson
CHAPTER 8
IN PRISON
When Julien was captured by his servant, he at first felt lost. What frightened him most was not the danger for his life, but being separated from Snot. When his lover had appeared near him again, he had felt both fear and relief at the same time, relief because he was again near him, fear that they would imprison him too. He understood Snot's behaviour when he said, "We will deliver him to the National Guard." He said so because they wanted to lynch him. He was saving him. However, when his lover told him to flee, he let Snot flee away alone, and he let himself be taken again so that he might save Snot. And while the guards were taking him to the prison, Julien suddenly felt oddly calm. Almost surely they would sentence him to death and kill him. His only regret was he would no longer see Snot, but he was not frightened by death, not even by an absurd, unfair, unexpected death like that.
Julien walked straight, not in a challenging attitude, but nor with the dejected air of one who feels persecuted by fate. He thought that the life he had lived had been beautiful, mainly for the luck to have met Snot and to have been his lover. This was enough to give a sense to the few years he had lived. He thought that they could humiliate, torture, even kill him, but they would not be able to touch at the love he felt for his beloved. That made him feel strong, self assured.
They locked him in a wide cell together with other people. There was little light, a heavy and stale air, and a feeling of tragedy, depression or complete aboulia fluttered on the faces of his companions in misfortune. Julien looked around, searching for a place to settle. Not seeing a free bench nor even a free span of wall, he sat on the floor.
A man seated near him, touched his arm and asked him in a low voice, "So, and who might you be, sir?"
"Marc Teissier. And you?"
"The marquis Jean-Claude de Permezel. How did they catch you?"
"One of my servants recognized me on the street."
"Ah... and you were walking on the street? Didn't you hide? Oh yes, I see, you probably had confidence in your disguise. But it is evident, even if you cut your hair and wear wretched clothes, it is evident that you are an aristocrat. This is our malediction - we have been indelibly impressed by the marks of nobility!"
"But you were hidden, if I correctly understood."
"Yes. And I trusted my governess who fetched me food and drinks... and she betrayed me."
"But why first help you, and then betray you? I can not understand."
"To take revenge on me, because I amused myself some while with her daughter. But a true man as I am can not remain hidden for days and days without not even a small diversion, can he?"
"It cost you dear, your small diversion."
"So right you are! This is the commoners' reconnaissance! The more you benefit them, the more they revolt against you. We should have treated them in a worst way, and they would not have dared to raise their heads. More lashes and less food I say! When they dared to arrest the King, I realized that it was the end, for us. Aye, the end of the world, the end of civilization. Today they murder us, then they will murder each other. They are beasts. Not a single Frenchman will remain alive, and the Kings of Europe will divide up our lands and what remains of our castles. I tell you, it is the end of France," the man concluded, gravely shaking his head.
"Perhaps it is just our end, the end of aristocracy." Julien murmured.
"Cut the head off a body, and the body will die," the marquis pronounced.
"But if you cut away just his hat..." the youth suggested.
"So sir, in your opinion, we nobles are nothing more than head gear? If you are a revolutionary, why did they detain you?"
"No, I am not a revolutionary. I am just an ex-noble, a prisoner like you."
"It can not exist, sir, an ex-noble. You are noble by right of birth, and you remain such, or you are not one, and you can not become one!"
"Do you think so? And yet, we all have had an ancestor who, before becoming the head of an aristocratic lineage, was God knows what - a horseshoer, a common soldier, or the pander of a queen..."
"What are you saying! You really are a revolutionary, you!"
"No. But after I met a certain person, I am reflecting about what really is this so extolled aristocracy. They taught me that in Greek it means the 'rule of the best', that is, government by the best citizens. But, how can someone be 'best' of the others just by right of birth? I know a boy. He doesn't even know who his father is. He lived like an animal for years, abandoned in the forest with other poor wretches, until his adolescence. Then he did the most menial work. And yet, he has the most noble soul I ever met."
"Oh yes, like at times a two-headed calf could be born, so it could even happen that a plebeian had a noble soul..."
Another of the prisoners intervened. "You both must be crazy. They will soon kill us, and you are having a dissertation about the meaning of nobility!"
"A noble man can not talk about a different subject!" the marquis retorted.
"No matter what we talk about, or even if we keep silent, our future will not be influenced," Julien answered sadly, smiling at the new interlocutor.
But silence fell. Each one was enclosed in his own thoughts, wrapped in his anguish like in a cloak. Now it was dark. Julien was thinking of his beloved. Almost certainly he would see him no more. But yet, just the fact he had met him, to have mutually fallen in love, not only made splendid his life but yet filled it with serenity, even in this precarious situation. If they would even kill him, Julien was now thanking Heaven to have granted him such a good experience before his death. He just was thinking with a certain sorrow that their union, their happiness, lasted so short a time. However, that was not their fault. Right, he suddenly thought, but who knows, if we were not separated, how long it would have lasted? Possibly forever, but possibly just some more weeks. For how many years Snot was in love with him... and he remained faithful to him to the day when their love did at last manifest himself. He remained faithful even when Julien didn't yet accept in himself the idea that a man could love a man. He remained faithful even when he chased him away. No, their relationship was destined to last.
The night had fallen and the wide crowded room with its prisoners was plunged in the most total darkness. Here and there were heard the slow and heavy breathing of the fortunate persons who could find some relief in sleep. Julien was not able to fall asleep. Even if he felt in himself an odd calm, his mind was crowded with thoughts. He saw the first light of dawn flicker behind the bars, then little by little seep into the prison. Observing the slow awakening of his unfortunate companions, he read in the eyes of some of them stupor, in others the rage awakened by the consciousness of their situation, in still other a kind of coldness, of tragic aloofness, or of distressing emptiness. Julien watched, almost as if he was not party to the case. He didn't know what future had in store for him, but he didn't worry. As the day was advancing, the cell came to life again and soon a dull murmuring rose from everywhere. Many were talking, in small knots, barely whispering almost as if they were in the nave of a cathedral.
Suddenly the gate on the railing that constituted the only access to the wide cell opened, and some guards entered escorting a tufted citizen, with his omnipresent cockade and a tricolour band astride his chest. The man, in the sudden silence, called aloud some names from a list and, as they were called, the prisoners went out. When it seemed as if he had ended his list, the man looked around, pointed at some other prisoners and gestured them to follow the others. Then, he was about to leave, when he seemed to hesitate.
He again turned toward the prisoners, slowly looked around once more, then pointed at Julien and added, with a clear voice, "You too."
The youth went out. The small group of people was escorted to a corridor and made wait in front of a door. One after the other they were called inside. As nobody came back, there evidently was a different way out. When it was Julien's turn, he too entered. He found himself in a small room where three men were sitting behind a wide desk. The man sitting on the right, asked, "Your name, citizen."
"Marc Teissier."
"You lie! You are Julien Jambville."
"No, he is dead. My name is Marc Teissier."
"We have here a report declaring you are Julien Jambville. Why do you lie? Do you presume so to save yourself?"
"Save myself? From what, citizen?"
"From the process. You will be found out beyond any doubt, and this lie can cost you dearly. Confess your real name."
"I have nothing to confess. I have nothing to reproach myself."
"If it's so, why do you use a fake name?"
"What I told you is my only, true name." Julien was calm, and even amused. The interrogation continued. One of the three men waved toward one of the guards who approached him, and told him something in a whisper. After a while the guard was back with two more guards.
"Accompany the prisoner to the wing of the defendants waiting for a process, cell number three."
Julien was escorted to the first floor. He passed some corridors and was introduced inside a cell. Here five other persons were detained. When the door was closed, one of the five stood up from his pallet and went toward him. "Good morning to you, sir. I am the marquis Jean d'Aymezet."
"I am Marc Teissier. Good morning."
"Are not you a noble man?"
"Does this matter?"
"But then, why are you here?"
"I don't know. They put me here."
"You are wise not to talk. You know, amongst us there could be some fake prisoners, spies of the revolutionaries."
"You could be one, right? Or perhaps it could be I..." Julien said with a smile.
Another man stood up and approached them. "I do not like you. Could you really be a spy?" he asked with a menacing expression.
Julien shrugged his shoulders and didn't answer.
"I feel he really is a spy," another said threateningly, nearing the small group.
"What use is to answer? If I was a spy, I would have to say no, so as not to reveal myself. And if I was not a spy, I would answer no because I am not. Therefore, isn't this talk useless?"
"You are trying too hard to be clever with us. Do you know what we do to spies?"
"You kill them? To die, now or later, at your hand or theirs, makes any difference?"
"No, we don't kill spies, right friends? We do something else to spies."
"And especially types like you!" the fourth man said approaching them. He seized his arm and pulled him toward a pallet. Julien tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but other hands seized him and, pushing and jerking him, Julien was pulled onto the pallet. He was pushed down on it, then held fast and, before he could understand their intentions, one of the men started to undress him. At first Julien thought they wanted to torture him to make him confess, but when that man started to open his breeches, he understood what his intention was. At first on instinct he thought to struggle, to oppose, to shout for help. But realizing that it was not going to be possible to avoid what was going to happen to him, he did nothing, he remained inert.
He felt pain. While he was feeling the man rocking on top of him, impaling him with violence, with anger, he surprised himself thinking that he didn't care at all. If he was free, if he could just hope to see again his Luc, then it would have been different. He would have not endured that humiliation, that intrusion. But he was doomed to be killed, soon. His own was no more, after all, really a body, but just a corpse.
As soon as in his mind the name of Luc rose, of his Luc, he felt a sharp pain, not a physical one, but inside his heart. Silent tears wet his cheeks. He could not say how long that violence lasted, but when they left him, he remained inert, immersed in his intimate pain. The men withdrew from him in silence. His stillness, now, gave them uneasiness.
One of them said, in a low voice, "Cover up, now. Dress." Julien did not even hear him, didn't move, didn't answer.
Another whispered, more to himself than to his companions, "Did he swoon?"
Nobody answered, nobody went to check. Now in the room had fallen a silence more and more heavy, more and more unbearable.
At last, the one who had raped the youth, burst out, "Each of you was ready to do it! You too agreed. You were keeping him still!"
Again silence fell.
Then one of the prisoners made up his mind and, hesitantly, neared the pallet, "Dress up, go on!"
Silence.
The man sat near Julien, put his hand on the youth's shoulder and said, "Hey, what's up? Are you ill?"
Julien then shook and made a 'no' with his head.
"Put yourself in order, then. Go on." Julien obeyed. Then stood up from the pallet and looked around. Everybody avoided his eyes.
The boy had half a smile and in a clear voice, asked, "Who knows how many days remain?"
"To do what?" the man who approached him, asked.
"To die."
Again the silence fell. Tension hung in the air. After having done him violence, these men seemed now embarrassed by his presence, and the more time passed, the more the tension seemed to increase, to become tangible. Supper was brought. They ate in silence the meagre, insipid food. Each of the men lay on his pallet, always in silence.
The day after a jailer entered the cell and, making a gesture toward Julien, guided him to another cell. Julien entered and saw it was already occupied by a young man in breeches and in his shirt sleeves, half leaning on a bed and engrossed in reading a book. When the other raised his head, they at once recognized each other. The young man stood up and went toward him. "Julien de... Beauville? No, de Treville?"
"My name is Marc Teissier."
"Marc? No no, you are Julien. I have a very good memory, especially for those with whom I have made love. And you, you are so beautiful to my eyes, that I could not ever forget you. Julien de Chauville?"
"I am sorry, Sir, but my name is Marc..."
"Stop it, please. Even if, seeing these times, you changed your name, you can trust me. Anyway, if it pleases you, I will call you Marc Teissier. But at least, you will not deny having made love with me, will you?"
Julien didn't answer and, looking around, said with a smile, "You seem well settled, here."
"Oh my God! It is anyway a prison. But I really can not complain. I have some books, decent food, some small diversion from time to time..."
"But, how is that possible?"
"Like at Court, here also, conceding one's favours to the right persons, one can obtain privileges. All like before... more or less."
"But... but they will kill us."
"Who? Us? What are you saying, my friend? Here we are safer then in the streets, until all this calms down. Then we will be free again."
"Are you joking? They are killing all the aristocrats, don't you know it?"
"But, no. They are killing some of them, those compromised with the foreign powers with whom we are at war, of those who vexed their servants or their farmers... Those who made politics against the Third Estate. There is a list, they are already condemned to death even before the process, if they are caught. But not me and neither you, anyway!"
Julien shook his head, still unbelieving. But hope, the idea he could perhaps one day go out, to unite again with his Luc, was peeping inside his heart and warming it with a new warmth.
He expressed a last doubt, "But, how can you be so sure?"
"I have my sources. Also for this, exactly like in the Court," the young man answered with a light laughter.
Julien, seeing an empty bed, nodded toward it and asked, "May I use that one?"
"Certainly yes."
Julien sat on the edge of the bed. It was surely not comfortable like his own bed in the castle, but much better than the pallets of the other cells. Sitting, he asked, "And who are these sources?"
"I have more than one admirer amongst the new masters of France. At times even the assistant secretary of Robespierre comes here to... enjoy my company. And in the intimacy, one can obtain several useful pieces of information."
"Do you mean that..."
"Certainly. All considered, I am young and pleasant, and not a few men appreciate and crave for me. It is not just noble men having certain tendencies, my friend, of course. Also amongst the jailers there is a couple who at times I entertain, and in change, as you can see, I have my comforts."
"Do you surrender so easily to the others desires?" Julien asked, not in a reproaching tone but just amazed for what appeared to him an incredibly loose moral.
"No no. Only with those I myself desire, and that at the same time can be useful to me. I mix business with pleasure, if I can say so, do you understand? Exactly as I behaved at Court, not more, nor less. No revolution will never change the world. We simply have now a new Court, a new King, a new aristocracy... even if they use different words."
Julien, listening to him, nodded, astounded but persuaded.
Then the young man sat on Julien's bed, his eyes shining with longing, and caressing his hand said: "Do you know I desire you? Here, nobody will disturb us..."
Julien slightly withdrew and said: "No, Alexandre, please..."
"Ah, but then you know my name and remember it. So then, I was not wrong. Do not be afraid, it will be good as the other times we met."
"I don't doubt that, but I can not."
"You can not? And why is that?"
"Now that you gave me a hope I can see again my Luc, I can no more think to unite with other men. Before, when I believed for sure to die, possibly that would have not been a problem to me, I could possibly have even accepted, because I too like you very much. But now..."
"In love, then? Is he perhaps your servant you told me about?"
"Yes, exactly him, you guessed right."
"And he, does he love you? Is he faithful to you? Didn't he revolt against you?"
"Yes, he loves me, he belongs to me as I belong to him. And he rescued my life at least two times."
"So, then it is not a simple whim, yours."
"No, for sure. And it is in great part thanks to you, de Varennes, if I had been able to accept and to return his love."
"But if you take some liberties with me, nobody will come to know it. After all I am not asking you your love, but just to indulge a while in the reciprocal pleasure. Feel here, how aroused I still am..."
"Please... I too am in this state, it is not easy to say no to you. But nowadays I belong exclusively to Luc."
"Is then so strong your love?"
"More than I myself could have believed."
"I am happy for you, even if I regret for myself. I like you very much, and to be able to share this cell with you, seemed to me a gift of fortune. Is then so perfect your lover?"
"I don't know, I don't think so... He certainly has his flaws, and I will discover them little by little, and I will love him with them all. He too, I hope, will be indulgent toward my limits."
"But you are of such a different class and rank! It will be for sure not easy. It is one thing to amuse ourselves for a while, one thing is to swear eternal love. It is very poetic, but life is not either just plain prose..."
"It could become poesy. And then, you know, after all there is not such a difference amongst plebeians and nobles. You can talk in a more elegant way, and more correct than him, you know the good manners, you are refined... but he is in love and love will prompt him the best words, the sweetest manners, the most natural elegance."
"A real slave of love, you are! Do you think he will wait for you?"
"I am certain."
"Best wishes, my crazy Julien, or Marc, as you prefer. But if by chance loneliness becomes too heavy to you in these days, just remember I would be really glad to welcome you in my arms."
"For what you were telling me, your arms are not often deserted."
Alexandre lightly laughed: "No, it is true. But these are wild bushes, spontaneous. You are a well- cared garden, much more agreeable."
"Also my Luc is a wild tree. But he is big and powerful. I like being at his shadow, it makes me feel protected and safe. And amongst its branches are hidden honeycombs, exuding milk and honey."
"Is his name Luc?"
"Yes, as I am Marc. And both we are Teissier."
"How sweet is it. Like two spouses."
Julien smiled, lightly blushing. "Or like two brothers?" he corrected at half voice.
"No, no. Two brothers, at least usually, don't indulge in carnal intercourse. Is your Luc beautiful?"
"To me, he is the most beautiful boy I ever met."
"And... is he expert?"
"Expert?"
"Is he skilled in bed, I mean?"
Julien again blushed. "Certainly..."
"Then, you have all the luck. I wish you that he really is waiting for you, and that you can have a good life, with him."
"I too wish so."
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 9
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