Mirage
by Perry Brass
The First Novel in the Mirage Trilogy
About the Men of the Planet Ki
Mirage
Perry Brass
The First Novel in the Mirage Trilogy
About the Men of the Planet Ki
Perry Brass
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Perry Brass
Discover other titles by Perry Brass
at his Smashwords Homepage.
Electronic mail address: belhuepress@earthlink.net
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The following is a work of fiction, an act of the imagination. The characters, and many of the settings in it, are purely fictional. A writer is a traveler in the landscape of his imagination, and any similarity to the world of wakefulness, the world of "real people," he meets along the way is purely coincidental, and not intentional.
(Electronic mail address: mailto:belhuepress@earthlink.net)
Cover photo by Gilberto Prioste.
Cover and overall book design by M. Fitzhugh
Ebook edition ISBN: 978-1-892149-09-1
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGUE CARD NUMBER: 2001089794
Other books by Perry Brass:
Sex-charge (poetry).
Works and Other ‘Smoky George’ Stories
Circles, the sequel to Mirage.
Out There: Stories of Private Desires. Horror. And the Afterlife.
Albert or The Book of Man, the third book in the Mirage series.
Works and Other ‘Smoky George’ Stories, Expanded Edition.
The Harvest, a “science/politico” novel.
The Lover of My Soul, A Search for Ecstasy and Wisdom (poetry and other collected writings).
How to Survive Your Own Gay Life, An Adult Guide to Love, Sex, and Relationships
Angel Lust, An Erotic Novel of Time Travel
Warlock, A Novel of Possession
The Substance of God, A Spiritual Thriller
Carnal Sacraments, A Historical Novel of the Future
The Manly Art of Seduction, How to Meet, Talk To, And Become Intimate with Anyone
To my friend Jeffrey Lann Campbell, and to all the couples, both promised and unpromised in our world. Also, for Hugh, without whose constant support, this book would not have been written. And for all of our brothers, and sisters, who have struggled and are struggling with AIDS.
I'd like to also thank, for her help in producing this book, Michele Karlsberg, as well as Mimi, Tom and Mark, Mark and Bill, John and George, Tobias, and always, T.R. Witomski.
We seek the thing that we are.
An Introduction by the Author
When I first published Mirage, in 1991, I was not really prepared for the response to the book. That is, I had hoped that the book would be successful, but it seemed that it had existed so much in my own imagination that when it became a real book—and I saw that many readers really loved it—I was as surprised as anyone. My distributors, the old Inland Book Company in West Haven, Connecticut, asked me if the book had become a “course adoption.” “Books like this [meaning, very small press fiction] only sell this way [meaning, in actual thousands] if they’ve done that.” No, I had not heard that Mirage had been adopted for any courses. Neither did the book have any kind of promotion budget, it was hardly reviewed in any of the gay press, and the “gay science fiction community” for the most part ignored it completely.
What the book did do was pick up an audience of readers who were not science fiction readers, and some of whom were not even gay. They simply excited by the idea that I had created an imaginary world filled with very real characters. That, as a gay writer, I had produced “gay characters” who were filled with blood, passion, and humanity, instead of the usual “realistic” self-hatred and internalized homophobia. I had been told frankly by gay editors at large, mainstream houses that gay books needed that. That self-hatred was a “real” part of the gay character, that any book filled with action, adventure, and a male passion for other men was just not “acceptable.” This was the “model” for what gay books were supposed to be like: sex—when it was allowed—was supposed to be in the background and not an integral part of the book; and the idea that gay men could actually redeem, save, and hold each other . . . anyway, the “gay literati” were just not going to let that happen.
But that was the kind of book that I wanted to write: a book filled with the adventure of living as well as human sexuality, with all of its contradictions and passions. I grew up in the Deep South, in the strange hybrid way of being Jewish, Southern, economically impoverished, and, also—through early recognition—gay. By the time I was seventeen, I was actively sexual, and had very much, in the mid-1960s, joined the “gay community.” At that time, that meant going out to bars, having gay friends, and being fairly “out” to almost everyone.
As a kid I relished the stories in The Arabian Nights as well as boys’ adventure stories, or anything to relieve me of the alienation and loneliness of my own childhood. Tennessee Williams said that the reason he started writing, at age fourteen, was to “escape the bullies in the back alley who used to beat me up.” I understand that reason totally, and like many young, soon-to-be-gay kids, I started reading for the same motive.
But, later, when it became possible to read “gay books,” I noticed what these novels were, for the most part, missing. Stories of passion between men, adrenaline, and heroism were just not there. Instead, we had the usual stories of the miseries of our lives, of self-hatred, and of a constant depression that could never be attributed to our own place, or lack of it, in the real world. This was what the “normal” adjustment to being gay was supposed to be. Since I had been, since the late 60s, a part of the political movement towards gay liberation, this was just not “normal” or acceptable to me.
I kept wanting a different kind of story, and could not find it. So of course, I wrote it in the three novels that now make up the Mirage trilogy—Mirage, Circles, and Albert or The Book of Man. One of the first reactions I got to Mirage was how attached readers had become to Greeland, the hunter, who is the main focus in the novel. Although all three books are narrated either by Enkidu, or later by his son, Albert, Greeland, as a continuing force on Ki, very much colors the novels. Gay men had never before encountered a character who was so conflicted, wild, passionate, and uncontainable. One man wrote to me that he was in love with Greeland, and if “Enkidu does not want him, I do!” Another man wrote that he had been looking in bars for him, but so far could not find him. Greeland is jealous, violent, and impetuous, but also vulnerable and protective. He is a foil for Enkidu who is more intellectual, introspective, shy, and deeply romantic.
People asked me where I got Greeland’s character from, and for years I wasn’t really sure myself, until, finally, I realized where he came from: Louis Brass, my father, who died of cancer at the age of forty two, when I was eleven. Louis remains the great heroic, wonderful character in my life, a Southern Jew who never stayed within the boundaries of either group. Very “Jewish,” he was bookish, a constant reader (he taught me how to read at age six, when public schools failed); but also, very Southern, he loved hunting and fishing and hung out with salty “good ol’ boys.” I still remember his conversational style, the way he stood around with a Camel cigarette and fresh cup of coffee and talked in the easy but courteous way that Southern men loved to talk.
He was a great armchair adventurer, and introduced me to Sinbad the Sailor and the Tarzan stories, and I always had that sense of being protected and loved by him. He did not have a shrewd bone in his body—which is probably why he was a repeated failure at business—and he was also contrary, headstrong, and had Greeland’s whiplash temper. He had been a spoiled only child, and I followed in his rebellious footsteps. When he died, he left us penniless and at the mercy of my mother’s, for the most part, uncaring wealthier family: a classic Southern story, with a Jewish twist.
I inherited all of these traits, all of these “characters” within myself, and many of them played themselves out in the Mirage stories. There is a real thread of Jewishness as well as the South and gayness within them. Growing up as I did, in the South of the 50s and 60s, where courtesy was held in much higher importance than honesty, I could easily envision the feudal courts of Ki, its castes and hierarchies, and also its magical elements. People have asked me how I came up with the motif of the third testicle, the “Egg of the Eye,” and I realized that that is something gay men have always had: the ability to know one another—we call it “gaydar”—and to talk openly, truthfully, together.
This closeness to people also came from being Jewish and Southern—two very marginalized subgroups in American life—and I know that I am both very Southern and very Jewish; but most of all, for want of a better word, I am very “gay.” My closeness to other gay men, after leaving home at seventeen, has been what has literally kept me alive. This closeness has made me believe in gay tribalism, a concept that I think will attain more meaning in the new Millennium, and that I deal with often in the drama of the planet Ki.
In the Same-Sexers of Ki, I see our own earthly gay tribe, a tribe filled with its own conflicts, jealousies, and cruelties, and also with its physical, tactile closeness, warmth, and healing rituals. I see in the tribe our own sense of gay continuance, whether that be biological—on Ki, gay men can reproduce together, and have been doing that way before our current gay baby boom—or spiritual in the sense that we pass down tribal lore and customs through our elders.
I have become now, after more than thirty years of writing, an “elder” of the tribe and I realize how important it is for us to tell our stories, and also to listen to them. To see that our own stories are simply continuances of the past, a true, living, gay past, that we do need to know about. In Mirage, I go back thousands of years, and see our own “gay” or same-sex presence there. Although some aspects of the novel, like the scenes of an Act Up demonstration, may seem dated already, most gay men live in what I call now the “continuing present.” This means that our generations flow together, our memories stay real and recallable, and 1969 does not seem totally remote from 2009. All of this is a part of the “mirage” and reality of our own lives, something I have been privileged to write about and share with you.
Perry Brass
Chapter One
The canopy of leaves above us was so thick that light from the Star fell through in soft patterns. It was midday in the deepest part of the forest; the part we knew with our eyes closed. There in the shadows, away from the raw heat of the hunting marshes, Greeland stopped for us to be alone. I had been promised to him for years while he watched me grow up with expectations. I knew he loved me and wanted to hold and protect me. My heart beat furiously. He looked into my face in the sweat-soaked light. I saw myself reflected in his dark eyes.
"You are more astounding," he said, smiling his wild, intense smile, "than an evening of the Ten Moons." He lowered his charcoal eyes; his steady voice halted, then fell to a whisper in the quiet forest. "The Goddess has promised you to me in our ancient way. In my heart, I cannot look at another man." He paused and took me into his strong arms. "I will hold you always, and love you like my own flesh."
He untied the short breechcloth of animal skins that surrounded my slim hips. His strong hands caressed my thin upper body and stomach. He massaged my small nipples, and then began to fondle the slender shaft of pale flesh between my legs. I became excited. My male pipe grew thicker; almost hard. He ran his lips down my chest, already sprinkled with downy fur, until he grazed the mushrooming tip of my pipe. Suddenly I felt so breathless the ground under me began to tremble. My fingers reached into the coarse thatch of his hair for support, but I only sank to the ground while he made love to me with his mouth.
He stopped. "Your seed—in my mouth—please?" he pleaded.
I groaned. What could I say? I was so happy now in the dark center of the forest. Alone with Greeland, the hunter chosen by our elders for my friend and partner in life. A trace of dried blood from the small, very special buck-deer he'd just trapped stained his large sinewy knife hand. The deer had only one point on each antler, and died soundlessly. He gave up his life easily for us. His meat would mark the first meal of our new life. Tonight, after cutting the flanks into small, tender steaks, roasting them, and eating them with friends, Greeland and I would share his bed for the first time. He had spent many hours with me, but I had never before slept with him. He repeated my name. "Enkidu, Enkidu." The thick, hairy fingers of his right hand groped and then found my swollen, tender scrotum.
"So nice," he whispered. His face softened; his breath paused with expectation. He lifted the sac gently with his bruised hand and then felt something floating between my other two testes: the sacred, promised Egg itself, the third testicle in my sac, which like Greeland's own—a larger darker Egg than mine, I was sure—separated our own kind from the other distant men of the planet. He put his face close to my scrotum, so that his bristly cheeks probed the tender skin. My eyes closed. I began to see powerful visions, which my fathers said were only mine; each Egg, they told me, drew forth its own visions from a secret order of emotions that, also—they promised—was mine. But no one had prepared me for my own reaction when Greeland put the third Egg close to his mouth and began boldly to suck it. For then I knew instantly I belonged to him.
The testicle, which we called "the Egg of the Eye," began to pulsate. I felt it grow larger, warmer. Then a rush ran through my brain, and I felt dangerously off-balance, like someone was swinging me by one arm. I saw wild glossy colors, unlike anything even from our forests: purples edged in pink. Greens that streaked into oily black. Waves of glistening greenish-yellow. I became frightened. The colors stopped. The tree leaves tinkled like small bells. A shrill wind whistled through every hair on my body. My hands and feet tingled. My chest and stomach flesh kissed the forest air. My ears burned. Suddenly, I smiled; I was happy.
The dizzying, hurling feeling stopped.
Greeland was controlling all movement of the Egg with his hands and mouth. My eyes opened, and I felt connected with him. A warmth streamed up from my sac; my pipe throbbed like it was sheathed in its own heat.
I breathed harder. Now, what was going on? Greeland? Greeland? My body thrashed uncontrollably in spasms. I wanted him to guide me through this, while my fingers grabbed and raked his hair. A shiny white syrup spurted out of me.
Greeland howled. His wild, happy sound flew out into the forest as small, orange-banded black birds exploded from the trees in every direction, then settled back again as quiet resumed. Greeland happily brushed some of the syrup up from my chest.
Light from the Star hit; my seed glistened. He licked up the syrup and closed his eyes; then kissed me, warm and sweet on my face. He felt nice, so naked beside me. He was big for one of us; very muscled. I had never felt this close to anyone else before. He looked at me. Kissed me many times. He was certainly growing "larger" in one direction, too. "I want to satisfy myself with you," he said.
It was all right, I told him.
He smiled. "Good." He reached for my male sac, and felt the third testicle. It was still large, squirming between the other two. "You want more sex," he said. "I can tell. We can never lie."
He was right. I wanted it. More and more sex. This was wonderful. I had no idea what he'd do next, but I was curious. He knelt over me and put his pipe into my mouth. I enjoyed the warm, fleshy feel of it. The animal smell of his groin, matted in thick, wild hair. At first I could barely feel everything in his scrotum when I stroked it. Then I felt the Egg. It was swollen, hotter, and not much bigger than mine. He pulled out of my mouth, breathing harder.
"Greeland, are you all right?" I asked.
He only smiled then gently turned me, so that I was lying on my stomach. His mouth began to nuzzle the back of my neck. He lay on top of me and I felt good.
His breathing and mine became unified. Even the birds that had returned to their trees seemed quiet. There was only the soft musical sound of his breathing and mine. It reminded me of the flutes our men played at dance ceremonies, when the Moons were out and we were charged with pleasing Ki, the Goddess who rules our planet. "The Goddess likes our music," the men say. "It is love to Her." But nothing was as wonderful as Greeland on top of me, easing himself deeper between the cheeks of my haunches.
"Enkidu, you have become mine today. Today is the day of our Promise, and I happily give you my seed as you have given me yours."
"I want you to hold me," I told him, as he pushed deeper. He began to breathe harder. Then he reached in front, stroking my Egg, warming it with his hands.
I turned my head and looked up. The sky got darker. Would it rain? Birds. Thousands of small, alarmed birds were shaking the upper branches of trees, and shrieking with an ear-splitting noise. This was no vision. Greeland sprang up, as a large figure jumped out from the thick bushes around us.
He was fully covered in dark woven clothing; the outfit of a fighting man. His face was pale, but frightfully angry. Why was he angry at me? I asked myself.
"Go away!" Greeland screamed. "Go back to your own end of the planet. Why are you here?"
"What have we got here?" the stranger asked. "Caught you both naked like filthy animals!" He smiled. "I know what you do—and I will kill you both."
"This is our part of Ki!" Greeland raged. "Get off. Go back to your own end. We have a right to ours! It was given to us in the Agreement of the planet."
The Off-Sexer clenched his jaw. He was broader and slightly taller than Greeland, but only slightly. Greeland was naked. His male sac was exposed; the stranger stared at it. Suddenly, I felt ashamed of myself as if I had been subject to the worst humiliation.
"I will kill both of you. And take your heads back to my parents at the Court."
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I had to do something. I got up immediately as the Off-Sexer grabbed Greeland's male sac.
"So," he cried, "this is the famous third nut!" Greeland flinched. "Pain? Maybe I should grab a little harder."
Greeland panted, holding his breath from the pain. The clothed man commanded the most vulnerable part of my promised friend's body. Desperately, Greeland tried to bite him, then punched him in the face several times. He drew blood from the man's nose, and one of his teeth cut Greeland's knuckles. But he wouldn't release him until Greeland wrapped his hands around the stranger's throat and choked him.
I reached for the sheath knotted to Greeland's breechcloth and took out his hunting knife. It was sturdy, with a medium-sized blade he used every day. It was not a heavy war-knife, an intimidating weapon, like the Off-Sexers on patrol carried by their sides. But I knew its size in Greeland's hands would make little difference. Greeland was a hunter; he would know what to do with it. The stranger and Greeland were grappling furiously. Greeland was on the ground, one hand on his aching groin, kicked several times in his stomach and kidneys, when I crept behind him and passed the knife into his other palm.
The Off-Sexer switched his attention to me; his eyes glittered. I watched them. "Out—you little monkey! I might put a chain around you, and use you as a pet! You're not so bad looking—for your kind."
My eyes stayed glued to his face, his nose still bleeding; he grinned triumphantly at me.
He wiped his nose almost casually with the back of his left hand, and kept his fierce gaze on me. I looked into his clear blue-green eyes that looked like water seen from a great distance, and I didn't understand why any of this went on. Suddenly, he closed his eyes; the grin left his face. He opened them, and just stood there, watching me. Immediately, I felt off-balance again and backed off two paces; then I saw Greeland silently lunge forward and cut the stranger's throat.
His body jerked; blood shot out, glistening all over. The stranger's eyes bugged open so wide I thought they'd pop out of his head. Then he died instantly. Greeland knew exactly where to cut the flesh.
I thought I was going to faint. Aside from animals, I had never seen anything die before. The Off-Sexers were different, but basically similar to us. I looked at him lying on the ground, in the sudden white-silence of the forest. The birds had stopped shrieking. Light cut in razor patterns through the trees. The swampy air thickened even hotter now, but I felt cold inside. I only wanted Greeland to hold me again. I wanted none of this to happen, except our happiness together.
Greeland knelt down beside the strange body, and felt the wound at the neck. He nodded his head and seemed satisfied. I knelt next to him and looked at the Off-Sexer's face that seemed now transparent.
"He's beautiful," I said. Motionless—dead—there wasn't a trace of anger left on his face.
"I hate him! " Greeland exploded. "I don't know his name, and I hate him!" He got up and ran his calloused fingers through his hair, pulling out balls of dirt, leaf blades and twigs that became ensnared during the fight. He stretched his flat, muscular shoulders. He smiled; an idea passed through him. "I'll cut his head off—that should show them. And we'll take it back to show the old men."
His chunky hunting knife, still coated in blood, lay on the ground. Greeland picked it up and drew its dirty point delicately across the stranger's cheek, then down the jaw bone to his throat. His pale nose did not appear to be broken, though blood had trickled from it. It was like a perfect bridge from his brow, not like our own heavier features. His eyes, blue traced with green, were still open. I started to cry. Greeland aimed his knife to start decapitating the Off-Sexer's pale head. The ground shook under me; my own blood dropped to my feet. My head felt ice cold.
I grabbed Greeland's arm, and pulled the knife away. Then I fell down onto the spongy ground.
Greeland held me and kissed my brow. "You don't want me to take the head, do you? It is not something we normally do, but surely they would do it to us. I think it will make an interesting remembrance—both for us and the Off-Sexers."
"No," I said. "Let's go back to the old men. They will know what to do."
I got up. Suddenly Greeland grabbed me by my arm with such force that he hurt me. "I did not finish having you, Enkidu. I want you now."
"Now?"
"Yes."
My body shivered. Suppose I started to throw up? We were only a few paces away from the bodies of the small young buck-dear and the stranger. What an audience! I looked back at the stranger's face. "He's ... still watching," I stammered. "His eyes are open."
"He will never watch again," Greeland said. He smiled. He went back to the stranger's body and started to shuck its clothes off. "I never understood why they have to wear all this," he said, shaking his head and ripping off the man's blood-spattered hunting tunic, so his hairless chest was bared. "And they change so often. You can't recognize them by what they wear." He pulled off the man's boots; then a pair of dark britches, streaked with grimy forest stains. He rolled the man over, so that his tender white buttocks showed.
Greeland grinned, and stuck his chin out. "Sometimes," he said, "I think they all look alike. Yes, that's why they wear so much. They only change clothes to keep fooling each other." He flipped the body over again, so that it faced us.
The Off-Sexer was now naked, with unblemished pale skin. In the mossy shadows of the dark forest, he shimmered. The light from the Star hit him in lovely, dappled patterns. He had pink, small nipples. At the bottom of his stomach, a light foliage of blond hair trickled into his groin. His male pipe appeared like the heavy stem of a flower. He looked more appealing—more beautiful—than any animal we'd ever hunted. I couldn't keep my eyes off him.
"You like him, don't you?" Greeland asked. I didn't want to answer. But we cannot lie. It is not in our character.
"He would take you, or kill you, "Greeland said. "You don't know how dangerous the Off-Sexers are. It is like something is bred into them."
"He's beautiful," I said. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen." I felt nauseated again.
Greeland took me into his arms. "You were promised to me. I will love you always; you must understand that."
He began to kiss me passionately. I shook all over. My knees felt watery from so many different feelings streaming over me. I looked at the dead stranger. His face had turned towards me, with a mask-like, vacant smile. I looked at Greeland. He was hard, and pulled me towards him. He entered me standing. Then he lowered me to the ground, his pipe still in me. "You were promised, remember that."
I felt his third testicle become enlarged and hot next to my soft haunches. Then his movement became my own. I stroked myself, until we both exploded at once, he into me, and I into my own hands. Greeland pulled out of me and held me to his chest. He brought my hands to his face, and greedily licked my seed from them.
I thought he would be satisfied then, that we could go—I wanted to get away was soon as I could. To leave, and have this violence washed away from me, the way the stranger's blood would wash from Greeland's knife. I only wanted to remember the Promise, made real by the sex we'd shared, between Greeland and me.
"I want the Off-Sexer," he demanded. I had no idea what he was saying. "I'll have him, like I had you. But I'll not give him the seed from my third Egg."
"He's dead," I said. "How could you do such a thing?"
"How could he come at us to kill?" he answered. "I will force him for the pleasure of it."
"What kind of pleasure can you get?" I asked.
"Revenge."
I felt myself crying, unable to stop the tears. "You will defile him even in death?"
"Shut up!" he grabbed me and shook my shoulders, making me feel like a child. "You don't understand."
"Please, leave him alone," I cried softly.
"You don't understand," Greeland said, spitting out anger. "I must have him. I waited so long for you, and he came only to destroy this day in every way. Everything will be destroyed without this. He would ruin our happiness. He would win, even dead."
"Why?"
"I hate him. I hate him beyond death for what he did. You will not understand how much I wanted you. You mean my very life to me, and now I see in your eyes that he has taken you. You must see that killing him will not be enough. You won't forget him. I don't know why he has taken you, but there is no satisfaction for me, even now in his death."
I turned away. It was true. The stranger, the Off-Sexer, had taken me. I would never forget the sight of him, lying vulnerable, drained of all life, a few paces from us. I did not know at that time what effect he would have on us, but I knew that the stranger's presence would never leave me.
"You must tell no one," Greeland demanded. "Promise me that. And afterwards, I hope you will see this day differently." He looked down and gently kissed my face. "You will know how much I love you; and how much I must possess you through him."
I got up and put on my breechcloth. I watched from a distance as Greeland turned the dead stranger over and pushed his pipe into him. He was savage with him, thrashing and beating at the stranger's pale haunches until there were blood-red bruises on it. I watched him, and didn't say or feel a thing. And I saw that Greeland was very wrong: I knew he loved me; but he could not possess me in this way.
But one thing was true: all this time that he had come to see me and told he how much he would care for me, I had not known him—if he could do such a thing out of anger with the body of the Off-Sexer.
Chapter Two
After he had finished with him, Greeland sat for a while quietly under the same sheltering tree where we had stopped to make love. His eyes were closed. He propped the body of the Off-Sexer up next to him. They looked similar. Both still. Absent. The only sounds came from the forest itself. A huge flock of pink and white water birds flew overhead. I could now make them out above the trees. The Star had passed from its blinding midpoint directly above, revealing more of the sky. The water birds—thin-beaked; wings so silent they appeared to float in the moist air, rather than fan it—were like a rosy evening cloud before a rainfall. I felt calmer, after so much turmoil.
Greeland got up. "I said a prayer to the powerful Goddess for him. I asked Her to speed his voyage back to Her. And for them both to be good to us, and bless our union."
"What should we do with him?" I asked.
"The old men will know," Greeland said, redressed in his breechcloth. Now, he seemed more familiar to me; his brawny shoulders and neck were striped with fine berry stains. A small headband of shiny, black feathers, tipped with tufts of white monkey fur, ringed his head. He replaced some of the ornaments he wore. Strings of bright, blue shells around his neck. Around his wrists, he wore leather thongs pierced with polished pieces of crocodile and turtle bone.
He hoisted the small buck's carcass up around his shoulders, and we started off, away from the dense heart of the forest, to our own enclave.
The enclave we belonged to was busy now. The elders—old men, as we called them—were getting ready to lead a Goddess Dance, a series of chants, dances, tableaux and mimes in which we played both male and female roles, acting out scenes from the myths and history of the planet. The dances kept our history alive, since there was no writing on Ki. They were done at certain cycles of the Moons—during the Three Moons, sacred to us, we did one—but the most elaborate was during the Ten Moons, a period held in reverence by all of Ki. The Ten Moons Goddess Dance was spectacular. We all looked forward to it; even the wars among the Off-Sexers were interrupted to convene for it. Sometimes, during a time of danger to the planet—a war that would not stop, a famine or drought—an "emergency" dance might be performed in the hope that the Goddess Herself would see it and help Her children on Ki.
We trudged up a steep hill, then turned around a bend, and lowered our heads past a waterfall. There were fifty or so huts. The huts were made from trees or skins. Some of them had sturdy rock or earth-clay foundations. It has been said that our enclave, called The Dark Men, had been there for countless Ten Moons. No one was sure who the original "Dark Men" had been. But some of our own elders believed that the Dark Men went all the way back. Back to a time even before the appearance of the first Same-Sexers. Before the third Egg and even the Promise itself.
They will swear to you that the Dark Men included the father, whose name has never been known, of the goddess Ki. Her father, they concluded, must have been an element, the darkness of clay or rusted iron, to have been a Dark Man himself before we had names. Certainly, to exist without a name was to take on the magic of the gods themselves. Sometimes Ki was referred to as "The Lady Who Knew Not Her Father"—by logic, therefore a woman who had taken an active part in her own creation. A startling idea to us, since each Same-Sexer claimed not one but two men as fathers. Another story was that at the enclave of the Dark Men the first peace of the planet had been drawn. It was the peace that led to the Agreement Greeland had referred to, and the peace that gave Ki to her first husband. Because we went back so far, the men from our enclave traditionally led the Goddess Dance.
We Same-Sexers, we believed, sprang from Kiwa, the brother of the Goddess. Kiwa was born of Ki's mortal mother, who conceived him with the fruit of a magic hardwood tree whose limbs reached—past all others—into heaven. Kiwa therefore was born of the forest itself; he in turn had twin sons; we Same-Sexers believed we were descended directly from them. The twins came to live among the Dark Men in their wet forests. Ishul, Ki's husband, tried to trick Her and went off with one of Her own daughters. Ki was so angry that She banished Kita, her daughter, and Ishul to a dry part of Her planet, where the Off-Sexers were said to come from, and still live.
After leaving the body of the young deer outside Greeland's hut, we walked into the elders' big house. I could feel their eyes on me. I was still young and shy and did not appreciate the gazes of older men who simply wanted to look at me. Their old hands reached up to touch me. Some of them were hard of seeing, and stared at me with that peculiar, hard glare they had. Others talked in soft hoarse voices. They were gossiping in corners, or looking at new things brought into the hut.
The old men's house was large, but lit by only a few flickering oil lamps. The elders were excellent with their hands, and many beautiful things decorated the long hut. Strings of colored beads drilled from shells and painted bones hung from the ceiling. On the upper walls, pictures of our forests appeared as they would in dreams: red dusks and flocks of hovering birds. Calm circles of water animals; peaceful gatherings of beasts. The pictures were outlined with charcoal, then colored with clippings of feathers, white plumes of monkey fur, and stains made from clay and berries. Carved wooden animals, some stained and painted, crowded much of the hut. They climbed up the walls and were piled onto the floor. Some looked hostile and frightening, others comical. There was a reason for their large number. Every adult Same-Sex man had an animal totem: he believed that this animal was linked with his destiny and ancestry.
Greeland's was Netch, a cunning male dog, never fully weaned from the wolf. Netch had been the totem of Peena, one of Greeland's fathers; also by legend he had been a favorite of Ki Herself, mediating for Her between harmony and the uncontrollable wild. I knew about Netch, Greeland's totem, but did not know what my animal was. Greeland told me I might not know the identity of mine for several years. Maybe not until we had a son of our own, born from our combined seeds.
When a Same-Sexer had a good event—let's say a child born to him and his partner, or a special hunting or gathering year—it was traditional to carve his animal figure and bring it into the big house. The elders would go "Ahhh, nice. You remember the old ways," and smile. This was the way that our culture was passed down to us, repeating the carvings of animals. We were told that countless Ten Moons before, when—some say—the Goddess Herself walked among us, we sacrificed living creatures to Her. What a waste that must have been on this small planet: sacrifice , being only another word for kill. The idea upset me; I was happy now that we carved animals, and did not sacrifice them.
Aawkwa stood up. He was the most respected of the old men in our enclave. The Same-Sexers were without a chief or headman. We did not even have a word for what Aawkwa was, but we were without words for many things. Like we did not have a word for "King," which made sense on a planet dedicated to the Goddess and run by Her priestesses. Neither did we have words for what we were. We formed couples, and the couples were "promised" to each other, that is, they were part of the social structure of the enclave. But we did not say "wife" or "husband." There was something about that that did not seem right to us, but sometimes we referred to each other as mates.
"Greeland," Aawkwa said. "We have been concerned about you." He was getting a bit fat, and his belly hung down a little over his breechcloth. He kissed Greeland gently on the lips.
Greeland smiled. "Why are you concerned?"
"Maybe just the stupidity of old ones," Aawkwa said. Several elders giggled.
"Not so stupid," one said.
"How was your first meeting?" Aawkwa asked. The first sexual coupling was called "the first meeting." It seemed a funny way to talk. Why not simply speak of sex?
Greeland's face darkened a bit. "All right," he said.
"You love Enkidu?" Aawkwa asked with a wry smile.
"Very much. He was promised to me for years, and I never understood why I had to wait. I waited and waited for a partner. I was lonely. I wanted to have a son with another man."
"Those things take time," Aawkwa said. "They have to be arranged with the priestesses of Ki. You know they decide who will be allowed to have a son. We only arrange the Promise. We felt that you and young Enkidu would make a fine pair—his natural tenderness would balance your impatience."
"I love him very much. He has been worth the wait."
"Good," Aawkwa said. "We must all learn to be sensitive to the balance of Ki. How delicately works this small planet. Each of us has a part here: the Off-Sexers as well as us. Their women bear our children, to the fury of their husbands, but it allows them some relief from warfare."
"Awful!" one of the elders groaned. "The Off-Sex men and their wars. Especially now, during the Two Moons. They go crazy!"
Greeland's face darkened. "Why are they like that? Can't they leave us alone? We want nothing to do with them."
"We have to have their women to bear our sons," Aawkwa said. "I guess it's simply jealousy. Look," he sat down and began to talk. "Perhaps I should explain it to Enkidu, then he will explain it to you."
I smiled.
"Do you think I am that stupid?" Greeland asked.
"No, but you are definitely impatient. Right, Enkidu?"
"He is a hunter," I said. "Not a farmer."
"Yes," Aawkwa agreed. "But still he is very impatient." Aawkwa cleared his throat and folded his arms. "Ki, this beautiful planet named for our Goddess, has a problem. There has never been enough good land here for all of us. So somewhere, back in the Goddess' time, She and Her admirers, it is said, divided us all up into three groups."
"And it was a smart idea," said Onoo, a fat elder, who was working on a fancy costume for the Goddess Dance. "It has worked beautifully. Such balance here!"
"Yes, but even the plan has problems," Aawkwa pointed out. "Take, for instance, the Off-Sex women and the priestesses. They never got along, even though the priestesses themselves originated as Off-Sex women. In the Off-Sex territories, the man is dominant. He always shows force. In public, you only hear him. The female says, 'Yes, sir. No, sir.' Her only role is to make life in their society easier."
"And his own life as well," Onoo said. "Do not forget that!"
"Certainly," Aawkwa said. "He cannot do anything without her. The Off-Sex man is so dependent; he lives in fear some one will discover he is weaker than she is. I think the men cannot do anything without their women. They cannot make a home, raise their children, wash their clothes, or educate their offspring."
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for them?" Greeland asked.
"No one feels sorry for them," Onoo said. "Maybe that's their problem."
"I'm not sure about that," Aawkwa said. "But, Greeland, you should understand by now what's going on. War is the only real sport for them. Carrying their big knives; wearing their ugly clothes. It allows the men an accepted channel for their limited brains. They can be quick, strong. Calm under pressure."
"But I am all those things," Greeland said. "Aren't I, Enkidu?"
I nodded my head. It was true. Greeland was all of those things.
"But you are not an Off-Sexer, Greeland, my brother. That's why you are my brother," Aawkwa said.
"We are all brothers," Onoo said. "Even the men I do not like. Sometimes we are too close, if you ask me."
"I am trying to be serious with these young people," Aawkwa said. "We are all brothers due to the third Egg. Tell me, Enkidu, what was it like today, I mean with the Egg?"
I felt bashful. What could I possibly say?
"He is shy," Greeland said. "That is why I love him."
"But you may talk here," Aawkwa said to me. "You must learn about us, now that you are a man among us."
"It—it," I said softly, "was very powerful."
"Yes," Aawkwa said. "It is powerful. The Off-Sexers have nothing like it, that is why they are jealous. They say terrible things about us and then try to take over our forests. There is awful conflict. Thank the Goddess that the priestesses can intervene."
"They think we're lower than they are," Greeland said. "Damn them!"
"But remember, we are not lower," Aawkwa said. "We are not ape-men, driven to live in the forests, because we cannot survive in their territories, the open plains that they fight over all the time. Neither are we funny freaks."
I bowed my head in shame. I remembered what the stranger said about keeping me on a chain like a monkey. "I feel different," I said shyly, "after what happened today."
"Good!" Aawkwa said. "Be happy, you are different! The difference is in our third testicle. The Off-Sexers have only two, and it seems to be some sort of tragedy for them." Aawkwa closed his eyes. I knew he did not understand what I was referring to, but how could he? Then he opened them. "Did you see visions, Enkidu?"
"Yes," I said, and looked at Greeland who smiled proudly at me.
"It is the Egg of the Infinite Eye," Aawkwa said. "It not only generates life, but prolongs it."
"If its seed is exchanged between a promised pair," Onoo broke in with a smile.
"Thank you, Onoo," Aawkwa said. "Yes, the Promise is at the center of our life. That is why to break it is disastrous. Sometimes, I think the whole balance of this tiny planet is dependent upon the Promise."
"But it does not keep the Off-Sexers from attacking us," Greeland said.
"They are jealous," Aawkwa insisted. "They are more organized; the Goddess Herself knows they procreate easier. But they do not have the Egg."
"I still cannot understand why they hate us so much," Greeland said. "I will never understand this."
"Because you can do what they can not—live without women! Live without what they fear the most. That is why they curse us and try to break up our pairs." Aawkwa turned to me and quietly explained what would happen between me and Greeland.
From the third Egg, we produced offspring.
The situation was difficult, but also part of the balance of Ki, and so it was in the power of the Goddess and her priestesses. Powerful homozygotic sperm, extracted from the third testicles of two men who had been joined in a Promise and shared each other's seed for at least one full showing of all the Moons, was brought into the temple of Ki.
This was what every Same-Sex couple wanted, and Greeland had been so impatient for. It was why he could not wait another Moon before starting to share seed with me. The priestesses of Ki had to invite a pair to father a son. And it was the priestesses who chose an Off-Sex female to conceive triadically from the sperm. One sperm became the third Egg; the other produced most of the physical characteristics of the son. For this reason, our children rarely took on any of the qualities of the Off-Sexers. We remained darker and hairier.
The priestesses could be obstinate. They made some couples wait for years. Sometimes the planet became too crowded and wars did not clear off enough of the Off-Sex population to make room for us. There was also the problem of finding a suitable woman. The women were willing, but their men lived in fury over it. It was like sending their mates over to the other side; it was like losing them.
Once she conceived by our sperm, the woman was temporarily free of domination by her husband, her mother, and her mother-in-law. In short, her whole dominant culture. What a relief it must have been. But only for the term of her pregnancy and the next year. During her pregnancy, her chemistry became influenced by us—she came into a state of euphoric balance, disengaged from the Off-Sexers. She felt complete, without the terrible conflicts that marked their society.
I sat down on the dirt floor of the old men's hut. I had never heard the whole story. "Then what happens?" I asked.
Aawkwa went on: "When her term is over, and she produces a Same-Sex son, the Agreement of the planet allows her to nurse and care for him for one cycle of the Moons. Because of the religious aspects of her pregnancy—she is bound to the Goddess as well during this time—her bonding with her son may be intense. But after this, her husband, usually simmering in jealousy, can legally kill the child. So the son must be taken back by a priestess to his two fathers, in spite of the great attachment his mother has formed for him."
"It must be terrible for the mother," I said. "What about her other children? Don't they form some attachment to the new son?"
"I have never thought about that, about the other children," Aawkwa said. "All of the time I have lived among us, even with my own sons, I have not thought about that. You are sensitive, Enkidu, and very wise to ask these questions."
"I do not think those people care," Onoo said. "I think the Off-Sexers are too callous even for their moronic children to care."
I told Onoo I didn't believe that.
"He does not realize how evil they are," Greeland said.
"I think Enkidu has a warm heart," Aawkwa said.
Greeland hung his head in embarrassment. Aawkwa looked directly at him. I wondered what Greeland would say. I didn't want him to reveal anything of what happened in the forest. I was ashamed. Ashamed of being caught in sex. Ashamed of the killing. Ashamed of what Greeland had done to the body of the stranger.
Greeland raised his eyes, and Aawkwa's met his. "Tell me, Greeland, did anything unusual happen in the forest, while you were with Enkidu?"
My heart beat in terror. I didn't want Greeland to talk about the stranger, or the private moments we had. I hoped he would only talk about the young buck we brought in to share. Greeland had an envied reputation as a hunter. Numbers of young ones had wanted to be promised to him. But the old men gave me to him. The deer would please them; the thought of a feast made me smile. Then I realized they might talk about all of these things and my blood burned in my ears with embarrassment. Some things had to be kept only between Greeland and me. I knew it.
"One of the Off-Sexers found us," Greeland said. His head hung down again. (Oh, no, I thought. He'll have to tell them.)
Suddenly all the elders in the hut, about ten of them, moaned at once. "No...."
Aawkwa told them to be quiet. "I was afraid of that, Greeland. The Goddess Herself! Why did you have to take Enkidu now? We asked you to wait for one more Moon. You know that during the Second Moon, the Off-Sex men go crazy. They have to mate. If they do not, they are known to invade our forest and kill. Did he catch you," Aawkwa cleared his throat. "In the middle?"
Greeland wouldn't answer. The silence was horrible. I could hear the old men wheeze and breathe, the oil lamps sputter.
"Tell us," Aawkwa said softly.
"Yes, he did," Greeland acknowledged. "And I had no choice, but to kill him. Luckily, Enkidu was able to pass me my knife, since I wasn't wearing anything at all."
"The choice, I think," Aawkwa whispered, "was not to go into the forest today. Was the man wearing his war knife?"
Greeland did not answer. I waited; my hands shook. "I don't remember," Greeland said, biting his bottom lip.
"You don't remember? Greeland!"
Greeland looked at me, and then back at Aawkwa. "No! He wasn't, but he had his bare hands around my balls, and he was kicking me while I was on the ground. Aawkwa, have some pity!"
"It is not for me to pity, Greeland. And I love you, like my brother and another son, but you did have a choice and it was not to use a knife at his throat!"
"I do not take prisoners," Greeland growled. "What could I do? Bring him here, so he could laugh at us?"
"You could have scared him off," Aawkwa said.
"Sure, and done a little dance for him, too!"
Suddenly, some of the old men, who were hard of hearing, laughed. Aawkwa silenced them. "You need not do a dance. You are nothing small to look at, Greeland. I know how good you are with a knife and your hands. I love you but your arrogance, this arrogance of a hunter, has brought you trouble."
"He attacked me!" Greeland shouted, so furiously the words choked in his throat. "He would have killed Enkidu and me."
The old men—probably to break the tension—laughed again. It was like the only words they heard were that Greeland had been caught naked. "Not a stitch?" one skinny old man giggled. "Bet you had a boner up that kid's ass!"
"This isn't funny," Onoo said. "The Goddess Dance is in a short time, and we have gone through a lot of preparation. Suppose this spoils everything—what peace will we have on the planet?"
"Yes, really, brothers!" Aawkwa demanded. "This is no time to laugh. Where is he, the man you killed?"
Silence again. I felt my heart collapse. I wanted to say: "He was beautiful. The most beautiful creature I ever saw. I can't believe he would have killed me. I remember the way he looked at me that moment before Greeland killed him. I know I have been promised to Greeland, but he . . . was a strange miracle to me."
Miraculously, I didn't say a word.
We went back to Greeland's hut, and Greeland quickly skinned the small buck. I prepared a fire, and we roasted the meat, and then ate it in drab, unexpected silence with six of our friends. A short while later, the elders returned and we got up to lead them back to the body. The night was warm, misty and black. Swarms of dark, irritating flies and mosquitoes spun around the torches each of us carried. The torches kept vicious animals away, though no animal I'd ever seen had been as vicious as the handsome Off-Sexer.
"You were a long way off," Aawkwa said. "I can't believe that he found you all the way over here. He must have been crazed. These Off-Sex men, when they're in heat—I tell you, it's best to stay away from them."
"I'm glad I killed him," Greeland said. "It was for the good of both of us. I would do it again."
"Don't be so rash," Aawkwa said as we turned the final bend. He was directly behind Greeland, and I was behind him. There were eight old men behind us, including Onoo, who was having a hard time keeping up, and then behind them three younger couples, friends of Greeland's, with whom we had shared the small deer. I wanted to run behind to them, and ask what would my new life be like. Did they love each other? Wasn't being promised forever to each other painful? These questions came to my mind.
Then on a slight hill, under the same huge tree, I saw him, propped up, sitting as Greeland had left him. His head stiff; the dark, smooth-barked trunk holding his neck up. He looked terrifying. Pale. Naked. Ice cold. His mouth, though, looked beautiful. It was smooth and small, not coarse and wide like Greeland's. My hands shook. The old men and the young couples moved closer. Their torches flowed into a half-circle. Then they stopped.
With his eyes focusing intently, Aawkwa approached the naked corpse. He put his hands on the beautiful jaw and examined the throat. His head nodded. I heard him say in a whisper, "Very clean cut. No pain."
Greeland's eyes lowered. Proud. Pleased. "Enkidu passed me my hunting knife. He saved both our lives. This man would have killed us—both—on our meeting day!"
The word echoed around our friends, our brothers. "Dead, on their meeting day! The shameful bastards! Greeland! Greeland!"
They went up to embrace him. He smiled and took them in his arms, while other torches stayed on the Off-Sexer's sad face. I went up to Aawkwa. I felt excluded from Greeland's triumph. In truth, I hated it. I looked closer at the dead Off-Sexer, and Aawkwa put one of his hands on my shoulders. "Death is terrible," he said to me. "Even the death of enemies."
"You will not dismember the body more?" I asked. "Take off his head?"
"No!" Aawkwa said. "Who would do such a vile thing?"
I looked over at Greeland, still basking in the praise of the others.
"I wonder who he is," Aawkwa said, and he began to examine the body more, looking at it as he touched the chest and smooth shoulders. "Put your torch closer," he said to me. I did, and Aawkwa's old eyes enlarged as he got a full view of the dead man. His hands trembled, while he held the body's jaw, turning the stiff neck. I had never seen him so frightened. "Oh, no. . . ." he sobbed.
I asked him what was wrong.
"Brothers! Brothers!" he shouted. His voice cracked. "Quiet . . . please."
"Quiet!" Greeland shouted, his face lit with his smile. "Aawkwa will make a speech on my behalf! Tell them that this will mark a new beginning of our relationship with the Off-Sexers. It will be a sign that they can never again do this to us! Never again!"
Aawkwa released the jaw, and the body fell forward with a soft thud on its stomach, exposing the haunches. There was now an observable blue bruise on them.
At the sound of the body falling, the others drew back from Greeland in silence.
"You defiled the corpse," Aawkwa said.
"Nothing of the sort," Greeland said. "Just from sitting. It is bruised, that's all."
"You can't lie," Aawkwa said. "We can not lie. It is right there on your face. Why are you trying to lie, Greeland?"