Date: Mon, 22 Mar 2004 13:49:41 -0600 (CST) From: Horacio Quiroga Subject: Mexican History/chapter 3 Welcome to another chapter on Mexican History. A late one, since it took me more than a month to post it, but hopefully a good one. As you might know by now, there's not much point for this story in an erotic literature site: its more like a fantastic story than a sexual fantasy, but I think the best audience for it is somewhere around here, getting a little tired of same old things (just momentarily tired, maybe) and well, here it is: a story for those who are tired (that's one of the reasons of why this stories are so short). I deeply thank those few who took the time to review the previous chapters and I encourage them, as well as new readers, to do the same for this piece of the story. Response I get is the main factor I'll consider to post the next chapter, so if you like it, take some of your time to write as much as you can to horaacioquiroga@yahoo.com. Enjoy, if it's possible, and have a nice day. I'm kind of tired of writing a disclaimer, so, just don't read this story if you think there's any chance you shouldn't be reading it (if you're worried someone might enter your room and find you doing it, it might be a good sign of it). ___________________________________________________ Two years were many more than I expected. Many years I kept looking for Vibora after I thought he was dead. Happiest years, praying every night. One more night, dawn after dawn, still alive, alive for the first time at the side of Angel no matter how far I was from him. He got used to it: to my touch , to the dark touch of the night whispering his name when I was gone. And he would call my name too, with his lips closed, opened arms, closed eyes, opened heart. There I would be hug between his legs, laying with him, running my hands over his body. Hug flying over the bed, sheets hanging from our bodies: his small body of a child, my shadow of beast floating in the air. He cried slowly the first time, tears falling a meter down to his bed. Following the line of his back, kissing the back of his hand, salty tears flowing, soft skin, I loved him. The nights we were apart became something else, something different to the simple nature of a hug being together, of the morning sunshine, of the warm sheets, of the taste of each other's skin and the sound of each other's voice. Something strange, something shady. Calling a beast, lifting his body, feeling his thoughts. That was not what I wanted, but I couldn't help It. It took me two years, praying every night, to get rid of the beasts, to forget what was it like to be darkness, to become something else and forget myself. A week later, Angel and I ran away. I woke up at midnight and went to the latrine. When I was in my way back to the house I noticed a slight movement in the edge of the hill, between the trees. It was a rock falling, rolling its way down, and then I heard a human voice, half kilometer away, furtive sound that made my distrustful nature emerge. Hided quickly and waited in silence until I was able to see them: two men covered with large sarapes, almost invisible in the darkness, waiting still. Almost twenty minutes I stayed quiet, there had to be someone else if they were who I feared, someone ready to run away by horse if something went wrong. And there he was, a couple hundred meters away from the two men, up in the hill: the light of a cigarette. Went inside the little house, waked up Angel, lights off. "Get Apache ready, stay quiet, stay in the shadows". Took my knife and my axe, put my boots on and made my way around the hill, moving carefully, it took me almost half hour to get to the messenger, up in the hill, looking down to the town, next to a sorrel, rifle hanging from his shoulder. I pierced his left lung with the knife so he wouldn't be able to scream, died quietly. The scouts I killed with the axe, from the back of one's head to the chest of the other the blood seemed black under the blue moonlight. Luckily neither one screamed. Went down the hill riding the sorrel and when I got to my house Angel was ready to leave. Burning down my house was a warning to Don Cristobal, I owed it to him. When the hacienda was attacked the next day Don Cristobal hardly defended himself: there were not many men with him and the people of Vibora were too many and to furious to be stopped. Time ago I would've stayed, but right then I would've been useless and died. There was no point for another man in Don Cristobal's side, he needed something I wasn't anymore. When Don Cristobal died I wasn't able to feel it, I wasn't able to feel things anymore, not even Angel. I had been listened in my prayers. I stopped Angel the eighth day of our ride, having reached the other side of the sierra there would be no more than a week before reaching the ocean. The plains were good for the horses, and from town to town we had been able to get what we needed for our journey. The bag of money I carried was comfortably heavy and the weight on our shoulders was getting lighter as I became confident we weren't being followed. I stopped Angel and placed the sorrel I was riding next to Apache. The long road in which we were was dessert and the daylight was fading away. "Wait" I said, holding the reins still, the horses side to side, Angel sitting on Apache, I sitting in the sorrel, and reached him with my arm. Hugged him and brought him to me, lifted him out of Apache and sited him on my lap, hugging him tightly. Apache stayed still, next to the sorrel. Angel hugged me back and we stayed like that until the night fell upon us. He was still light enough to be lifted in arms, he was still small enough how to ride with me, sitting on my lap. I kissed his lips, cracked from a long day riding in the cold wind. "I love you". And that was the only time I ever said it. With Angel I stayed all time. And I'm still with him. We ran away to where I knew Vibora had never been, but still lived in the hills, a cabin a few kilometers from the beach. Just Angel and I outside town, up in the woodlands. Clear blue skies. I kissed his hands every night. When he'd go swimming I 'd wait in the distance, he liked to swim before sun had raised. And I'd just sit and look at him, always knowing why was he there with me. Blue shadows running through his naked body, the starlight on his small shoulders. He was so slim. And from the distance he looked like he didn't needed me, which made me love him even more. Playing alone, swimming every day further to the horizon, to then come back panting, excited. "A day he'll leave me" I used to think, because I was his age when I left to live alone. And his nature was that: to ride alone his horse around town, to look for something else, someone else, friends his age I thought. And leave me. He got a job with a group of fishermen, and with them he'd spend most of the day. How I loved him coming back tired, coming back smelling like fish, smiling quietly, every day tougher, darker skin, coming to me, having dinner slowly in silence, and he wouldn't wear shirts anymore, naked chest like the sons of poor fishermen. He stopped riding his horse and sold it to get a boat of his own. Didn't make enough money for it, but everyday he was getting closer. A little more than a year had passed since we ran away. I took his hands and whispered to the palm's hollow. The fragile light over the thin line of his side slid softly in a sigh and disappeared. And Angel's hand, warm and moist with labored breathing, shivered. "I love you", and it slid over my left check, "I love you", in the forehead and in the eyes. "I love you" and it sounded so quietly that it was like the wind had said it. Carefully, in silence, a hug would became a key to open hearts and bodies. And the words resounded on the corner of his mouth, in the sides of his belly, in the shaft of the penis. I took him in my arms, and made love as the sun came up. Kissing the sides of his neck, quickly moving up and down him, tears falling one after the other, taking forever to reach his body, the tears would stay in the air as they were made of smoke, and we were in a warm ocean of tears, breathing hardly, hugged between his legs, there was nothing left in the world but a sea of tears over our bodies. I kissed his hands every night until the day we died. And I thought there will be no more death for me, I forgot who I was and never stopped wondering what was the meaning of this sudden happiness. When Vibora explained it to me, I was beyond the need of an answer but I was still human enough how to dig a grave big enough for me and Angel, and another for Vibora. Decided then to stay where I am, to let my body stay here, leaving every once in a while, to visit the river in the edges of San Juan. ___________________________________________________ Well, there's only another chapter ahead. The end is near, one might say and I hope I'll to see you there. Write to horaacioquiroga@yahoo.com and let me know if you have any kind of thoughts on the story: suggestions, complains, compliments and that stuff are more than welcomed (and the only reason I post this story for).