The Farm

Thank you all for your kind comments on the story, and I apologize to you for the long wait for this chapter. In order to get a bit more of the story out to you, this chapter is a little shorter than planned, but I hope to have the next installment completed soon. Enjoy.

Chapter 9: Rabbit Skin

Aarmaan smelled the sea. He turned his head to the breeze traveling inland from the west, a hint of moisture and a fecund odor that reminded him of sex and decay buffeted against him and lapped at his bare ankles, pressed through his clothes, licked at his neck, wrapped around his wrists, and crawled down his back. He turned to meet it. He tasted his lips and there was salt. Salt on skin and salt in tears and salt that hid under the copper taste of blood. He looked west, and on an errant updraft a gull sailed, its long wings with the distinctive backward angle at the wrist turned west. The sea. The journey almost complete, the journey with Rahim. He grew silent and distant. He felt the pull of the tide.

In the early morning of their last day, Rahim brought his horse to step beside him as he walked next to The Cobra and her calf and leaned down in the saddle. "Something's happened."

"Not something. Everything."

"The sea?"

"It's coming for me as much as I'm walking towards it."

"Let me show you, my heart." He called for a horse and Aarmaan looked back along the Silk Road and swung his leg over the back of a gelded sorrel and followed him ahead of the long caravan to the top of a hillock. The steep path twisted down the incline, a beige strip in the brown. On this strip Aarmaan saw increased traffic moving toward Tyr scattered between the blue and the brown like handfuls of broken teeth.

"It's there." As if saying it made it so.

"Look, see that yellow." Aarmaan followed Rahim's hand and nodded. "There is where I'll take you to buy English clothes. Select what you desire and give them my name. And there is where I sell the rugs." His hand pointed to a place removed from the main bazaar."

"But I'll go with you."

"No, my heart, you will go and purchase your trousers and coat and boots of leather. I will bargain and sell and do my father's business." Rahim placed his warm hand on Aarmaan's arm. "When my work is done, I will find you there, at the steamship office." He pointed to a building with a western style roof of slate. So easy, so mundane, so final.

"And then?"

"And then," Rahim smiled, "You begin your journey back to me." He smiled and pulled the reigns and turned his horse toward the caravan.

Aarmaan looked down the ribbon of beige and the city of broken teeth and the place where the brown met the blue and remembered what he'd told the lama about the ocean. The ocean he remembered teamed with wonders, great beasts and small shells. It held adventure, and when he was young it had thrilled him. This sea held dread, ready to swallow him up, carry him away. He also thought of the seven deaths and felt this was more than one of them.

Aarmaan turned his horse and followed slowly. The excitement of a journey's end rippled along the line of the caravan. The expectations of delights and money quickened the pace. Aarmaan watched his feet, each step in the dust a measure toward the end. He looked back and saw the imprints of his feet erased by the feet of the men who followed him. And so it had been along the Silk Road. He shifted the jazail on his shoulder and walked on.

They halted early to make a last camp. Better to enter Tyr at the beginning of the day than to arrive in the dark and face a night in the city defending against pilfering and large-scale robbery.

Rahim instructed that his tent be raised apart from the others. He unrolled three red rugs and filled two copper basins with water. He lit an oil lamp and placed a dish of honeyed dates on a small table of yew.

The wind lifted sparks from the cooking fire and a boy came to stand at Aarmaan's arm. He touched him lightly and pointed to the tent set apart. Aarmaan rose and followed him. The flap was lifted and he entered. Rahim sat cross-legged on a rug in the soft yellow light. The tent flap closed. Aarmaan waited and Rahim opened his arms. Each step closer to Rahim, each step closer to the finish. And he stood beside him. Rahim reached up and took his hand and pulled him gently to the spot before to him. He placed the flat of his hand on Aarmaan's face and turned his face to his. A tear to be kissed away. A hand on knotted neck muscles to press and stroke away the tension.

"I know, my heart." The vest of lamb's wool eased down tired arms. A warm hand slid in the embroidered slit in the neck of the kameez to travel along the collarbone and dip across Aarmaan's chest then retreat. The hem lifted slowly. Aarmaan raised his arms and let the fabric passed over his head. He closed his eyes and bent his head. Soft lips pressed against his back. Warm arms circled his ribs. "I know, my heart." He tilted his head and accepted a kiss. "Come lie in my arms." He did.

He heard water trickle into the cooper basin as a cloth was rung. Rahim passed it over his chest, washing away the regret of what was and the trepidation of what was to come. Again the trickle of water. The cool of it easing the heat on his stomach. The cool making his nipples rise. The cloth dipped again and circled his navel. It slid to his hip bone. Shivers ran up his skin. A dark head bent, a hot tongue touched his skin, fingers loosened the ties of the shalwar and he lifted his hips and the pants removed. The cloth ran over his thighs. His legs parted. And Rahim held him naked in his arms and bathed him in the luxury or water. And kissed him inch by inch. And the tears flowed. And his body ached.

A firm hand urged him on to his stomach and the cloth stroked his back and ran over his buttocks. "I know, my heart." A kiss at the top of the cheek. Teeth pulling the skin at the top of the cleft. The cloth descended cooling, relaxing, enticing, parting, coxing. Again the directions from hands urging him to sit. The copper basin's soft sigh as it was slid across the rug. A foot raised and placed in the water. The tickle on the calf. Removed and dried. The other placed in the water. Rahim knelt before him between his thighs and smiled. "I know, my heart."

The second basin, a new softer cloth pressed his pelvis. Washed his penis caused his testacies to retract. Warm breath and a soft kiss. A firm hand encircled his penis. Washing, stroking. "Do you regret this?" Rahim kissed the head. "Now that you are returning to the English, do you regret this?" A string of kisses up the shaft replaced by a hand stroking upward as the other moved in counterpoint. And moved in counterpoint.

Aarmaan reclined and lifted his hips. He placed his hand on dark hair and let it drift to the grey cloth. "No." A shuddering inhalation.

Rahim smiled as he looked down at him. His kisses trailed up Aarmaan's stomach and across his sternum. He encircled him again in his arms. He moved behind him and kissed the spot where his neck met his shoulder and pulled Aarmaan back into his arms to rest in his arms, to float in his arms. Aarmaan let his head rest against Rahim's chest to feel his heart beat slow and strong and a matching pulse in his lips and groin.

Aarmaan turned in his embrace to push with need and urgency against him. A hand fell to his chest, a soft kiss on his lips to calm and warm him. "We have the night, my heart. A night to love and be loved." And the slow kisses began. Rahim kissed the eye lids closed. The lashes tickled his lower lip. He kissed the corner of the mouth and the pulse in the neck. Each burning kiss leaving a trail of fire and goose bumps. The flame from the oil lamp pulsed in unison and painted the walls of the tent in warm yellow.

He stroked Aarmaan and relaxed him in his arms. His heartbeat slowed. His breaths measured and soft. His legs sprawled. His arms fell to the rug and his knuckles rubbed against the rough weave. Then Rahim brought him to quivering tension with strokes and caresses as his hand drifted down to the hollow of his throat. He stopped there to push his warm tongue against the hot skin. He lowered his mouth to capture the sighs as they escaped sweet in expectation and urgency.

At last he lay Aarmaan supine on the dark-red rug and kissed where his heart fluttered under the hard muscles of his chest. He pushed him onto his side and slid behind him on the rug and began kisses between his shoulder blades to the small of his back and curled his tongue at the sensitive spot at the base of his tailbone. He bent Aarmaan's left leg upward and out and leaned over and kissed the softest skin where the leg met the groin. He exhaled a warm pulse of air on the skin of silk and watched the warm pulse quicken and throbbed. He touched it with his lips. He caressed it with his warm tongue. He let the quickened tempo beat through him and matched his breathing to Aarmaan's.

"Now." Aarmaan lifted his pelvis. "Now." His body gave a jerk. His head thrown back. The thighs opening farther and the knees pulled upward and fell on the sinuous patterns of the rug.

The lips danced along the skin. "Now." A pillow of silk slipped under the raised buttocks. The right leg pushed up and back. The heel of Rahim's hand pushing on the abdomen. Oil warmed in strong hands. The cool air. An adjustment of the hips. Pressure and opening. Rahim covered Aarmaan and slipped his arms up an under his shoulders and pulled him toward him. He warmed him with his body. Legs lifted to wrap around hips and movements slow and deep. Slow and deep. Aarmaan increased the pace in his urgency and need. Rahim moved with him to thwart his acceleration. "All this night, my heart." And the pacing returned to Rahim.

And they floated on soft undulations and gasps. Their limbs wrapped slowly like the tendrils of a pea plant. And when neither could postpone their need, undulations turned to thrusts and snaps. Sighs to gasps. Aarmaan pulled his crossed ankles tight and pushed against Rahim's ass and propelled him deep and clenched to hold him inside. Again and again to be filled by Rahim. To be surrounded by Rahim. The world became Rahim. They breathed as one, they gasped in unison. The climax one. The eyes locked. Aarmaan slept in Rahim's arms too warm and sated to move. As he slept in strong arms, Rahim kissed the skin below his ear and whispered, "I fear those English will destroy you, my heart."

***

The walk from the cart to the door felt like miles to Prize. A dozen steps and a rivulet of sweat tickled down the side of his face. Nanny held him with a firm grip on his elbow. His feet shuffled on the stone walk. He leaned against the doorframe and started to sag as the door was unlatched.

"A little farther, Danny. You can do it." And he could. Always a little farther. The room was dim and cool. The rug thin beneath his feet. Nanny tried to ease him onto the couch, but he pushed himself forward to sit on the floor his back to the brown fabric. He felt goose bumps rise on his arms and legs. He pushed his hand up his forehead and felt the sweat slick there. He rubbed his hand through his short hair. Not as short as a few weeks ago.

"William, help me lift him off the floor."

Nanny placed a hand in his armpit and started to pull. William moved to lift the other. Prize resisted. He looked to the door to see if Gordy stood there. He smelled the lemon. The shirt. It smelled like him. He the cough caught him and he gasped for breath. He plucked at the buttons; he tore at the neck. A warm hand covered his. He looked up at the lined face, lined with years and care. "I know. Let me help you with that. It will be fine." She reached for a button. Prize turned his head and let his hands drop. The shirt was eased from his shoulders. He shivered.

"William, get me the winter quilt. Can't let him chill now." She turned to Prize. "You're here now." The shirt was tossed away. A warm quilt wrapped around Prize's shoulders. Nanny patted it and Prize clutched it to his throat. It smelled of liniment and dust. He looked about the room beyond the faces of Nanny and her William.

The room was small with only a few pieces of furniture. Dust motes danced in the sunlight. A faded print of a little boy, his head inclined on the neck of a collie hung on the wall opposite the window. Antimacassars draped on the back of an armchair and padded rocker. A low, rugged bench stood before the cold hearth.

The room darkened as a form filled the open doorway. Prize started and adverted his eyes.

"Yer returned then." The voice deep.

"Tom, come in and set. Heavy boots kicked at the doorstep to remove dirt. Long strides on the carpet. "This is Daniel. He's to abide here a bit."

Tom bent and inspected Prize, thin and sweating near the hearth. "So this is the guest at the hill cottage. The one that was so sick."

A hand hard as horn and thick as a foot encircled Prize's thin hand and squeezed it in a warm handshake. "I wish you well, Dan, and continued improved health." Prize turned his head and saw a wide face rough with whisker stubble. A broad mouth turned up in an honest grin. He considered the hand grasping his and wondered at the simple pleasure, his hand taken in friendship. His hand released, Prize again clutched the quilt to his neck.

"Don't talk much." Tom looked at Nanny.

"He don't mean to be unfriendly, Tom."

"Just quiet eh, Dan. Here let me help ya to the sofa. He shouldna be on the floor."

Nanny extended her hand to stop him. "Leave him. He's more comfortable there."

"Sure and ye know best. I'll start the fires. I collected seven eggs this morning. They's in the cupboard."

"Daniel, Tom's been caring for the farm whilst we cared for ye."

"True enough. Lord Downcliff sent word for me up ta the manor." Tom smiled with pride. "Things here are right as rain, Nanny. Pigs is fed, I milked the goat. Milk's cooling in the well. I'll finish unloading the cart and put Belle in the barn." He turned to William. "Rest yer bones."

"Come and have supper with us, Tom." Nanny swatted the broad shoulder. "And mind you take of yer boots at the kitchen door. Look what ye tracked on my clean rug."

The few provisions were carried to the door and the pony led away. Nanny moved the food to the kitchen and started supper. "William, go to the cupboard. You'll find an extra shirt there for Daniel. Don't wait for Tom to start a fire. Daniel's cold through. I'll make him tea."

Prize watched the sure quick movements from the hearth. The growing fire warmed his back. An old rough shirt often mended was placed next to him. From the kitchen the odor of frying ham. Quiet voices and the solid knock of Tom returning.

"Here's the milk."

"Mind those boots. Set and sup with us."

"Should I carry yer patient to the table."

"Leave him, Tom." William's solid voice. Cutlery on plates. A bowl of hot tea pushed into his hands by Nanny. She blew on the steam helped him lift it to his lips. She steadied the liquid when the cough shook him. She gave him a reassuring smile. The tea sweet.

"I'll bring you yer supper. Rest."

Alone. Warm. Voices drifted around him.

"Ye gonna give him that." Tom's voice. "He's a man not a hedgehog." Firelight dancing on the rug. Nanny with another bowl and big spoon. "Daniel, here. Bread and milk. It's warm." She placed the bowl next to him. "You eat it all." A stern voice. A warm smile. A crease of concern between her eyes. Something about the barn. The kitchen door closed.

Prize looked at the food and waited. He was told to eat. He moved his hand tentatively toward the spoon and stopped. He knew it was a spoon. He didn't remember ever eating from one. Gordy fed him from his hand. Brutal and Cruel left him to pull what food they gave him to his mouth with his lips. To lick at the plate. Better to wait a bit than make an error. Not now. Not here. The shirt waited at his elbow. Should he put it on? Was it for him? He wasn't told to wear it. Traps and traps. Better to wait. Movement from the kitchen.

"Ye didn't eat." Nanny frowning down. William easing into the soft chair and lifted a long clay pipe from the table at his elbow. Prize lifted the bowl and waited.

"Go on now, eat."

The bowl rested warm in his hands. He dipped two fingers into the bread and milk and lifted a bit to his lips. He watched over the lip of the bowl. The bread touched his lips. Nanny Grey frowned. He returned the bit to the bowl. She leaned forward in her chair.

"Eat ye supper."

His hand jerked and bumped the handle of the spoon spilling it and a glob of milk bread to the rug. He waited for his next clue. He saw upset on her face. He moved his hand to retrieve the spoon.

"Oh, leave it. I'll get you another." She stood.

William pulled the stem of his clay pipe from his mouth. "Leave him be. Eat the food, Daniel." William stood. "I'll have my pipe outside. Leave him to eat as he will."

Nanny moved to the kitchen and William rose to pull his tobacco pouch from his vest pocket. He stepped to Prize and placed his hand on the black hair. "It's as you want, Prize. Don't mind the spoon. Eat." He left.

Prize dipped his fingers into the bowl. He held it below his chin and scooped the milk bread into his mouth as quickly as he could. He drank the last in the bowl and set it on the hearth. He picked the spoon from the floor and licked it clean and placed it in the bowl. Nanny returned with a damp cloth. She bent and wiped his mouth and hands. He did not flinch.

Sweet tobacco smoke. "Betty, leave him be. Leave the man be, Elizabeth." William knocked the ash from his pipe on the heel of his hand and entered. "Leave the man be."

"He's ill."

"He's going to be fine."

Nanny stood and looked at her husband. "What would ye have me do?"

"Get ye to bed, Betty. Yer worn out with this. I'll see to Daniel." Nanny started to protest then moved to a door on the far side of the room. William eased himself back into is chair. "Prize, there be a small room off ta kitchen for ye if you want to use it. It has a bed. The door closes if you want." Prize looked toward the kitchen. "If the hearth suits better, sleep here. Wear my old shirt if you want. Burn that shirt in the fire," he pointed to Gordy's shirt on the floor, "If ye want." William stood. "Tom's sleeping in the barn. Don't mind him if ye hear him about. If you want for anything, call out." He took the candle and left Prize sitting in the firelight.

Prize unbuttoned the trousers taken from the cottage and tossed them from him. He rolled himself in the winter quilt and rested his cheek on his forearm. A day too full, the handshake, a spoon. A real spoon. An honest touch. The small room off the kitchen if he wanted it. His mind leapt from one to the other. But Prize rhymes with lies. He felt unanchored. He looked at the room dancing in the firelight. The discarded shirt lay in a heap under the bench. Prize extended his arm into the chilly air and reached for it. He caught a cuff and pulled the shirt under the quilt. He bunched it against his chest. He felt too weary to think more than Prize sounds like sighs. He slept and that dream came snaking through the flickering light back across the worn rug.

***

Alonzo Tidewell set aside the mess of papers. They told a tale of misplaced trust and arrogance. He rubbed his forehead and pursed his lips. He turned again to the list of dead soldiers. Next to the name Phillip Alexander Maycott the note, body not recovered. No recovery needed now. He survived. Another list of names listed the survivors, seven in all. Seven, now eight, out of all those men. Alonzo wrote the name of Horace Little in his notes on a much folded piece of paper. Find Horace Little and learn what he could about the Maycott. He turned to a young clerk, "Where can I find the whereabouts of this man?" He pointed to the name on the official list.