Different Sin (11 page)

The slavery controversy that was the focus of the presidential campaign overshadowed other news, even the tumultuous reception of the first envoy from the mysterious Japanese islands. Summer evenings in Pfaff’s resounded with arguments between pro-slavery sympathizers, Garrisonian disunionists and the holders of a dozen other shades of political opinion.

David listened with unwonted concentration. If he could just keep his mind on the election, and off the disturbing thoughts that still plagued him.... It seemed impossible that Zach hadn’t sensed his shameful, furtive notions, despite the efforts he’d made to drive them from his mind over the past few months, the care he’d taken to look anywhere but Zach’s body on their visits to Ottignon’s.

If only Elliot hadn’t spoken as he had! David glanced at the younger man, sitting happily oblivious to the turmoil he’d caused him, his arm around the bare shoulder of a heavily rouged young actress. David rubbed his forehead, feeling the throbbing onset of a headache.

Zach paused in the midst of a spirited defense of the Republican presidential candidate. “You’re feeling unwell? It’s no wonder, in this damnable heat and noise. Let’s call it a night. I daresay you’ll feel better when we’ve gotten out in the fresh air.”

David followed him upstairs, nearly running into a florid, bewhiskered man in workman’s clothing, a red undershirt showing at his open collar. Zach greeted him, beaming.

“You recognized Walt Whitman?” he asked, as they walked down the street. “I would’ve stopped for a few minute’s conversation with him, if you’d been feeling better.”

David nodded, glad of the distraction. “I’ve seen him at Pfaffs before. He doesn’t look much like a poet though.”

“Yet I warrant you, he’ll be remembered as one of the finest poets of our day, no matter how he dresses. In fact, he’s just had a new edition of
Leaves of Grass
published by Thayer and Eldridge of Boston. I’ve treated myself to a copy, matter of fact.”

“But I thought you already owned a copy.”

Zach chuckled. “I do. But Whitman is forever expanding his magnum opus. This new edition has a number of poems he’s completed in the past year or so. If you’re feeling a little less under the weather, why not stop by a few minutes and I’ll show you it,” he added, as they entered the boardinghouse.

David sat on the edge of Zach’s bed as Zach thumbed through the book. “Here, this whole section—Calamus—is new in this volume.” Zach settled himself next to David, reciting aloud as he held the opened book between them, “... the soul of the man I speak for rejoices in comrades... Resolv’d to sing no songs to-day but those of manly attachment... Bequeathing hence types of athletic love...”

David swallowed. “I’m not sure I follow his meaning.”

“He’s not always an easy man to understand. But I greatly admire his sentiments of friendship.” Zach turned a few pages, murmuring lines aloud from time to time. “Publish my name... as that of the tenderest lover... whose happiest days were far away through fields, in woods, on hills, he and another wandering hand in hand, they twain apart from other men...”

He paused, settling himself more comfortably. David felt the pressure of his thigh, warm against his own. The pages rustled as Zach turned to a new poem.

     “...when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way

     coming, O then I was happy...

     For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night,

     In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me,

     And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was happy.”

Zach’s voice trailed off, the last words nearly a whisper.

David turned toward him questioningly, just as Zach turned on his own account to David. Their lips brushed lightly, momentarily, accidentally. David drew in his breath, willing himself to draw back. He couldn’t. He sat motionless, feeling Zach’s breath warm against his face.

“David?” Zach’s voice was still a whisper. He took David’s face gently between his hands. His kiss was soft but deliberate.

David closed his eyes, feeling the warm pressure of Zach’s lips on his. He sat helpless a long moment, then his lips parted, and he caught Zachary in his arms, pulling him closer.

Zach’s fingertips brushed his face lightly as they finally drew apart. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Zach murmured. “You’re trembling,” he added softly. “We needn’t do anything further.”

“I—” David’s words caught in his throat. “I want to,” he whispered finally. He reached out for Zach and pulled him down on the bed beside him, trembling still as they undressed.

He lay in Zach’s arms then, his friend’s strong, male body hard against his own. Slowly he let his hands roam over Zach’s naked skin, his tentative touch quickening with the incredible pleasure of caressing him freely at last.

He hadn’t dared even imagine the tingling excitement of Zach’s caresses on his own body. Zach’s beard brushed David’s face as he kissed him again. His hands moved down David’s back, firmly cupped his buttocks, stroked his member with tantalizing gentleness.

David gasped. Waves of pleasure swelled within him, rising higher and higher like an incoming tide. Zach drew David closer as he moved against him in accelerating, urgent rhythm. His exploding release subsided into smaller ripples. He gave a shuddering sigh and lay back in Zachary’s arms, his body fitting itself to Zach’s as if they’d lain together always.

FOR A MOMENT, AS HE CAME SLOWLY TO CONSCIOUSNESS, David thought he’d dreamed again. He woke fully then. Morning sunlight illuminated Zach’s room, the rumpled bedclothes, his shirt and trousers tossed on the floor alongside the volume of poetry. David turned stiffly, feeling Zach’s warm bulk next to him. He took a deep breath, wincing at the odors of their mingled sweat and semen.

Zach stirred. He threw his arm lightly across David’s chest and gave a long, contented sigh. He lay quietly another moment, then kissed David on the forehead and sat up, stretching. “We’d best get up. We’ll want to have time for a good wash before breakfast is ready.”

David watched him numbly. It seemed impossible that Zach could be going cheerfully about his morning routine, pouring water into his washbasin as if nothing had occurred between them. He lowered his feet slowly to the floor, unable to move further. “My God, Zach, what have we done?” he said at last.

“Nothing to regret.” Zach crossed the room and laid his hand on David’s shoulder. “We’d best get dressed now. There’ll be time to talk later.” David managed to nod. It was Sunday; at least he didn’t have to show himself at
Leslie’s.
He’d had thoughts of attending services at Trinity this morning, but that seemed equally impossible now.

He pulled on his discarded clothing, opened the door a crack and peered out. He’d been in and out of Zach’s room dozens of times in the years he’d boarded at Mrs. Chapman’s, but now he made certain the hallway was empty before scurrying down it like a sneak thief.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

They walked without speaking till they reached the Murray Hill Reservoir.

“I never intended to cause you distress,” Zach said at last, as they paced around the broad esplanade, out of earshot of other strollers.

“You’re not to blame. I wanted it as much as you. You make me feel like—like a woman is supposed to,” David admitted, his voice barely audible.

“I feel the same way about you.” Zach laid a hand lightly on David’s shoulder.

“Zach, for God’s sake, people will see us!” David jerked away before Zach could drop his hand. He stared down at the water. “It’s a sin,” he said, not looking up.

“Perhaps. But I daresay there are worse sins than loving.”

David glanced at Zach. “I’ve been lusting after you for months,” he muttered.

“It’s more than lust, David, on my part at any rate, I promise you that.”

“Zach, for God’s sake, we can’t let it happen again!”

Zach sobered. He moved toward David, stopped a few, careful feet away. “It made me very happy to be close to you last night. But I’ll not do anything to change our friendship.”

“We’d best get back.” David strode off, barely waiting for Zach. How the hell could they go on with their friendship as if nothing had happened? He ought to move out of Mrs. Chapman’s, stay away from Pfaffs-

“David!” Zach’s strong arms yanked him from the path of a hurtling coach. The driver’s flung curses rang in his ears.

“You all right, David?”

“Yeah, fine. God, I didn’t even see it!” David leaned back against Zach, starting to shake at the near miss. Zach tightened his grip on David reassuringly.

David took a deep breath. He straightened and turned to Zach, taking in his anxious expression. He managed a smile. “I’m fine, Zach. Thanks!”

How could he give up Zach’s friendship? He’d just have to make sure his unnatural lust for him didn’t lead to a repeat of the shameful episode of the night before.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

His first thought had been right, David told himself more than once as summer mellowed into fall. He should’ve left Mrs. Chapman’s. It would’ve been easier than seeing Zach daily, making casual conversation with him, all the while trying to forget the feel of Zach’s naked body next to his.

True to his word, Zach didn’t press him to repeat their sin. Still, David didn’t dare be alone with him. When he wasn’t on assignment for
Leslie’s
at one of the numerous election rallies, he spent his evenings in the stuffy boardinghouse parlor or nursing an ale at Pfaff’s.

Despite his efforts to put his lust out of his mind, he was reminded of it everywhere. The sight of Whitman, sitting in silent magnetism at a corner table of the beer cellar, induced a rush of remembered passion.

Retreating to the privacy of his room was no help. More than once he found himself staring at the sketch of Zach he’d done so long ago, crumpling it to toss into the stove, then pulling his hand back at the last moment and returning it to its hiding place. It was better to spend his time with others, sick as he was of the parlor under Mrs. Chapman’s gaze, trying to read or pass the time with small talk against the steady background of rustling newspapers and clearing throats.

At least in his hours at work he could lose himself in concentration. With just over a month to go till the November election, campaigning intensified. David’s pencil skimmed over his sketchpad as he watched the torchlight parade of Wide-Awakes, uniformed squadrons of youthful Republican supporters, as they poured down Broadway. From his vantage point at the front of the cluster of reporters, David could clearly see the napless caps that gave the young men their nickname, the shiny material of their capes, their flaming torches, mounted atop the rails that had become Lincoln’s symbol, swaying in unison as they marched. As he gazed further down the street, the raised torches seemed to blend into a stream of flames.

Zachary tapped his shoulder, speaking into his ear to be heard above the cheers and singing of the marchers. “An impressive showing for the Railsplitter.”

“It makes me wish I had brush and paint instead of my pencil, to capture that torchlight.” David stepped a foot or so away from Zach. He squinted at his sketch a moment, lifted his eyes back to the parade.

“I was thinking more of the numbers of Honest Abe’s supporters.” Zach raised his voice. “This country’ll be in a bad way if the Republicans fail to carry the election.”

The final marchers were in sight. The assembled reporters scribbled the last of their notes and shoved their pads into coat pockets. David continued to squint at his sketch, reworking the lines of the massed flames as the torchbearers passed from view. Finally he tucked the sketchbook under his arm. The street had become virtually deserted. Zach stood waiting.

David fell into step beside him. Their footsteps crunched on the cobblestones as they walked. “I’m afraid we’ll be in a bad way if Lincoln does win,” he said finally. “At least if the fire-eaters are sincere in their threats to secede.”

“Better disunion than carry slavery a foot further into free territory! But I wouldn’t worry, David. The Southerners’ll back down from their threats when the election’s over, I’ll warrant you that.”

“I hope you’re right.” David fell silent, swinging his free arm as he walked. The back of his hand brushed Zach’s. David jumped, pulling his hand away. He brought his mind back to the threat of disunion. “Dad writes that more and more people at home are calling for separation.”

He fell silent again, thinking of the Southern fire-eaters’ threats to wage war rather than remain in the Union if Lincoln was inaugurated. A shiver of unease ran through him.

Zach guessed his thoughts. “The slaveholders’ talk of making war is sheer bluff. Outside of their slaves, what resources have they? No industry to speak of, precious few rail lines. Their real aim’s to bully the Northern voter into voting against Lincoln.” He talked on in lowered tones as they entered the darkened boardinghouse. David listened, for once preoccupied by their conversation, automatically walking alongside Zach as he turned down the hall to his room.

“There’s no need to be concerned,” Zach said again. “Well, I daresay we’d best say goodnight.” He grasped his doorknob, hesitated a second, then slowly turned the knob.

David’s preoccupation ended. He was suddenly intensely aware of Zach’s body, mere inches from his in the dim hall. He sensed Zach’s unspoken longing echoing his own. His own lonely bed waited down the hall.

He stood motionless, trying to force himself to turn away. He trembled, then slowly covered Zach’s hand with his. The door pushed silently open under their hands.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

David bowed his head as Michael asked grace, glad to avert his eyes from his father’s gaze. He was being foolish, he told himself. His father couldn’t know about the act he’d repeated with Zach almost nightly in the weeks since the torchlight parade. He’d fled to Boston for Christmas, relieved at removing himself at least temporarily from the occasion of sin, but the knowledge of his deed traveled with him. It seemed impossible that his act was not writ as large to the world as the letter A worn by the adulteress in Hawthorne’s novel.