The slime at the bottom of the pond grazed his toes now when he let it. Small guppies flitted before him, darting about like children at play. He took a deep breath and dunked his head. Silence consumed him. He was entombed in tranquility, in the boundlessness of his floating, his weightlessness. How to capture this feeling. How to make it last forever.
He heard them only as he rose up for air. He kept his body hidden beneath the water, and the marshy mound of plants at the center of the pond concealed him from the other side. But he could glimpse them. Caleb was beneath the other one, the bigger one. Both of them were faced away from him. Landry had never seen a white man naked, so pale beneath the sun. In the fields, Caleb was a man in his own right, or at least on the cusp of being one, but he appeared now as a boy, emitting childish moans as the other boy choked him, took hold of his hair, and delivered heavy blows to his backside.
At first it didn’t enter Landry’s mind to leave the water, to hide himself. The pond, as he thought of it, was rightfully his. So far and free did his imagination roam here that he thought he might somehow have conjured the scene, for unknown reasons. But the possibility evaporated as the boy’s moans grew louder. Yes, that was surely Caleb, George’s son, Isabelle’s treasure, and no matter how many times Landry had come to this place, no matter how he thought of it, the presence of these two meant that it was theirs entirely—it was he who was trespassing. Perhaps he could dive down, suspend himself in silence, wait for them to depart, and find himself a new refuge. He and Prentiss could leave for the railcar. They could search for another place like this one.
Their bodies were contorted, with Caleb on his stomach and the other boy mounted upon him. Landry drifted backward, water dripping from his chest and hair as he emerged from the pond, shivering despite the heat. They did not turn as he collected his pants, his shirt and boots. Nor as he slipped them on. He could disappear. Yet he knew this would be his last glimpse of the pond, the last time he would ever have this image so clear in his mind. He breathed it in and let it go.
It was then that the other boy whipped about. Landry did not freeze out of fear. More so at the oddness of it all: that after so many years unseen, he would be taken notice of by a boy such as this, and from a great distance. He started back to the barn. First at a walk. Faster when he heard the footsteps upon him.
CHAPTER 12
The world pressed upon their secret. Caleb could feel as much, deeper than the heat of August’s breath upon his neck, the cutting strokes of each blade of grass against his naked body, which was pinned to the ground. But prudence meant nothing. His worries were carried off in the slickness of his sweat, in the curling of his toes and the clenching of his teeth as waves of joy coursed through him. It was as if a bell beneath his ribcage had lain at rest since the last time his friend had claimed him, at this very pond, a year ago, and now August penetrated him so deeply, with such force, that the pealing of that bell shook his entire being, great jolts of delight quaking through him, one after the other. They were so intense that he craved a moment of reprieve, all while fearing the bliss of the afternoon might end, might never return to him, if his wish were granted.
It was August who stopped. He pulled off Caleb, his body running with sweat, and turned, war-ready.
“Someone’s there,” he said.
But Caleb had no words to respond. He was spent, and even though he knew the fear and threat that August’s words should inspire in him, he could not summon the power to care.
“Get up,” August said.
Caleb’s body was red with the exquisite torment of the afternoon, his every muscle cramped, the soreness hitting him as he came to. He’d never seduced another person—August had been the aggressor both times—and on each occasion of being taken he was shocked at how lost he’d become in his emotions, the violent whirlwind of his submission: one moment you are lucid, lost in the quotidian, and the next you are transported to another world altogether, with your pants at your ankles and mulch slathered up your damp thighs.
Aside from their lone previous tryst, in this same spot, back before the war, their behavior together had always been tamer. （Caleb was fine with only the friction of August’s body against his own, or a kiss that kept his mind in a tizzy for the rest of the day.） But he didn’t harbor the slightest regret. Nor was he upset at being seen. Let the truth of their bond be set free upon Old Ox, upon the world entire. But he knew that for August, the chosen one, this trespass upon them was a threat, and would only confirm that Caleb was a problem, best kept at arm’s length, if not forgotten altogether. Perhaps it was this realization that finally sobered him. He pulled his pants up and listened to his friend.