3.
Dan found the bathtub in the stained glass window room directly opposite the foyer. The water was warm, not hot, and he slid into it. A bar of soap was floating in the bathtub, so he used that to wash the dirt, grime and sweat off of him. Then he sat while until he turned into a prune and the water was too cold. By then, he heard the door open and leaned forward to see Rack come in.
The sun had gone down and the house was dim. Dan watched as Rack stripped off all his clothes in the foyer, leaving them in a basket by the door. He padded into the room. “Oh, I thought you would have been done by now.”
Dan felt himself get rock hard at seeing Rack naked. He a walking vision of muscles and tendons and veins, all perfectly formed, shaped, and cut. Dan watched as Rack started to swell under his gaze.
Rack sighed. “I’m doing this to you, and you’re doing this to me. This is no good for either of us.”
“Why?” Dan asked, getting to his knees in the tub. He reached for Rack, who backed away again.
“Because I make people sick.”
“You don’t make me sick. You’re…beautiful.” The word came out in a breath.
“Oh, Dan, you don’t understand.” He shook his head sadly and walked through the bathroom, snatching a robe from a peg on the wall. He went into the kitchen while pulling on the robe. “C’mon out for dinner.”
Dan got out, dried himself off and put on his underwear and shirt, then went to the dining room. Rack had a plate of cold roast beef in the center of the table. “My turn,” he said, and got up.
“But the water’s dirty.”
“It’s still water. You didn’t use all the soap, did you?”
“No.”
“It’s all right.” He went into the bathroom. Dan heard him get into the water with a sigh of contentment.
Dan pondered while he ate: What didn’t he understand? Was he ugly? That was probably it. Rack wasn’t attracted to him. Dan didn’t even know why he tried to kiss Rack. It was something he felt, an overpowering urge. He had to put a damper on those urges right now. He had to think of Rebecca, or someone else that he despised.
That’s it, think of Rebecca. His heart turned to ice.
Rack came back out. He wore the robe and said, “I’m sleeping upstairs. You can sleep on the couch.”
“Thank you,” he said coldly, getting up, walking by Rack, and going to the living room. Without any reaction, Rack cleaned up, washed dishes, and went up the stairs in the dark.
Dan tossed and turned on the couch that was uncomfortable because it felt like nobody ever sat in it before, never mind slept in it. He could hear creaks upstairs, rhythmic creaks, and then silence. He finally fell asleep, only to be awakened by someone shaking him. “Time to get up.”
“Sun’s up already?”
“Cock crowed an hour ago. Already got the eggs. Next time you’re getting them.”
Dan yawned and got up. “Do we have a lot to do today?”
“Wash day,” he said. “It’s going to rain tonight.” He looked at Dan. “Want to milk the cows?”
“I…uh, don’t know how.”
“Or wash clothes.”
“I’ll wash clothes.” He’d seen his mother do it. How hard was it?
He found out how hard, using a washboard and the tub and a short stool just for that purpose. He skinned his knuckles too many times and had a new respect for his mother. There wasn’t even a wringer in the bathroom that he could use, so he had to do it by hand.
To wash two pairs of dungarees and four shirts with underwear and socks, in addition to his dirty clothes, took him until lunch. After lunch he hung the laundry outside while Rack fixed some things around the house and barn. Dan’s arms were tired and his hands were red by the time he finally sat down to rest, which was around three o’clock.
Rack came in a short time after Dan hung out the clothes. “They’re dry already?”
“Yes, and thank you for doing that for me.”
“I don’t know if I want to do it again.”
Rack laughed. “It takes me half the time, but I cheat.” He folded the clothes and brought them upstairs, leaving Dan’s clothes on the couch. “Ready to go to the dance?”
“It’s on the reservation?”
“Yes. Ever rode a horse before?”
“No.”
He frowned. “I guess we’ll take the wagon, then.”
Dan helped Rack hitch the wagon to the horse. They rode out to the military road and then followed a road next to the railroad tracks. Dan asked, “What did that Indian call you?”
“Kmowin?” He chuckled. “You’ll see.”
“I noticed he didn’t shake your arm.”
“I told you, I make people sick.”
“But you touched me.”
Rack sighed, “Yes, I did. But hopefully you’re young and strong and can fight it off.”
“How do you make people sick?”
“I don’t know. It’s a curse.” He watched the horses as he said, “People die because of me.”
Dan looked away, swallowing. No wonder he lived alone, out here by himself. But Dan wanted to make him feel better.
Think of Rebecca.
Rack tsked and shook his head, but said nothing more as they drove.
They came upon a spot where horses and wagons were pulled together in a large clearing. Some men were setting up a bonfire.
Rack got down and Dan climbed down after him. People were seated in a large circle, watching the men. They were spread out on blankets or on the grass, which was dry and mowed down like Rack’s fields. Rack sat down on the prickly grass, and Dan did too. “It’s going to be a while. They have to wait until sunset.”
In the meantime, many Indians came to Rack, introduced themselves to Dan. Some spoke only the Indian language, which Rack understood and spoke perfectly, while others spoke English. They kept calling him Kmowin, and seemed genuinely happy to see him.
Dan asked, “I thought people didn’t like you.”
“Most people in town don’t. But these Indians, they respect me.”
The crowd started getting bigger, and by sunset the circle was three rows deep and looked about 200 yards wide. Someone in an Indian costume came to the bonfire and lit it. When he did, everyone said a phrase.
“They all said, ‘We are Keepers of the Fire’,” said Rack. “They begin the dance now.”
Women came out, dressed in Indian costume, and started dancing around the fire. There was drumming and shaking that seemed to go deep into the ground. There were no words, just the drum beat. Dan felt it go into his bones, rattle it inside there, hit some primal part of his brain.
What would his father think of him now?
The women finished their dance, and then men came out in costume, in feathers and fringe. There was singing and drumming. “That is Eagle,” said Rack.
Dan watched the man twist and move, turn around and dance freely, while another man danced behind him, hunched over. “Prairie Dog.” The man would bob his head up and then down, like a prairie dog did in the wild.
More animals came out. Rabbit. Dog. Last came Crow. “He carries the storm clouds,” Rack said.
Rack turned his face to the sky and closed his eyes. He put his hands on the grass, fingers digging into the earth. He seemed to be in a trance, caught up in the singing. Dan looked around, but no one was watching them.
Dan heard a rumble in the distance. The Crow halted his dance, freezing in place, and people were silent. Over the crackle of the fire, he heard it again. He saw a flash of light in the sky, far away.
Crow set himself down on two legs, and the man cawed like a crow. The dancing and singing started again in earnest, like a celebration, and he went around the fire one more time.
“It’s going to rain,” said Rack in a strange voice, and his head came down, eyes still closed. “For two days. The Earth is thirsty.”
Dan stared at Rack, who then opened his eyes. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The dancing stopped, and a man came out, again in Indian dress, and threw something onto the fire. It sparked, and Dan smelled the scent of it on the air: tobacco. He felt a drop on his hand. Then another.
Everyone started to get up. “Time to go, it’s going to rain.”
The rumble got louder, as the lights in the sky shot through. People saw Rack and bowed to him, muttering “Iwgwien,” as they went by. Dan asked, “What are they saying?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
Rack held out his hand. “For this.”
Then the skies broke open and the rain came down in force. Dan ducked his head and ran back to the wagon. People ran in all directions trying to get out of the rain. Rack just walked in it, without a care in the world.
He climbed onto the wagon and joined the traffic out of the clearing, then turned to leave the reservation. The rain was coming down in buckets, making Dan cold and miserable. “I’m going to catch my death in this weather! Can’t you go any faster?”
Rack held the reins in one hand and put his arm around Dan’s shoulders, pulling him close to him. Rack was soaking wet. Then, Dan felt the water in his clothes flow down, to his pants and out. Rain hit him, but didn’t make him wet anymore.
“How did you do that?”
Rack turned his head and without warning, kissed Dan’s hair. “I have a blessing and a curse.”
Dan put his arms around Rack’s waist, turned his head to look up at him. “You made it rain.”
“Yes, I did.”
“That’s your Indian name. Rainmaker.”
“He-Who-Makes-Rain but yes, the same thing.”
“How can you do that?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Tell me.”
He began, “A very long time ago, I lived among what the Latins called the Lutici. We called ourselves Luczh. I died of a wasting disease and went to the underworld.” He paused, to let that sink in.
Dan said, “You died?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re alive.”
“I came back.”
“How?”
“A goddess came and brought me back. I’ve to come to help people. I bring them rain and water. It’s part of my power.” He sighed, “But people that I love, unless they love me back, they sicken and die.” He shrugged, “So I try not to love people anymore.”
Dan leaned his head into Rack’s shoulder. “I think I love you,” he said.
“You think,” Rack chuckled. “You’re how old?”
“Twenty-two.”
“I thought you were older. And you’re running away from what you had. You would fall into my arms because I’m the first person to show you love – and then you would die.”
“If you lived with the Romans, then that was at least…almost 1900 years ago.”
“The Latins. I died in 926. So about a thousand years.”
“You’ve lived for a thousand years?” Dan gazed up at Rack.
Rack turned into the path to his house. “You don’t seem that concerned. You’re more worried that I’m alone.” He smiled down at Dan. “That’s very kind of you.”
Dan hit Rack’s hard body with his hand. “Stop doing that!”
Rack laughed, as the punch didn’t even hurt. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”
“That’s why nobody likes you – you know what they’re thinking.”
“Not what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling.” He hugged Dan to him as he pulled into the barn. “Go into the house. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Rack?”
“Hm?”
Dan turned, took Rack’s soaking wet head in both of his hands, and kissed those wet lips. Rack grunted in surprise, but didn’t pull away. He cupped the back of Dan’s head and pulled him in further. Their tongues slid along each other’s, and both men moaned, finally giving in. Rack dropped the reins and put his other arm around Dan, while Dan wrapped his arms around Rack.
The two men broke from the kiss for a moment. Rack said, his voice thick, “You’re going to–”
Dan put a finger on Rack’s lips. “Shhh. I don’t want to hear that talk anymore.”
Rack got his breath back and said firmly, “Go in the house.”
“No. I’m going to help you and then I want to do more than just kiss you.”
“Then the sooner we get the wagon unhitched, the sooner you can do that.”
Both men jumped off the wagon, unhitched it in record time, and put the horse in the stall with water and food. Rack checked on the other animals. Dan waited by the door of the barn.
Rack closed the barn, and the two men went to the house, Dan running the distance while Rack walking in the rain. Rack opened the door and let him inside.
In the dark, Dan grabbed Rack by the front of his shirt and kissed him madly. “You’re soaking wet,” he said, starting to unbutton Rack’s shirt.
“I can take care of that,” he said, and Dan felt the shirt get dry under his fingers. Water flowed onto the floor, into a puddle.
“Amazing,” whispered Dan. Rack stepped out of the puddle to the bottom step. Dan reached for him, and Rack took his hands, drawing him upstairs.
4.
“It’s Sunday,” Rack said two days later, throwing open the curtains to the bedroom. Wan sunlight streamed in.
Dan realized this was the first time he had not kept the Sabbath. Unless being in bed almost all day making love to someone he professed it to counted.
“I have to go to church,” he said, disgusted.
“Why?”
“To see and be seen. If I don’t go to church every once in a while, then they think I’m holding pagan rites out here and will come up my road with torches and pitchforks.” He smiled at Dan. “Not to say that I’m not holding pagan rites.” He kissed Dan over the bed. “Wear your Sunday best if you have it.”
Dan got his bag and emptied it out in the living room. There was an extra yarmluke and his tallit in the bag. He threw those aside in disgust.
Rack came into the living room to see those items. “Ah,” he said, and picked up the shawl. “Now I see. Tomorrow, you can send a post to your family. They’ll be worried.”
“Father will disown me.” Dan looked at the tallit. “Mother will morn.”
“A family is important, Dan. Sometimes, that’s all you have.”
“I don’t want to marry that woman.”
“Tell them you don’t want to marry at all.”
“But my father wants to continue the family name.”
“You can do what most people do – marry her and live away from her. Father her children and be done with it.”
“That’s even worse. I would abandon her.”
“Or find a woman that you like and –” Rack stopped, seeing Dan’s face. “I see.” Rack smiled.
“See what?”
“You told me not to tell you what you’re feeling.”
“You’ll do it anyway.”
Rack laughed, placed his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “That’s right. You don’t want to love anyone else right now.”
“Ever,” he said, looking up at Rack’s eyes.
“You’d better get dressed, or I’ll change my mind about going to town.”
They both rode into St. Mary’s. Dan had never been to a gentile service, so Rack had to explain the service to him. It was in Latin, first of all, and the priest did not look at the congregation unless to lecture them.
The rain had ushered in fall, so the air was cooler than it had been in days. Rack parked his wagon far from the others, paid a negro to watch it along with the others, and they started down the street to the church.
Rack stood apart from the crowd of people near the church, but Dan could tell they were looking at him with hooded eyes. Young women watched him, tiny smiles playing on their faces, and Rack tipped his hat to them. Some giggled. Dan got a fire in his chest, walking closer to Rack whenever he came upon women.
Then came the older, more matronly women, who looked down their noses at Rack. Dan couldn’t understand why. Last came the men, gathered in small groups talking, waiting for the bell to the church to ring.
“Excuse me,” he said to Dan, “I need to talk to someone. Can you wait right here?”
Dan nodded, and stood alone between the matrons and the gentlemen. A woman was staring at him, and finally broke from the women she was with and came over to him. “Hello, young man. You’re new to the Mission?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and took her hand lightly, thumb on the top of her hand.
“Oh, a gentleman, too!” She looked over at her ladies and nodded, then turned to him, smiling. “What’s a young man like you doing with a thief like Mr. Morse?”
In the time he had known Rack, he’d never asked his last name. “Thief, ma’am?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have told you. Come over here, young man. What’s your name?”
“Dan. Dan Gold.”
“Dan, yes, please, I am Mrs. Brock, and this is Mrs. Palmer…” He was introduced to four women, who offered their hands and he bowed over them.
“Please, Mrs. Somerset, tell Mr. Gold about Mr. Morse.”
“Oh, that man,” said Mrs. Somerset, rolling her eyes. “He swindled my husband out of thirty acres of land.”
“How did he do that?”
“Well!” She leaned over, “You see, he started farming on that land, and when my husband tried to put a fence, he took it down, saying it was his! Then my husband had to pay for a surveyor, and then he paid for a surveyor, and because he paid more money, the surveyor ruled in his favor!”
“He dumps bodies in the river,” said Mrs. Palmer. “He’s had a lot of farmhands go onto his land and they never come back.”
“Or they’re sick days later,” said Mrs. Brock. “No one works on his farm.”
“He feeds the men poison. Why, just this last week, didn’t Jimmy Hecken get sick?” Three women nodded.
The fourth woman, Mrs. Harvey, had said nothing to this point. The other women looked to Mrs. Harvey, and so did Dan. Her eyes were watery, but her countenance was angry. “He,” she said slowly through gritted teeth, “took away everything.”
“She lost her farm, she lost everything,” said Mrs. Brock.
“He talked my husband into signing a will,” she said, again angry, “Leaving him everything, and he died a month later of cancer in his stomach, the doctors said.”
“Poison,” said Mrs. Brock, nodding her head knowingly.
Mrs. Harvey wiped angry tears and glared beyond Dan. Dan turned around to see Rack standing alone, waiting.
The bell rang. Mrs. Brock put a comforting hand on Dan’s arm. “Please, young man, get out while you can still walk.”
A man took Mrs. Brock’s arm and nodded to Dan, then escorted her into the church. Rack, his hands in his pockets, went up to Dan. “Let me guess.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
He nodded toward the women. “Do what they say you did?”
“What did they say I did?”
“You swindled them out of some land?”
Rack shrugged. “I probably did.”
“You took one woman’s house.”
“Oh, Harvey? He owed me money from gambling debts on the race horses. He said he’d just sign his farm over to me. I took it.”
“And his widow? And orphan?”
“Pshaw, she’s got money from a pension. Besides, she had a man she was chasing on the side here in town. The drug store owner, Mr. Blake.” He snorted. “She tried to chase me, too.”
“She did?”
“One thing you’ll learn about this town is that everyone here has some story about me that’s bad. I’ve done nothing but good for these people. I’ve kept the land, I’ve lived my life. I help where I can. But it’s not good enough for them. They’re money-greedy, land-grabbing snakes who don’t know how to love the Earth and take care of their own families. They’re out for themselves.”
“So you play their game, too?”
Rack’s eyes flashed in anger.
They approached the door to the church. The priest noticed the two of them. “Mr. Morse,” he said, “It’s good to see you again.”
“Good to see you too, Father Guilllet. This is Dan. It’s his first mass here.”
“Hello, Dan. I hope you’ll be staying in town.”
“That remains to be seen,” he said, looking up at Rack.
Rack sat in one of the pews that had room. Dan noted the service was long, but not as bad as a Jewish one. Dan couldn’t talk to Rack in the church.
After the service, they went outside. They started down the street when someone called, “Excuse me, Mr. Gold!”
Dan turned around to see a man walking briskly in their direction. Dan stopped and waited for the man to catch up.
“Ah, Mr. Gold. I’m Mr. Robert Brock. My wife was talking to you earlier.”
“Yes, Mr. Brock.” Dan shook his hand.
Brock was pointedly ignoring Rack, who waited beside Dan.
“We were wondering if you would like to join us for Sunday dinner today.”
“If Rack doesn’t mind.” He looked at Rack.
Said Rack coldly, “He’s asking you, not me.”
Dan looked to Brock, then back to Rack. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Have a good time.” Rack kept walking down the street to his wagon.
“I’m so glad you decided to come,” said Mrs. Brock when Mr. Brock brought him to their carriage. It was a nice covered carriage, something he was used to, pulled by two mares. They had a negro driver, who opened the door for them to get in. Dan sat next to Mr. Brock, as was expected of a man of his station.
“It’s so seldom we have guests,” she said, and prattled on about the town, about buildings that were built with funds provided by them, buildings named after them, streets named after them. The Brocks let it be known that in this town, they were rich ones. Dan’s father always said it was good to cultivate the rich gentiles – one never knew when they would be useful.
They went through a gated area with a huge wrought-iron fence surrounding it. The carriage went down a long lane, going to a huge box-shaped house with colonnades, sitting on a dias. He got out of the carriage, staring up at it in awe.
Mrs. Brock offered her hand to Dan, who took it, and escorted her to the building. He had seen houses like this in New York, but on a much smaller scale. Everything was so big here. A servant took his jacket and offered him cold lemonade. They walked through the house, Mrs. Brock showing him all her artwork and awards she had gotten from the town. They went to the dining room and were served a three course luncheon.
Dan noticed all they talked about were themselves. When Mr. Brock asked Dan where he was from, Mr. Brock went into a long diatribe about his brother in New York City, how they lived much better here in the country, and did Dan know that Brock was applying to be a member on the board of directors for the bank they were planning on opening up in town?
They didn’t care about Dan. They talked and talked about nothing in particular, nothing of import to him. They didn’t talk about their farm, the land, only when it meant the amount of money it was making them.
Dan missed Rack. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, I’m very fatigued.”
Both of them looked worried. “You must rest, then,” said Mr. Brock, getting up from the table.
“I need to go home–back to the farm.”
“Are you sure you want to go there?”
Mrs. Brock said, “It’s probably what’s making you sick.”
Dan couldn’t say, No, you are. “All of my things are there. I would love to stay here, but…”
“Of course, of course.” Brock snapped his fingers, and the butler came running. “See to it that Mr. Gold is safely returned to the Morse farm.”
“Yes, sir,” said the butler with a bow. “Right this way, sir.”
“Thank you for a lovely luncheon,” said Dan, taking Mrs. Brock’s hand and shaking Mr. Brock’s.
“Please come back again!” called Mrs. Brock.
Not if I can help it, he thought, and followed the butler to the door. He got his hat and coat, and climbed into the carriage.
Dan leaned back into the carriage with a sigh. Finally, quiet. He wanted Rack. He wanted his simple life. Well, maybe hire someone to do the washing. The carriage stopped. Dan leaned out the window to see what was going on. It looked like some cowboys were…robbing the bank?
“What’s–”
His carriage door opened, and a man in a beaten and weathered cowboy hat with one white eye and one blue one leered at him. “Lookit we got here!” The man reached in to grab Dan, but Dan kicked him in the face and slammed shut the door, holding the handle tight.
“Gah, you scrawny little shit!” The man outside tried the handle but Dan held it fast, those few days on the farm having improved his strength. He heard a snap, and then someone stuck their hands in the windows, which had no glass, only curtains. Dan ducked out of the way of them, still holding onto the door handle.
“What’s in there?”
“Who the hell cares? Tip it over!”
Dan looked around wildly, as they started to rock the carriage. “Heave!” he heard a bunch of men yell and the carriage tipped onto the side without a door. Dan tumbled against it, landing hard against the windows, snapping their fragile frames.
He shook his head, slightly dazed, and shoved off the cushions that had fallen off the seats. Dan saw someone tear off the door and look inside. “It’s a man,” said a big man, leaning into the carriage. Dan tried to make himself small, getting out of the way of someone’s grabbing hands, but they grabbed a hold of his hair and pulled.
Dan yelled as they pulled him out of the broken doorway and flopped him onto the street, in the dirt. Someone put one foot on his back. “Lookit what we have here,” said someone, as another person lifted his head by the hair. He stared into a man’s bloody face. “You broke my nose, you runt.”
The man hauled off and hit Dan right in the face. Dan rolled with it, rolling over onto his back. The man kicked him in the ribs, and Dan grunted. He struggled to get up, but the man took him by the hair again and lifted him from the ground, yanking him to his feet. He stumbled and the man twirled him around. He hit him again in the ribs, and threw him back into the dirt, face down.
Dan brought his hands up near his face, to try and push himself up. The man grabbed him by the hair again. This time he wound up, getting ready to hit.
“PUT HIM DOWN!”
Dan almost swooned at that voice. “Oh, thank God,” he muttered.
The man dropped Dan with a thud to the ground. “Who the hell are you?”
Dan again brought his hands up to his shoulders and pushed himself up to his knees.
“What are you doing to my town?” Rack demanded.
“Your town. Your town?” The man laughed.
Dan saw it coming. “Rack, look out!”
Two men came at Rack from opposite sides of street. Rack kept walking, oblivious to them.
They caught him, and Rack stopped. He glared at the man.
“Whatcha gonna do now, big man?”
Rack hunched over, his eyes full of fury. The men on either side of him started to bleed from their ears. Then their eyes. They slid off of him, sinking to the ground, gurgling, then wheezing, then they were still.
“Leave,” said Rack, again in that strange voice he had the night at with the Indians.
“You think a trick will sc–” He put his hand to his throat. “scare–” it came out as a wheeze, then a whisper. The man started to bleed just like the other ones. Dan watched the man fall, his hand reaching toward Rack.
“You hurt my family,” Rack said angrily, and watched the man die at his feet.
Dan looked up at Rack, then back at the body, then up at Rack. People moved away from the scene. Rack stepped over the man’s body and approached Dan.
He put his hand on Dan’s cheek. “I love you,” he said.
Dan burst into tears and threw his arms around Rack.
5.
Two months later, Dan died of cancer, with Rack dying three days later of the same disorder. After that, a letter from Dan’s father arrived, telling him to go to Boston and stop being foolish.
They were placed among the heavens as Alpha Cancri.