Date: Mon, 22 Mar 2004 13:49:41 -0600 (CST)
From: Horacio Quiroga <horaacioquiroga@yahoo.com>
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).