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Chapters (51)
  1. Introduction by Michael Bronski
  2. BEGINNING
  3. II
  4. III
  5. IV
  6. V
  7. VI
  8. VII
  9. VIII
  10. IX
  11. X
  12. XI
  13. XII
  14. XIII
  15. MIDDLE
  16. II
  17. III
  18. IV
  19. V
  20. VI
  21. VII
  22. VIII
  23. IX
  24. X
  25. XI
  26. XII
  27. XIII
  28. XIV
  29. XV
  30. XVI
  31. XVII
  32. XVIII
  33. XIX
  34. XX
  35. END
  36. II
  37. III
  38. IV
  39. V
  40. VI
  41. VII
  42. VIII
  43. IX
  44. X
  45. XI
  46. XII
  47. XIII
  48. XIV
  49. XV
  50. XVI
  51. About the Author

At this moment Cliff seemed heartbreakingly pathetic. The fellow didn’t know what he wanted, any more than Grandin did. Cliff certainly didn’t want what he seemed to be inviting, consciously, or not. He was a lonely affectionate kid who was hanging on at all costs, trying to stimulate or hold the other’s interest by a conversation which must have been as distasteful to himself as it was outrageous, fascinating, and upsetting to John Grandin. Like the destructive young man he had become, he was destroying, in his innocence, the very thing he thought he wanted. Grandin, looking back, began to believe that very possibly Cliff had been exploiting him for days. He was both saddened by the thought, and, curiously, intensely relieved. He got up and walked deliberately across the room like a man in a daze.

At his approach, Cliff rose from his chair and looked about him with an anxious worried smile. Though he was past caring—and indeed scarcely saw him at all now—John Grandin yet felt so sorry that he wanted to put his arms around him and say, Don’t worry, Cliff; you’ll be back in the service one of these days and everything will be all right. . . . But he knew this was untrue; Cliff’s happy days in the Marine Corps were probably already over. Aloud he said the impossible, the utterly unthinkable words, the declaration of love no one could have told him he would ever make: “Cliff, I’ve grown very fond of you, I can’t help it. . . .”

There was no satisfaction in having said it at last; but the release he felt now gave him a purpose and a deliberation he had not experienced in years. Cliff was leaning awkwardly against the fireplace mantel, uncomfortable and self-­conscious to the point of pain. John Grandin stood before him, very close. He placed his two hands on the solid but slender waist; beneath his fingers he felt the live flesh and charm and power, the whole potent youthfulness of him. Involuntarily Grandin’s hands moved around him and locked, and he drew Cliff tight against him.

For an instant the tense body froze; then it reacted, violent and automatic, as if by reflex.

Even as John Grandin saw the blue eyes suddenly blaze, the hand reach back, the brass-­handled tongs go up and swing sharply down toward the flat of his face, he knew Cliff was not to blame, knew he had brought it on himself, asked for it. . . .

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XV