The General and the Horse-Lord Page 3

  Gabriel set his coffee cup down on the edge of the desk. “Have you seen Kim the last couple of days?”

  “No. I’ve heard him come in from work but he’s usually still asleep when I leave in the morning.”

  “I went into Ho Ho’s at lunch today.” He shook his head slowly. “That is the most dysfunctional excuse for a restaurant I have ever seen. I saw two women get into a food fight, screaming and throwing pot stickers at each other’s heads. After it was all over, they got out a push broom and swept everything up.”

  “Two students?”

  “No! Two of the women behind the counter! The ones serving food!”

  John was laughing now. “Oh, God. That sort of place would hold a magnetic attraction for Kim.” He studied Gabriel’s face, saw some lingering trouble. “What’s wrong?”

  “Somebody took a punch at his pretty face. He’s got a fat lip and what looks like a little mouse under his right eye.” He held up a hand, and John realized he’d stood, pushed his chair back. “Hold on, partner. Let’s think for a minute. Don’t go in without backup.”

  John sat back down, felt his face shading dark with embarrassment. “Did you have a trial today? You’re looking very lawyerly.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Mock trial at the law school. One of my old profs asked me to help out. The rest of the crew struck a blow for freedom of expression and wore hoodies. I blew them out of the water before the game started by reminding them of their grandfathers. They were distracted and off their game from the moment I walked in the room.”

  John suspected the girl lawyers and probably some of the boys had not been thinking about their grandfathers when they studied Gabriel in dress clothes. “You look good.”

  They looked at each other then, really looked, the way they did in private, and John felt something warm and welcoming in Gabriel’s brown eyes. Gabriel stood, put his hand on John’s cheek, left it there for one intimate moment. “It’s nearly two. The lunch crowd is clearing out. I’ll go with you, rearguard action only. He’ll tell you what happened. I’ll just sit there and keep him from bolting for the door.”

  KIM went for bold when he saw the two of them walk in, his eyes as blank and glassy as obsidian, though the fat lip gave him a bit of a lisp. “Hello, Uncle. Would you like some lunch? I could make you a good stir-fry, or a bowl of soup if you want something light.”

  “I’m not here for something to eat.”

  “Really? That’s unfortunate, since this is a restaurant and I’m the cook and currently on duty. I can’t leave my post to chat with my favorite uncle and the Horse-Lord.” Gabriel had been riding Kim around on his shoulders, his big horsey, since Seoul.

  “Okay. Then I’ll have a pot of tea and a bowl of soup for two.”

  Kim narrowed his eyes at Gabriel, sitting at the table by the door, his long legs crossed and checking messages on his phone. “I knew he would squeal. Four eighty-five.”

  “That’s a good price for tea and soup,” John said, handing over a five-dollar bill. “You can keep the change as a tip for your excellent service.”

  Kim carefully placed the fifteen cents in the glass jar on the counter with the paper sign taped to the side that said TIPS. The sign was worn, the tape peeling off from the dog-eared edges. “Thank you so much!” The change tinkled when it hit the bottom of the empty jar.

  The restaurant looked worn, with dull linoleum floors and the sort of tables and plastic chairs that were sitting in low-rent diners all over America. The air smelled like tired oil and soy sauce and green onions, and the large, glass front windows were smudged. Two elderly Oriental women, with identical helmets of graying hair, had their arms around each other behind the serving line. They were leaning their heads together. John looked over at Gabriel. Surely these weren’t the two in the pot-sticker fight? Gabriel nodded. Oh, yes, they were.

  John joined him at the table by the door. “We’re having soup and tea.” He looked back at the kitchen, the cook stations visible over the top of the glass serving line. Kim kept his back to them, busy with his knife and a cutting board. “He’s going to pretend nothing happened. Look at him. He’s trying to come up with a decent excuse right now.”

  KIM set bowls of soup on the table, then poured two thimble-size celadon cups of jasmine tea. John wondered where he had unearthed the good china. The soup was creamy, fragrant with a coconut broth, and had in the middle of the bowl a little pile of green onions and tiny pieces of carrot sliced into miniature flowers. Gabriel took a spoonful. “This is really good, Kim. Did you make this?”

  “No, we have some Chinese elves back in the kitchen. I just crack the whip and keep them working.” He turned to John and flipped the blue braid over his shoulder. “Nothing happened. It was an accident, a fluke. I swear.”

  John picked up his cup and took a sip of tea, but he kept his eyes on Kim. Gabriel put his spoon down and picked up his cup, studied Kim like he was a little bird that had just flown into the wrong nest. Kim crossed his arms and looked from one to the other. “The silent treatment doesn’t work on me anymore. I’m not twelve, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  John put down the teacup and picked up his spoon. Gabriel was right. The soup was good, very good, delicate and light, with a subtle green flavor and a hint of woody mushroom underneath.

  “What do you think? Good, right?”

  The black eye was a little puffy and bruised, looked about two days old. The lip was swollen with a tiny cut. Those types of cuts usually came from a person’s teeth when they were slapped or hit in the mouth. Not together, though. It looked like two separate blows. He looked down at Kim’s right hand. The knuckles were smooth, no sign of redness or abrasion. Whatever had happened, he hadn’t hit back.

  Gabriel picked up the little teapot and refilled both of their cups.

  “All right! Fine! I told you about it, Uncle John, remember? I didn’t think you believed me. Per usual.” John took another spoonful of soup. It was outstanding. Who knew Kim could cook like this? “Okay, it was another drag queen.”

  “Another drag queen?”

  “Okay, so I’m not exactly a drag queen yet, but I told you, remember? It’s just performance art, you know? Performance art that speaks to who I am as a gay man. Speaks honestly. Truthfully. Something the two of you ought to consider, before you start casting stones. At least people my age don’t hide the fact they’re gay. We’re living with it right out in the open, black eyes and all. Whatever the consequences. Not in hiding. ”

  John and Gabriel exchanged a look, and John put down his napkin and rose. “Performance art. I see. So, if I want to get slapped around by a drag queen, I will certainly take your advice and engage in some performance art. Thank you for the soup. I’ll speak to you at home.”

  Gabriel was standing next to the table, staring at Kim, his hands on his hips. Kim reached over and gave him a quick hug around the waist. “I know, I know, I’m such a bitch, right? I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just ignore me when I get like this, okay?”

  Gabriel gave the blue braid a sharp tug. “Don’t worry, brat. I always do.”

  JOHN was steaming. It was unusual for him, because he was a man who favored action over reaction. And like most military men, he thought there was nearly always a peaceful solution if people used their brains first, before their mouths. Well, maybe 98 percent of the time there was a peaceful solution. Maybe in some parts of the world, that number would have to drop to well below 75 percent. But at his kitchen table, in Albuquerque, New Mexico?

  Kim had put a toe across an unspoken barrier, one that had never before been breached. He waited until Kim came home, at a reasonable hour for once. Kim came into the kitchen and sat down at the table like he’d come to play a game of cards. John gave him a cool look out of cool gray eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was very soft, the dangerous one that his officers and men understood meant trouble.

  At least Kim didn’t pretend not to understand. “You’re not in the army any
longer. ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ has been repealed, remember? I should ask you what you think you’re doing.”

  “What does that have to do with such an egregious breach of my privacy in a public place? But we’re not going to talk about me, because this isn’t about me, right? Why would you try to hurt Gabriel that way? You know he’s got a family, kids. His son is fourteen. Whatever private life he’s chosen, it’s his private life, do you understand? His privacy. His life. You don’t own it, you don’t have any piece in it, and you don’t get to decide about the flow of information. How dare you, Kim?” Kim stared down at the table, eyes glistening. “But I don’t think you were trying to hurt him. You knew it would hurt me. Weak fighters always go for a sucker punch on their way to the floor.”

  Tears were standing in Kim’s eyes, and he looked as furious as John felt. “Of course it would hurt you! Because you’ve loved him for years. He’s been your lover for years. You think I don’t know? It just pisses me off that you’re living some kind of half-life, and dragging him into the shadows with you, just to, what, protect your reputation? I mean, I don’t get it. You’re retired now. It’s been a year. I thought you would step up and claim your life! You put it on hold for the military, I get it. There is a price to pay to serve, I understand that. You explained it to me and I accepted it. It was important work and somebody had to do it. But do you really think what you have is the best there is, or even in any way an acceptable life? If I had really thought, right about the time I realized I was gay, that the sort of life you lived was what my life was destined to be, I would have swallowed a handful of pills and been done with it.”

  John gripped the edge of the tabletop. “And do you really think life as a gay man was the same in 1972 as 2012? You think those years didn’t matter? You don’t know dick about my life, and you’re making a mistake if you’re trying to outthink me. I am not what this is about. Now, you tell me right now what the fuck happened to your face, or you can go out to the garage and start packing.”

  Kim stared down at the wooden tabletop for a long time, and then he reached across and took John’s wrist between two fingers. John let go of the tabletop and Kim slid his hand into his. “I’m sorry. And I’ll tell the Horse-Lord I’m sorry too. I was out of line.”

  “What happened?”

  “I went out with this guy I met. It was okay at first. Then he started getting physical. You know, just a little too rough when he grabbed my arm. Maybe he’d try to hold me in my seat when I wanted to get up. I caught him checking the numbers on my phone a few nights ago, and he made some joke about watching what I was doing. Keeping an eye on me. It just… I don’t know. He was making me nervous. Sending up red flags. I knew something wasn’t right. So I told him I wanted to take it easy, back off a little bit, see other people. He backhanded me. That’s when my lip got cut. Then he looked at me and very deliberately hit me again. I think he wanted to mark me, you know? Put his mark on my face.”

  “Is he a student here?”

  Kim shook his head. “No, not a student. Uncle John, you’ve got to promise me you won’t go off.”

  “Why would I go off?”

  “He’s one of my instructors.”

  JOHN extracted the necessary information, and then he kissed his baby on the forehead and made grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup for supper. They played Crazy Eights until Kim got quiet again, and he took his phone and went off to the garage to call Gabriel. John didn’t think Kim had seen Gabriel flinch in the restaurant. He’d covered it quickly enough, but John had seen it, seen the way Gabriel’s jaw tightened, like he was getting ready for a blow.

  But do you really think what you have is the best there is, or even in any way an acceptable life? Kim’s words felt like a dirge in his head. What John thought was he was doing the best that anyone could, given a similar set of circumstances. But was that really good enough? Was he dragging Gabriel into some sort of shadow life, not fully here or there? No, he wasn’t. Gabriel didn’t get dragged anywhere. They’d both made their choices a long time ago, and he thought Gabriel, just like himself, was happy for the grace notes in his life, the few hours they could be themselves, with all their public masks removed, a few gentle and intimate hours between friends. Wasn’t that the best one could ask for? A life of service to others, with the occasional grace note? So why did he still feel so lonely? Why had so much of this last year been spent feeling an ache for something he couldn’t describe even to himself?

  Gabriel had been a Horse-Lord long before Kim started calling him by that name. He’d been a squadron leader when he was a young pilot, always had the most fearless flyers in his group. Gabriel’s squadrons were named after the famous horse warriors of the past, and he’d ridden his Apache like it was a wild pony, just barely under his control. When John flew with him the first time, his group was named for the horse warriors of the plains, the Sioux, and Gabriel’s chopper was named in honor of Crazy Horse. When they made love for the first time, Gabriel had been channeling the great Mongol warlord, Genghis Khan.

  Chapter 3

  JOHN suspected he wouldn’t hear from Gabriel for a while, after Kim’s drama-queen performance at Ho Ho’s. He had his family and his new law practice, after all, and neither one left a lot of free time for dinner with old friends and their pain-in-the-ass nephews. So he was pleasantly surprised when Gabriel sent him an email, inviting him to go to the ball game on Friday night with himself and his son, Juan. John was a fan of the Albuquerque Isotopes, the local minor league team. They worked hard and had occasional victories which made everyone in town feel a little more hopeful about the state of the world.

  It had been more than six months since he had seen Juan, so he didn’t know about the shaggy hair. When he was younger, Juan had sported hair like his father’s, a trim military cut. Now he looked like one of the Beatles, about 1965, and he reached up every few seconds and pressed his bangs down over his forehead, like he was trying to get the hair to grow faster. He had braces too, something new. John wasn’t sure which of these changes to mention, given the drooping shoulders, sullen face, and general look of misery. Juan was acting like he was being dragged to the brig, not to the ball game. They found their seats, just left of home plate, and Gabriel gave Juan twenty dollars. “This is for food. Don’t make yourself sick.” He handed over two additional twenties. “This is for either a cap or a tee shirt. If you can’t wear it to school, it’s not okay with me or your mother. And I want the change and a receipt.”

  Juan pocketed the cash with a nod, then escaped to the food court. John turned to watch him climb the stairs. The food court at Isotopes Park was a madhouse of American gluttony. You could get a foot-long Coney or Chicago dog, of course, but also pizza, pork tamales, shrimp stir-fry, funnel cakes with powdered sugar on top, and vindaloo curry. The flavors of these competing cuisines mixed with the smell of spilled beer and popcorn that hung like a cloud over the park. “Is he okay up there by himself?”

  Gabriel nodded. “Apparently he’s meeting some of his crew from school, which is the only reason he agreed to come.”

  “I remember when he used to walk behind you and try to match his stride with yours. He’d have to take a couple of running steps to catch you up every few seconds. Then he’d try to match your steps again.”

  “Those days are long gone.” Gabriel looked out over the park. “Now I’m unbearably stupid and too embarrassing to be seen with in public.” The groundskeepers were finishing the white lines, and a group of kids dressed in food costumes, a burger and a hotdog and a taco, were having a footrace out behind second base. Four middle-aged women in matching purple tee shirts were preparing to sing, standing next to a microphone, and a retired astronaut was pitching a ball to the catcher, getting ready to throw out the first ball of the game. The setting sun touched Gabriel’s face, turned his skin gold, and John looked at the laugh lines that fanned out from his eyes.

  Gabriel turned in his seat, looked at John with a smile in his eyes. “Wha
t are you looking at?” His eyes were the dark brown of very old Irish whiskey, and John smelled cedar and orange in his aftershave.

  John turned back to the park, watched the big orange mascot, Astro, shake his butt at the little taco, winner of the footrace. “Just admiring the fine view.” He could feel Gabriel smiling next to him. “You want a beer? I’ll drive if you need something stronger.”

  “They don’t make anything strong enough for the father of a fourteen-year-old son. A son who has decided he wants to go to college to be a video game tester. I told Martha I’d pay for the braces but I wasn’t going to pay for college to teach him how to play video games. She said we have to support him and let him make his own choices. Really? I don’t think so, not at fourteen. He’s like one of those soft-shell crabs in the middle of molting. Not ready to make choices about anything. Absolutely at risk from any passing predator. Dumb as a fucking stone. That’s why he’s not speaking to me. I told him he can’t be a video game tester, and then he says why don’t I know he hates seafood?”

  “You shared with him the soft-shell crab analogy?”

  Gabriel nodded. “That was probably a mistake.”

  “It’s early days yet. I think Kim was fourteen when he wanted to be an ice skater.”

  Gabriel turned in his seat and grinned. “Yeah, well, it’s all just performance art with that kid, isn’t it? I think I will take that beer. Tell them to float a piece of lime in the neck.”

  When John got back with a couple of beers, Juan was showing his father his new tee shirt. Gabriel was holding it up, and the look on his face was one John had seen before. The shirt was black, a size 2XL, and the picture showed a babe in Daisy Dukes, breasts popping out of the cut in her torn tee shirt, straddling a big bike, holding a beer in each hand. Coronas. John stared down at the beers he was carrying. Coronas, one in each hand. “Good God.”