PZA: A New Beginning - A Five Little Boy Slaves Story

I was alone! Abandoned! My life with the one I loved the most had been snuffed out just as we had found and adopted our son. The grief overwhelmed me. I simply couldn't go on 3; I thought. Perhaps I should join him.

But, no, I wasn't alone. I still had Robbie to think of. He grieved, too, but differently. His best friend Peter could help him survive that awful ache in his heart. And Danny and Billy were there for him, too; for me they were simply one more reminder of the life my lover and I had shared. By throwing himself wholly into school, football and his friends Robbie was able to grieve but not let it consume him.

Finally, one day a friend insisted on stopping to see me 3; to administer a bit of 'tough love' as it turned out.

"My friend, you have got to stop this. We all miss him, but you have become a wimp of the worst kind. Think what you're doing to your son! Think what you're doing to all of us! Is that what he would want? It's high time to stop thinking only of yourself, only of your loss."

"Do you remember one day last week when Robbie was late from football? He wasn't at football at all. He was at our house, crying his heart out in Jenny's arms! Crying because he had lost one father and was slowly losing the other one. I've never seen him so sad and terrified. You're destroying him! Is that what you want?"

"I want you to come to dinner next Monday. And bring Robbie with you. The restaurant is closed on Mondays, so it will just be family. We're going to talk this out! And if you don't come willingly, Danny and Billy and I will drag you there bodily." And he stormed out, slamming the door.

I did not doubt for a minute that he was absolutely serious. I spent the rest of the week in deep thought.

Starting from thoughts of suicide, I managed to throw off most of my gloom and actually had a plan half-formed by the time I walked into the Belvedere Restaurant on Monday. There to greet me was Jenny, Timo's wife. She was the nearest thing to a sister I had ever had and I knew she was suffering for me as well as our departed loved one. Danny and Billy took Robbie in tow and, somehow I knew things were going to be all right.

"I thank you all profoundly for trying to help me through this terrible time of my life," I told them. "I guess I haven't helped much. I confess, I thought about joining Michael!" That brought the three boys out of their seats with looks of genuine shock.

"But that would be the coward's way," I assured them and they relaxed again. "But I need to be away from you all and from this place for a while. There's just too much here that reminds me of him. So, I plan to visit a few of our clients in North America. I have heard and studied that there is a path one can seek there that leads away from sorrow and I should like to follow that path. I might be gone for a year or more."

"If, by that you mean 'who will care for Robbie whilst you are gone' there is NO PROBLEM," Timo jumped in. "My boys will be leaving for university in the fall and it would not seem right without a younger boy in our house. It's better than buying a slave," he chuckled.

"Marcus Shay, are you trying to deliberately insult me? Listen everyone; this is the man who was my best friend since we were in nappies. The one who fought so long and hard for my freedom. And now he wants to pay me? Balderdash!"

I looked at my best friend smiling sadly. "Well, perhaps this will make up for the time Father made me whip you for spilling some milk." Timo just snorted.

"Dad, if this will help you become real again, I would do it in a minute. I would give up anything 3; even my freedom 3; to have you whole again."

"Then it's settled!" crowed Danny. "Hey, Billy, just think! We'll have a little brother to pick on!"

"You think!" my son told them. If it ever came to that, he was a match for either of them even though he was three years younger and 20 kg [45 lb] lighter. But they were the best of friends, so I wasn't concerned at all.

Skipping over most of the East of North America 3; it was too much like where I had come from 3; I flew into the city of St. Louis. I purchased a motorized caravan 3; what the Yanks call a 'motor-home' 3; and set out westward.

The huge tracts of wheat and corn had a soothing effect and the small towns along the way exuded a feeling of friendliness and comfort. I was surprised at one of the crops I saw in Kansas Province 3; they raise sunflowers as a cash crop?

I did place a call to Paul Lange, Michael's brother when I passed through Denver. We talked for over an hour, but I wasn't ready to see this younger replica of my lost lover quite yet.

Just west of the first really large range of mountains 3; which the Yanks call the 'Front Range' 3; lies the little town of Buena Vista, and to the south of that town stretches the Gunderson Ranch seemingly forever.

Arnie Gunderson's father had emigrated from his native Norway and settled in the area of Wales known as the Brecon Beacons. There he made a fortune breeding high grade beef cattle. When Arnie inherited the business, he moved it to Yorkshire and it prospered there even more. In time he became one of my father's key clients. After Father passed away, I took over the account.

He was the first of our accounts in North America I had planned to visit, having moved there after the tragic death of his wife and two sons in an auto mishap. The sheer size of his ranch 3; or 'spread' as it's called by the locals 3; testified to his continuing success. I knew that he continued to raise beef cattle and, in addition, bison which the locals insist on calling 'buffalo' 3; they're not buffalo at all, not even remotely related. I also knew he had married again.

Arriving at the 'big house' as it was known, I shook hands with Arnie and met his wife, Theresa. She was a pure blooded Ute and her ancestors had lived and hunted in the area for millennia. Tall and slim with striking features, she was a very attractive woman and her graciousness and welcome only enhanced my opinion of her. It was clear from the first moment they loved each other deeply and I considered Arnie a very fortunate man.

And then an epiphany! From within the house two boys 3; eleven-year-old twins 3; skipped out to greet me. My heart stuck in my throat as I tried to stifle my gasp.

Their dark complexion, shining black hair cut just above their shoulders and flashing black eyes a gift from their mother, they aped the stocky, muscular build of their father. If Arnie noticed my gawping at them he made no mention. Standing before me, dressed in only red Speedos, I thought I had seen a vision of heaven. Even Danny, my former slave and my best friend Timo's son, could not begin to compete with the beauty of these two.

Polite and respectful to a fault, they shook my hand and from the very outset made it clear they wanted nothing more than to make my stay a pleasant one and to get to know this exotic person from across the seas. I knew my host was not a boy-lover and I had the distinct feeling that if I tried to take advantage of either of these angels, Arnie would cut my throat and feed me to the coyotes.

Truthfully, I wasn't ready for anything approaching that, but it's awfully difficult not to sample such goodies, so beautifully displayed.

Sven and Peder were bright, articulate and very friendly. They enjoyed a good tussle in the pond and on the mat. But while the skin to skin contact afforded untold opportunities for more intimate activities, not once during my stay, did they 3; or I 3; engage in anything more than hugs and pecks on their foreheads. Their gentle affection often brought me to tears, but their father had told them I had suffered a great loss and they made no attempt to question me. Somehow they understood.

They took me riding 3; me on a horse! Roping! Calf-dogging! And every other activity the great ranch hummed with.

And, just for the record, I never saw either boy completely naked, although their Speedos 3; their everyday attire which they had in a dazzling array of colors 3; left little to the imagination. Sexy? O my God yes! But I don't think they realized it and would not have cared anyway.

One thing they did question, however, was my former life as a slave. Again, Arnie had told them I had once been his friend's slaveboy but had earned my freedom and that of several of my boyhood friends. So, I told them everything 3; the good parts, the sad parts and everything in between. The cruelty and, yes, the sexual parts, too. And my life since freedom.

Their father was eager to hear the story as well and we sat with a boy in each lap as I recounted the story of my life.

The next morning I went to Arnie somewhat mollified. "I guess my story might have been a bit too intense for them last night. I'm sorry; it just sort of came out."

"You mean the sex?" I nodded. "Don't worry about that," he assured me. "They know all about sex 3; they think. I'm sure they have very thoroughly explored each other's bodies. They have that indefinable bond that twins usually have and nothing much escapes them. But sex with an adult? With another male? I don't think so. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

"But they need to be a bit more worldly wise. I expect the most intense thing," he continued, "was your telling of the cruelty Mike heaped on you all. How could someone who loved you all so deeply have been so cruel? Could have caused you so much pain and humiliation? He explained to me that it was to prepare you all for the realities of life-long slavery. But they're having a bit of difficulty with that concept."

"They know that there are persons who enjoy torturing little boys, even unto death. They know they had an older brother who died at the hands of such a man. But, I've taught them how to protect themselves and they are very good at it."

"Don't let those boyish curves fool you. One of my new hires tried to get a bit too frisky with them about a month ago and wouldn't back off. They beat the man to a pulp and then delivered him to me, neatly hogtied. He doesn't work here any more, but they just accepted the incident as part of their growing up. No, you don't want ever get these guys truly angry at you with cause. Unless you're into pain! You might want to be prepared for some questions, however. About your relationship with Mike."

They had invited me to join them on a short horseback ride, out to a series of spring-fed ponds not far from the house. We had all enjoyed cooling off 3; it was a hot day, typical for that time of year 3; and were sitting together on a bluff overlooking the long valley to the east. The boys were dressed in their signature Speedos 3; vivid blue today 3; and I had dipped in just my cutoffs.

Recognizing that my skin was not used to the sun, they had both volunteered to apply sun block to my exposed chest, back and legs.

I was lying back letting my cutoffs dry when Peder suddenly asked, "Is it hard to be a slave?"

"Very hard!" I answered. Seeing their still questioning looks, I decided not to hold back.

"You must do whatever your master tells you, even if you don't want to or even if it hurts. And you must do it right away and do it to his satisfaction or you will be punished. You might be caned or even beaten with a whip. Sometimes you might even be punished because your master likes to hear you cry and scream."

"You might have to sleep in a cold, dark dungeon without any blankets, maybe even chained up. Your food will be tasteless slop and there will never be enough 3; you'll always be hungry. Your master might work you to exhaustion and then beat you for not working still harder."

"You won't be able to go to school. You won't have any friends except maybe other slaves and they will be just as miserable as you are and you won't be allowed to show any love to them."

"You'll never have any clothes to wear. You'll always be naked, even out in public."

"Your master is the one who decides what's right or not. He makes all the decisions about your life. You have no control whatsoever. He will tell you what to do, what to think, whether you may speak. If you are hurt or fall ill 3; well that's just too bad."

"You will be treated like an animal 3; no, less than an animal. Other free people may ridicule you or try to hurt you, but you can't fight back. Striking a free person 3; even to defend your master 3; is a serious crime. You will be publicly beaten 3; sometimes both front and back 3; until you are one bloody mess. Many young slaves die this way."

From the looks of open-mouthed horror on their faces and the tears starting to form in their eyes, I could tell they were frightened. Maybe I had gone too far and needed to back off a bit.

"But not every master treats his slaves that way. Your brother was killed by such a man," I told them gently. "A good master must be strict, but he does not have to be cruel."

"Sometimes, yes. Sometimes he beat us and caused us much pain. But, other times, he loved us very much and showed that love. Above all, he kept us safe."

"Marcus, how could your father have hurt you so much? How could he have caused you and the others so much pain? How could he treat you like slaves if he loved you so much?"

"Guys, we were slaves! He bought us to save us from horrible deaths. He didn't agree with the sentence we received 3; he was shocked and sad about it. But he couldn't do anything about it 3; believe me, he tried. So he decided the only thing he could do was to keep us safe and prepare us for a life of slavery. In his way of thinking, he had to be cruel and punish us very hard to get us to accept the reality of what had happened to us. He even spent a lot of money to buy one of us back from a mine and then to nurse him back to health."

"Yes. He was cruel. He beat me with a whip the first day he owned us. And he enjoyed doing that. He made all of us work hard and learn to be good slaves. But we never doubted that loved us 3; in his way."

"But finally he risked everything 3; even his life 3; to free me once he knew I was his son. So that I could be the son he never knew he had. So I could help to free my friends. There were two of us that didn't make it, but the rest of us did. And it was only because of his love for us."

"But why could he not have just loved you? Maybe make you work hard, but be kind to you?" Sven had begun to cry.

"My mate, Michael 3; he's gone now," I sighed. "We used to take young boys and train them to be good slaves. They were boys about your age who had done something bad or who were just out of control and headed for a life of crime if we didn't straighten them out. Our son, Robbie was a boy like that. Yes, we often had to beat them before they would accept our discipline, but we were sure to tell them that we loved them and wanted only the best for them. And after a time, they accepted that."

"From their very first day with us, we held out the hope that, if they learned their lessons well and became good, hard-working slaves, they might some day be free boys again. And that hope was a powerful force in their lives."

"But the six of us were slaves for life. What hope could my father offer us? He and all of us believed we would never be free again. No hope of ever being free. He had to teach us what that meant even if he thought our sentence was wrong. We were neighborhood boys 3; boys he had watched growing and cheered at football. And one of us had sat on his lap many times as he read him stories."

"But he was determined to save us. He told me one time after I was freed how much pain and sorrow he felt at our plight. But he knew he had to somehow prepare us for the sorrowful life that was our lot. And that meant being able to stand the pain and cruelty we would face for the rest of our lives. To learn that our sole reason for life was to please our master no matter how much it might hurt. There would come a time when he could no longer protect us. It was hard, but at least we had each other 3; the other slaves and I 3; and that was the only reason we could survive. Two of us lost hope completely and sank into despair 3; and killed themselves."

"We were in that horrible life for more than two years. And then our world was turned upside down. He found there was a way we might be freed. And he learned I was his son."

It took them a while to digest all of that. "Would you beat us and hurtus if we were your slaves?" asked Sven softly.

"A few years ago, we had a boy with us to be trained as a slave. He was the son of my oldest and dearest friend 3; one of the 'six' who had been enslaved with me. His father wanted Danny to really know what his life had been like when he was a slave. At one point, the authorities made me beat him and cause him pain like he could never imagine. I nearly died with sorrow and shame, but I knew if I didn't beat him, the authorities would and he would die."

"It took him months to recover. But all through that horrible time, he loved me and knew exactly why I had done it and how much it hurt me. While he was recovering, he helped me to recover too. My mate, Michael, helped a lot as did a good friend of Danny's and another older friend, Evan. So he was never alone. Nor will you ever be alone. You will always have each other." I could tell they were having a hard time accepting that I could ever be cruel.

So I told them how Michael and I had to be cruel to Robbie before he allowed us to love him. How I had lost my temper and beat him bloody one day and he accepted it 3; I didn't, but he understood that. How he had proudly stood before his classmates and told of his old and new life. How we had saved him from being hanged. Recounting his adoption, I almost broke down.

They thought for a while and then nodded, threw their arms about me and hugged me to death. Their bare skin against mine felt fabulous! But, suddenly I was seized by sorrow 3; sorrow that Michael could not have known these two little boys. They saw my grief and just lovingly held me until it passed. I wasn't a bit ashamed to cry in front of them. Young as they were, they knew and understood. "You're pretty cool!" they assured me. "We like you a lot! May we call you Uncle Marcus?"

I was deeply touched and answered, "Yes, boys. And I feel greatly honored. You are two of the most outstanding boys I have ever met. And I love you both." But the moment had fled and it was time to climb back on our mounts and head home for supper.

In among all this boyish activity, Arnie and I did find time for some business, too. But the way these wonderful people opened their home to me gave me a sense of peace I had not had since that dreadful day.

Much I might have liked to tarry longer, after a week I knew it was time for me to move on. The night before I was ready to leave, Arnie, Theresa and I sat watching the sun go down over the mountains to the west 3; the Imperial Range he called them 3; when he said, "Well, you have shared your story with us. It's time you should know our story."

"My first wife, Maria 3; God rest her soul 3; was killed in an auto accident along with our younger son, Arthur. I was badly injured, but our older son, James, survived without a scratch. But who was to care for him while I recovered?"

"Along came a man named Teddy Pendergast who offered to take James until I recovered. In my addled state, I signed what his solicitor called a 'conditional release'. I later discovered it was an indenture contract making my son his slave indefinitely."

"He killed my son, Marcus! Painfully! Cruelly! Deliberately! My beautiful son who was all I had left." And he began to weep.

We were all silent for a while, but then he recovered and continued, "By the time I was well again, James had been dead for most of a year and I was determined to make Pendergast pay. But someone else beat me to him. He was killed during the rescue of another boy who he was just beginning to abuse."

"Thwarted in my revenge, I decided to come out here for a fresh start. I met Theresa at my physician's office, looked into her eyes and never turned back. I love her dearly and she has presented me with a pair of sons that every father can only dream about."

"I certainly concur with that assessment," I assured him. "They are just fantastic! And just so you know, it was two of my former slave-mates who led to Pendergast's death when they rescued Charlie from him 3; beautiful, loving Charlie who became their son."

The irony was not lost on my host. "Marcus, I want to tell you something. I know you are a boy-lover, a different kind of boy-lover than your father. The boys told me what you said to them the other day and I am simply astounded. But even though I disagreed with some of Mike's practices, I admired him greatly for saving all of you. I think I understand the hell he went through. But, I admire you as his son for quite another reason."

"The boys have enjoyed having you here with us and so have Theresa and I. I hope you have enjoyed them as much." I nodded vigorously. "But not once during your stay have you done anything the slightest bit off-color to or with them. That demonstrates your integrity. You sensed I would not approve, so you would not betray that trust."

Had I been on trial? Not guilty, your honor by reason of insanity! Actually I felt pretty good about it. These were good people and I would not have wanted to hurt them in any way.

"I salute you, Marcus. You may be assured your firm will always have my custom."

"But one other thing," he finished. "I know you have a son back in England and, from what you have told us, he's a fine boy, outstanding. But, find another mate! I don't care if he's male or female or even if he's ten-years-old. Your life will not be complete until you do. Your son will suffer until you do. I know whereof I speak."

One must plan carefully if you expect to survive in the area of British North America known as 'The Great Basin'. It's a land of mountains and deep canyons and it is easy to get lost and simply swallowed up by this vast wilderness. The towns are few and the roads between them are serviceable, but not exactly motorways. So you had better think seriously about where you will be able to fill up on petrol, where you can fill your water tank and where a meal 3; or at least food 3; might be found.

From the Gunderson Ranch, I headed generally southwest intending to come at last to the Pacific coastal city of San Diego. The scenery was stark but hauntingly beautiful. The peace I sought came fleetingly, but often under the stars when I had not come to a town to overnight.

Somewhere along the way, I crossed the boundary of the Navajo Nation 3; literally an independent member of the Commonwealth under the Treaty, but entirely within British North America. It seemed our American cousins had some unusual ways of parceling out the vast land they inhabited.

I came, at last, to the only sizable town in the whole nation, Kayenta, glad for a few nights 'off the road'. There was a campground located next to the main 'plaza'. Among other features it had a well-equipped service building with showers and laundry facilities. These folks had gone out of their way to make visitors comfortable.

Kayenta is a mixture of the old and new architecturally and I was entranced by the Spanish style buildings and the square, boxy structures called pueblos, many of them two and three stories high 3; much like apartment flats.

After enjoying a 'different' meal in one of the pueblos I returned to my caravan intending to study my maps and guidebooks. So, I was much surprised when a visitor came calling.

He was an older Navajo gentleman named Yiska [it means the night has passed in the Navajo language 3; I looked it up.] He was what I would call the Premier or Chief of the Navajo Nation Council and had come to Kayenta from the Council Seat at the town of Window Rock to wait for my arrival. On behalf of the Dine' Bizaad 3; his name for their nation 3; he welcomed me and pledged to help me overcome my great sorrow.

I was shocked and a bit frightened! How did he know I was coming? How did he know about 3;? In words I would come to know the full meaning of in time, he simply said, "My son, the spirits of the earth tells us all things. They told us you were coming and of the great sorrow you have in the loss of your soul-brother. Tarry with us for a while and you will be healed!"

He had used the term 'soul-brother'. I discovered it was the nearest words they had to describe the relationship between Michael and me. Never the mind, I was initially put off by his greeting, but then he said, "You will come to know many spirits who will comfort your heart and, in turn, you may have the opportunity to help some of our people. Will you join me at sunrise tomorrow so we may begin your journey?"

Something told me this man was on the level, so I agreed. That night I slept in a muddle.

When morning came, I found him sitting before their chapter house 3; sort of like a city hall 3; enjoying the cool of the morning before the sun baked the town in its daily glare. "Good morning, Bilagaana," he greeted me. "That is the name I will give to you while you are among us. It simply means 'White Man'. The spirits may call you differently if you remain with us a while."

OK, so now I had a name in their language, even if it wasn't especially flattering. I would soon find out that the name came with great honor. I spent most of the day with him listening with fascination to the tales he told of the history of his people. Much of their early contact with my people did not speak well of the British Empire.

When I tried to apologize for some of the wrongs inflicted upon them by my forbearers, he simply smiled and replied, "I thank you for your understanding. It is not often one of your people is sensitive to our ways; that speaks well of you as a person of integrity. As the spirits assured us. But, do not feel badly; we 3; you and I 3; live in the present and must banish the sorrows of the past and bring forward the joys of the future."

Was he telling me that it was time to move on from my grief and remember and honor the good life Michael and I had together? Yes he was, although I did not realize that for some days.

At my urging, he consented to be my guest for dinner. Throughout the meal, he seemed to be enjoying some private joke which he would not share with me. Something was afoot.

I found out what when I returned to my caravan to find two beautiful children waiting for me. I judged them to be about six-years-old and they were dressed only in short aprons. I sat down to talk to them and discovered their names: Tshschili [curly haired] and Doli [bluebird] and they were careful to call me 'Bilagaana'. It was starting to get dark, so I thanked them for visiting and said goodbye. They rose and bowed and I thought they were going to leave.

My shock manifested itself in the cruel words of my reply, "No! You must return to your family. Thank you for offering, but it would not be right."

Two sets of sad, brown eyes 3; filled with tears 3; looked up at me. "Please, Bilagaana, we have nowhere to sleep tonight."

You might have been able to resist those beseeching expressions, but I could not. I held out my arms and they accepted my hugs. How good it felt to hug two little children!

I had decided to sleep outside the caravan, so I got a bedroll and laid it out on the ground beside the caravan. They stood in front of it and asked me to remove their aprons.

I had supposed they were boys. Well, Tshschili certainly was unmistakably a boy, but Doli was unmistakably not.

I almost panicked! I had never had a boy quite so young 3; even Danny had been a year or so older when he first was invited to share my bed 3; but I had never had a girl of any age in my bed. What to do? And then I thought further. At their ages, they were simply little warm, cuddly bodies who needed someone to cuddle with. So, I stripped down to my shorts, slid into my sleeping bag and invited them to share.

When those naked little bodies snuggled up to me, I felt completely at peace. Yiska had fooled me completely, but he knew what he had done. My two little bed-warmers were asleep almost at once and I soon joined them.

I knew the high desert cooled off soon after sunset, but I was not adequately prepared as to how cold it could get. It was sometime just before sunrise, when I suddenly awoke 3; freezing! And my two little partners were almost numb with hypothermia!

Picking up both shivering bodies and grabbing a towel to wrap them in, I took off for the service building. Shucking my shorts, I stood under the warm spray with them in my arms until they stopped shaking. I knew they were all right, when two little sets of arms went around my neck. I knelt and continued to hug them for some time.

Since we were already wet, I decided we might as well make use of the free soap, shampoo and towels the facility provided. The soaping and rinse I gave them were accompanied with gales of giggles whenever I touched one of their ticklish spots 3; most of their bodies. There was nothing overtly sexual about their shower 3; although Tshschili did pop a boner. It afforded me also the opportunity to really look them over.

Having been thoroughly washed by me, they insisted on returning the favor. I haven't been that clean since one of Robbie's wash and rinse cycles.

Drying them and me, I carried them back to the caravan and popped them into my bed. After serious hugs, they fell asleep. And I sat there in wonder at what had happened.

By the time they awakened, the sun was well up and they could be outside dressed in only their aprons again. I fed them a quick breakfast 3; cereal and banana, both new to them 3; helped them dress and sent the off to wherever they should go.

Then I went in search of Yiska and found him in his usual spot in front of the chapter house. He looked at me and grinned, "How were your bed companions last night?"

"You are a sneaky one!" I replied. "You knew I could not turn them away. But, please, it is not necessary to 3;"

"Yes it is," he assured me. "The boy is my grandson and he and the girl have been pledged to each other since they were two summers old." He sighed, "Last winter both sets of parents were killed in an auto accident. They have been patiently waiting for someone to hold and cuddle them ever since and the spirits told us you were the one."

"Yes, we know," he answered. "They simply need someone to comfort them for a short time."

Well, it looked like I had a 'permanent' set of bed warmers, at least for the duration of my stay. Truthfully, I enjoyed their warm bodies snuggled next to me each night. I made sure to use my heaviest sleeping bag so as not to repeat the frozen experience of that first night. Nevertheless, they insisted on continuing our morning togetherness shower.

And, for the next several days, Yiska was my guide and companion during the day and a lovely little girl and boy guarded my nights. Yiska hinted several times there was something I would be asked to do for them, but did not tell me what it was until I had been with them for a full week.

"Bilagaana, I have told you the two children are pledged to each other. They have and will grow up together, binding that pledge tightly until they are of marriage age. But they need someone who is wise in the ways of children to teach them the mysteries of life. I wish you to be that person."

"No, they are not. It is proper they should grow up knowing how to please each other and reserve those activities only for each other."

My head said, "No!" but my heart said, "Yes." So began a different night-time activity for me and my two cuddles.

I had little trouble instructing Doli in the strokes that Tshschili liked and I knew enough about female anatomy to point out her pleasure places to her eager little companion. I stressed these activities were for them alone and only when they could be private. Their favorite spot was on the big bed in the caravan and I pulled the curtain and went outside to abet their privacy. Where they would find seclusion when I had gone I could not guess, but Yiska told me not to be concerned.

In due course, I introduced oral activity and they were soon quite skilled with both hands and tongues.

The most marvelous thing, however, was the veil of sorrow that had been lifted from me. I could remember my lover and grieve for his loss without being consumed by my sorrow. Had my care of these two little angels allowed me to receive that gift?

But time was moving along, and after three weeks, I knew I should be leaving. Yiska agreed, saying the spirits had ordained it. The evening before my departure, I was invited to accompany the men of the Council to the great kiva 3; I had not been invited there before. He gave me a breech-clout to wear as did all the others.

We sat about the sides of the structure with a fire burning in the center. One of the men played a drum and another a flute. After a good bit of rhythmic chanting, one of the men began a long chant and Yiska translated for me.

Then Yiska stood before all and announced, "Bilagaana has lived among us and has done the Dine' Bizaad a great service. So, it is fitting that he should be one of our nation. So, I will call him 'Bilagaana' no longer. I will call him Sik'is 3; Friend."

The next morning the entire town turned out to wish me well as I continued my journey. Prominent in the crowd were two children who smothered me with kisses, tears running down their cheeks.

3. Paradise Bay

I continued generally southwest from Kayenta and, two days later, was in the city of San Diego. It was there I planned to visit our second major North American customer, one Roger Clemmons.

He was a very private individual and I did not get to know him very well, although he did mention that he had a live-in boyfriend about his age. So I spent almost all my time with him, reviewing his accounts and making the changes he was interested in.

The last evening I had planned to be there, he surprised me by inviting me to dinner at his private 3; and very expensive 3; club. "What are your plans when you leave here?" he wanted to know.

"Well, none really. I'll probably head east taking the long way home to England. Why did you ask?"

"I have a friend by the name of Richard Goodwin who has some rather unusual investment problems. I've spoken to him about you and your firm and he is interested in talking with you."

Never one to turn down potential business for our firm, I agreed. When I asked where I might meet his friend, he chuckled and I was surprised by his answer.

"He lives with some other expatriates in a village named 'Paradise Bay' a short distance south of the Mexican border. You don't have any problem operating in Mexico, I presume?"

He laughed. "Just be prepared to offer a liberal 'tip' to the customs agent, and you'll have no problem," he assured me. "Oh, and one other thing. The age of consent in Mexico is twelve for both boys and girls 3; so long as a parent agrees. There's a lot of Mexican kids born to fourteen-year-olds."

I wasn't sure why he had seen fit to tell me that, but the next morning I headed south into what was uncharted territory for both me and our firm. As Clemmons predicted, the border crossing at Tijuana posed no difficulties even if it did leave my wallet somewhat lighter. Paradise Bay was along the Pacific Coast south of the town of Punta Baja in the Mexican Provence of Alta California. According to Clemmons the little town did not appear on any maps and its residents preferred it that way. But I had been given detailed instructions to find it.

Just south of Punta Baja there was an unmarked secondary road heading west. It wasn't very well paved and fit the directions I had been given. Bouncing about for about a half hour, I finally came to a gate in an armored fence deigned to discourage intruders. Wow! These folks really did value their privacy.

The code I had been given passed me through and I continued on. Topping a rise, I looked down upon a collection of fifty or more well-appointed and well-kept homes spread out along a circular bay. I could see why it was called 'Paradise'. I drove down into the town, seeking the address Clemmons had given me and found it at the far end. The house was set on a small rise that sloped down to the strand where there was a gentle surf breaking. Turning into the driveway, I parked on one side and jumped out.

Although it was now mid afternoon, the house seemed to be empty of people and I stood there wondering what I should do. Suddenly a boy came running around from behind carrying a surfboard.

"You must be Mister Shay," he exclaimed. "I'm Eric and Dad asked me to greet you but I didn't think you would be here this early. I'm sorry!" He dropped the board and extended his hand.

"He's off on business, but he'll be back tomorrow morning. I'm to look after you 'til then."

I studied the boy for a bit. He was a good looking lad 3; about fifteen, I wagered 3; bleached blonde hair and a build that gave mute evidence to a lot of swimming and surfing. A bit older than I usually liked, but very attractive. But what enhanced him perfectly were his clothes.

His deeply tanned skin and lack of tan-lines testified that being naked was his usual mode.

He invited me into the house and offered me a cold beer, limiting himself to a large orange soda. It was good to get out of the heat.

"I'm full of salt and sweat," he announced, "so I'm going to take a shower. Would you like to join me?"

He reappeared shortly, still sans clothes and started to make supper. "I hope you like spaghetti. It's one of my favorites and Dad says I have a way with pasta."

He asked me to taste the pasta to be sure it was done and also the sauce he had heated to be sure it was warm.

I did and shortly we sat down to a very good dinner of angel-hair pasta with a really good sauce of little shrimp and scallops. But I couldn't help notice that he seemed to wiggle his ass a good bit.

After supper, we sat on the deck watching the sun set over the blue expanse of the bay. He reached for my hand. "You must be tired from your drive, so why don't we go to bed? We don't have a guest room, but you can sleep with me."

Under most circumstances, I would have jumped at the chance, but this time I held back. Something was going on here. "I don't think so," I told him. "I'll sleep in the caravan."

"You are a very attractive kid," I told him, "but I don't think it would be right."

Aha! That was why Clemmons made the statement he had. "But your dad isn't here."

I pulled him to his feet and held him at arm's length. "Eric, you're a nice kid. But you don't know a thing about me. I might be the kind of man who would rape you and hurt you and your dad isn't here to protect you. So, I'd better not. Thank you for asking."

I withdrew to the caravan and slept with some relief that a potential disaster had been avoided and resolved to leave in the morning.

"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable last night," he greeted me in the morning. "I guess I was lonely without Dad. I'm not that way, really I'm not. It would have been fun in bed, but I understand."

"No! Please don't go! He'll be home shortly. I don't want him to think I insulted you. Please!"

I looked into those pleading eyes. "OK. I'll wait." There was clearly something going on that aroused my curiosity. Last night he had acted like a cheap whore, but today he was being very grown-up and responsible. We walked on the beach some, but he didn't have much to say.

Just before noon a battered Morris convertible pulled into the drive beside my caravan and a short, wiry, weather-beaten man got out. I noticed he was missing part of his arm. Eric immediately ran to him. Feeling the stump he grimaced.

He took the boy into his arms. "Eric stop mothering me! I'll be all right. Are you going to introduce me to our guest?" From that short byplay, I could tell that father and son loved each other deeply. I watched with interest. Then, he walked over to me and held out a hand. "I'm Richard Goodman. Sorry I wasn't here to greet you yesterday, but I trust Eric made you welcome."

Wait a minute! What was going on here? Had I been subjected to some kind of test?

Seeing my discomfort, Goodwin invited me into the house and sent Eric for cold beer. "I should explain," he said. "Our mutual friend in San Diego has been looking for someone to take care of my investments. Several have been here before you, but none have passed the test of integrity to my satisfaction. One of them was so put off when Eric propositioned him that he turned right around and went back to San Diego. Another one raped him. That one suffered an unfortunate accident on the way north after I had thrown him off the property."

"I knew you were a boy-lover, but you refused to take advantage of Eric when I wasn't here to give my permission or protect him. That tells me you are the kind of person I want as my financial adviser. You must admit, Eric is a very attractive boy."

"Yes he is," I admitted. "And if you had been here to give your permission, I might have taken him up on his offer."

"I'm sorry that we had to deceive you," he added. "I hope we might be friends and I know Eric does too."

I beckoned the boy over to me and gave him a hug. "You played your part well, my young tempter."

The rest of the day was spent getting acquainted. Goodwin's real name was Richard Nestor and he had been one of the principals in a mining venture up north. His partners had tried to cheat him, so he took all the company's ready cash 3; several thousand pounds 3; and fled to Mexico. The money was honestly his, but his former partners and the court didn't see it that way. So, he was a fugitive.

Eric, as it turned out, was not his real son. He and his parents had been on the way to La Paz, to a boy's school when they were involved in an accident with him in which the parents were killed and he lost an arm. Eric wasn't seriously hurt and turned to Richard for comfort. He had had a pretty rough childhood and responded readily to Richard's concern. Since his parents had been on their way to 'dump' Eric, he and Richard decided to live together. The accident report erroneously stated that Eric and Richard had been killed, too, so he adopted a new name and a son. One of the other residents of Paradise Bay had helped him secure 'papers' for both of them.

So, as far as anyone could know, they were Richard and Eric Goodwin, father and son.

The problem he faced was how to invest the money he had purloined without blowing his cover and with some relief from the ruinous taxes that Mexico levied on foreign nationals. He made it clear, he wanted a way that was totally legal, and I concurred. I would have to work on it.

Once again that night, I elected to sleep in the caravan. It was clear that father and son were used to sleeping together and I wasn't about to disturb that practice.

But I got a surprise, when there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Eric standing there with a little black boy. "This is Abiola. His name means 'born in honor'. I know you like boys and he would like to get to know you better." He grinned at my look of shock and continued, "Abiola has helped us before when Dad has had visitors. He is twelve and he does have his father's permission to be here with you."

He was a cute little guy, coal-black skin and a really good build. "Please, Señor Shay, could I spend the night with you? I be fun in bed for you!" How could I possibly turn him away? Eric gave me a 'thumbs up' and withdrew.

I had never had a little black boy in bed with me before. It was a new and exotic chapter. His naked skin felt marvelous 3; but somehow subtly different. Maybe it was my imagination, but this little guy felt sexier than any boy I had ever bedded. Not only were his boyish curves a treat, but his boy parts were truly extraordinary.

Suddenly, I couldn't wait to get my lips around his pole. And, when he had filled my mouth with his load, I spent hours licking his entire sexy body while he giggled as I reached his ticklish places. I surely wished Michael could have seen us, but maybe he had.

Somehow Abiola had lifted the final vestiges of my veil of sorrow from me. I still missed my lover but I could now show a little boy the physical love that Michael and I had once shared.

The next morning I met his father, Talib. He had been the president of a small country in West Africa until he was forced into exile by the white power structure. He, too, as it turned out had much the same problem as Richard. In fact, most of the residents of Paradise Bay had similar problems. All of them were hiding from someone or something.

Courteous and affable, Talib assured me that he wanted his son to 'entertain' me as a way for him to get to know and understand white folks better. It seemed a strange way of educating the boy, but who was I to complain?

I spent most of the afternoon on the phone with Chris, noodling some ways to invest Richard's money in a way that would be legal but still protect his privacy. By evening, I had put together the basic outline of my idea and I explained it to Richard. "The only thing that is necessary to make it work is a base of significant size," I told him. "Do you think there are others who would be interested?"

"I know Talib would be and he has a considerable fortune just sitting idle," he replied. "I guess the only way to find out is to call a meeting and ask."

The next evening, the entire community gathered at Talib's house. "This gentleman is Marcus Shay, an investment counselor from England," he introduced me. "I have thoroughly vetted him and his firm and I assure all of you that you can trust him completely. He has some ideas about how we may keep the Mexican taxman at bay and still earn a reasonable return on our funds."

I thanked him and began my explanation. "The basis of my suggested plan is to form a charitable foundation based in England. The foundation would be funded with contributions from each of you and, by virtue of your contributions, you would each be members of the board of governors of the foundation. My firm will handle all of the business aspects of the foundation for a modest fee."

"By investing prudently, the foundation will earn enough to pay each of the governors a substantial annual stipend that would be taxed at the much lower rate in England. As a governor, you will be free to withdraw your original investment, but that would be subject to the higher tax rates in Mexico. The charitable foundation is not taxable in either Great Britain or Mexico, but must contribute a fixed portion of its earnings to the charity of its choice. Mr. Goodwin has suggested the Orphanage of Saint Simon in Punta Baja. With a large enough initial capitalization, I believe we can be quite successful."

I spent the next two hours answering questions. These were not people who would happily part with their fortunes unless they believed in and understood my idea. The prospect of helping an orphanage appealed to some of them also. There seemed to be general consensus in favor, so I announced we would begin accepting contributions the next day.

By the following evening, the Saint Simon Foundation was capitalized to the tune of three hundred thousand million pounds! That amount was a shock to all of us. Talib was subsequently elected chairman of the board of governors and Richard was elected vice chairman. Another resident, a Doctor Taylor, would be the treasurer and the chief liaison with our firm.

Taylor was an interesting person. A dermatologist by practice, he had made the very bad choice to operate on a budding movie starlet, despite his recommendation against it. When the operation was not wholly successful, the starlet's family forced him to flee.

I spent several more days tying up loose ends 3; and delicious nights with my little black stud-muffin. But, finally, everything was signed, filed and registered, and I knew it was time for me to start for home. "I think I'll sample the beaches at Cabo San Lucas," I told my hosts at supper that evening. "I should have no trouble disposing of my caravan there and I can book a flight there for London." They encouraged me, but would be sorry to see me depart the next day.

That night Eric insisted he be allowed to be my bed partner and Abiola would fill in with Richard. He was a bit older than my preferred age for bed-warmers, but it was clear he was no slouch as to the arts of love. He was gentle and passionate 3; reminding me very much of Michael at that age. To my pleasant surprise, that memory didn't fill me with uncontrolled grief. Somehow it seemed like he was looking down on us and urging us on.

I encouraged him to call me Marcus, but he said that would not be respectful. He would call me 'Uncle Marcus' if that was OK with me. All right, I was acquiring 'nephews' at a swift pace.

As Eric and I lay in the afterglow of our love-making, I asked him, "What are your plans for the future? Have you and Richard thought about schooling, about a profession for you?" He was clearly a bright kid and could probably do most anything he set his mind to.

"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" he chuckled. "I guess I must be getting pretty good at covering."

"Don't feel sorry for me, please, Uncle. I have a good life here. I can see dark and light and can still do almost all the things I like. But, the best is that I have a Dad who loves me and wants the best for me. Not like my birth parents who only wanted to get rid of me. So, maybe that's the price I had to pay to be part of a real family. You've made Dad very happy, cause now he won't have to worry about my future."

I was almost in tears. This wonderful, strong, caring boy had had the gift of sight snatched away. Yet he wasn't bitter. He had resolved to go on with life. And love the man who would always love him back. My final lesson?

The next morning, most of Paradise Bay turned out to see me off. As I was shaking hands all around, a little black boy jumped into my arms. "I will miss you Mr. Shay. We had great fun together!"

"And I will miss you, my little friend," I assured him. I climbed into my caravan and headed south.

The highway south was fine until I crossed the border into Alta California Sud. There I met major highway construction, slowing my progress to a crawl. I had hoped to reach the city of La Paz, but nightfall found me still about 50km [30 mi] short, so I decided to simply pull off the road into the brush and spend the night. My guidebook warned of wolves and jaguars in the area, so I would sleep 'indoors'.

Shortly after I had retired, I heard and, sitting up, saw a truck pull into the brush a short distance from where I was parked. I was far enough back in the trees that they couldn't see the caravan; but, just to be safe, I quietly slipped out of bed and retrieved the rifle I had kept in a locked compartment.

The two occupants of the truck paid no heed to me as they drove an upright pole into the soft earth. Satisfied with their work, they retrieved a wrapped bundle from the back of the truck, tore off the coverings and fastened contents to the upright pole. Using my night vision goggles, I was horrified to discover it was a body.

Without so much as a comment, the two men finished securing him, climbed back into the truck and drove away.

"Don't leave me here to die! Please! I'll do anything you want. Don't lever meeeeeee!" he howled after them. I was witnessing an execution!

After waiting a few minutes to be sure the thugs were gone, I quickly slipped into my clothes, took an electric torch and the rifle and made my way cautiously to the boy. Except for a blindfold, he was naked and fastened to the pole with strands of barbed wire and every time he moved, the barbs were driven into his soft flesh. Sobbing with fright and pain he stood there apparently resigned to his fate.

When I touched him, he screamed. "Easy, son. I'm not going to hurt you. I have to get a wire cutter and I'll be right back." Returning with the heaviest one I could find, I began to cut him loose.

When I removed the blindfold, he looked up at me with frightened blue eyes. The wire was extremely tough and it took me almost a half hour to cut his bindings and lower him to the ground. All the while, he continued to sob. His hands had been tied in front of him and fastened to his genitals with what looked to be thin picture wire. Already there was a deep gash in his scrotum.

Satisfied at last that he was free of all the bindings, I picked him up and gently carried him to the caravan and laid him on my bed. Retrieving my tool and the rifle, I closed and locked the door and drew all the curtains before turning on the interior lights. And I got my first good look at him.

He looked to be about twelve, nicely built, although somewhat emaciated, with a shock of straw blonde hair and a flash of freckles sprinkled across his grimy, tear-stained face. His once fair skin was deeply tanned. Both his wrists as well as his scrotum had been cut by the wire and were bleeding and there were numerous punctures on his body from the barbs. In addition there were welts all over his body; someone had thoroughly thrashed him with a whip.

He stopped crying and looked up at me with a mixture of fright and hope. "You're safe, now, son. I'm not going to hurt you and neither is anyone else," I told him gently. "Why don't you start by telling me your name?"

He hesitated and then swallowed. "They were leaving me to die. The Reverend-father told them to do it after I bit him. I didn't want to suck him, so I 3;" he trailed off.

I treated and bandaged the cuts on his wrists and scrotum as best I could and applied antiseptic to the barb punctures. By the time I had finished, it was clear he was dreadfully tired, so I gave him some aspirin to ease the pain and he soon dropped off to sleep. Further explanations would have to wait.

I sat the rest of the night with the rifle ready in case the men should return. Listening to his little moans in his sleep, I asked myself, "What had I stumbled onto? What would have happened to the boy if I had not been there?" I knew the answer to the latter and it gave me chills.

I dozed a bit sitting in the chair until I was jolted wide awake by his scream. He was thrashing about on the bed in the throes of a nightmare and screaming for some men to stop whipping him! I immediately moved over and took him once more into my arms. "Easy, Seth. No one is going to hurt you. You're safe with me."

He gradually settled down again and went back to sleep. I lay down beside him and put my arms about him.

The sun was fully up when he finally awoke. The cuts on his scrotum and wrists had stopped bleeding, but were still causing him some pain. I sat beside him and looked down at him. His deep blue eyes still held mostly fear. "Are you hungry?" I asked him. He nodded. He was painfully thin, so I guessed he had probably not been fed adequately for some time. I would have to be a bit careful what I gave him. "How about some scrambled eggs?"

After he wolfed those down, sitting in my galley, he studied me, but the eyes now held another look. Hope.

I led him back to the bed and had him lie on his back. "I need to treat the punctures from the barbed-wire," I explained. He lay there grimacing as I applied the antiseptic, but made no complaint. Finished, we sat there studying each other. He seemed to want to tell me something. "Do you want to talk about it? You don't have to if you don't want to."

He hesitated for a moment and then flung himself into my outstretched arms and began to sob. Clinging to me desperately, the words just tumbled out of him. His story of abandonment and abuse was heart-breaking.

His mother had died when he was still a toddler and his father had remarried when he was nine. The new wife wanted nothing to do with having a child underfoot and she had finally convinced his father to send him away. They had literally sold him to a boys' school in La Paz run by a group called the Brothers of Jude. The abbot in charge had represented the school as one for troubled boys and promised he would be cared for, disciplined, educated and taught a trade.

At first he had been happy to get away from his terrible family situation, but he soon discovered the harsh reality of the school. There were forty or so boys and they were forced to work in the fields to exhaustion. There was little food and all of them were kept naked. There was no schooling and the only skills taught were those working in the fields with hoes. Each night, they were abused by the brothers 3; and the abbot 3;physically and sexually. Seth had obviously been raped and was frightened by the idea of any kind of sexual contact.

The slightest mistake or perceived misdeed by any of the boys brought on flogging and whipping. Occasionally, one of the boys simply went 'missing'. We both now knew what had happened to them. But the worst punishment he simply would not 3; or could not 3; describe.

He had bared his very soul to me, so it was only fair that I do the same for him when he asked, "Who are you, sir? And why did you save me, sir?"

"My name is Marcus Shay and I'm from England." And I told him how I had been a slave and was freed, about how I had had a mate who had been killed 3; I marveled that I was able to do so without succumbing to despair 3; and that I had a young son in England who was waiting for me to return. He listened intently.

"I would never turn away from a child who was being horribly abused," I answered. "I knew you would have been attacked by the animals and killed, and I could not let that happen no matter what. It seems you have been the victim of terrible abuse and I am grateful that I could help you."

"No! I would never do that. Now, do you think you are able to ride a short way? I think it would be a good idea if we left this place. I don't know if the men who brought you here will come back to see what has happened, but I don't think we should be here if they do."

I wrapped a light blanket around him 3; it wouldn't do to be traveling with a naked boy in the passenger seat 3; and we set out heading south into and through the city of La Paz. My guide book, identified a camping park just south of the city where I booked a site with full hookups. There were hot showers available and I was able to gently remove most of the grime from him, being careful not to aggravate his sores.

I made a bed for him on the couch and he slept much better that night. So did I.

The next morning in the convenience store on the grounds, I managed to find several tee-shirts and shorts and a pair of sandals that would fit him. At least he would have some clothing. While in the store, I casually mentioned that I was enrolling my 'son' with the Brothers of Jude and the proprietor looked at me as if I were possessed. "Señor, you must surely hate your son!" was his comment. But he refused to say more.

When I got back to the caravan, Seth was asleep on my bed once more. He seemed at peace and I just stood there drinking in his beauty. He was a very attractive boy and even after so short a time, I found I was growing attached to him.

Somehow his story had spoken to my soul and I struggled with the puzzle of what to do with him. I couldn't turn him over to the authorities; they would simply send him back to the school 3; and to his death. Could I take him with me back to England? Had I suddenly acquired another son? Was it no coincidence that I had been in the right place to rescue him?

I spent several hours later that day on the phone with both Timo and Robbie, explaining what had happened. And I presented an idea to them.

"Dad," replied my son, "you sound much more like the father I love and remember and I am overjoyed. Yes, Michael is gone, but we both, perhaps, can honor his memory by helping another little boy who is in need. If you think this right for Seth and our family, then 'right on'. I've always thought it might be cool to have a little brother." My son was opening his heart and our home to a little boy he had never met. "How soon can you come home?"

"Well, providing Seth accepts, of course, it will take a bit of time to figure out how I can get him out of Mexico. He has no papers, but I think I know someone who might be willing to help."

Robbie's mention of my lost lover had given me pause. But, somehow, I felt he not only approved but was pushing me onward.

At bedtime that night, Seth lay on my bed once more. Suddenly he held out his arms to me. "Please sir, sleep with me! You may touch me and do whatever you wish!"

I stuttered for a moment, but then replied, "Seth, you told me you hated such things."

"They just wanted to hurt me!" he started to tear up. "But you love me and would never hurt me. I can tell!"

"You must call me Marcus. And I want to take you with me to England. To be part of my family."

"Yes, Seth. You have had a terrible and painful life. And every boy deserves a family that will love and cherish him."

I gave him several more days to heal, before we started for home. I had worked out a method for getting him the necessary 'papers' but didn't want to try to travel with him before he had healed sufficiently.

We talked at length about what his life would be like in England, but I noticed he was often very pensive, obviously wrestling with a problem. I discovered what it was one afternoon when I returned from buying provisions to find him gone.

Dear Marcus,

What you have offered me is so much more than I deserve. I will always love you, but I must leave you. I can't go with you to England. Not while my friends are still living in hell at the school. Somehow I'll find a way to free them. Please try to understand!

Seth

At first I was crushed and I stood there tears running down my cheeks. But, then I realized what I had done to him. It was the same as when Father freed me, but my friends were still enslaved. Well, I would not ask him to abandon his friends, either.

Borrowing a car from the proprietor, I set off up the road toward La Paz. Sure enough, several kilometers toward the city I spied him marching resolutely along, his few spare clothes tucked under his arm. I pulled ahead of him and stopped.

He looked at me with uncertainty. "No, Marcus, please! Let me go. I must save the others!"

"Seth, I'm sorry I didn't realize this before. I know how you feel, but I didn't think about it. We are family 3; a team 3; and I will help you save them." He thought for a long minute and then hurled himself into my arms. "Seth, please forgive me. But, please! Don't ever do this to me again, please!"

He sobbed on my shoulder for a while, "I'm sorry! I should have known better. Can you ever forgive me?"

OK, I had promised him we would free his friends. But how were we going to accomplish that? It seemed clear that the authorities would not accept his word against that of the churchmen who ran the school. If only I could get into the school and take some photos of the abused boys. He agreed that would probably work, but we both doubted I could just sneak onto the premises for that purpose without getting caught. I thought of a way, but was reluctant to involve him.

It was he who finally suggested what I had considered but rejected. "Maybe you could pretend to be my father and ask to enroll me in the school. And we could ask the Reverend-father to let us stay together for one last night. That way we could get inside and maybe I could convince some of the other boys to talk to you and show you their hurts."

"Seth, do you know what you are suggesting. If I take you back there and we are discovered, they will kill you."

We spent the next several days perfecting our plan. Truthfully, I had no clear idea how I would be able to photograph evidence once we were inside, but then he told me about one of the brothers who might help us. "Brother Jerome was always kind to us and he never abused any of us. I think he would like to free us all, but doesn't know how to do that."

Bolstered by that possibility, I dyed his hair black and applied coloring to his skin to make him look more like one of the Mexican kids. I also colored my hair and skin. "I will be your father and you will be my son, Daniel," I told him.

Thus fortified, I drove us into town and we appeared at the gates of the school. The brother who answered our knock took us to another brother who was the Registrar.

"My name is Marcus Shay and this is my son Daniel," I told him. "The boy's mother is dead and I must go away for a period of time, maybe as long as five years. Since she passed away he has been wild, lazy and undisciplined.

"Fucking A right!" 'Daniel' shouted, as I had coached him, and then stood there looking sullen and angry. Angry was not a problem for him; he truly hated these so-called churchmen for what they had done to him and the other boys.

"I need to find a place for Daniel where he will be cared for and properly disciplined and brought up. A friend recommended your school and I am prepared to pay whatever it costs. Where are the other students?"

"Today they work in the fields, señor Shay. We believe hard labor promotes discipline. Your son will soon have the benefit of it."

I turned and dealt him a slap across his mouth. I was a gentle as I could be, but he still recoiled. "You had better learn to hold your tongue, Daniel!" I admonished him.

The Registrar was clearly surprised, but produced a set of papers for me to sign. They were all in Spanish, but he assured me they were routine. I found out later that I indentured 'Daniel' for life. "I have but one request. Is there a place where the boy and I can be together for one more night. I will be away from him for a long time."

The Registrar agreed and we were showed to a small guest room. Since I was a guest, 'Daniel' and I had dinner with the brothers that evening. He put on his 'angry and sullen' persona again and several times I had to slap him. The prior was present, but failed to recognize Seth.

The food was plain, but adequate and we were served by three naked boys. You didn't have to look very hard to see all the welts on their thin bodies. After dinner, we were escorted back to our room by one of the brothers and told to make ready for vespers.

The brother closed the door and left. Well, I told myself, we're not yet found out. Perhaps we can pull this off after all. We were both nervous but determined. I held my boy and tried to comfort him as best I could, marveling at his courage. He told me he had never seen food like that the whole time he had been in the school.

At this point I still had no firm idea how I was going to be able to document the abuse. Seth assured me he could lead me to the dormitory where the boys were kept and there would be lots of evidence of beatings and worse. And he knew where something else 3; he still couldn't describe it to me 3; was kept.

Shortly, there was a knock on the door and a voice called, "It's time for Vespers and you must attend." Seth began to cry, "Please don't make me go!"

"I know you'll see some of your friends there, but it can't be helped. I don't think they will let skip Vespers."

"It's not that!" he wailed. "It's 3;it's 3;it's!" Whatever it was, he wasn't yet ready to tell me 3; or simply couldn't.

"We'll sit in the back and I'll hold you," I assured him. "It will be OK." He surrendered, but I could tell he was still very upset.

Entering the chapel, we sat at the very back, but Seth continued to weep. One of the brothers 3; his garb was somewhat different 3; walked over to us. "Is there something wrong with your son?" he asked. When Seth looked up at him, he sort of started, but said nothing.

"No, he's just upset because this will be our last time together," I lied. The brother walked away.

The chapel was very dimly lit, but my eyes were drawn to a life-sized crucifix hanging behind the altar. For a minute, I thought I had seen the Christ-figure move.

In absolute horror, I turned to Seth and whispered, "This is what you couldn't tell me, isn't it?" He nodded tearfully. "This is why you didn't want to come! Oh, Seth, I'm so sorry!"

He looked up at me and nodded through his tears. Then, he looked at the boy on the cross again and began to cry harder. "It's Pedro! Oh, Pedro! He was my friend!" I pulled him to me and just let his sorrow consume him. And we sat that way until all the others had left the chapel.

Suddenly, I was aware of the brother standing over us. He motioned us over to a confessional at the side of the chapel. I didn't know what to do and was shocked when he removed the screen between us.

"Seth, it is I, Brother Jerome. I recognized you, but I don't think Reverend-father did. I'm so thankful you are alive, but why did you come back? And who is this man?"

"I'm Marcus Shay," I answered for him. "I rescued him from death and he has told me about the pain and abuse heaped upon these boys by you vermin!" I hissed.

"No, Marcus. Brother Jerome was kind and tried to comfort the boys." To Jerome, he said, "Marcus is going to take me to England and make me part of his family."

Jerome bowed his head, reached out his hand and placed it on Seth's head and replied, "May the Lord bless you! And you, too, Marcus Shay. For it is a wonderful thing this boy should have a family. But you have not told me why you came back here."

"He told me all the cruel and wicked things that are done to the boys here and simply would not agree to leave without trying to help shut down this den of depravity. We are going to try to collect enough evidence to force the civil authorities to act," I assured the brother.

"My real name is Father Anton de Vries," he began. "I'm a Jesuit and my captain-general sent me here with the blessing of the Holy Father to investigate rumors we had heard about this place. I have found things were much worse than the rumors. I have been collecting information, but have no way to verify what I have found. The other brothers here and the Reverend-father 3; even Archbishop Moloch 3; all are involved and would simply deny what I might say. And the boys are all too frightened."

I decided to trust this man. He might be our only real hope! "I plan to take photos of the boys, hopefully showing the abuse. I have a satellite phone that I can use to transmit the photos to my associates back in England and they will show them where they might do the most good. If you are willing, I can include your spoken testimony, too."

He looked at me in wonder. "The Lord has answered my prayers! Together this might be enough to shut down these spawns of Satan! Meet me back here after Compline and I will show you what is happening before your very eyes."

Back in our room, we both tried to rest a bit, but were far too excited. It was near unto midnight when we went in search of Brother Jerome and found him where he had said. He quickly led us up on a catwalk which ran above several of the cells. "This was here so the prior could ascertain whether the brothers were at penance in the old days," he explained. I had wanted to leave Seth behind, but he was adamant; he dried his tears, steeled himself and plodded along after us.

In the first cell, a boy was strapped face up on a table while a sturdy brother beat him with a whip. The boy was tightly gagged, so his screams could not be heard. By the time we arrived, he had numerous bleeding weals all over his front, especially around his nipples and genitals. My phone made a soft clicking sound as I shot pictures, but the brother never heard it.

In the next cell, a very young boy was being brutally raped by four brothers. His screams had been reduced to moans. I tried my best to show each brother in action, but simply had to withdraw; I couldn't stand it any more.

In the next cell, a boy was hanging by his feet with his hands tied behind his back. Three brothers forced him to suck them, nearly choking the lad.

The next cell contained boards, hammers and nails and, without being told, I knew this was where the 'crucifixes' were made. Jerome led us down from the catwalk and to an outside courtyard. To our horror, the boy on the cross hung there.

Seth immediately tried to go to him, but Jerome stopped him. "No, Seth. You cannot touch him or the brothers will know. They will whip all the boys trying to find out who did it. I know Pedro is in agony, but he will have to suffer a while longer. I'm sorry, but we dare not risk it."

Seth gazed up at the boy on the cross 3; one who had been his friend 3; and burst into tears. I held him tightly to me as Jerome began to explain.

"There is always one boy who is undergoing this punishment. It is meted out for minor offenses or for no reason at all. Its principal effect is to terrorize all the boys so they will reveal nothing when the civil authorities inspect us. They don't look very closely or they would wonder why we have so many boys whose hands are injured."

"The victim's feet are clamped tightly to the platform and a strap just below his knees forces the boy to stand straight," he explained. "That way, most of his weight is on his legs and hips. His hands really are nailed to the cross-piece, but at least he doesn't hang by his shoulders and collapse his lungs. But the pain is excruciating! It's enhanced when a metal crown of thorns is pressed on his head until the blood runs freely from his scalp. And last, he is scourged just before the cross is lifted. The boy is not gagged while this is being done to him as it is thought best the other boys hear his screams."

"After adorning the Vesper service, the boy is left on the cross here in the courtyard all night and all the next day. If he survives 3; and death is rare 3; he is taken down to be replaced by another and his wounds are treated. The pain and emotional shock are often more than the lad can cope with and he may be like a zombie for weeks 3; or permanently. If the wounds to his hands do not heal properly, he is crippled for life. And some boys have been through this ghastly torture several times."

Seth had been quietly sobbing, his face pressed against me, while Jerome had been explaining the finer points of 'crucifixion' and I had been recording. Whether he cried for his friend or just in general at the horror wasn't important. I simply could not begin to understand how the prior, a supposed 'man of God' could inflict this barbaric torture on a young boy no matter what his transgression was.

But, then he had exposed Seth to what would have been a painful and savage death if I had not happened along. My expression must have told Jerome all he needed to know. "Yes, Marcus Shay! The Reverend-father is a madman who holds all the others 3; including the Archbishop 3; in thrall."

I finished taking pictures and bundled Seth into my arms and we sought an open spot in the courtyard from where I could transmit my images and recordings to Chris back in England. We had to wait about forty minutes for the Mexican satellite to be in range 3; forty of the longest minutes of my life. Misplaced national pride caused the Mexican government to block signals from all the other providers.

At last it swung overhead and I could transmit. I imbedded the pictures and the sound I had recorded in an e-mail with an explanation of where they were taken and instructions for Timo and Chris to forward them to the British Ambassador, The Commandant of the Policia Federal Mexicanos, the Holy See and the Archbishop of La Paz. This last might prove to be a mistake, but I had decided to take the risk. Reasonably sure my transmission had gone through 3; the satellite was out of range before Chris could reply 3; I took Seth and we retired to our cell. We would just have to wait.

Early the next morning, the door to our room burst open with a crash and four burly brothers yanked us from our beds and dragged us before the Prior. He was seated at his desk as we were both forced to our knees. To his right stood Archbishop Molloch, holding a stack of photographs.

"Well, Seth," the Prior addressed the boy, "You didn't think I recognized you, hmmmm?"

"And you, Señor Shay!" he barked at me. "What do you mean by coming here falsely and seeking to destroy us. Well, you will not succeed. We will simply label your pornographic pictures as fakes. And we will be believed because we are men of God."

Turning his attention to Seth once again, he said, "Since you seem so interested in crucifixion, we will let you experience one 3; yours! You should have died in the forest; it would have been less painful."

Realizing what he was about to do to my boy, I groveled. "Please, Reverend-father, don't do that to him. He's just a boy!"

"Our Lord was only a few years older and he accepted it," he replied unctuously. Turning to several of the brothers standing there, he gave them instructions. I heard the words 'crucifixion' and 'muerte' several times, so I knew he intended for Seth to die on a cross. All my shouting and struggles were in vain as they dragged him away screaming.

Two of them hustled me into the cell next to where they had taken Seth and opened a barred window between them so I would have to hear his screams as they nailed him to the cross. I stood in front of it watching and crying hysterically as they drove the spikes through this wrists fastening him to the cross-piece. We had failed in our mission and now my boy was going to pay for our failure.

I could watch no longer and collapsed, sobbing, onto the floor. I heard them take him outside as his shrieks became fainter.

About five minutes later, they dragged me outside into the courtyard where there now stood two crosses. Pedro hung limply from the one, standing on his platform, but the other one 3;

The platform on Seth's cross was slanted down sharply. They had tied his feet together and he kept trying to use the platform to take some of the weight off his arms and shoulders but kept slipping off it, accompanied by a shriek of pain. Blood was running down his arms and already, after only a few minutes, he was having trouble breathing. I knew he would not last long in the hot sun.

Archbishop Molloch stood there gloating. "So, gringo, you see what happens to those who oppose us." I tried to ignore him and concentrated on praying to God to save Seth. We stood there for about ten minutes as Seth moaned and convulsed.

Suddenly a brother ran into the courtyard. "Padre Prior," he shouted and unleashed a string of Spanish. I recognized 'comandante' and 'policia' and I knew my prayers had been answered. At the Prior's command, several of the brothers began to remove the boys from their crosses and I was hustled back to my cell.

I heard a good bit of shouting coming from the Prior's office and after a while a uniformed officer unlocked and opened my cell and said, " Señor, acompañar!"

The Prior's office was filled with policemen with a Comandante in charge and he addressed me, "Señor, the Reverend-father has charged that you invaded this school falsely and have made faked pictures hoping to bring dishonor to them."

"So you say, but I am inclined to believe the Reverend-father and the Archbishop."

I was beginning to lose hope when Brother Jerome stepped forward. "Por favor, Comandante, but I have here the camera that was used to take the pictures." And he held up my satellite phone. "They are not fakes, but you may see for yourself the date and time they were taken. And I have added several taken just a short time ago."

The Comandante grabbed the device and proceeded to flip through the pictures, growing more agitated by the second. By the time he had finished, his face showed the look of horror I had expected. "You, you, you," he stammered at the two churchmen. Turning to Brother Jerome, he asked, "Where are the two boys in the last pictures?"

He turned to me, "Gringo, I do not require your help to investigate this matter."

The other uniformed officers fingered their weapons nervously and the two churchmen sat there looking like punctured balloons.

The Comandante returned shortly, strode over to me and said, "Señor Shay, my abject apologies. Go to your boy. He is asking for you.

I ran down the hall and into the infirmary. The sight that greeted me almost undid me. Seth was lying on a pallet, gasping and moaning, his hands and wrists bound in blood-soaked cloths. His friend, Pedro, lay dreadfully still on the other pallet, his hands likewise wrapped.

"Marcus, please help me. Please save me. I can't stand it. I don't want to die!" Seth moaned in his delirium. Dropping to my knees beside him, I cradled his head in my arms and wept. How could I have let this happen to this little boy whom I had come to love so much. At my touch, he opened his eyes a bit and looked up at me.

"It's over, Seth," I told him. "The Comandante will send the Reverend-father and the Archbishop to prison. All the boys will be fed and treated well and never abused again."

"Then, we won!" he whispered to me, sinking back into his semi-conscious state once more.

I sat there bawling like a child. Yes, we had won, but at what a price. I had promised him I would not let anyone hurt him ever again and I had failed to keep that promise.

After a while a doctor arrived and shooed me out of the room, so I went in search of Brother Jerome once more.

"The brothers who were identified in the pictures as abusers have all been taken away and I have been left in charge," he told me. "I have given orders that no one is to harm any of the boys and they are to have adequate food and sufficient rest. And they are to work only four mornings a week in the fields."

My mind wasn't really on what he was telling me and he quickly saw that. "I am ashamed and truly sorry for what was done to your boy and I will do all I can to aid in his recovery." At that moment, the doctor reappeared.

"Both boys are in sad shape," he told us as Jerome translated for me. "The one called Pedro is in deep shock and I fear for his life. The other boy is in shock, also, but I believe he will recover. His hands and wrists are badly damaged and he needs the services of an orthopedic surgeon. There is none skilled enough in all of Alta California. You must take him to Mexico City."

I thanked the doctor for his help and returned to Seth. Lying down on the floor beside him, I put my arms about him and exhaustion finally drove me into a fitful sleep. When I awoke the next morning and sat up, Pedro was gone and Brother Jerome was sitting on his pallet.

"Yes, Marcus," he gently informed me, "Pedro is now with God. The criminals who punished him will now face a charge of murder."

Seth was awake and responsive and I managed to get him to take a little broth. He cried once more when he realized his friend had died, but Jerome told him, "Sorrow for him, little one, but he is now in the hands of our Holy Jesus. His pain is over. He was a sensitive child and would probably never have healed fully and would have been like an infant for the rest of his life." That seemed to give Seth some comfort.

That night, two of the boys from the school appeared at Seth's bedside. By their motions, I deduced they wanted to watch over Seth so I could get some rest. They were about Seth's age but I was reluctant. Jerome appeared at that moment and, after conversing with the boys for a bit, he told me, "This is Arturo and Leon. They say that you and Seth are heroes for saving them and wish to show their gratitude. I think they could watch over Seth and I think it is very important to them to do this. I will be near if Seth needs anything."

So, one of the boys settled down beside Seth's pallet and the other took me by the hand and led me back to the room we had occupied. There he undressed me, crawled into bed beside me and lovingly held me until I drifted off. After all the abuse this boy had suffered 3; his body was covered with evidence 3; he was comforting me! When I awoke the next morning, he was gone.

The next several days, I was continually at Seth's bedside. We gave him painkillers, but he was still only somewhat awake. "I want to get him to the best hospital," I told Jerome. Just as soon as he is well enough to travel."

"I understand, Marcus, and fully agree. I have an appointment with the Papal Nuncio this afternoon." That statement puzzled me, but I did not pursue it. Late that afternoon, Jerome returned from his appointment and immediately sought me out. I could tell by the look on his face that he was angry.

"Marcus, there is a problem. The Nuncio blames you for bringing dishonor upon the Church, by exposing this sordid mess."

"He's angry at me?" I asked incredulously. "What is it with these churchmen?" I asked myself.

"I know," said Jerome, sadly. "The church hierarchy sometimes acts in ways that are hardly Christian! I had hoped we could count on him to have you and the boy released."

"You are what is termed a 'material witness' and you cannot leave La Paz until after the trial. And that could be six months from now or longer."

Over the next several days, the British Ambassador, tried unsuccessfully to secure our release. He was treated very harshly by Mexican officials and finally, out of frustration, he was recalled and the Mexican Ambassador in London was sent packing.

But, at last, I decided to take matters into my own hands. By refusing to cooperate with the judicial authorities unless they met my demands, I was at last given permission to take Seth to Mexico City for treatment. He and I would travel in my caravan so he could be in bed. I would take the ferry from La Paz to Mazatlan and drive to Mexico City, under tight police escort, of course. When I exposed my plan fully to Brother Jerome, he agreed it was risky, but could think of no better solution. And he set about helping me to prepare.

Unfortunately, I could not forewarn the other players in my scheme as I was sure my satellite-phone was compromised. Nor, could I inform my 'family' back in England.

On the day scheduled, I wrapped Seth in a light blanket, strapped him gently in his bunk and set out for the city.

5. Escaping to Home

I pulled the caravan into the La Paz-Mazatlan Ferry car-park next to the hired car Brother Jerome had arranged. I hated the idea of leaving Seth in the boot [trunk] of the car but there was no help for it. I placed all my papers in the boot as well.

Managing to swap Seth for the bundle Jerome had prepared and hidden in the boot without being seen, I drove the caravan onto the ferry as soon as the gates opened, secured it and carried my 'boy' to our stateroom. Waiting until almost sailing time and dressed as an ordinary workman, I locked the stateroom and left the ferry while the purser was occupied with the press of incoming passengers.

Pausing only long enough to ascertain Seth's condition, I climbed into the rental and headed north out of the city. Once I had deemed we were far enough away, I moved Seth to the seat beside me. He was still mostly out from the pain medicine I had given him, but whimpered every so often 3; each one cut me like a knife and I had to pull over every so often to give him a sip of water and wipe the tears from my eyes.

It was with considerable relief that I sat in Richard Goodwin's kitchen four hours later while Dr. Taylor examined and treated Seth and I told Richard, Eric and Talib what had befallen us.

"Taking him back to the school when you knew there would be danger for you both was somewhat stupid," observed Richard.

"Right!" I replied testily, "just like it was 'stupid' for you to adopt Eric!" Richard just looked at me and I was immediately ashamed of my callous remark. "It was the right thing to do," I told him softly.

"I'm sure he loves me very much, but he would never have gone to England with me until he had put right the terrible wrong the Church was inflicting upon his 'brothers'. He ran away from me in sorrow when he thought I would not help him. If I had said, 'No!' he would have run away again. He simply could not bear the thought of the other boys living in torment while he was safe with me and he was determined to rescue them. And I could not abandon him, even though I knew we might suffer for it 3; how much, I could never have guessed."

"When my father first set me free," I interrupted Richard, "he expected me to be the same kind of strict, cruel and unforgiving master to my former slave-mates as he was. I loved him dearly, but I could not do that. I would try to be a good master to them but I refused to be cruel. He didn't understand that. He also failed to understand that I would never be truly free 3; never fully his son 3; until they were free, too. They and I had been through hell together and I would not forsake them."

"It took Father a long time to understand that, but the death, by his own hand, of one of us, finally changed his mind. And, without Father's help and support, the others would never have been freed and I might even have reverted to slavery again."

"I think I understand, Dad," chimed in Eric. "You lost an arm but still took in a blind boy who needed you. You didn't have to do it, but it was the most loving thing anyone had ever done for me. And you were determined to make a home for the two of us no matter what."

The Doctor had come in while we were finishing that discussion "Well, Marcus, his quest almost cost your boy his life."

"I know that doctor, but I have rarely seen anyone so courageous 3; he would have persevered unto death. How is he?"

"Still a bit of shock, I'm afraid, although he shows signs of starting to come out of it. By this time tomorrow, he should be much better on that score. But, his hands and wrists are a mess and the left one has a nasty infection. I can knock that down, but he needs immediate care from a very skilled orthopedist if he is not to lose both hands."

"He has a profound weakness in his lower extremities, too," he continued. "There's no physical or neurological damage so far as I can determine. When I asked him to try to wiggle his toes, he simply cried."

"Well, he unsuccessfully kept trying to use his feet to take the weight off his arms, but the bastards had made it impossible," I explained.

"So it may be an emotional block that he's erected," nodded the doctor. "Only time and love can release that, but I still believe he needs immediate hospital care."

"I was sure it was," Taylor agreed. "I'd suggest CHOP [Children's Hospital Of Philadelphia, a world-renowned institution in our world.] or GOSH [Great Ormond Street Hospital, an equally fine institution in present day London.]."

"Good choice," Taylor agreed. "But someone should sit with Seth over the night."

"I'll go," declared Eric. He might be blind, but having seen, first hand, Eric's abilities, I had no qualms about the care Seth would receive from him. "What could this lad accomplish if he were only sighted? I sighed to myself.

"And you need to get some rest, too," said Talib. "I have lots of room. Come!" It didn't look like he would take 'No!' for an answer.

"Well," he replied, "I'll just have to accept Talib's hospitality, too. There's no way I could persuade Eric to give up his 'post'. And it probably would not be a good idea to move Seth tonight.

And, when I awoke the next morning, there was a little black boy cuddled up against me. "Good morning, Uncle Marcus! It's nice being in your bed again. I missed you, but my father told me all about you and Seth and I know he's going to get well again!"

I just rolled him into my arms and hugged him. He purred like a well contented cat.

True to Doctor Taylor's diagnosis, Seth was much more alert this morning, although still very, very weak. He managed to sit up and take some solid food, though 3; fed by Eric, of course. How he managed to do this without spilling any of it was more than I could fathom.

By this time, the Mexican authorities had discovered my ruse and launched a nationwide search for the two of us. Obviously, I would never be able to get across the border by auto. But Talib introduced me to another of the community's shadowy residents, John Smith. He had worked for MI5 [the British equivalent of the CIA] until that agency had found his continued presence embarrassing. Whereupon, they retired him and strongly suggested he 'vacation' south of the border. I found out sometime later that his real name was Kim Philby.

"Any place that I can book flights for both of us back to England. Remember, too, Seth has no papers."

"That should not be too hard," he assured me. "I still have a few friends in the agency who owe me a few. Do you want him as 'son' or 'nephew'?" I thought 'son' might be symbolically pushing my boy too hard, so I opted for the latter. "I'll need to work on the transport a bit. I'll be back to you, but once it's 'go', you'll have to move pretty fast."

In the meantime, we could tell Seth was beginning to get better. He chafed about having to be fed and otherwise cared for like an infant. "The thing I hate most," he confessed when I pressed him, "is having Eric wipe my ass. A few times I asked him to frig me, too, and he did but it's 3; it's 3; it's 3;" He broke down and began to cry. "And I can't move my legs!"

I took him into my arms and held him close as he sobbed on my chest. "I'm going to be a cripple the rest of my life! Are you sure you want me to go with you. I'll just be a burden."

It was the first time he had said anything like that and I hastened to assure him, "Seth, when I said I would take you to England so you could be part of my family, I meant it for all time, no matter what. There's a young lad named Robbie who is dying to have a little brother. And good friends like Timo and Jenny and their son Danny. You'll meet them and we will all work together and you will be healed. It won't be easy and there may be pain. But we will be successful, of that I am sure."

"Seth," I interrupted him, "you deserve the chance to have a good life with a family who loves you. You are one of the most courageous boys I have ever met. You insisted on saving your friends before anything else. I didn't think of that at first, but I've been there, too." And I told him how I worked to free my friends.

He looked up at me in wonder as I finished, "I love you very much, Seth and I just couldn't go home without you."

"Now, as for Eric wiping your ass and holding your penis so you can pee 3; Well, we could put you in nappies, but I doubt if you want that, right?"

Smith/Philby returned with a plan. "I have a friend who captains a small freighter that makes regular trips between San Diego and Sydney. He sometimes swings south close to our coast to avoid a storm. He's carried some 'cargo' for me, but this will be the first time for passengers."

"I keep a small boat around for use. It's a rough trip, but the rendezvous is quick and works out. Now, the Normandie sails two weeks from today and it will be new moon, so get yourselves ready."

I had a dilemma that I didn't want to tell him about. I get horribly seasick. And the only medicine that keeps me from retching constantly leaves me mostly comatose. Who would care for Seth? But I was determined to find a solution.

The solution presented itself several evenings later as I sat with Eric after dinner. Abiola was with Seth at that moment, so Eric was 'off duty' so to speak. "Have you ever wished you could have your sight again?" I asked him.

He tried to keep his stiff upper lip in play. "It's no biggie. I have a good life," he tried to assure me.

But, then he broke down and began to sob. "Yes, but not for the reason you think!"

"Dad would never want you to know this. Every so often, he gets very depressed. So much so, if I wasn't here, I think he would kill himself. He blames himself for my parents' death and my injury. He can't seem to understand how much better I am without them and how much I love being his son."

"I don't miss my parents. That's a terrible thing to say! But I really don't! Hell, they were taking me to that place you rescued Seth from, I'm sure of it. Just to be rid of me!"

"When Dad's that way, I have to take care of him. And, sometimes, I have to ask Talib and Abiola for help. I'd like to have my sight back so I could take better care of him. Does that make sense?"

"It not only makes sense," I replied, "it's the most beautiful thing I've heard in a long time!" It was at that moment the solution to my dilemma burst upon me. "Eric, you are a very remarkable lad in many ways. If I were to offer you a chance to be healed, would you take it?"

"Suppose you could go, under cover, with Seth and me? There's a neurologist at Children's Hospital in London that has had much success with head injuries. It's not a sure thing, but it's a real chance."

"Hope! I told my father that one time and he said I was absurd. But I was right and he came to understand."

So 3; after a good bit of prodding and assurance 3; I acquired another 'nephew' with a passport in the name of Eric Goodwin.

We had managed to find a few things of Abiola's that fit Seth 3; sort of. And it turned out that Eric really did have clothes after all, even if they were now a little small for him. So, at least the boys would not have to travel naked. I would supplement their wardrobes once we got to Sydney.

Having no immediate use for my laptop, I presented it to Abiola, with the understanding that he would share it with Eric. I fully intended to send one home with him and equip both of them with software that would bypass the Mexican paranoia and allow them to stay in touch without compromising their community. "Hurry back, all of you!" was his parting wish. "I'll take good care of Mister Richard," he assured us.

Well, the small boat crew decided an inert body was easier to deal with during our forecasted rough, rendezvous than one constantly hurling, so they put me out before we left the shore. And the next thing I remembered was waking to the throb of engines aboard the Normandie.

It didn't take more than an hour or two for my nemesis to take hold, so I swallowed a few of my pills and spent the rest of the voyage in stupor, leaving Seth's care almost entirely to Eric. In the interest of safety, I told Captain Prentice about Eric's condition and he made sure both boys were tethered when they were above deck. Eric accepted that with grace and just continued his mission of mercy.

Every day he struggled up on deck carrying Seth who was still unable to use his legs at all. He would lay him on a mat beside me and proceed to exercise Seth's legs and hips. I tried to speak to both boys, but simply could not focus.

Five afternoons later we were in Sydney harbor and I could forsake my 'medicine' and be at least coherent. The days at sea had been good for both boys. Except for the bandages on his hands, Seth looked the picture of health, although he fretted about his helplessness and his inability to walk. And Eric 3; a more beautiful specimen of young teen-hood would be hard to find. I found that I had lost some weight, not a bad idea.

We spent our last night aboard anchored in road; we would not be able to dock until the following morning. After the first meal I had enjoyed since leaving Paradise Bay, I sat on deck with both boys as we looked for the Southern Cross in the starry heavens and watched the activity at Sydney's famous opera house.

I was just about to climb into my berth, when there was a knock. Opening, I found Eric standing there. "May I come in," he asked nervously.

"Well, Seth is asleep," he sort of stammered. "And I-I-I was wondering if you and I could, you know? Maybe?"

I had only had him in bed once 3; the night before I had gone south to La Paz. But I could tell he wanted it badly. A little older than my usual tastes, he was still a very attractive boy. And he had done so much to help with Seth 3; hell, he had done it all while I was not functioning 3; I answered him by pulling him over and stripping him.

After a short time, he sat up and said, "Uncle Marcus, there is something I would like to do, but I'm afraid to ask. I'm afraid you won't like me any more. Seth and I make love almost every night, but he's too young for what I want."

"Eric, you're just a boy and I don't think it would be right. I'd be too big for you and it would hurt a lot. I would never take advantage of you that way."

"Please!" he begged. "I want to know how it feels and I'm not a little kid any more. I want to be able to do it with Dad when I get home."

Truthfully, he was anything but small, but the last time I had my prick up an ass had been with Michael. "Would he have approved? Yes he would,"I decided.

"All right, my hunky boy, but you must promise me if it hurts too much you'll tell me. And we'll stop."

"I will." And he handed me a tube of K-Y that he had hidden in his shorts. I was sure he must have gotten it from a crew member.

I laid him on his back and put a pillow under his ass, lubed up his little hole 3; he winced when I plunged a finger into it 3; and positioned my slippery pole at the opening. "Just relax and don't try to fight me." He nodded and I began my penetration.

His yell could have been heard in Canberra and I immediately started to pull out. "No! No! Keep going!" he beseeched me. "I'm just tight and I have been trying to open my hole with my fingers! I'll be all right once you get all the way in." That was a leap of faith, so I resumed. All at once his ring gave way and I drove into him the whole way.

After that I gently rode him, accompanied by his moans of pleasure until I, at last, filled his innards. He had cum, too, and I wiped his cream off us both. "Thank you!" he burbled, "that was WONDERFUL!"

"I know. But now I know what it's like. Uncle Marcus, I love you more than anyone else except my Dad." And with that pronouncement, he dropped off to sleep.

To our delight, upon docking we found that Talib had made reservations for us at a small hotel and even provided a wheelchair for Seth and an auto that would accommodate it. So, we set off at once for the local Marks and Spencer to buy the boys some clothes.

The Aussies like their shorts 3; they call them 'stubbies' 3; really short. Fine with me, as they showed off two beautiful pairs of boys legs and accented Seth's bubble-butt. At least they both would no longer look like their clothes had been painted on their bodies. Purchases in hand, we checked in at our hotel and awaited our long anticipated reunion by phone with the family back in England.

Robbie answered the call and his yell could have been heard half-way around the world. "IT'S DAD!" For a few minutes, everyone in England was trying to talk at once and I had trouble getting my message across. I had to explain why I had not been able to contact them since I had sent the photos from La Paz. But, gradually the chaos abated and I was able to have some private time with Robbie. I could tell he was in tears.

"Oh, Dad!" he wailed. "We all thought something terrible happened to you. I would never see you again! My dad was gone forever!"

"I know, Son, and I'm sorry to have kept you wondering, but it was necessary. But, now I'm in Sydney and we'll be home in a day or two, just as soon as I can make flight arrangements."

I had not wanted to discuss that over the phone, but now I had no choice. "We went back to the school to rescue the other kids and we were caught before the authorities could act. To punish us both, the bastards crucified Seth."

"Yes and his hands and wrists will need a lot of surgery if he is to ever regain use of them. And right now, he can't walk."

"Oh my God! How could those monsters do that to a kid? They wouldn't let me see the photos you sent. Oh my God! My poor little brother!" he sobbed.

"Seth will need to go to Great Ormond Street Hospital in London and I am certain they will set things right once more. And I'm bringing another boy too. His name is Eric and his family helped us to escape. He's blind, but I'm hopeful Dr. Carson at Children's in London will be able to help him."

"Oh, Dad. You can count on me to help take care of both of them. My little brother hurt so bad! Oh my!" he wept.

"That's my boy!" I exclaimed and placed the phone in Eric's hand so he could hold it for Seth and left the room.

They had just finished their conversation when I returned. Seth looked up at me with eyes full of wonder and, perhaps, a little fear. "He wants me to be his brother!"

"But he's never even seen me! How does he know I'm not some whiny brat? Some loser who just wants to muscle in?"

"You didn't choose me! I was just so lucky you were there or I would have died!" he began to weep. "I know that sounds awful, but it's the truth!" "You're right, I didn't choose you. But someone else did!"

"I've thought about this a lot lately. Seth, do you really believe it was just happenstance that I was there when those thugs left you to die? I was supposed to be in La Paz, but I was held up. And how did I come to choose that very pull-off?"

"I believe God gave you to me so that Robbie and I can give you a good home, full of love. So that you can grow up to be the strong, compassionate man that I see in you. Even then, your first thoughts were for your friends at the school."

"Seth, all children are miracles. But some kids need some help along the way to blossom. God gave me the job of seeing that you have something you need but have never had 3; a family that loves you and will keep you safe and raise you to become a man. And I feel so humble that He chose me."

"Marcus, do you think that's why my Dad chose me?" asked Eric. "I think my parents were taking me to that same terrible school, but the accident changed all of that."

"It's certainly possible, Eric. You were abandoned just like Seth, and a brave, strong man put aside his own injuries to help a young boy. And even with your blindness, look at what you have become. And now the goal you have set for yourself, is to regain your sight so you can help your dad in his need."

That night, the three of us slept in each others arms 3; no sex, just pure love.

Two mornings later, our first-class flight settled gently onto the tarmac at Heathrow. While Seth wanted desperately to walk off the plane, we succeeded in convincing him that a chair was best 3; neither Eric nor I wanted him to be injured in the crush of passengers. He would patiently allow Eric to propel the chair with his guidance.

As we entered the arrival area from His Majesty's Customs, I was shocked but pleased to see the crowd waiting to greet us. The whole 'family' was there 3;Robbie and Timo and Jenny! Danny and Billy, Sebastian and Amy and little Marie. Jan and Chris and their Charlie.

The moment we appeared, a body came hurtling over the wicket and ran toward us dodging security personnel and deplaning passengers like a North American Football half-back. I just had enough time to quickly hand Eric my papers, before he reached me. Robbie had put on a few kilos in the time I had been away and we both crashed to the ground in a tangle of of arms and emotions. For the longest time, we simple sat there holding each other and weeping, until one of the guards asked, "Are you all right, sir?"

We assured him we were ok, got to our feet and walked, arm in arm, toward the others. Eric and Seth had continued on and were being enthusiastically greeted by the rest of the freundshaft. As we got a bit closer, Robbie broke away from me. "Got to go greet my new little brother," he explained.

Timo had come forth to envelope me in a big hug. We had been best friends since we were in nappies and his love and understanding had never been more appreciated. His 'tough-love' had been truly what I had needed.

We watched as Robbie leaned over Seth's chair and gently gripped his bicep. "Welcome home, little brother! And thank you a thousand times for the gift you have brought."

Epilog

It took six separate operations to repair the damage to Seth's wrists. And lots of very painful therapy. But it was a banner day when he could hold a cup of water and drink it without spilling any of it. His right wrist was completely restored, but his left one would always be a bit stiff and he had trouble consistently moving his fingers on that hand. His weakness in his legs had disappeared completely as soon as there had been progress restoring his wrists.

And in due time he became Seth Jordan Shay, legal heir and son of Marcus Shay and brother to Robert Edward Shay-Lange. Michael would have been proud and somehow I knew that he had been present.

It was a few days later that Seth came to me and asked, "When are you going to mark me?"

"You know. With your mark. Just like Robbie has on his chest and you have on your shoulder blade."

"Those were slave marks. I was my father's slave and Robbie was my slave. But you were never my slave," I told him.

I could tell that didn't satisfy him at all, and he went away sniffling. Clearly the mark meant something to him, but I was not going to take a branding iron to him. I thought about it and even mentioned it to Timo when I saw him the next day.

"Well, you're right Marcus," he told me. "It was our slave mark. But hasn't it become kind of a family mark? I don't think Jan and Chris have ever marked their boys, but you did mark Danny and I can tell you how proud he is that he has it."

That same evening, Robbie sought me out. "Seth says he asked you about having a mark and you refused him. I think you hurt him very much. I think he feels he isn't a real member of the family without one. Hasn't he suffered enough to have earned one?"

At first, I was annoyed at my eldest for even raising the subject but then I remembered what Michael had told me when Robbie had asked for his mark.

So that night I called the two of them to me. "Seth, do you still want to be marked like Robbie is marked?" I asked him.

"I simply cannot do that. I will never again take a branding iron to a child 3; or adult, for that matter. It is barbaric! But I will mark you in a way that will be just as permanent and it will hurt, too."

Robbie stood in the background nodding. "Let him do it, Seth. It was cruel of me to demand the branding iron. Don't be cruel to him; he loves you so much."

I had procured a jar of the paste that most ranchers now used to mark their cattle. The paste contained an acid that would eat away the top layers of skin leaving a deep burn scar just as branding did. There was no doubt it would hurt and the pain would go on for some time until the scar was deep enough.

I placed a small table in our shower and had Seth strip and lie down on it. I had Robbie strip also and asked him to hold Seth's hands above his head. Straddling him, I used my weight to hold him steady. Dipping a brush into the paste, I drew the signature fox-head on his left breast just above his nipple.

He gasped and screwed up his face as the acid began its work, but he did not cry out. We sat there for long minutes as he squirmed and tears ran down his cheeks. When I was satisfied the mark was deep enough, I got off him and used the shower spray to gently wash off the remaining paste. The mark stood out red and raw, only there was no charred skin to clean away.

Leaning over him, I kissed him gently on his lips. At my nod, Robbie released his hands and Seth put his arms around me. "Thank you, Dad. Thank you," he whispered through his pain.

Eric's first two operations were disasters. Not only did they not correct his condition, they made it worse. Now, all he could see was dark gray. What little vision he had had was gone! And he was rapidly losing hope.

Dr. Carson sat with us and gave us his verdict. "I've tried all the usual things and we appear to be very close. There is something else I can try, but you must know this. It is very dangerous and you might be permanently blind 3; or you might not come out of it at all."

Eric took a deep breath. "I want to see again so I can take proper care of my dad. If I don't make it 3; well, he has given me the best years I have ever had. I know our friends back in Paradise Bay will care of him. So, do your best, Doc."

The procedure took six hours and after it was over, Robbie, Seth and I stood next to his bed in Recovery. He had survived the operation, but had it done any good?

He finally opened his eyes and seemed to be looking about as we all held our breaths. And then he whispered, "You all look exactly like I pictured you."

He would spend several weeks at our house as he healed. He would always need glasses, but there was no doubt: HE COULD SEE! Unfortunately, there was no way we could notify Paradise Bay that would not compromise them, so we concentrated on working out a way to get him home again.

Jan finally came up with a solution; he would visit our 'client' in Mexico, taking with him a young trainee. I couldn't go as I was still very much 'wanted' there.

They managed to cross the border without a problem and soon drew up to the gate south and west of Punta Baja. They did not have the code and so had to call in. When it became known who was asking for entry, the whole community engulfed the two travelers.

As Jan described it to me, "I have never seen a welcome quite that raucous. And his dad? Oh my God, such love and affection."

He had stayed long enough to install the software that would allow them to evade the Mexican authorities and to make a cursory review of the foundation, before heading south to La Paz from where he would fly home.

The Jesuits had taken over the school, removing it from the control of the local diocese. They had quickly revamped it from top to bottom. It would still be largely for boys at risk and discipline would continue to be strict. But no boy would ever be abused, and every one would be adequately fed. While they would continue to labor in the fields, they would also be taught a trade of their choice.

The former prior and the archbishop? Even without our testimony, they and a number of the 'brothers' were convicted and were executed by garotte.

Maiocxx

A New Beginning

A Five Little Boy Slaves Story

Summary

Characters

Category & Story codes

Disclaimer

Author's note

Table of Contents

Prolog

1. Life on the Ranch

2. The Great Basin

3. Paradise Bay

4. Seth

5. Escaping to Home

Epilog

The end

Author's note