Page 87 - The Thief's Journal

The Thief's Journal
I dared sit down on the edge of the bed and put my hand on the sheets at the spot where I judged his prick to be. That evening, beneath the light falling from above, he had the strength and physique of his great days. I suddenly sensed the possibility of escaping from the uneasiness and anxiety in which I was being smothered by the inexplicable relationship between Stilitano and Robert. If he were willing, not to love me but to let me love him, Armand, by his greater age and vigor, would have saved me. He arrived in the nick of time. Already admiring him, I was ready to lay my cheek tenderly on his dark hairy chest. I moved my hand forward. He smiled. He smiled at me for the first time and that was enough. I loved him.
“I swung some good deals,” he said.
He turned on his side. A very slight stiffening at my fly made me aware that I was hoping for his terrible hand as I lowered my head in obedience to that imperious gesture by which he demanded that I lean forward for his pleasure. Were I in love today, I would have resisted slightly so that he might get excited, that he might desire me more.
“I feel like having a drink. I'm going to get up.”
He got out of bed and dressed. When we were in the street, he congratulated me on the way I'd been frisking the queers. I was dumbfounded.
“Who told you about it?”
“Don't let that bother you.”
He even knew that I had tied one of them up. “Good work. I wouldn't have believed it.”
He then informed me that the men on the water−front knew about my method. Each victim would pass the word on about me, or would mention me to the docker (they've all been with the queers) whom he took out for a night. I was now known and feared by the queers. Armand came to tell me about my reputation and to explain that it was a danger to me. He had heard about it as soon as he got back. If Robert and Stilitano were still unaware of it, they would know before long.
“What you've done is all right, my boy. I like it.”
“Oh, it's not hard. They get scared.”
“It's all right. I wouldn't have believed it. Let's go have a drink.”
When we returned, he demanded nothing of me, and we went to sleep. The following days we saw Stilitano again. Armand met Robert and wanted to have him as soon as he laid eyes on him, but the boy roguishly eluded him. One day he said laughingly, “You've got Jeannot. Isn't that enough for you?”
“It's not the same thing.”
As a matter of fact, since learning about my nocturnal boldness, Armand had been treating me like a pal. He would talk to me and give me advice. His contempt disappeared and was replaced by a somewhat gentle and maternal solicitude. He advised me about how to dress. And in the evening, as soon as we finished our cigarettes, he would say good−night and go to sleep. As I lay beside him whom I now loved, it grieved me to be unable to give him proof of my love by inventing artful caresses. The form of friendship which he granted
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