Boy Caesar (30 page)

‘It’s as good as a sorbet,’ Jim said, as an excited Masako made a quick raid on the contents.

‘All my money goes on magazines,’ she laughed. ‘I’m addicted.’

‘But they’re essential. You know what they say. Artists need luxuries and not necessities.’

True to form, Masako settled for copies of Japanese and Paris
Vogue,
as well as urbane
ID
and the equally state-of-the-art
The Face.
The instant hit that came from making spontaneous purchases showed in the rush of excitement to her eyes. Unable to resist adding a copy of British
Vogue
to her slab of image-conscious must-haves, she reproached herself for her impulsiveness and took her stack to the counter.

Jim took hold of Masako’s carrier of goodies as they returned to the heady jostling crowds streaming both ways up and down Old Compton Street. The collective buzz tapped into Jim’s consciousness as they crossed over Dean Street and made for home. Soho had this charge about it, one that got into the nerves and stayed. Often, sitting at home, he could feel it inside him, so strong that the force-field seemed to have been absorbed by his tissues. It had never been more intense than now, as they stood outside Masako’s front door, while he apprehensively fitted the key to the lock before leading the way upstairs to her flat.

No sooner were they inside than he sensed a disturbance in the airwaves. He knew somebody had been in by the roughed-up vibrations and the displacement of the familiar patterns he recognized as home. Even before his eyes met with the evidence he guessed that person was Antonio. Scrawled in red felt-tip on a piece of paper torn from Masako’s sketchbook and Blu-tacked to the wall, Antonio had left his message:
I
,
Heliogabalus, will be sacrificed tonight on Hampstead Heath.

Jim stared at the writing in disbelief. As far as he could see
nothing else in the flat had been touched. It was like finding a suicide note, only there was still time in which to act. The fact that Antonio had warned him of his intentions struck him as a cry for help.

‘What on earth is this?’ Masako exclaimed, as she came up behind Jim and stared at the hurriedly executed message. She placed one hand on his shoulder and stood back from the red slash signalling from its improvised spot on the wall.

‘We’ve got to act fast,’ Jim said. ‘We need to find him before Slut pins him up on the orgy-tree.’

‘I’m not with you,’ Masako said, her voice dropping a tone.

‘I’m sorry. I’m talking out of my past. Heath-goers select a particular tree as a site for group sex and christen it the orgy-tree. The place may change from night to night or remain constant for weeks or even months.’

‘Then how will we find it?’ Masako asked, clearly puzzled by the notion of this shifting location.

‘Instinct. I’ll know from the lie of the land what’s in use.’

‘It’s too dangerous. Let’s notify the police and stay out of it. It may be a hoax.’

‘I need to do this. It’ll be light for at least another two or three hours. My feelings are that Antonio is already on his way to the Heath. Now is the time to find him.’

‘I’ll come with you. You can’t go alone, Jim. I won’t let you.’

Jim accepted the offer without hesitation and before he had time to reflect on the risk involved they were already headed towards Tottenham Court Road tube station.

They went down into the fetid, heat-inflected Underground and took a packed train north. Progress was slow on the crippled Northern Line, and there were inexplicably long delays at each station, the packed carriage smouldering with resigned frustration. Someone had thrown themselves on the line at Camden earlier in the day, and services continued to be interrupted.

When they got out at Hampstead and took the lift up to the street Jim felt ovened by the suffocating Tube. To his mind, its high-risk circuit could fry at any time.The place smelled like a mortuary, and he was glad to be out in the air.

The streets were still busy, and they took a right turn out of the station and climbed the hill towards Jack Straw’s Casde, the familiar landmark that signposted the way towards gay activity on the Heath. It was still daylight, and Jim clung to the notion that they might flush Antonio out of the woods before Slut and his circle arrived. It was a risk but one he knew they had to take.

He led the way through the car-park behind the pub and down a footpath that prefaced the entrance to a deep oak wood. Glades of balletic silver birch rippled in the wind as he tried to push the idea of danger from his mind. What he dreaded even more than a confrontation with Slut was the possibility of encountering Danny. He regretted allowing Masako to accompany him to a place territorialized with the imprint of nocturnal sex, a precinct given over at night to outlaws, queer-bashers and a retinue of the desperate.

The sky had clouded over and, although it didn’t look like rain, Jim was sensitive to the change in light. A woman with a greyhound on a lead nodded to them in passing, and he wondered if she had any idea of the use to which the woods were put at night.

They went through a tunnel into the trees, his foot turning up a KY Jelly tube as a sign of the previous night’s activity. He kept his eyes on the ground, eager for clues that would point in the direction of the proverbial orgy-tree. A littering of used condoms, stranded like dead jellyfish in shallow undergrowth, were additional reminders of the orgiasts who came here under cover of darkness.

Although it was early and still light Jim felt apprehensive as they entered the wood. He called out Antonio’s name once, twice, convinced he would suddenly come out of hiding. Jim kept close to Masako as they stepped in under the shadow of a group of giant oaks, trunks sculpted by the centuries into elephantine markings. He could hear the wind trapped in the dense foliage overhead, like the sea exploring the interior of a cave. The place seemed both a refuge and a potential arena for conflict. He looked down at the impacted layers of acorns, crushed under-foot, which must have been accumulating there autumn after autumn. They formed a dense, hard pattern, a decaying substratum that felt wooden underfoot.

They went deeper into the trees, and he called out Antonio’s name again, this time more assertively. He heard the sound chase off down wind before fading in a series of dramatic die-offs.

He continued to read the territory for give-away signs to recent activity. He knew that since the advent of the plague things were more organized in the community and that a night-watchman usually sat in on proceedings, his tree-post lit up by green fairy-lights. He had caught sight of this strategic point, from which condoms could be obtained, right at the entrance to the wood, the lights slung up in the tree like the snaking length of a vine.

Jim and Masako came out from the first dense grouping of oaks, crossed a clearing and went deeper into a recess of trees. Even though they were only half a mile from the main road the stillness of the place had Jim imagine they were in deep countryside. They had literally entered another world, a zone unofficially occupied by a gay community who had succeeded in making it their own. He had heard from a reliable source that even the Heath Police in their white van had been told to relax their vigil on this area of the woods at night.

‘It’s spooky here,’ Masako said, hacking into Jim’s thoughts. ‘But pictures are coming to me. I know he’s here. I’m getting flashes.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jim said, as he continued to study the ground for footprints.

‘That Antonio’s not far away. I’m getting a signal. It’s coming to me.’

‘You mean you’ve tuned in?’ Jim said excitedly.

A skinhead clone, dressed in paramilitary gear, came out of the trees and disappeared again into another part of the wood. Jim was reminded that the area was probably full of such figures, either concealed in the bushes or cruising the territory for a chance encounter. He simply wanted to find Antonio and be out of there before dark.

‘I can see him in my mind,’ Masako said. ‘He’s dressed in something long and purple. He’s gone back to being an emperor.’

‘I don’t understand. When we left him he was wearing his black Armani jacket.’

‘I’m only telling you what I see. We need to cross the stream and go further over to the right.’

Jim followed Masako as she began to pick a tentative course over a narrow stream that led into a still deeper grouping of trees. The oaks appeared even older here, ancient custodians of a place that had remained unchanged by time.There was something about their durability that struck him as oddly menacing, as though they saw off humans while remaining indifferent to anything but their own permanence.

Jim followed through a raffish tangle of brambles and bracken and succeeded in getting snared as they forced a way into the opposite wood. For the first time tonight he felt genuinely afraid. He was on the point of suggesting they turned back but kept on, unwilling to show his fear.

‘We’re not far away,’ Masako said, stopping in her tracks and staring across at a cluster of trees. Jim came up and stood at her shoulder and looked towards the oval-shaped arch into the wood. The setting sun was concentrated on the entrance, its red-gold strobe directed in a single powerful beam.

‘Maybe we should turn back,’ he said. ‘It’s not safe for us to be here with the light going.’

‘This won’t take long,’ Masako assured him. ‘Trust me. I know he’s in there.’

‘You mean he’s waiting to be sacrificed,’ Jim said, the reality of the situation starting to hit home.

They crossed the remaining distance in silence. He could hear his heart beating so loudly that it hurt.

When they went in through the arch his eyes had to adjust to the change of light. They found themselves in a circular space scored with footprints and instinctively he knew they were closing in on the orgy-tree. The ground was rutted from activity, and the remains of a fire had left its scorch-mark under a massive beech forcing its antlers upwards into the light.

‘He’s in here,’ Masako whispered, her voice dropping to accommodate the stillness of the place. She led the way forward towards a giant oak which seemed to have split itself into two distinct trees in
its industry of growth. A squirrel bolted across the foreground pursued by another in a rapid, screeching foray. As they drew nearer Jim could see Antonio’s clothes neatly folded in a parcel on the ground, the black jacket on top of the purple shirt and grey trousers, all arranged with obsessive tidiness as though placed on a chair overnight at home. As they closed in he saw that a knife had been punched through a heart cut into the oak’s warped bark. The blade had been forced in deep and had clearly remained undetected by the Heath Police, as there were traces of rust along the cutting edge. It was, he realized, a symbol that stood for a minority which lived outside convention and the law.

Quite suddenly he felt Masako place her hand on his thigh to arrest his progress.

‘Jim, quick. Look over there,’ she said, pointing to someone sitting with his back to a tree and partially concealed from view. The figure was wearing what looked like a long purple gown, the hem picked out with gold.

Jim knew immediately it was Antonio and in astonishment called out his name.

Antonio didn’t move. He sat there staring in front of him, like someone in trance. Jim wondered if he’d been drugged or had taken something to prepare himself for the violence he was anticipating. He looked every bit the sacrificial victim awaiting Slut and his coterie.

When he didn’t answer they went up to him, thrown by the force of his catatonic stare.

‘Antonio, you’ve got to come with us,’ Masako said, extending a hand. ‘Trust us. You’re with friends.’

‘All we’ve got to do is go back to the road and find a taxi,’ Jim added. ‘You can’t go through with this. These men are evil.’

Antonio still wouldn’t respond, and Jim could see that he was naked under the silk gown and shivering from the chilly night breeze that had sprung up.

‘This place puts a spell on people,’ Masako said. ‘You’ll break it by coming with us.’

Jim held out his hand, and to his surprise Antonio tentatively
gripped it. He was clearly unable to stand by himself, but with Masako’s assistance Jim succeeded in getting him to his feet.

‘What have you taken?’ Jim asked. ‘We’ll get you checked out by a doctor, when we get back.’

Antonio said nothing. He continued to stare at some imperceptible point in consciousness as Masako quickly retrieved his clothes, stuffed them into their accompanying carrier-bag and returned to help Jim walk Antonio out of the wood. Each took an arm as they moved slowly forwards, a cerise slash of sky up there in a ruckus of grey cloud being all that remained of the sunset.

With each painfully manipulated step forward Jim felt safer. He jostled with alarm as they almost tripped over two clones having sex in the grass. He took the precaution of keeping clear of the main footpath leading to the car-park, certain that Slut and his gang would use this route. The dark was coming on, and there were men in the shadows like predatory wolves. He could see and smell their presence in and amongst the trees. He wondered when the night-watchman would arrive and switch on the green fairy-lights and the whole scene would come alive.

Their progress was slow, but Jim knew they were going to make it. He was struck by the dark humour attached to the situation in their supporting someone who looked like a drag queen out of a place notorious for its subversive sexual rites. He widened their arc, even though it meant making a longer journey. He wanted to keep away from the ruins that extended into the woods, for he knew men would be waiting there, sniffing out their strategies for the night. He stopped abruptly in his tracks, startled by a noise, but it was only an owl coming on with a soft oboe in the twilight. All around them a nocturnal underworld was alerting itself to the steady arrival of night. Foxes were out and so, too, were men in their pursuit of undercover sex.

Antonio said nothing, and when they stopped and rested by a cluster of bushes Jim heard the piercing notes of a whistle issue from the direction of the orgy-tree. Its shrill alarming imperative sounded to his ears like an urgent summons. In his paranoid state he imagined they had been spotted. But it was dark now, and he
took comfort in the knowledge that it was unlikely they could be seen from the woods. Way over to their right, his eyes picked out the tunnelling headlights of the Heath Police on their night patrol. It looked like they were purposely keeping clear of the centre of gay activity, the van nosing down a footpath like a white shark cruising the depths.