Hadrian's Lover (7 page)

As it nears the end of May, planting season is quickly passing. Numerous rainsqualls attacking Antinous in the past couple of weeks have aborted all of Dean’s early attempts to get his garden in order. According to Melissa Eagleton’s report on
Salve!
, there is very little chance of the rains letting up any time soon. The loss of this year’s garden is too much for Dean, and his sigh is both weary and discordant. The Hunter family garden is his pride and joy. Every year during the spring and summer months, he spends hours each day planting, weeding, trimming, pruning, and ensuring that the finest fruits, berries, and vegetables grow in the sprawling ledges of their backyard. It is a garden to please the eye as well as provide sustenance. The top three tiers are Dean’s flower and herb gardens, each with at least two fruit or berry trees: apples, pears, and Saskatoon berries and choke cherries. Cutting through the garden’s center is a path that helps Dean navigate up and down the various tiers. As one descends closer to the riverbed, Dean has one tier for sweet corn, another for a wide variety of vegetables including tomatoes, potatoes, beets, peas, carrots, cucumbers, onions, radishes, green and yellow beans, broccoli, lettuce, cabbage, and asparagus. The last tier is split with one side strictly for raspberries while the other half is divided between strawberries and blueberries. Dean is careful to keep the berries covered with cheesecloth so the birds cannot consume his crop. Interspersed throughout are the fallow tiers in which Dean alternates his vegetable and corn gardens. These tiers are kept well weeded so the soil can replenish and be used for compost storage. To keep these areas out of sight for visitors, Dean constructed temporary partitions to surround the unused areas. Geoffrey surprised Dean one year by commissioning an artist to paint images of the flowers and plants Dean most loves to cultivate on each of his partitions. This gift was given the first
year after Dean’s garden won Hadrian’s Home Garden Award. Dean has garnered this award six times over the past ten years; the last three years consecutively.

This year is different, though. Dean isn’t thinking about winning any awards, or trying to grow a new crop. Nor has he begun his annual ritual of digging his hands into the earth, spreading manure and compost, lovingly planting seedlings, carefully thinning and weeding. Instead, Dean has been holed up inside the house, watching the rain fall—too much rain. Not enough dry time has passed in between the rain for him to work the dirt, which, rather than being in soft beds, is now in thick muddy pools.

Seated on the cushioned bench inside the bay windows, Dean stares morosely at the rain pounding down on his backyard. Gardening is his lifeboat, a ritual routine that keeps his mind from focusing on harsh memories—memories that recur every spring—always beginning on the Ides of March. “
Et tu, Brute?
” he mutters. Tears roll down his cheeks.

This depression has been creeping up on Dean for over two months. Success at keeping it hidden and at bay was destroyed when the rains came. Prior to the steady downpour, Dean was keeping his mind focused on planning out the garden, getting seedlings ready, and cleaning out his garden shed. But the rainstorms came. And although it rains every spring, and Dean suffers low days as a result, this year the pounding down of the endless stream has swollen the river, flooding the first two tiers, drowning, and eventually washing away his precious berries. The other tiers have also been ruined as the heavy rains washed off all the topsoil he had worked so hard to build up and maintain over the years, reducing much of the garden to the stone and clay that lies beneath. To make matters worse, Geoffrey has been working late nearly every night for close to three months. With too much time on his hands, not seeing other outlets like sewing or house cleaning as options, Dean slowly has sunk deeper and deeper into a funk. So overwhelmed by emotion and memories he no longer tries to restrain in his mind’s recesses, Dean doesn’t hear the bubble pull up; they are such quiet vehicles. Its sudden appearance in the small parkway next to the backdoor startles Dean into awareness and fear sends the blood racing through his body. Quickly wiping his eyes, Dean dashes into the washroom where he splashes cold water over his face, hoping to hide his tired red eyes from his lover.
What time is it?
Dean wonders. The boys aren’t home from school yet.
What’s Geoffrey doing here?
In a panic, Dean blinks his right eye,
looking at the clock to check the hour.
It’s only 2:30,
he groans. Geoffrey is two full hours early.
Why is he home now? Maybe he knows. What to do? Go to the bedroom? Pretend to sleep? No,
Dean realizes,
that would tip Geoffrey off.
Rushing into the kitchen, Dean begins to pull out pots and pans, quickly planning an elaborate meal that should take him a good two hours to prepare.
Maybe Geoffrey will see that I’m busy,
Dean hopes desperately,
and go straight to his office instead of—of—of whatever it is that brought him home so soon.
Terrified of being found out, Dean doesn’t even notice which vegetable he pulls out of the fridge. He just slams it down on the cutting board and begins chopping. Without realizing it, he is chopping apart a gourd he recently retrieved from the pantry for decorative purposes.

Yes, the title for today’s
Salve!
is deceiving. Indeed the earth’s oceans have grown over the last century. The loss of over half the Arctic and Antarctic polar icecaps has reduced the size of every continent while increasing the oceans exponentially. Albeit a terrifying truth, tonight’s
Salve!
is on another type of overflow: the garbage barrage. When our satellite takes images of the earth’s oceans, one has to wonder whether there is more water or pollution. The oceans are literally overflowing with debris. Observe as our wall screen reveals horrifying images of garbage islands. So much human waste in the form of plastics: bags, bottles, utensils, you name it. Then there are various metals, from tin cans to car parts! Even human clothing! Everything man-made can be found in the swill that was once a beautiful ocean. There are simply too many refuse items floating out there for me to attempt naming them all. All of this garbage has collected over the centuries until now one can actually stand and walk on these debris mounds. There are literally thousands of these garbage islands. Our cameras even detected a small colony of humans living on one. There is so little livable land left in the outside world that some poor souls have resorted to making these floating rubbish heaps their homes. It is frightening to wonder what they eat and drink on their floating cities of garbage.

Where the oceans’ waters still flow free, what was once a beautiful aquamarine has been contaminated yellowish orange, a sulfurous byproduct of oil spills. In other areas, the thick black oil of recent and centuries old spills has turned this once azure bowl into a region of Black Death. Compare these images of Mexico’s Gulf Coast, taken in the early twentieth century, to those taken now! The sight is absolutely grisly.

Eutrophication, possibly one of the most deadly of ocean killers, is entirely man-made. Having used the ocean as our waste disposal system
for too many centuries, we have added more than just toxic chemicals into our planet’s essential waters. We have flooded the oceans with fertilizers, causing exponential growth of algae. These little creatures have flourished to such an extent that they have literally consumed all of the oxygen in their surrounding ocean area, killing off all other marine life in the vicinity. Where there used to be the odd “dead zone” in our world’s oceans, now more than half of earth’s oceans are lifeless.

Is it any wonder that our marine biologists work endlessly to ensure that the water we consume from our rivers connected to the Hudson Bay is clean? We also patrol our water border endlessly with a new breed of fisherman: the “detritus fisherman.” These brave men and women work tirelessly to keep humanity’s excess pollution from entering our waters. It is an endless, dirty, and backbreaking job. The worst part is our not knowing what to do with much of what we prevent from coming our way. In most cases, it is simply rerouted back to where it came from, as we have nowhere to put this accretion of decay. Our detritus fishermen do, however, continuously dig through and salvage from this garbage any materials we can use. We have salvaged glass for windows and metals for building. Much of what we can no longer dig deep into our earth to find is simply floating out there, waiting for us to grab and reuse. Being a detritus fisherman is a thankless, heart-wrenching, and backbreaking job. These people are the real heroes of Hadrian.

Perhaps the most sorrowful images of our oceans are the hundreds of thousands of refugee ships floating among all the garbage and decay. These ships’ passengers were either forced off their land due to overpopulation or were desperately hoping to be allowed onto the North American continent where pockets of sustainable land still exist outside of Hadrian. Most of these people will die in their crafts on the ocean, either from thirst, starvation, or disease because no one will allow them onto their shores. As painful as it is for us, we too must turn these ships away. Time and again, refugee boats navigate their way into Hudson Bay from both the Atlantic and the Arctic Oceans, hoping to immigrate to Hadrian. I honestly cannot imagine how difficult it must be to turn away crying and emaciated children. But Hadrian’s borders must remain closed. There is too much risk of widespread disease, and as all our outside images have shown, where too many men dwell, the earth inevitably suffers. Our population is ten million. We will not allow that to grow either through baby booms
or immigration. Population control is the first of the four cornerstones of Hadrian’s civilization. It is the very crux, the very pillar upon which our society was founded.

The earth’s ocean waters are a grim reminder of why the human population must diminish and then be restrained from ever growing out of control again!

Vale!

Geoffrey seldom comes home early from the office. Today, however, is special. Thrilled by the morning’s success, he is anxious to find his partner and share the good news with him. The last thing Geoffrey is expecting is to find his husband suffering from another episode. Dean has been stable for over three years now. Their psychiatrist, Edgar, was like a gift from Hadrian. He prescribed Seroxat (an anti-depressant that has helped Dean cope with brooding fears and panic anxiety) as well as Zolam (a benzene for immediate relief when Dean suffers from a panic attack). Their monthly appointments have been worth every chit. The possibility that Dean is crumpled over inside does not even register in Geoffrey’s mind, though the steady rain of the past two weeks should have been warning enough. Unfortunately, Geoffrey is often too preoccupied with work to take note of the subtle changes occurring in his home. And, now that the boys are older, they don’t complain when Papa Dean is morose and not spending time with them like he used to. So, when Geoffrey arrives home, he is in a state of ignorant bliss: a man of all smiles.

The deal Geoffrey has been working on for the past three months (years actually, but only these past few months have led his hopes and dreams in the right direction) has finally come to pass. Although his father was hurt when Geoffrey told him of the plans to sell Hunter Enterprises to Hadrian National, the need was too great. Since Hunter Enterprises runs the detritus fisheries, much of the financial burden of coping with waste disposal falls on his company’s shoulders. For years, his grandfather and father had fought with the government for subsidies to help cover the devastating cost of effective, earth-friendly disposal of all wastes retrieved from Hudson Bay. Seeing as Hunter Enterprises received the benefits of profit from the usable wastes they fished out of the bay, the government insisted
the company also carry the financial burden of disposing of all non-usable materials. Anything retrieved from Hudson Bay that is harmful to the planet must be disposed of in such a way that it no longer poses any threat to the earth or Hadrian’s citizens. The respect gleaned from being the corporation responsible for eliminating much of the pollution from Hadrian’s main water source, as well as providing the country with nearly one fourth of all its usable resources, pales at times next to the astronomical cost of providing safe, clean disposal of many of the toxic wastes left behind by humanity’s forefathers. Geoffrey’s grandfather and father compensated for this financial loss by offering their employees little support—no medical benefits, no retirement savings packages, and, of course, being such a dirty job, it was also low paying. Geoffrey, however, has a stronger moral streak than his elders. Rightfully, Geoffrey credits Dean for helping him acquire a more philanthropic perspective.

When Geoffrey’s father retired and Geoffrey took over the company, he decided to listen to his workers’ needs. The end result was an added financial burden on Hunter Enterprises, cutting great swaths out of company profit. Try as they might, the board members could not persuade Geoffrey to change his mind because he saw reason and right behind providing for his detritus fishermen. These men and women handle much of the toxic wastes found in the Bay, and they have done so for far too many years without health benefits. Geoffrey made this decision within weeks of discovering that the majority of his employees, over two-thirds, in fact, were from the reeducated class, those members of Hadrian’s society who had been found out as heterosexual before the age of twenty-two (the age one pledges an oath to Hadrian’s four cornerstones). These citizens were placed in government run reeducation facilities that guided them back toward Hadrian’s chosen lifestyle. The taint of having being registered as straight remains a blight on their lives, as very few opportunities are open to these men and women. As a result, many take jobs as detritus fishermen since few others want such arduous, dirty, and mentally draining jobs and few other employers will hire them. All job applications must be accompanied with full disclosure as to one’s education and military service. As no heterosexual is allowed in the military and re-education camps are considered educational institutions, such “full disclosure” would immediately reveal anyone who was once deemed heterosexual. When Dean had learned this fact, he extracted a promise from Geoffrey that he would treat his employees fairly.

Knowing how important it was to Dean, Geoffrey labored endlessly to convince the board to improve working conditions for the detritus fishermen and offer them a benefits package. Very few board members had supported Geoffrey’s bid for his employees. That the reeducated are desperate for employment makes them an easy target for exploitation. Geoffrey had argued that their role was too important to ignore as, he rightly pointed out, “Outside of the military, no other man or woman in Hadrian puts his or her life on the line daily the way detritus fishermen do.” Although the vote was close, he did secure a slight raise and a basic medical plan for the detritus fishermen. Unfortunately, the cost of doing so was breaking the back of Hunter Enterprises. The board members were upset, stockholders were calling for changes, and Geoffrey had been forced to determine what those changes needed to be.

Today’s success brings forth those changes: secured financial resources for the stock investors, the value of their shares doubling with the takeover, and all cost of waste disposal now being handled by the government. Selling Hunter Enterprises to Hadrian National, making it a subsidiary to the government giant, is the finest move Geoffrey has made so far for his business. Granted, Geoffrey is no longer majority owner, but he does retain his post as company head as part of the deal. He is now on a salary that doubles what his wages were when he owned and ran Hunter Enterprises. As well as further improving the detritus fishermen’s wages and working conditions, which he knows will make Dean happy, Geoffrey has not only secured but substantially improved his family’s lifestyle as well as his children’s future. To be rid of the worries and financial burden of waste disposal has made his mind and heart light. Now that Hunter Enterprises is a subsidiary of Hadrian National, Hadrian taxes will be used to pay for all waste disposal and renewal. Hadrian citizens pay the highest taxes in the world, most of which are reserved for cleansing and maintaining Hadrian’s little portion of the planet. In fact, the majority of Hadrian’s taxes are split three ways: funding the military; funding education (of which reeducation is a subsidiary); and continuous research into effective earth-friendly waste disposal. Tax rebates are offered for those who show extra care with earth-friendly practices, but these pale next to the expense of cleaning up Hudson Bay, the world’s second largest inland body of water: a veritable ocean-sized slough filled with waste discarded over centuries by billions and billions of humans.

Today’s victory is one Geoffrey longs to share with Dean. When he prances into the front room, he calls out merrily, “Dean, Dean, come out here. I’ve got something I want to tell you.”

“I’m in the kitchen, preparing supper.”

Dean’s petulant response should trigger a warning in Geoffrey’s mind, but it does not. Being far too engrossed in his own joy, Geoffrey does not notice the sullen tone in Dean’s voice. “Put that away,” Geoffrey chants. “We’re going out for supper.” When no sound comes in response, Geoffrey calls out, “Come in here, Dean; this is important.” Dean slowly walks from the kitchen into the front room, shamming a smile. Joy, success, and pride have a way of blinding a man. Geoffrey does not see the obvious signs of depression in Dean’s eyes.

As soon as Geoffrey sees his lover, he rushes to him and lifts him up in his arms. Being shorter than Dean by a good three inches, Geoffrey has to lean back in order to lift Dean off the ground. Dean also has to cooperate by bending at the knees and lifting his feet. After swinging Dean around, Geoffrey lowers him and reaches up for a kiss. Dean complies, but with little fervor. Geoffrey has enough fervor inside to compensate, enough to keep him from noticing Dean’s lack of participation. “Your daddy’s done it, baby!” he says between bouts of kisses. “I sealed the deal today!”

“What deal?” Dean asks, now leaning against the wall. Geoffrey’s swinging and plunging into him have driven his body up against the hideous black velvet wallpaper.

Geoffrey has to kiss Dean again before answering, “Hadrian National now owns Hunter Enterprises!”

Dean tries to smile. “That’s…great.” Geoffrey kisses him again and then turns Dean to face the wall. Dean’s face is now squishing up against black velvet. He knows Geoffrey can’t tell. Dean’s depression is rooted so deep inside that, like a dandelion that’s been dug out, it continues to resurface, sprout its yellow head, and just as quickly, wither white.

“Um…” Geoffrey mutters as he kisses the back of Dean’s neck. His hands are running up the front of Dean’s shirt, catching the buttons and flipping them open adeptly. His nails scratch down the front of Dean’s chest, gripping and pulling at his chest hairs. Making his move for Dean’s belt buckle, he steps back slightly so Dean can give him room to undo it. Dean obliges. He knows what Geoffrey wants. Soon enough, Dean’s pants and briefs are a bundle of cloth around his ankles and Geoffrey has the
front of his pants open. Not able to accomplish much standing tip-toe, Geoffrey makes a request of Dean, “Bend your knees for me, babe.” Dean obliges but snaps when Geoffrey thanks him with, “That’s my boy.”

“I am not a fucking child! I know what to do. You don’t have to instruct me like an idiot, you know!”

The resurgence of Dean’s spring depression hits Geoffrey like a wrecking ball. He releases his grip on Dean’s penis and steps back, flabbergasted by this sudden attack. “Whoa, where did that come from?”

“You!” Dean is still facing the wall, hands positioned, his body waiting, only his mind reacting. “You treat me like a little baby. ‘Come to Papa.’ ‘Who’s your daddy?’ ‘Bend your knees.’ ‘Good boy!’ You’d think I was a fucking dog!” Turning now to face Geoffrey, eyes wet and red with anger, he shouts, “I’m a man, damn you! Not a fucking dog and not a child! For the love of Hadrian, treat me like an adult!”

“That…is…not…fair!” So stunned by the blow of Dean’s curse, each word Geoffrey utters stands alone. Backing away to the opposite wall, Geoffrey holds his hands up in a defensive position. Shaking his head, he says, “I don’t deserve this!” Taking a moment to inspect his lover, he sees that Dean, now facing him, still has his pants and briefs tangled at his feet. His limp penis exposes itself as an affront to Geoffrey. “For Hadrian’s sake, pull up your pants,” he sneers. “You look ridiculous.”

It is cruel, malicious, yes, even evil to say such a thing to Dean at a moment like this. When trapped inside his anxieties, Dean truly is as vulnerable as a child. Insecure and riddled with depression, desperate to dig himself out of his hole in the sand, every attempt to claw at the edges sinking him deeper, Dean collapses to the floor. First his back thumps against the wall, as if Geoffrey’s voice had been a fist slamming into his chest. Tears spring forth anew and his body slowly drips down, his shirt pulling up and away from his torso as he lowers himself, making him even more exposed. Geoffrey, knowing he has done wrong, fears the extent of the damage he has just caused. Rushing to his lover’s side, he sweeps Dean up into his arms and apologizes. Geoffrey, too, breaks down as he blubbers his regrets.

“No,” Dean whimpers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Geoffrey has to put a hand to Dean’s mouth to stop this skip recording. When Dean gets completely overwhelmed like this, he simply can’t stop saying, “I’m sorry.”

Gently holding Dean’s mouth closed, Geoffrey tries again. “I didn’t mean that, babe. Please forgive me.”

Shaking his head free, Dean wails, “It’s my fault! I hate myself! I hate my life. I just—I just—sometimes, I just want to die.”

Fear tugs at Geoffrey’s heart. “Please don’t talk like that.” He hasn’t heard Dean utter these words in years.
What’s gone wrong? What’s happened?

Dean continues his self-recriminating rant. “Why do you love me? Why do you stay with me? I’m nothing! I’m pathetic!”

“No, babe. No,” Geoffrey tries to reassure him. “That’s not true.” He rocks him now as he caresses his hair. “You’re a good man, Dean. We have a good life.” Gently cradling Dean’s head in his hands, Geoffrey turns Dean’s face upwards to look at him, now pleading with him. “You know that, don’t you?”

Dean’s voice becomes soft. “You have a good life. The boys have a good life. I have nothing—I’m useless—I’m fucking useless. I hate myself.” Frustration builds to a fever as Dean begins pounding his fist on his thigh.

Following Dean’s fist with his eyes, Geoffrey now notices the bruising.
Not again!
“Dean, stop!” He demands as he grabs Dean’s fist and fights for control. “You promised me you would never do this again.”

“I hate myself! I hate what I’ve become! I had wanted so much—when I think of what I might have done…”

Geoffrey tries desperately to reassure Dean, knowing his words fall on deaf ears. “No, Dean. You’re an amazing man, a great cook, a fabulous dad, and the clothes you sew, the garden you keep—” Then it hits him—
the garden
—Dean hasn’t been able to work in his garden. “All this rain—that’s what brought this out, isn’t it, sweetie?” Shaking his head, self-recriminatingly, he adds, “I should have known. I’ve just been so busy with this deal.”

“That’s the thing,” Dean says. “You’ve got your deals. You’ve got your business. You’ve got your life. But what have I got? Nothing! I’ve been reduced to—to—this!” With that final cry, Dean regains control of his fist and begins slamming it into his thigh again. Both thighs, Geoffrey notices, are black and blue—mostly yellow and purple, actually.

Enraged, Geoffrey wrestles Dean onto his back, pinning his arms down with his knees. Bellowing so that spit showers Dean’s face, he demands, “Stop it!” For a moment, he just kneels there, dominating Dean, growling down at him, pressing his knees into Dean’s arms to keep him from harming himself further. Trying to control his anger, knowing rage only
exasperates Dean’s condition, Geoffrey works to slow his breathing before speaking. “You swore you would never hit yourself again.”