Lost Years (55 page)

On the 15th, Georgia drove them up into the hills behind Abiquiu. Here they saw, from a respectful distance, the shrines which were visited by the local Penitentes on their Holy Week processions. Each shrine represented one of the Stations of the Cross. Georgia, as a respected resident of Abiquiu, even though non-Spanish and non-Catholic, was always invited to join the procession, but only as far as the third or fourth station—I forget which. At that point, she was expected to turn back and go home, while the rest of the procession
moved forward, station by station, until it reached a secluded place where the crucifixion ritual was performed. (Georgia said that this ritual wasn't as bloody and dangerous as some of the rituals performed in Old Mexico. The Christ actor was whipped but he wasn't beaten nearly to death; his hands weren't nailed to the cross, he was tied by the wrists.) The only Spanish Catholic in Abiquiu who didn't take part in the procession was the priest. He was ordered not to do so by his bishop, who regarded the Penitentes as heretics. So the priest tactfully left the village that week. Officially, he didn't even know that the ritual was being performed.

On the 16th, Carl Van Vechten and a friend of his named Saul Mauriber came to lunch. The day-to-day diary, as so often, expresses itself ambiguously, but I deduce from it that Christopher then drove Carl and Saul back to Santa Fe in Peggy's car. (But, if they hadn't got a car of their own, how did they reach Abiquiu?) In Santa Fe, Christopher had drinks and/or supper with Witter Bynner and his friend Bob Hunt. Plenty of drinks, certainly, for he left Santa Fe drunk, late at night. As he swung off the Taos road and whizzed through Española, two cops stopped him. For a moment, things looked serious. The cops put on stem faces. Then one of them said, “Do you want to stand trial, or settle this right away?” When Christopher told them meekly that of course he wanted to settle it, they took him into a smallish wooden hut at the side of the road. Inside the hut was a desk. One of the cops produced a gavel from a drawer in this desk and struck the desk with it three times, saying, “The Court of the State of New Mexico is now in session.” He then told Christopher the amount of his fine—I think it was thirty dollars—and Christopher paid him, without even venturing to ask if he might have a receipt. No doubt the cops kept the “fine” for themselves. I suppose they had noticed that he had sufficient ready money on him when he took out his billfold to show them his driver's license.

(I don't remember anything about Christopher's conversations with Van Vechten and Bynner, except that they were pleasant. Maybe he and Bynner talked about Bynner's book on Lawrence.
Journey with Genius
. When it was published, the next year, Bynner inscribed a copy to Christopher as “its godfather”—which probably means that Christopher read it in manuscript sometime in 1950 and made some encouraging comments on it. It now seems to me an extremely interesting but rather bitchy, envious book.)

On the 17th, Georgia, Peggy and Christopher drove to Taos, where they saw Frieda Lawrence, her husband Angelo Ravagli and Dorothy Brett. With Brett they went up to the Del Monte Ranch and spent the night. Next morning, they came back down to Taos,
met Mabel Dodge Luhan, then returned to Abiquiu. All this is described in the journal.
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On the 21st, Peggy, Bull and Christopher started on the drive
home. I have a vividly unpleasant memory of a thunderstorm which was moving in the same direction and bombarded them for at least fifteen miles. The lightning kept striking quite close to the road, now on one side, now on the other, now behind them, now ahead. Peggy got really scared and finally screamed at Christopher not to drive so fast, when he wasn't driving fast at all. Their route led them through Oak Creek Canyon, and of course Peggy had to start urging Christopher to stop off at the Kittredges' and make the trip with them and Jim to Monument Valley while she and Bull drove on to Los Angeles alone. Christopher knew perfectly well that this was one of Peggy's tests of his character. If he
did
stop, he would never hear the last of it and Bill Kiskadden would never be allowed to forgive him. A Real Man never under any circumstances deserts the women and children. Peggy's bitchery annoyed him so hugely that he told her with shameless frankness how much he loved Jim and how bitterly he regretted—and would regret for the rest of his life—having missed this marvellous experience. At the same time, he kept repeating that nothing would induce him to leave her. This reduced Peggy to a temporary state of meek submission.

They stayed the night at the Hassayampa Hotel in Prescott. About this, I have an odd memory. Having washed himself in his room before supper, Christopher went into Peggy's adjoining room still naked to the waist, with the towel in his hand. There
was
something he wanted to ask her, but it's possible also that Christopher was in a macho show-off mood. Anyhow, he realized at once that Peggy was displeased and slightly shocked. She had seen Christopher seminaked dozens of times,
in the days when he stayed at her house. But this was different. Here they were together
in a hotel
. Someone might come in and suppose that they were
unduly intimate.
Or was Peggy afraid that little Bull might talk about this later to his father? Who could tell? Peggy's reactions on such matters were absolutely unpredictable.

She was in for a much greater shock next day, and so was Christopher. It must have been late in the afternoon of the 22nd that they reached Los Angeles. Peggy made a detour into Santa Monica Canyon to drop Christopher off at 333 East Rustic Road before going home. Together they entered the living room and stopped short in astonishment.

Evidently, Caskey had given a party after Christopher had left. There were glasses all over the room with the remains of drinks in them and plates with the remains of food. The place was in a wild mess. But what made this mess special and a bit spooky was its antique appearance. There were spider's webs on some of the glasses and drowned insects in others. The food, in that damp atmosphere, was already furred with mold. And there was an odor of decay in the air.

After the first moment of surprise, Christopher considered the situation fairly calmly. It was clear that Caskey had given this party
before
leaving for Baja California, since the mess must be at least several days old. It was very unlike him to go away without tidying things up, but Christopher could understand why he had done so; he had expected to return before Christopher. . . . Well, he must have changed his plans, that was all. No doubt he was enjoying himself and had decided to stay on.

But Peggy was horrified. Since she equated dirt and disorder with Evil, she shuddered at the sight before her. It must have appeared to her as a physical manifestation of what was spiritually rotten in the Caskey–Christopher relationship—like the transformation of Dorian Gray's picture. “Let's get away from here, darling,” she said urgently and in a hushed voice, “you can come and stay with us—for as long as you like.” Christopher thanked her, but said, no, he'd be all right. “But you
can't
stay here!” she cried in dismay. It took him a long time to convince her that he was in earnest. After she had gone, he called Jo and Ben Masselink, telling them what had happened. They came over at once and the three of them soon got everything cleaned up, laughing and joking as they did so. Jo and Ben's complete, affectionate acceptance of Caskey, along with all his exploits and outrages, made Peggy's puritanism look sick and silly. Henceforth, Christopher began to regard Jo and Ben as intimate friends in whom he could confide and with whom he felt at home. As for Peggy, this trip to New Mexico had finally convinced him that he couldn't
afford to be intimate with her. At least, not as long as he was living in any kind of homosexual relationship. She would always try to undermine it and make Christopher feel guilty. She couldn't help herself—she was a compulsive ball cutter.

Next day, when Christopher went to pick up the mail which the post office had held for him while he was away, he found a letter from Caskey. It was written from the Santa Ana jail.

This, as well as I can remember, is what had happened to him:

On August 11, approximately, Caskey had given the party of which Christopher and the Masselinks had had to clear up the remains and had then set off alone and drunk, fairly late in the evening, to drive down to San Diego or wherever it was that the others were waiting for him. At San Clemente, he had stopped at a filling station, where they had filled his car with gas, accepted his money, let him go on his way again without any protest or warning—and then called the police, giving his number and telling them to watch out for a very drunk driver. San Clemente, in those days, was a notorious traffic trap; the community needed all the fines it could collect. The judge who tried Caskey offered him the option of a fine. When Caskey refused this, the judge turned nasty and sentenced him to three months.

When Christopher saw Caskey in jail on August 26—the next permitted visiting day—and heard the details of the case, he wanted to hire a lawyer at once. Even now, he said, Caskey could almost certainly get himself released, with the aid of some discreet bribery. But Caskey wouldn't hear of it, saying that he refused to let Christopher throw his money away on such crooks. He was so vehement about this that Christopher finally gave way. By then, it had become obvious that Caskey actually
wanted
to stay in jail and serve out his sentence. His Catholic conscience imposed this penance, to some extent; he felt that it was time for him to be punished for his drunkenness. Also, he wanted to keep away from Christopher for a while, knowing that Christopher's martyred forbearance would make him feel more guilty, as well as hostile. Also, he was quite enjoying being in jail; the life brought out his good-humored toughness, which Christopher always greatly admired. He could hold his own among his fellow prisoners, amusing them by drawing sex pictures and telling them sex stories, while making it clear that he wouldn't let himself be pushed around. When a prisoner had accused a weak timid youth of being queer, Caskey had told him sassily, “Well, honey, it takes one to know one,” and had nearly got into a serious fight.

Christopher and Caskey parted affectionately. Christopher promised
to come down and visit him every Saturday (which he faithfully did, until Caskey was released). Then he drove over to have tea with Chris Wood in Laguna. Though Christopher didn't admit this to any of his friends, he felt a great deal of relief The Caskey problem was shelved for at least two months—assuming that Caskey would get time off for good behavior. And Christopher didn't have to feel guilty; he had done what he could. So, since this
was
his birthday, he decided to celebrate the rest of it with Mike Leopold. They had supper and spent the night together, very happily, and Christopher gave him one of the red flowers he had brought back from the Del Monte Ranch.

And now began a social, sexy period, during which Christopher enjoyed himself a good deal and I suppose got on with his novel. He also at last finished work on Patanjali's yoga aphorisms (October 5). And he started writing a review of Antonina Vallentin's
H. G. Wells, Prophet of Our Day
for
Tomorrow
.

In addition to Mike Leopold, he had several sex partners, old and new—Russ Zeininger, Don Coombs, Peter Darms, Brad Saurin, Keith Carstairs,
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25
]
Barry Taxman, Bertrand Cambus,
²⁶
Donald Pell,
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27
]
Mitchell Streeter.
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]

Brad Saurin had reappeared in the Canyon. I think he had been in Korea. Christopher found him more interesting than before—partly because he had written some quite talented, self-revealing poems;
²⁹
partly because he had become altogether more attractive.
It seemed natural that the two of them should start going to bed together and they both enjoyed it greatly. As Brad once remarked in the middle of a sex act, “It's a hell of a lot nicer doing this when you really like the guy!” But Brad's true love was Jim Charlton. This love affair developed later, after Jim had returned from Arizona, and it lasted a long time. Brad was very serious about it, and Jim was flattered that Brad kept suggesting they should set up housekeeping together. Jim had no intention of doing so, of course, though he admired Brad and was fond of him; they both belonged to the fraternity of crazy pilots and had much in common temperamentally. Brad was far crazier than Jim had ever been, however.

Keith Carstairs was just a very nice boy with a very sexy body. He and Christopher met from time to time and always made love. There was no drama about it. Keith and Christopher weren't at all involved emotionally; Keith had a steady boyfriend he saw on weekends. They made love because they liked each other and were compatible. It was a contact sport; good wholesome exercise. I still remember Christopher holding Keith in his arms and thinking, “How can anybody call this unnatural—it's the most natural thing in the world!”

Mitchell Streeter and Bertrand Cambus were both one-night stands, but for different reasons—Streeter wasn't interested in repeating, Bertrand would have been interested but his visit to Los Angeles was over. Streeter had the kind of physique you see in magazines; not heavily muscled but almost perfect. He displayed it when he first came to the house wearing nothing but his swimming trunks. (I forget who he came with and why.) Christopher was suitably impressed and hinted that he should return, alone. This he did, fully dressed but obviously ready for action. They had a couple of drinks, kissed and went upstairs. Christopher fucked him and then blew him. Satisfaction seemed mutual. When they next met, however, something was wrong from the start. Streeter sat there without giving the go-ahead signal, so Christopher, not wanting to make a pass and be rebuffed, invited him to come out to a restaurant—only to find, when they arrived, that he had brought too little money with him. They had to go Dutch. Streeter showed that he thought this was a cheapskate trick. Christopher couldn't blame him, but resented his thinking so, nevertheless. They didn't see each other again.