Linhart’s Beautiful Beast

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

Joe ate fast to sustain his body, but with no pleasure at all. The potatoes were barely cooked. The bread was so hard, it could have been a weapon.

“Bolshevik lovers,” someone said, passing their table. “Traitors.”

Joe looked up at the man who’d insulted them, but the man walked on, feigning innocence. In the early days, Joe would have stood up and knocked the man out. In his first months here, Joe had bashed heads on tables and walls, until one day, the reputation he’d made for himself was enough, and he’d retired his fists. These days, some of the men, the new arrivals mostly, called him names from across the yard or mess hall, and Joe would let them get away with it for a few days so the men could build up their confidence and survive in here. The older inmates knew this. It was all just an act. One of the many rituals of this place.

“That’s one of the men from last night’s arrivals.” Levin was cleaning up his plate with his bread. His long nose was running again. He had a perpetual cold. Levin was half Jewish and called himself a revolutionary Marxist―he was one of the most intelligent men Joe had ever met. No one really knew why Levin was in here. Levin had never told anyone. But stories did circulate. Some said he’d tried to blow up an office in the parliament. One thing was certain, Levin was a militant, and he’d opened Joe’s eyes. Levin had stripped the world down for him and showed him its bones.

“So, hear me out.” Levin often began this way. He leaned in close, over his tray.

Beside him, Novak, the Pole, rolled his huge blue eyes into his head. “What now? The Germans have discovered the Holy Grail?” He laughed.

“No, no, no. They already possess it, you dimwitted Polish potato.” Although Levin and Novak argued a lot, they were closer than brothers. Once, Novak had been sick with an infection and Levin had fasted for six days. “It’s rumored that Cooke, that louse, is gonna open up the north wing and have three hundred more men transferred in from the city.”

“Why would he do that?” Novak was a little slow, but he was their best worker out there. Joe had seen him sever tree trunks with one blow of his ax. Novak believed in three things: the Holy Bible, hard work, and his fiancée Olinka’s virginity.

Joe wondered which ideal would be crushed first.

“Because James Murphy,” Levin said, answering Novak’s question with a smirk, “master of the Universe, asked him to, I guess.”

“More men to work is good.” Novak looked at Joe for approval. He seemed to think Joe had answers.

“No, more men means more chaos.” Levin shook his head, looking down into his empty plate. “If only they’d let me out of here.”

Across the room, Joe spotted Dubois sitting alone. But he couldn’t help him. Couldn’t be seen with him.

“You think those new men are gonna work the forest too?”

“No, Novak,” Levin said, “they’re coming here for the Grand Ball.”

“Why are you so sarcastic? It hurts my feelings.”

“Anyway,” Levin said, obviously disconcerted by Novak’s candid words, “with the way things are going across the ocean, pretty soon, there’s gonna be a liberation. The laborers of the world, the essence of humanity, the men whose backs have been lashed by the proverbial whip of capitalism and―”

“Ah, my head.” Novak held his head. “Say, give it a rest will you?”

“There will come a day, my dear comrades, when these pistols and batons will be no match against the savageness of our revolt.” Levin looked at Joe. “Vega, you of all people, you should understand this.”

Joe shrugged. “Levin, I’m Italian. We don’t believe in revolt. We believe in art and drowning our bottomless guilt with wine.”

“You’re full of garbage, Vega.”

“Yeah, after this meal I am.”

“And, speaking of Italians, ever hear of Mussolini?’’

“So, when are you going back out with us?” Novak asked, changing the subject.

“When Williams says.”

Levin sighed. “That imperialistic pig.”

Joe couldn’t stop himself from looking over to where Dubois sat. A man walked by Dubois, and Joe recognized him from the Bosco gang. The thug bumped Dubois’s shoulder hard, and Joe tensed in his seat. French-Canadians were at the bottom of the food chain in here, and men with faces like Dubois’s were even lower. They were going to hurt him in a bad way. They were going to hurt him very soon.

Levin turned his head, following Joe’s stare. “Say, that’s Ginger, your new cellmate.”

“Yeah, well, he’s leaving soon. Maybe in a few days.” Joe watched two of the Bosco men harassing Dubois. They were pulling his hair and groping his chest.

“Looks like he won’t be leaving here in one piece,” Novak said.

There was nothing they could do for Dubois. He’d been branded. Protecting him would only mean destroying what little peace and safety they’d managed to create for themselves.

Levin turned away from the scene, clearly sickened by it.

The two men stood Dubois up. Joe felt his back straighten, his muscles tightening against his will. The men shoved Dubois, and Joe looked over at Guard Williams and his posse of mean clowns. They were watching, snickering at the scene. Dubois was stoic through it all. Didn’t show any fear. Joe admired him for it. They pushed Dubois around and he lost his balance, falling to his knees.

“Sit down, Vega.”

Joe looked down at Novak. He realized he’d stood up when Dubois had fallen and all eyes were turned his way.

“Sit down,” Levin barked at him. “Now, Joe.”

Dubois was still on his knees. He lifted his head, and from across the mess hall, their eyes met. Dubois stood up and Joe sat.

Williams blew his whistle. Men gathered their trays.

“What were you thinking?” Levin asked, as they were led out into the hall. “You know you can’t do anything for him now. Bad enough he’s your cellmate. Don’t you know who that kid is?”

“Shut up, you two,” Williams yelled, shoving them onward. He moved on to the next men in line. “Hurry. We ain’t got all day.”

“Of course I know who he is,” Joe said, between tight lips. He walked straight, keeping his eyes forward. “He’s Cardinal’s son―”

“And don’t you find it peculiar that the son of a man who’s probably gonna be leading our very divided province, is in here, in this place?”

Joe stole a glance at Levin. They were coming up on Levin’s cell.

“He’s disgraced his family, Vega,” Levin said, before entering his cage.

They kept moving. Novak was next. When the line reached Joe’s cell, Dubois was standing right next to him, pale and clearly shaken by the near assault in the mess.

Williams turned the key and opened the gate. “Get in there, you two.” But as Dubois entered, Williams pulled him back and whispered something into his ear. For a second, Dubois seemed confused, but then rage filled his eyes and reddened his cheeks. Williams locked them in and moved on, whistling happily.

Joe wouldn’t ask Dubois what Williams had said. He wouldn’t humiliate him any further.

With his jaw set, Dubois stood by the bars, looking out again. That seemed to be his favorite spot to stand in. “Please don’t that again,’’ he said, turning his eyes Joe’s way. “You mustn’t stand up for me.”

“My leg was asleep. I needed to stand.”

Dubois nodded his head and looked back at the hall. “Because you see, Joe, I’ll be released from here today or perhaps tomorrow, and I wouldn’t want you to…to get into any trouble.”

“I said my leg was asleep.”

“Yes, of course, I understand.”

Joe brought his hands together, leaning in on his knees. “Listen to me, when they come for you, and they will come for you, you have to fight back. You go at them with everything you have. You don’t let them, you can’t let them, you know, do that to you. Because once it happens, you’re finished in here. Might as well walk around in a skirt, do you understand me?”

“Could you teach me?”

“Teach you what, how to fight?”

“Yes.” Dubois walked away from the bars and sat on his bunk, facing him. “Yes. You could, couldn’t you?”

“No. No, not me―”

“Look at you, of course you could. And you must.” Dubois looked at him defiantly. “You will teach me.”

“Hey, I ain’t one your servants you can order around. And I don’t know how to fight any better than you do.”

“That’s a lie. I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you fight off three or four men at a time.”

“How could you? You got here yesterday.’’

“Yesterday wasn’t the first time I saw you.”

“What do you mean?” But he knew. “When did you see me?”

The club. That’s where he’d seen Dubois. At the Swinging Vine club. Joe had worked the door there before his arrest, three years ago. Joe had been one of Vascali’s goons. He remembered that ginger hair. Dubois had been much younger then. Just a boy. And he’d sat at the back table, Victor Vascali’s table. Joe had been drunk every night. Never remembered faces. But Dubois’s face, he remembered.

He used to look for it sometimes, when the night was lonely and long.

Victor Vascali.

“Wait a minute,” Joe said, shocked. “When you called out Victor’s name that night, you didn’t mean―”

“Your old boss.”

“And who’s Victor to you?”

Dubois bit his lip, but wouldn’t answer him.

“You know, Vascali, he sold boys, young boys, to deviant men all around town. You know that, right? He’s a depraved man. A pervert―’’

“He’s no pervert.” Dubois stared straight at him. “Victor is my lover. And he’s the man who will get me out of here.”

Joe couldn’t be trapped in this cell with this man.

“Are you shocked because I shared my bed with one of the city’s most infamous criminals, or are you shocked because I’m a homosexual?” Dubois leaned in. “What did you think I was? Normal?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Fine. I won’t say another word.”

He should have known it. He should have seen it. But Joe could see it now. It was all over Dubois. In his eyes. In that mouth of his. On his skin. Between his thighs.

Flushed with fever, Joe grabbed his book and flipped it open. He read the same lines over and over again.

“So, you won’t teach me to fight?”

“No.”

“Then, you think I deserve what will surely happen to me in the next days.”

Joe tried to ignore the burning sensation in his throat. This young man was Victor’s lover. They’d touched each other. They’d committed unnatural acts together.

“Do you?” Now Dubois’s voice was small and full of urgency. “Look at me.” He paused for a long time. “You used to look at me. When I sat at Victor’s table. I’d see your eyes on me all the time. I remember the thrill it gave me.”

“I never saw you before in my life.” Joe turned the page, but his heart pounded. Dubois had seen him looking then.

Had he been looking at him too?

“Perhaps I only imagined you were looking at me. Perhaps I was invisible to you, as I am now.”

Joe read another line.

“When I get out tomorrow, I’ll ask Victor to help you. He knows people. Important people. We’ll get you out. Back to your fiancée. Back to your mother.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Oh, I see. I’m dirty now. My help is dirty. But I’ll help you anyway.”

For a long time, they both remained silent and Joe fought to keep from looking up at Dubois.

Hours later, when the bell rang, Joe rubbed his eyes and looked at the hall through the bars. The reading had made him sick.

Dubois was standing in his spot, biting his nails. “I really don’t want to go out there again,” he said, not looking at Joe. “Those men…they’ll be there. They’ll find a way to corner me.”

Joe stood and went to wait by the bars.

Dubois was watching the hall with wide, haunted eyes. “I don’t think I can take it.’’ He clutched the bars. “Here they come. We’re going to be let out.” He looked at Joe, imploringly. “Please. Please, Joe. I can’t. I can’t go through that―”

“Shut up.” Joe checked the hall, adrenaline coursing through him. He couldn’t let those men dirty Dubois in that way.

“Joe…Joe, please, please, don’t let them―’’

Joe grabbed Dubois by the throat and shoved him into the wall.

“What are you doing!” Dubois cried, choking, fighting him off.

The man was surprisingly strong, but Joe held him there, and bent to his ear. “I’m gonna knock you out. I’m gonna send you to the infirmary. You’ll be safe there.”

Dubois’s eyes widened. And Joe released him. Could he hit him?

“Do it,” Dubois said. “Do it now!”

As the guards steps became louder, Joe swung and slapped Dubois hard against the side of his head. He collapsed without a sound, but Joe caught his fall and carefully stretched him out by the bunk. He dropped some water by Dubois’s boots.

Guard Gauthier stopped by their gate and looked in at Dubois’s body on the ground. “No, Joseph, no, you promised―”

“I didn’t do nothing.” Joe showed Gauthier the puddle of water. “The kid just stood up too fast and slipped there. Help me with him. I think he’s out cold.”

Gauthier hurried with the keys, calling out for help.