(by Edward Zeusgany and Alex Anders, © copyright 2000, all rights reserved)

It is hard for anyone to be alone in the world, your immediate family dead and your relations, some of whom must still be living, scattered in places unknown. This is particularly difficult for an Asian, for whom relatives are of the utmost importance. All of their energies, intellectual and physical, all of their resources, financial and spiritual, their very lives, had been devoted to saving as many of the members as possible. Even so, only he and his mother had made it to New Mexico in the United States of America, to a run down section of Las Cruses. There she died, too, as much from the struggle to survive, as from the disease she had brought with her all the way from home.

Truong did not want to steal, but he had an obligation to live, a duty to those who had perished, to re-establish the family and to remember his forebears. Although he looked a child by western standards, he was fourteen and expected to be able to make his own way in the world. So far, he had learned a little English, but was unable to find work. The Asian businesses in the area employed their own family members, as is only right.

It was in order to buy food that he began stealing, and then not more than the amount required for life. But he was caught and Truong, now a criminal, was brought to jail, where he was placed alone in a cell. Afraid of what would happen to him, he blamed himself for being so stupid as to be discovered by an employee of the department store. He might be deported and he was ashamed to face the prospect that, through his carelessness, all the sacrifices of his family could be for naught.

Earlier, they had fingerprinted and photographed him. He had seen a good many of the sheriff’s deputies in their brown slacks and tan shirts. They had tried to explain what the next procedure would be, but he did not understand much of it. Now he had been isolated in his cell for several hours, it was late afternoon. Not being a Christian, it was nothing to him that this was the evening before Christmas Day.

Then one of the deputy sheriffs, a man he had seen during his initial processing, a huge fellow, the biggest of the lot, came for him. He took Truong through the building and outside where a car was waiting. The officer placed him in the back, the way they do, pushing down on the top of his head. Like the car that brought him to the station, there were no door handles or window cranks and there was a heavy wire screen between the back seat and the front. This was just another pen, as he was moved from one to another, like a captured animal. An important specimen will eventually be placed in a natural setting at a zoo. It is a larger and nicer enclosure, but still a cage. A worthless creature will be shot.

Truong wondered whether his next cell would be better or worse. Would he be put in with fierce, nasty animals, who would tear him apart? The youth did not think much of criminals, as a class, particularly the violent ones; murderers, muggers, enforcers, rapists. It was only out of necessity that he had taken things that did not belong to him, other people’s property. He would rather have had an honest occupation and paid for what he needed. This was the right way, he believed. He had tried to explain this to the officer, who had interrogated him, but he did not think he had been able to make himself clear.

The car left the City on a road into the desert. He considered what sort of prison he would enter in this area. He knew there was a state penitentiary on Interstate 25, but that was toward the north. The road they were traveling went further into the vast, dry emptiness and then branched off onto a well used dirt road. Such roads are not unusual away from the towns and cities and many carry considerable traffic. But after several miles, the car again turned, this time onto what was little more than a track, that got more narrow and uneven as they progressed, crossing several shallow, dry creek beds.

It was nearly dark when the car stopped. There were no buildings in this deserted location, no sign of other people anywhere. They boy was confused, why was he brought here. Perhaps he was going to be beaten, or killed. These were his thoughts.

The officer shut off the engine and got out of the cruiser. Proceeding to the rear of the vehicle, the man opened the trunk. Truong watched as the deputy took something and strode several paces from the car. Then he could see that it was a blanket that the man carried and then opened to spread upon the ground. Satisfied, the officer returned to the rear passenger door of the patrol car.

The youngster retreated to the far side, away from the man. The door was opened. “Come out,” the officer commanded, in an even voice. The youth waited, eyes big with fear. “Come out. Now,” the man repeated with some force. Knowing it would be useless to resist, Truong resigned himself, hoping that cooperation might mitigate whatever was to befall him in that desolate place.

The deputy brought the boy over to the blanket and ordered him to sit down in the center of it. The youngster did as he was told and tried to make himself as small as possible. Then the man sat down right behind him, but surrounding him too, one huge leg to the youth’s left, another to the right, neither was touching him.

“Take off your shirt,” the officer said. They youngster dared not refuse, but complied slowly. At last, he held out the garment in his hands. “Throw it in front of you, off of the blanket.” Truong gave it a toss and it landed just touching the edge, but the man did not rebuke him. Item by item, he was ordered to strip himself. When he was finally naked, he sat there quivering, not from cold. He thought that he was going to be ritually executed, probably strangled. Being in no hurry, he did not mind the long pause that followed.

Then he felt the man lift up the long hair at the back of his head, uncovering the nape of his neck. At first, Truong did not understand the sensation that he next experienced, a light pressure, slightly moist. His body jerked, involuntarily, but the fellow steadied him with large hands placed on his shoulders. These then traveled over his arms, taking up one of his own hands. The youth realized that his fingers were being touched as one would handle a treasured object, with great care and respect. It was then that the recognized the previous event, it had been a kiss.

*****

The satisfaction the officer had at feeling the silky smoothness of the boy’s skin, brought up a sigh from deep within his own body. As he passed his hands gently over the youth’s chest and then downward, he leaned forward. Then he whispered into the lad’s ear.

“I want to help you. I will take you to see a judge and I will ask him to release you into my custody, so you won’t have to spend the holidays in jail. And if everything is good between us, we’ll go back to the judge, and I’ll ask that he file the charges and place you in my care as your guardian. It’s sort of like an adoption. I figured you’d better know the score first.”

“I like you. Besides, I thought I’d give myself a birthday present. Tomorrow is my birthday, too, you know, But, if you don’t want my help, I can just bring you back to jail and you can take whatever comes.”

*****

LORD

And now we can tell
That distant Noel,
He was born,
But destined to die.
And wishing me well,
He kept me from hell.
Never mourn,
But honor most high.

A year later, the Deputy Sheriff did legally adopt the youth and he got a new name, Michael Wasilewski. Michael did not resent the change, because this was only his American name. As far as he was concerned, he still had his Asian name. And he appreciated the significance of being made a part of Mr. Wasilewski’s family, even though the officer was the only member of it. One could bestow no greater honor on a stranger than to make him part of your family, Michael thought.

They moved to Albuquerque. For the next eighteen years, Michael prepared Mr. Wasilewski’s meals and took care of his house. Every night, he spent naked in Mr. Wasilewski’s bed, permitting the use of his mouth and anus, into which he received the body and, seminal fluid being a specialized form of it, the blood of his host. But it was not a one sided relationship. Mr. Wasilewski sent Michael to high school and then to the University of New Mexico. Michael, never Mike, majored in accounting in the School of Management. It took him six years to complete his college education, but he graduated with a firm knowledge of his field and passed the State examination for Certified Public Accountant.

After that, Michael worked part time, doing the books and taxes of various Asian businesses in the City. Also, with Mr. Wasilewski’s encouragement, he set out to locate the remnants of his family. Slowly, and at considerable expense; a great aunt, an uncle, their descendants, and two other cousins were located. The aunt forwarded to Michael copies of photographs of his parents and grand parents. These, Michael framed in silver and placed on the mantelpiece, flanking a larger picture of Mr. Wasilewski. Letters flew back and forth between Southeast Asia; France; Lawrence, Mass.; and Albuquerque.

One night, after a typically heavy meal, Mr. Wasilewski rose from the table, his face ruddy, complaining of not feeling well. He retired to the bedroom to rest. When Michael heard him groaning, he went to his adoptive father and found him twisting on the bed. The young man called for an ambulance, but it was too late. Mr. Wasilewski was dead before he could be removed from the house.

Back home, after the funeral, Mr. Wasilewski’s sister, who Michael had not met before, asked him when he could leave the house, as she hoped to put it on the market as soon as possible. Michael had Mr. Wasilewski’s lawyer, whom he had asked to be present for this precise purpose, speak to her. When he explained that Mr. Wasilewski’s will left everything to his adopted son, she made a scene. “Everyone knows that so-called adoption for what it was!” she shrieked.

Indeed, she contested the will and won a piece of the estate. But Mr. Wasilewski had prepared for this. The house was mortgaged to the maximum extent possible. Over the years, knowing his family medical history, the deputy sheriff had invested heavily in life insurance, with Michael as the sole beneficiary. His sister’s legal fees about equaled the net value of her share of the house and personal property. Michael received eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Now the young man understood why they had lived so frugally for all those years, and how much Mr. Wasilewski had loved him.

*****

Michael did not change his legal name. That was his American name, and he would keep it, out of respect for the man who had given him so much, and because it helped him in business. Anglos would think that he must have been adopted as a child. That was not entirely false, however misleading it might be.

In due course he opened his agency, the finest of the sort in the City. He bought an excellent house on a big lot in a highly desirable section of town. Then Michael asked for a bride from the best family.

He employed members of his wife’s family and his own cousins, whom he brought to the United States. His children arrived: Helen, Mary and Agnes; Michael Jr., Stanley and Peter. Of course, they each were given Asian names as well, and taught that, in the Asian community or should they immigrate to an Asian country, they should use the Asian names. They were instructed to revere all three of their grandfathers, the two who had contributed to their bodies and the one who had made possible the rebirth of the family and its fortunes. Their pictures were kept all together.

Michael Wasilewski’s extraordinary prosperity was greatly enhanced by a friendship he formed with the younger son of a leading Anglo family. He, with his private school contacts, and Michael, with his influence among the Asian populace, were aware of opportunities within each community that permitted investments benefiting both groups, and greatly enriching the two friends.

Nor did this unusual partnership bring any detriment to either of the participants. The Asians considered such matters to be entirely private and beyond comment. For the Anglos, an erotic and emotional attachment, between a handsome, robust, young, ivy league, scion of a prominent, powerful family and a diminutive, Asian, emigrant, old enough to be his father, was unthinkable.

Table of Contents :