John invited me to visit him at his cottage on the Maine coast. We hadn’t seen one another in over 70 years, since we spent summers together at Camp Wannatoo in Maine, nor had we spoken over the years. As my wife died several years ago and I was retired, I had the time, and I was curious as to how John had spent his life.
His cabin was quite isolated, peaceful with Atlantic Ocean waves crashing into the cliffs a couple hundred yards distant.
“Do you remember Bobby?” John asked me as we were walking to the cabin.
“Bobby? Was he the boy who always appeared to be angry?” I wondered.
“Bobby and I attended the same grammar school and high school in Philadelphia,” John continued, “… so I had witnessed this kind of behavior before and after. Bobby was kicked out of our high school for trying to blackmail a teacher. It seems Bobby compromised this teacher, and when the teacher wouldn’t give him an ‘A’ in some course, Bobby told him he would tell the principal that the teacher had been sexually harassing him. The teacher hauled Bobby to the principal who believed the teacher and expelled Bobby. In those days, people believed teachers and priests, not like today.”
***
One day, when John and Bobby were throwing a ball after school, “Why do you hate Mr. Notkin so much?” Bobby asked John.
“He’s gay,” John told him.
“So? I’m gay too, and you don’t hate me,” Bobby said, catching the ball and tossing it back.
“You’re different.” John caught the tossed ball and put his arm around his friend. “I like you,” and he brought Bobby closer. “I’ll give you my baseball signed by Joe DiMaggio if you suck Notkin’s dick,” John told him in an offhand manner.
“You would?” Bobby said, disbelievingly; he had coveted that baseball ever since John had shown it to him.
“Notkin wants my ass,” John said, and began whistling. “He more or less told me one day after gym class when he came into the locker room as I was undressing. You and I will meet him after class tomorrow and we’ll ‘do’ him together.” John bent his head and kissed his friend.
The following day, when Bobby walked into the classroom after classes had been dismissed for the day, he saw John talking with the teacher who was sitting on his desk; with John between the teacher’s legs.
“He’s all ready for you,” John said as he unzipped the teacher’s pants. Bobby went over and knelt down, reaching for the teacher’s exposed crouch with his mouth. John leaned over his friend and, reaching in back of the teacher’s head, brought the teacher’s face to his and kissed him.
“You fuckin’ faggot,” John hissed in the teacher’s face. “I’m going to report you to the principal,” and he turned to leave.
“Hold on there, John,” the teacher said, leaving the desk and pulling up his pants.
“You’re nothing but a fuckin’ faggot,” John repeated.
“I’ll take you there myself,” and the two of them left the classroom with Bobby wondering what was going to happen. He followed them to the principal’s office and waited outside. A little while later, John opened the door, his face red, and marched past Bobby and down the hall. Bobby ran after him, catching up as John left the school building.
“What happened?” he asked, jogging to keep up with his friend.
“You’re a fuckin’ faggot, Bobby. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been expelled. The fuckin’ principal believed that fuckin’ teacher, that’s what happened.”
***
We returned to the cabin. I told John I needed to lie down. We decided to meet for dinner.
“Bobby enjoyed exploring, especially caves,” John told me while we were having drinks before dinner. “I’m not the adventurous type, but he insisted that I join him in France, to visit and explore some of the caves in the Dordogne. Agreeing to accompany him was, to me, easier than having him rage at me for not being there for him.”
“Jeanne and I also visited caves in the Dordogne, as it wasn’t a long drive from where we were living on the Côte d’Azur,” I added to the conversation.
“A few years later, Bobby heard of some — to his way of thinking — really interesting caves in Thailand.”
“Is that where the school boys and their leader got lost and had to be rescued?”
“Yes, and I was against it because of the risk, but Bobby persisted.”
“When we arrived in Bangkok, the rains had stopped, so we set out for the first cave on Bobby’s list, Mae Hong Son. Then, we visited the Phi Phi Islands where there are cliffs — like mine — and clear coves. All was going well, and I didn’t feel any tension or fear. Then Bobby insisted that we explore the Tham Luang Nang Non cave; it’s between Thailand and Myanmar. I looked it up. I said I would go with him but would not enter the cave.”
“Why” I asked.
“It’s over six miles long, with deep recesses, narrow tunnels, boulder chokes, collapses, and sumps. While I was fascinated by the stalagmites I’d seen in the Dordogne caves — and there were even more in the Tham Luang cave — my interest stopped when I read about the dangers this cave presented, especially as we would be there in the off-season when guided tours had stopped. But that’s what drove Bobby; he loved danger.”
I listened, fearing what might come next. John appeared to be relaxed, as though he were telling me about his last golf game.
***
Arriving in Thailand, John and Bobby drove up to the entrance to the Tham Luang cave and parked. No other cars were there, which John had anticipated as it was the off-season when guided tours had ended. They entered the cave and John, who had inquired as to the location of the light switches, turned on the lights, illuminating the vast entrance and the crevices leading to the tunnels that he intended to explore. After they spent time walking around the chamber, John decided to take one of the tunnels and begin.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
“You go; I’ll wait for you here,” Bobby told him.
“My ass, you will; you’re coming with me,” and he put his arm around Bobby’s shoulders and kissed him. “There will be more of that later. Come on,” and he brought his friend with him as they entered one of the tunnels.
***
“We parked at the entrance to the cave. Its entrance is really out of this world — vast, high ceiling, many crevices. You could get lost just exploring the entrance. I told him I would wait for him there, that he shouldn’t stay exploring for more than a couple of hours. He’d checked where the master switch was for the lights that had been installed after school kids had been lost in 2018, and turned them on.
***
Using a map that he was given by one of the locals, John led them down a very narrow passage, passing openings to other tunnels and finally entered a chamber that was much smaller than the one at the entrance to the cave.
“You stay here,” he told Bobby. “I need to go back ….”
“What for? John, I don’t want to be left here without you,” Bobby said.
“Don’t worry your sweet ass; I won’t be but a few minutes,” and he left. Twenty minutes later, John was at the entrance of the cave.
“Ever since I was expelled from school because of you, I’ve been resentful and full of rage,” he ranted in the void. “I wanted revenge, and now I have it. Goodbye, Bobby.” He walked over to the electrical panel and switched off the lights. Everything went dark. He stood in the entrance for over an hour, listening. At first, he heard muffled shouts, far off, but they became less and less distinct … until … nothing. Silence.
***
“While he explored, I sat and read a book I’d brought with me. After about an hour, I started to worry, but we had agreed that he could take a couple of hours, so I took up my book and tried to concentrate on reading. Suddenly, the lights went off; I wasn’t left in total darkness because the entrance to the cave was close by. I waited. I couldn’t read; I worried. From time to time, I called out, but Bobby didn’t answer. When it started to become dark outside, I decided to drive back to the nearest town and ask for help. The local police said they couldn’t look for Bobby that night but would form a party and begin the search the next morning.”
***
John then left and drove to the city. The next day, he took a flight back to Los Angeles.
***
I was becoming extremely uncomfortable. I silently wished I had the guts to tell John to stop, that I didn’t want to hear any more.
“The local people were very considerate, offering me a place to stay and encouraging me to remain hopeful, but as the days went by, I realized that, given the complexity of the cave, they probably wouldn’t find him. After a week, the chief of the town told me that there was little chance Bobby had survived and he was ending the search. Bobby was never found.
“I’m famished,” John said after he finished telling me about Bobby. “Shall we return to the cabin? I’m planning to barbecue and need to set fire to the coals.”
E.P. Lande, born in Montreal, has lived in France, Vermont and now in S. Carolina. As Vice-Dean, he taught at l’Université d’Ottawa. He has owned and managed country inns and restaurants. Since submitting three years ago, 125 of his stories have found homes in publications all over the world, “Expecting” nominated for Best of the Net. His debut novel, “Aaron’s Odyssey”, a gay-romantic-psychological thriller, and “To Have It All”, a psychotic thriller, have recently been published in London. “Dancing With Katie”, an Argentine tango sweet romance, will be published later this year.
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