Like This Afternoon Forever. Jaime Manrique
Lucas was tortured by the real possibility that his shameful desires would lead to his ruin.
He could not concentrate during classes and became so distracted that he began to turn in his homework late. As a partial scholarship student, he was expected to excel academically. Scholarship students were constantly reminded that there were many other boys who were ready to take their places at Colegio San José if their academic performance was mediocre.
Lucas had also become increasingly aware of the special bond some priests had with the boys they fancied. There was intense competition among the students to become a “favorite.” No stigma was attached to being a priest’s favorite boy. Lucas was relieved that no priest had shown an interest in him, but because he and Ignacio spent so much time together, he was the focus of malicious gossip. Some teachers gave them disapproving looks when they saw them together; and the sneers of students followed them as they walked through the long chilly corridors of Colegio San José. The effeminate boys were often bullied, but no one dared to torment him or Ignacio because Ignacio, though smallish and lean, had the powerful shoulders of a bull calf; when he gave the students glances of displeasure, he looked menacing and ready to disembowel them.
Still, Lucas grew concerned when the sneers became accusatory looks. His concern turned into alarm when he found notes under his pillow, as well as inside his desk, that said Faggot! and Cocksucker! But to complain to one of the teachers would have been in itself a kind of admission. Even worse, he couldn’t mention the notes to Ignacio because the two had never discussed the subject of homosexuality. Ignacio seemed almost asexual to Lucas. Even when Lucas caught a gaze of tenderness toward him, Lucas did not dare to assume that it was anything but brotherly love.
He began to suffer from insomnia and lost his appetite. Dark shadows grew under his eyes. One day during confession his Father confessor asked him, “Do you touch yourself, Lucas?”
“No, no, Father. I don’t,” he replied; he didn’t like lying, but he had no choice if he wanted to go to the seminary.
The next question was, “Does Ignacio Gutiérrez touch you?”
“Of course not, Father,” Lucas said, breathing a sigh of relief. At least he did not have to lie about that.
“Only God knows what the truth is about you two. And I’ll let Him be the judge of that,” the Father confessor said in a stern tone. “However, I must warn you: if you continue your unseemly intimacy with that boy, you risk not being asked to return to school next year. You might as well forget about becoming a priest.”
From that day on, Lucas went to great lengths to avoid being alone with Ignacio. He told himself that as long as he didn’t do anything forbidden with Ignacio, they were not in imminent danger. At mealtimes he moved to another table. At first, Ignacio would give him puzzled looks, but Lucas could not bring himself to talk about what had transpired during confession. After Lucas acted coldly toward him a few times, Ignacio stopped trying to make eye contact with him. Though he now felt a painful loneliness, Lucas did not try to make new friends. Eventually, he admitted to himself that the pain this imposed separation caused him meant that he loved Ignacio, and that that kind of love was forbidden to him.
A week before summer vacation began, Lucas ran into Ignacio in the hallway on the way to class. There were no other boys around. Ignacio put the palms of his hands on Lucas’s shoulders and pinned him hard against the wall. “If you don’t want to be my friend anymore, at least tell me why. What did I do to you?” His face was distorted by a rage that frightened Lucas. “Don’t be a coward,” Ignacio said loudly. “Tell me why you’re doing this. You owe me an explanation.”
Lucas hoped Ignacio would hit him: it would give him an excuse to end their friendship. His tears began to flow. Ignacio took his hands off Lucas. “Spare me your crocodile tears,” he sneered, and walked away. Lucas wanted to run after Ignacio, grab him by an arm to try to explain why it was best for them not to be close anymore—at least not for the time being. But he stood frozen, silent.
The day before Lucas left for the summer, Father Superior called him to his office. Lucas’s agitation increased as the hour of the appointment neared. His biggest fear was that he was going to be told he would not be invited back to Colegio San José. Once he was in the office and was asked to take a seat, Father Superior wasted no time with preambles: “Your closeness with Ignacio Gutiérrez has come to my attention. I must warn you that Gutiérrez is not a good influence on you.” Lucas’s mind began to spin so fast he couldn’t understand a word Father Superior was saying. When the dizziness subsided, he heard, “That boy’s tormented by some demon. I doubt he’ll become a priest. The only reason we haven’t sent him back to his parents is because he has the best grades in his class.” Father Superior paused to stare at Lucas, who lowered his eyes and dared not look up for fear of what they might reveal about his true feelings for Ignacio.
“I don’t think I need to remind you,” Father Superior continued, “that there are many boys in Colombia who would give anything for a chance to study here on a scholarship. During the school vacation, I forbid you to write to Gutiérrez. Even if he gets in touch with you, you must ignore his letters—that is, if you want to return to our school after vacation. Is that clear?”
Lucas nodded.
“Look at me, look me in the eye, Lucas, and promise me you won’t have any contact with Gutiérrez during vacation.”
Lucas’s heart was beating so fast he felt his throat closing. “I promise I won’t, Father,” he managed to say.
“Very well then,” Father Superior replied, and dismissed him.
* * *
Sitting next to his mother on the bus ride home to Bogotá, Lucas tried to conceal his sadness. The day before he had overheard one of his classmates mentioning that Ignacio was going to spend the vacation at the school, working in exchange for room and board. Lucas assumed this was because Ignacio’s parents couldn’t afford to pay for his bus ticket back home. Lucas tried to answer Clemencia’s questions about his education with enthusiasm. He didn’t want her to think that he was having doubts about the path he had chosen—that would have been crushing for her. Lucas wished he could tell his mother cheerful anecdotes about school life, but all he wanted to say was, “Mami, I love Ignacio.” Lucas had never before felt so lonely. All his life he had been able to confide in Clemencia. No matter what he told her, his mother always took his side. It was painful to have a secret he couldn’t share with her, not because he was ashamed of the love he felt for Ignacio, but because he didn’t want to hurt her. How could he explain to her the reason for his despondency?
Sensing his reluctance to chat about his studies, Clemencia said, “I have a surprise for you, Lucas. I wanted to save it until this moment. My new job with the flower export business pays better than working for the Americans.” Her eyes shone with pride. “You’re not going back to Cousin Ema’s house. She has some health problems and has decided to return to the Llanos to live close to her family. I’ve rented a little house in Suba. It’s a town in the mountains just half an hour away from the city, and there’s good public transportation. From now on, you’ll have your own room always waiting for you in our house.”
Ignacio smiled, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Mami.”
Clemencia went on, “Who knew that the experience I acquired on the farm taking care of the flowers we sold would come in handy one day!” But her words seemed to trigger a sad memory and she became quiet. Ignacio was sure Clemencia was thinking about his sisters and how she had had no contact with them after she’d left Güicán. His mother stared out the window until she eventually nodded off.
As the bus passed by farms, small towns, and food stands on the side of the road, Lucas kept hearing a voice in his head that repeated, Ignacio. Ignacio. Ignacio. The faster the bus traveled, the louder Ignacio’s name rang in his ears. The closer they got to Bogotá, the more violently he desired to escape his body to stop the guilt that racked him. He wished he could talk to Ignacio one more time to ask him for forgiveness for withdrawing his friendship. He had not only betrayed Ignacio but also himself. He became