Like This Afternoon Forever. Jaime Manrique
they saw were about the Christians martyred in Roman times, though now and then an American comedy would be slipped in. When the movies were more contemporary, the stories usually included nuns and priests. Lucas became obsessed with A Nun’s Story: he fantasized that, after he was ordained, he would be sent to the jungle (like Audrey Hepburn in the movie) and there he would meet a doctor as handsome as Peter Finch, and they would fall in love with each other and live together forever in the jungle, taking care of the lepers.
In Suba, El Rex showed new movies. As Lucas passed by the movie house on his way to the Casa de la Cultura, he’d often stop to gaze at the posters advertising the current releases and forthcoming attractions. He also noticed that mostly men bought tickets for the three o’clock show and that they entered the theater in a hurry, as if they didn’t want to be seen going in. A movie called Philadelphia was announced and was advertised as a story about AIDS. Lucas had read a few sketchy articles in the press about AIDS, a terrifying disease in the United States that targeted homosexuals.
Before Clemencia went to sleep one night, Lucas asked her if he could go to the movies.
She gave him the money for the ticket and added, “But you come straight home after the movie is over. Is that understood?”
Lucas cried through most of Philadelphia. He took the story as a warning of what could happen to him if he had sex with men—he would become infected and die a horrible death like the character played by Tom Hanks, whose comedies Lucas loved.
In the movie theater men performed oral sex on each other while pretending to watch the movie; in the smelly and filthy restroom he saw men engaging in sex. A couple of them exposed themselves and tried to touch Lucas, but he bolted out of the bathroom. After that experience, he waited until he got home to use the bathroom.
During that school vacation in Suba, more horrific stories began appearing on television and in the newspapers about men dying of AIDS. Clemencia had told him about the son of one of her coworkers who had recently died of the disease. “The worst thing that can happen to a mother is to lose one of her children,” she said. “But to die of that disease is the absolute worst, Lucas. It’s horrible how the other people at work shun her, as if she had the disease. It breaks my heart to see that.”
Lucas prayed fervently to God to remove his overpowering desires for men. He went to Mass first thing in the morning and to confession every week. But he was careful about what he confessed to the priest.
All this time, Lucas never stopped thinking about Ignacio. He wondered how he was doing living with the brothers. He longed to hear Ignacio’s voice and couldn’t forgive himself for pulling back when he knew that Ignacio had no other friends in school. When Lucas least expected it—at Mass, in dance classes, or even when he masturbated with Julio—Ignacio’s face would pop into his mind; he frequently dreamed about him as well. The dreams where Ignacio appeared were always sexual, and Lucas would wake up in the morning with an erection. Or worse, he’d wake to find he’d ejaculated during the night.
In his confusion, Lucas wondered whether the best thing for him might be to kill himself. At least this would spare Clemencia the shame of a homosexual son who died from AIDS. Lucas was sure that if he continued seeing Julio and going to the movies, it was inevitable he would end up having sex with men and die of the disease.
In the remaining weeks of his vacation, he started taking kung fu lessons, hoping they would make him act more masculine. He was aware that in the coming year at Colegio San José it would be hard to practice the vow of chastity. Yet he was desperate to go back to school, because life outside had no rules he was compelled to obey.
As the day of his departure grew closer, Lucas accepted that going back to Colegio San José meant having to resolve his feelings for Ignacio. But he didn’t care, because more than anything else he longed to see his friend, even from afar. I just want to hear his voice, he’d say to himself. And to smell him.
The day he arrived back in Facatativá, Lucas didn’t see Ignacio around. Had he been sent home to his parents? he wondered. Ignacio would not have chosen to leave the school of his own accord.
Lucas waited to see if Ignacio would appear, and when he did not, Lucas figured it might be safe to ask another student where Ignacio had disappeared to. The student didn’t know what had happened; but the next day, when they sat next to each other for the evening meal, he said under his breath, “Gutiérrez was sent to a seminary in the Putumayo jungle. Father Superior didn’t want him here anymore. He’ll be there for the rest of his novitiate.” Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, “Are you prepared to remain a virgin until you see him again, princess?”
* * *
Only after the other students had left Colegio San José for summer vacation had Ignacio begun to acknowledge how hurt he was by the cold and abrupt way in which Lucas had ended their friendship. He suspected that Lucas had been pressured to sever their bond, but it was hard to forgive him nonetheless. He missed Lucas with an ache that was almost physical, yet he couldn’t hate him. He was the only close friend Ignacio had ever had, and his presence in the seminary had made life bearable for him.
He experienced a harsh new loneliness—finding someone to love and then losing him. He could no longer deny his romantic feelings for Lucas. From the moment they’d met, Ignacio had been aware of the way Lucas looked at him, his brown eyes shining with longing. This had frightened him so much that he’d constantly reminded himself to conceal what he felt for Lucas.
Ignacio knew that his sharp tongue rubbed his teachers the wrong way and that if they started to gossip about his sexuality, he would end up getting expelled from school, putting an end to his aspirations to go as far away as possible from the remote mountains where he’d been born.
Ignacio’s chores included cleaning the bathrooms, sweeping and mopping the floors, chopping vegetables for the meals, washing dishes, helping with the laundry and ironing, attending five a.m. Mass every day, and dusting the books in the library. He loved handling the books, reading random pages, looking for a subject to capture his interest. Sometimes he would get so engrossed reading he’d forget that he was supposed to be working. His ignorance overwhelmed him. There had been no books in his parents’ home, but in school he discovered that reading expanded his mind, and the more he read, the more clearly he could think and express himself, not only in writing but also in his speech—and this gave him an advantage over the other boys his age. Each book he touched held, he thought, a key to satiate his hunger for knowledge and answers to all the questions he had about life.
Ignacio loved the silence of the library. One afternoon he was reading at the long table when Father Daniel came in. Of all his teachers, this man was the friendliest, and Ignacio was drawn to his affable manner—a quality he knew he himself lacked. Ignacio was also held rapt by the teacher’s quick intelligence; in his world history classes, Father Daniel talked about many books and subjects that Ignacio knew nothing about. While the other teachers did not deviate from the textbooks they taught, Father Daniel would draw connections among different historical periods and often went off on a tangent about the literature, painting, and architecture of that time. When he talked about major historical figures, he didn’t just tell you the names of the battles they had won, or how long they were in power—he would discuss their psychology, their existential struggles. Ignacio longed to one day know as much as his teacher.
Father Daniel greeted him and asked, “Do you come to the library often?”
“Yes, Father,” Ignacio replied, nodding. “It’s part of my duties,” he added in a defensive tone.
“What kinds of books do you like to read?”
Ignacio’s face grew warm; he was mortified that he was blushing. “I love reading books about history. My favorite historical figure is Joan of Arc.” When Father Daniel remained quiet, Ignacio hastened to say, “I like that she sacrificed herself for the French people.”
Father Daniel smiled. “Yes, she was a great patriot.”
Ignacio thought it was strange that Father Daniel had praised Joan of Arc for her patriotism, not for her saintliness.