LEPER

Andrew woke up sweating, overwhelmed by the continuing horror

of the Dream. He could not get used to the nightmare, even
though it was basically the same one that he had been having
periodically for close to two years. In recent months, the Dream
had haunted him almost nightly:

He would be walking down Christopher Street in the Village. In

the Dream, the street looked different than the thousands of
times Andrew went cruising down that street, or when he had
gone there to go to the bars. In the Dream it was late afternoon,
and the bright harsh sunlight would reveal to him how tawdry and
run down the street really was. It was not the exciting and
brightly colored street of sexual possibilities he normally found
when he would arrive there late at night, filled with thousands of
brother gay male predators stalking sexual prey.

In the Dream, strangers of all kinds would stand and stare at him
in horror and revulsion. Some would hide their faces from him;
others would point at him and whisper to their companions. As
Andrew’s dream-self would reach the first corner, a young boy
always began to cry at the sight of him. The boy would turn to
clutch the leg of the handsome young man who had been holding
his hand. The man would never look directly at Andrew, but turn
away from him. Andrew always dream-stopped in front Ty’s, the
first gay bar he had ever been in. It would always be empty, but
music blared from the open door; the bar covered with beer cans
and half filled glasses.

Dream-Andrew would then always cross the street to his favorite

leather shop to examine the display in the window. Slowly, the
window would transform into a mirror, and he could see that his
face and neck were covered with the kind of lurid Technicolor
sores that Hollywood had used to depict lepers in old movies like
Ben-Hur. In the Dream, Andrew was never shocked; for some
reason he felt relieved when he saw the leprous lesions.

Suddenly, three extremely tall male figures in long monk-like

robes of a material so black that all light seemed to be absorbed
by it would march through the crowd which would part for them
in silence. The trio would approach him in a solemn procession,
each carrying a different object. The hoods of their robes totally
hid their faces from him in shadows. Andrew would turn to look
back at the mirror window and now he would be naked, and he
could see that the sores covered all over his body, except for the
area from his hip bone to halfway down his thighs. There his skin
was in perfect condition.

The first monk would kneel in front of him. He would tightly tie a
wide red velvet ribbon around Andrew ’s genitals, leaving the long
ends to dangle from between Andrew’s legs, blowing in a breeze
Andrew did not feel. Although he could see that part of his body
which in many ways defined his adult identity, Andrew could no
longer feel it. This would always make him think of the innocent
days of early childhood, before he had discovered the pleasure
available between his legs. Then Dream-Andrew would suddenly
feel sexless; unmanned; neutered.

The second monk would approach Andrew, and silently dress him
in a coarse white robe that fell to his feet. The robe did not close
across his chest; it was open in the front, leaving most of
Andrew’s body exposed. The third monk would now stride
forward, carrying a tall cane, like a shepherd’s crook, with a large
bell dangling from the tip of the curved end. With the staff in his
right hand, Andrew would now be silently guided to follow the
monks in a procession towards the River.

With each step that he took, the bell on the staff would ring
loudly and surprisingly deep, like the death knell that rang before
a funeral from the Catholic church across the street from
Andrew’s apartment. As they progressed down Christopher
Street, identical groups would join them. The on-looking crowds
would draw back against the walls to avoid touching the growing
procession of monks and their white robed men with staffs that
pealed so loudly. The bells clanged in unison, a dirge for the dead.

When they reached the corner of Hudson Street, Andrew was

always puzzled anew to see that the long closed adult bookstore
was now open. Sense-memories would flood through him of the
many hours spent on his knees on the brick floor in the backroom,
worshipping the manhood of all who presented themselves to him,
as he drank from their communion spout, in an attempt to become
one with them for at least a few seconds. Other reminiscences
would fill him of the hours when it was time for his own manhood
to be the object of adoration by the host of men assembled
there to receive his hot white liquid, the form of communion
which their brotherhood treasured. The Chalice had been his
Manhood.

White robed men would be escorted out of the store by their

dark monks to join the procession; other groups would shuffle in
from the side streets. The line would grow longer; they would
walk down the center of the street four across, but each group
of three monks and their white robed victim covered with sores
would walk separate from each other. The unvarying clanging of
their bells grew deafening as their numbers increased.

As they approached West Street and the Hudson River, the sun
would be setting over New Jersey. It was always a picture
perfect sunset, complete with a rainbow aura. When they got to
the corner, Andrew would always be amazed to see that the old
abandoned pier buildings where he had spent so many hours
engaged in anonymous sex with shadowed strangers had been
resurrected. It had been many years since they had been torn
down, but now they were back, decrepit and dark, just as Andrew
fondly remembered them. The procession now marched through
the wide doors into the first pier. Although it would now be
twilight in the Dream-world, there was always a glow that gently
lit the vast derelict area.

The massive room no longer looked neglected; it would now be a

hallowed shrine. Candles would be glowing in colored glass bowls
on shelves along the wall. There would be bright colored banners
hanging from the rafters, but there was never enough light for
Andrew to make out the details of the banners, only that they
were colorful. The immense doors at the far end of the hall were
always opened to the River. A glowing bank of fog would obscure
the view of the New Jersey sunset; the space in front of the
doors almost blinding in it‘s brilliant and colorful light. The
radiance would illuminate a platform, with an ornate, altar like
table on it. Above the dais would hang an ornately lettered
banner: “There, but for the Grace of God, go I” in letters of fire.

The monks would lead their charges to stand in front of the walls,
facing the center, then would stand behind them, melting into the
shadows there. Now Andrew would be able to see the other men
in the white robes more clearly. They would all between the age
of 45 and 60, Andrew‘s contemporaries, and all of them would
have the same unconvincing looking Technicolor sores on their
bodies with the same unmarked area around their genitalia.
They seemed to have nothing else in common. There would be tall
men and short; there would men so handsome they had to be
models, and men so plain that the kindest description of them was
“homely“; very muscular men and scrawny men and others who
were extremely flabby; there would be white men and black and
brown and red and yellow men. A few still would be wearing
jewelry: wedding rings or ornate pectoral crosses. A small number
would have the distinctive ear locks of Chasidic Jews. Some of
them would be obviously effeminate by the way they were
standing, most would look like “straight acting” men, others would
stand in a pose of hostility and hyper-masculine defiance, while
others stood at the “parade rest” pose of a well trained military
man.

There WAS one thing they all had in common - a look of confusion
and even terror on their faces. Total silence would always blanket
the room. Slowly a quiet music would flow from around the men,
until it filled the space. An exceedingly tall figure in a gray
hooded robe would appear at the front door and would stride to
the “altar“, followed by a procession of muscular young men in
gold loin cloths carrying tall candles. As they got to the front of
the room, the candle bearers would line up along the front of the
stage, leaving an opening in the center that would grow to be a
short flight of stairs for the tall figure to walk up. The figure
would stand behind the table and faced the gathering. In a very
deep voice, he would begin to chant in a language Andrew had
never heard. The monks in their black robes would respond with a
different chant, while the candle bearers would sing in a higher
voice then the others a third, more melodic chant.

The voices of the chant would flow together in a complex pattern,

so that it would almost seem like words he could understand.
Every night, Andrew strained to understand the words; to
understand the Ceremony and the Dream. Indistinct, it
sometimes sounded to Andrew like “Unclean, Guilty, Unclean”.

Prodded from behind by one of the monks, Andrew would try to

join the other men in the chant, but they were all as unsure as he
was of the words. Those on the platform would be going through
some elaborate and arcane ritual which varied nightly, but which
always ended with the leader standing alone in the center.

The gray robbed figure at the altar would slowly reach up a

gloved hand to push back his hood. Just before the light could
reveal his face, Andrew would always wake up, sometimes
screaming, always terrified and dripping a cold sweat, convinced
that the sight of that face would mean his death.

***

In recent months the Dream has been changing; Andrew thought

of the Dream as “devolving”. Waking well before the end of the
Dream, he realized that he had recognized some of the faces of
people in the Dream, but he couldn’t remember who they had been
when he woke up.

One night, Andrew bolted awake with the realization that little
boy who screamed was not a little boy at all. Andrew knew exactly
who it was - not a child, but a small man he had not thought of in a
few years. He was a short, powerfully built man who had been a
friend for a number of years; he was the first hemophiliac
Andrew had ever met. He was the one who, in 1981, had shown
Andrew a small clipping from the New York Times, which reported
some cases of a rare and lethal skin disease among Gay men in San
Francisco and New York, referring to it as “the Gay Cancer.”
About a year later, he had called Andrew in hysteria. The Times
had reported the same rare disease among hemophiliacs who took
a clotting factor derived from human blood. The man was gay,
AND used human clotting factor. The short muscle man had
eventually taken a job in Washington, and after a few years, they
lost contact. Andrew had always worried if his friend, a member
of two “risk groups” was still healthy and alive, but had never
taken any steps to find out. Fear froze him. He realized the
handsome young man who the “boy” clung to who refused to look
at him was the man’s younger long time lover, who had been quite
tall.

In his head, Andrew heard the hooded man chant “Guilty”.

***

A few nights later, Andrew recognized the man who always stood
opposite him in the chapel-like Pier as his retired boss. A closeted
man, he is married to the daughter of the owner of their firm.
They had ignored each other whenever their paths crossed in this
very chamber, this temple of anonymous, dangerous sex, but he
had called Andrew into his office to tell him the news about the
anonymous testing program the city had started.

They had gone together twice a year to be tested; gone together

twice a year for their continued negative results, getting drunk
after each visit, then staggering together to the alternative
places where anonymous sex had become available after the
destruction of the Piers. Andrew was puzzled - he had seen his
former boss at a company party a few days before. Alive and
healthy.

As the weeks went by, more faces became clear. The faces in the
crowd who stared in horror at him he slowly recognized as
friends, coworkers and neighbors who had died of AIDS over the
last 25 years. Those who cringed from him were living
acquaintances infected with the retrovirus. The men in the white
robes were former lovers and current friends who were, like him,
free of infection.

Inevitably, nightly, the gloved hand of the gray hooded figure

reached up, and Andrew woke up, positive that under the hood
was the face of Death, and equally positive that to see Death
would end his life.

***

When the dreams had begun, Andrew had been dating three men.
Two of them, contemporaries of Andrew, grew tired of the
screams and the terror, and after a period of trying to be
patient, understanding and supportive, each ended the
relationship. To Andrew’s surprise, the third man, Zach, who was
half his age, was totally unfazed by the experience. A very
spiritual person, he unwearyingly weathered Andrew’s eruptions
as they became more frequent, with care and concern and humor.
As the two men became closer and spent more nights together,
he would hold and rock Andrew until the tears of terror ended
and he slipped back into sleep. Without any discussion their
relationship had become exclusive, and Andrew found himself
very happy about the situation. He realized that just being with
Zach made him happy.

From the very beginning, it was the most unusual relationship

Andrew had ever experienced. First of all, the younger man had
pursued Andrew with a steadfastness which wore down the older
man’s resistance to dating someone so much younger. Andrew was
used to being the one who made the plans for dates and paid for
them, Zach had casually assumed that since he had asked Andrew
out, it was HIS place to make the arrangements and pay; Andrew
was surprised by the elaborate and expensive plans made by the
younger man. This behavior made Andrew fear that Zach would
be aggressive and domineering when they eventually became
sexual, since he had no doubt that they would develop sexually.

Yet Zach allowed Andrew to make the first sexual moves, and
guided them to the most balanced and equal sexual relationship
the older man had ever been in, while letting Andrew teach him
new things. Andrew was shocked when Zach taught HIM a few
new tricks! Andrew had not been at all surprised when Zach
whispered “I love you” one morning as he woke up; the younger
man WAS surprised when the usually reserved older man grinned
and casually answered: “That’s a good thing, since really I love
you, too.” To Andrew’s amazement, it had been his young
companion who proposed that Andrew move in with HIM as lovers.
Zach was very successful in a new technical field that Andrew
didn’t even understand, and owned a very large apartment. It had
been fifteen years since Andrew had allowed himself that
intimacy, but he could not refuse the only man who seemed to
accept and understand his night-terror. Not to mention the fact
that he was deeply in love with the man. Except for the almost
nightly visitation of horror, they were very happy.

On the eve of their first anniversary living together, Andrew

woke up screaming “Unclean, Guilty, Unclean!”. His young lover,
who had come out and grown up in the Age of the Plague, asked
him for the first time the details of the nightmare. Andrew
sobbed as he began to explain the end of the Dream. “I can’t hear
the words of the chant clearly, but I could swear it’s ‘Unclean,
Doomed, Guilty, Cursed by God! Unclean!’” He then described
his terror as the gloved hand of Death reaches for the hood.
After some thought, Zach proposed that Andrew might be
interpreting the Dream wrong. “You will not know the meaning of
the Dream until you let it come to an end, Andrew. Remember
that no one ever died from a dream.” As Andrew drifted back to
sleep, his lover stroked him softly, quietly repeating to him over
and over that he was with him, that he was safe, and that seeing
the end of the Dream would end the terror. Forever.

***

Andrew entered his familiar nightly Hell at the foot of

Christopher Street. It was unexpectedly different. There was a
new light, and he saw things more clearly. He looked closely at the
faces of loved ones who had died as they moved away from him.
It no longer seemed as if they were revolted by him; but were
looking at him in sorrow and shame. A close examination of the
still living sick friends who turned from him showed not disgust,
but regret and jealousy. His bawling little friend was not
screaming in fear, but in warning for Andrew‘s safety. His tall
lover had looked away after a quick look of jealousy and anger.

The procession was not as organized as usual, and the bells

sounded more like clappers, muted. The robes of the monks were
made of cheap material, and were filled with patches. He had
never noticed before that all the monks were gaunt and short,
with stooped over shoulders. They were no longer figures of fear
and authority, just odd dream-figures.

The picture perfect sunset looked fake - the River and the New
Jersey skyline was just a poorly painted set, and the sunset a
child’s painting of a rainbow sunset.
The Pier no longer had a romantic look; it had returned to a
decaying ruin. The bright banners were actually dusty cobwebs,
and for the first time he smelled the stench of decay, old urine,
dried semen and sexual urgency that had always been part of the
experience at the Piers. As he looked at the other white robed
men, he noticed that they had a combination of feelings visible on
their faces - guilt, relief, fear and self-loathing. In place of the
emasculation that he always experienced during the Dream,
Andrew was aware of an erection stirring. He looked down, and
the shameful red ribbon was gone. The hideous vivid sores were
gone from his body, now restored to his healthy, vigorous
condition, as were the bodies of all the other men in white robes.

As usual, the chant grew louder and more complex than ever as it
surrounded him in confusion. The feared moment from each
Dream had arrived. This night, Andrew did not wake up with the
fear of the Skull of Death - the Dream continued. In fact,
Andrew watched the grey figure closely as the gloved hand
touched the hood, and held his breath. The heavy hood fell back.
There was no Skull of Death. Instead, the serene face of Zach,
of his handsome young lover, radiant with an inner light, was
revealed in splendor and glory. It filled the decaying ruin with a
bright light, and made all the men smile with joy.

Andrew remembered suddenly that his boyfriend had told him on

their first date that he had an unusual real full first name:
Zacchaeus, an ancient Aramaic/Greek name which meant “pure
and innocent“. His heart felt a flow of love from his Zacchaeus
fill it.

All at once, the mystifying chanting turned into totally clear and
distinct words: “Clean, Fortunate, Innocent, Blessed by God.”
With tears of joy in his eyes, Andrew slowly awoke to a new day,
and to that handsome, beloved, blessed and glowing face from his
Dream, pure and innocent, smiling at him with love and lust. He
knew his Nightmare was over forever, and the happy life of his
secret dreams was about to begin.

© 2007, revised 2010 - I. J. Rosen

This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author, who can be
reached at oldtimer25@Gmail.com.

The original version was "Published" on 4/22/07 on the defunct

Rainbow Community Writing Project website (http://www.rcwp.homestead.com/)