Page 16 of Creature
“Meets with yourapproval?” Harry asked.
“This is what a home lookslike. I knew the word but I didn’t… I didn’tunderstand.”
“It’s just a few rentedrooms.” But Harry had an inkling of what John meant. Even thoughHarry had just arrived and knew he wouldn’t stay for long, thislittle place felt as if it fit him. None of the boarding houses inLA had felt like that. Hell, neither had the house he grew upin.
“Look, I gotta do somethings today. But hang on.” He hurried into the bedroom, returninga moment later with one of John’s new outfits and the book Harryhad bought the day before. He set them on the couch beside John.“Those are yours.”
John’s eyes widened. “Mine?”
“Yeah. My clothes don’tfit you. And I thought you might get bored while I’m out,so….”
“I’ve never ownedanything.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Now youdo.”
“I can’t express…. Thankyou.”
Were those tears glittering in John’s eyes?Surely not. Monsters couldn’t cry.
“You can stay on the couchif you want, or there’s a bed in the other room. Can you make itthere all right if I ain’t here? You can lean on the walls.” Harryhadn’t given much thought to their sleeping arrangements, actually,but there was no reason why John should stick to the couch whenHarry wasn’t home.
“I think so,” Johnsaid.
“Fine. If anyone comes tothe door, don’t answer. Pretend nobody’s home. But if the landladycomes by—she shouldn’t, but I guess you never know—I told heryou’re my cousin. I’m taking care of you while you’resick.”
John reached up to gently stroke his ownface. “She won’t be able to tell what I am?”
“Not unless she looks realclose. You’re, um, looking more human, you know?”
“But I’mnothuman.”
Harry shrugged.
***
It would have been nice ifHarry could have simply knocked on Swan’s front door and asked himwhere he kept the reanimated corpses, but of course that wouldn’tdo. Townsend and the other Bureau agents had coached himthoroughly.Take a restrainedapproach, they said.Get him interested in you first, then pull the details fromhim.Harry had been skeptical about thisplan. For one thing, subtlety wasn’t exactly his strongpoint; hedidn’t have the smarts for it. And for another, Swan was going tohave to swallow some big assumptions. But in the end, the agentshad eroded Harry’s protests. They were the professionals. They knewbetter than some dumb kid from Missouri.
So today Harry began the roundabout plan bygetting a better feel for the city. He parked his car downtown andspent hours tromping around in the light rain, stopping now andthen to warm up with a cup of coffee. The Bureau had given himaddresses of a few businesses that Swan frequented—a couple oftheaters, some bars, a bathhouse—but they wouldn’t open untilevening. Harry strolled by them now, wanting to see the outsidesand surroundings in the daylight.
When Harry had received the list, he’d beensurprised that a city as small as Portland had so many businessescatering to queers and that they seemed to operate more openly thansimilar establishments in LA. Townsend had explained that Portlandofficials took a more guarded approach to homosexuals, preferringto have them out in the open rather than hiding from constantraids. Besides, Portland had long been a city where men—loggers,sailors, soldiers—came in search of a little company, and the townfathers must have figured there was good money to be made off ofthose lonely men.
What would it be like to live in a citywhere a guy could show his affection for other men openly—at leastin carefully selected venues? Maybe if Harry had grown up in aplace like that, he wouldn’t have needed to flee. But queernesswasn’t the only demon haunting him, so maybe he’d have runanyway.
And haunting was a good word. Wandering thestreets of this gray city, Harry felt like a ghost. Nobody knewhim. Nobody spoke to him or spared him a glance. When it came downto it, the only people in the whole damned state who knew Harryexisted were Mrs. Reynolds and the dead man waiting for him athome. Wasn’t that a gas.
Only when Harry’s rambles took him to skidrow did he feel any kinship to the people he saw. Here men and afew women, each layered in dirty clothes, huddled in doorways orcame reeling out of taverns, drunk even though it wasn’t yetdinnertime. The rooming houses looked familiar too. Crumblingbuildings where you could rent a cramped, dirty room for a night ortwo. Maybe you’d consider yourself lucky to at least have a roofover your head.
Not long before the sun set, Harry returnedhome. John was on the couch, wearing the clothes Harry had boughthim, and he greeted Harry with a sunny smile. “The books arewonderful. Thank you.”
Before John, nobody had ever expressedgratitude to Harry. Nobody had ever seemed happy to see him. Harrydidn’t know what to do with the warm feelings that resulted, so hescowled and dropped a newspaper onto the couch. “Picked this uptoday. Guess you can read it too.” Then he went to the kitchen tomake himself some dinner.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’dfixed a meal, and now he found it comforting to putter around thekitchen, searching for the right utensils, chopping carrots andpotatoes, cutting up and seasoning a chicken. As a child, the onlytime he ate chicken was when one of his mother’s hens grew too oldto lay. Even stewed for hours, those birds remained tough. But thisgrocery store chicken looked young and tender. Harry slid theroasting pan into the oven, licking his lips in anticipation of theimpending feast.
While dinner cooked, he sat on a hardkitchen chair, sipping Nescafé and watching raindrops course downthe window.
His chicken dinner was delicious—even betterthan he’d expected. But it felt odd to sit and eat alone, knowingJohn sat in the next room by himself.
After putting the leftovers into therefrigerator, Harry washed the dishes and put them away. Anothernice, homey task, although slightly jarring to do by himself. Backin Missouri, washing up was the kids’ group task, which sometimesdevolved into battles with soapsuds and towels if his father wasn’taround.
