Aleksey
Rated: X for violence, rape, assault, death
My earliest memory is when I was six, of the moment I learned that the other boys I lived with weren't my brothers. At that time I was living in a small boys' orphanage outside of Chelyabinsk. I didn't know it wasn't my house, but I found out that day.
Peytr was fifteen, and our leader. He knew everything. So I and the others thought. He was the oldest, the smartest, and the bravest of us. I thought he was my big brother. I thought all the boys were my brothers. Petyr was strong and fit, with straight yellow hair and eyebrows. His eyes were so blue they matched a clear summer sky. He would get a pimple now and then, but hardly ever. His face was soft and round and gentle. He had no hair on his lip or chin, and hardly any anywhere else. We all bathed together at the same time, helping each other, so I knew he had hair down there around his privates. He had big privates, but I guess at that age it's all just is bigger than a little boy's. That hair down there was the same light yellow as on top of his head.
Anatoly was five. He was the smallest and youngest of us. Just a little kid. Sun-bright yellow hair, blue eyes that nearly glowed, lips so red we often teased him about getting into the matron's lipstick. Chubby, rosy cheeks. If we were fed enough, he would probably been fat. Chunky at least. But we weren't. Anatoly had just arrived. We knew nothing about him, and he claimed he didn't know what happened to his parents. The police had discovered him and brought him to our place. The first days, he was quiet and sullen. But one day, he joined us outside and played with us, and smiled for the first time. And told us his name. He didn't know his last name. After that, he was just another one of my brothers.
Boris was six, and very mean. He was almost as bad as the men who I thought were my father and uncles who ran the place. He bit and hit, even scratched. He never played with us. He sat and glared at us all the time. He was frightening. Black hair, almost brown-skinned, dark brown eyes with odd flecks of bronze, and heavy black eyebrows. Thin lips that never smiled, except just after hurting someone. Very skinny. So skinny, that when were taking baths, his ribs all showed, his hip bones showed, and he looked like a walking skeleton.
Gregori was fourteen. He was very nice, and polite, and friendly. He had wavy blond hair that was nearly white, green eyes like tree moss, ruby lips, big cheek bones, a narrow little chin, and little freckles that were hard to see in patches across his nose and cheeks that hid the little bit of pimples he sometimes had. His lips were so thin they almost didn't exist, but his smile was wide and frequent. His face was long and narrow, with sharp cheekbones and a small, sharp chin. He took care of us. Petyr led us, but Gregori looked out for us. If one of us were hurt or sad, it was Gregori that consoled us. He gave great hugs, and even nice kisses when we really needed them.
Isaak was twelve, bubbly and energetic and always happy. Except when Boris teased or hurt him. He always told jokes he made up, and riddles, and would laugh at anything. His red hair was often made fun of by Boris. He had numerous freckles all over his thin body. His eyes were deeply brown and his orange-red lashes and eyebrows highlighted their depths. He had a square face, bold features, a large, firm jaw, and wide shoulders. He could probably been strong and big, but we weren't fed enough for that, so he was still one of the strongest of us. At twelve, he was almost changing into a man, like Gregori and Peytr were. Isaak had a limp. One leg was skinnier and shorter than the other. That was another thing that Boris teased him about. Isaak's big, red lips were almost always apart in a big smile.
Martin was eleven, and also had red hair, but his was really red, not orange-red like Isaak's. Martin was lean and thin, almost skinny. His eyes were blue-gray and sparkled a lot. Dark red lashes and eyebrows stood out against his very pale skin. He had a small mouth with thin lips, high cheeks and a narrow chin. His hair was allowed to grow long, like a girls, and Boris made lots of fun of that fact. Martin was quiet and shy. He played with us, laughed with us, but never got very excited or such.
Pavel was seven, and small. He was barely taller than little Anatoly. He had dark brown hair, very thick eyelashes, thin eyebrows, an oval face, and brown eyes. He was silly. He wasn't as funny as Isaak, but he tried. He often sat with shy Martin when the rest of us, except Boris, were out playing or running around. He had very pale skin, almost as light as Martin's. Long arms and legs, too, as if he were going to be very tall, which was odd, since he was so small.
Erik was sixteen, and he told us what to do. He sort of was in control, like a leader, but not when we were on our own. He didn't play with us, either. He stayed with the men I thought were our father and uncles all day, only being near us to tell us something they wanted us to hear or know. He ate with us sometimes, slept with us sometimes, but he just wasn't one of us. He was taller than all of us, and was almost a man. He bathed with us sometimes, but mostly with our father and uncles. He had golden-yellow hair, like the pink grapefruit lemonade drink we sometimes had. He had blue eyes, large eyelashes of golden-yellow, eyebrows of that same color, and ruby-red lips that were large. Never a pimple. He never went without a clean shirt and pants, or shoes and socks, and he always had clean, new undershorts. He almost lived with our father and uncles. Petyr and Gregori claimed he was actually their relation, unlike us.
"Unlike us?" I asked when I heard Petyr say that to Gregori.
"Yes. Not like we are. We aren't relatives. But I think Erik is actually Father's son. Or one of Uncles'," Gregori said.
"What do you mean?"
"Are you stupid?" Boris asked from his bed.
Boris had his own bed, unlike most of us. No one would sleep in the same bed with him.
"No." I said to him, angry.
"We aren't brothers or family, you idiot," Boris said vehemently, grinning evilly.
"We aren't?" I asked, feeling sad suddenly.
Gregori got up from the bed he shared with little Anatoly and sat with me. Anatoly followed him, like he usually did. Gregori put his arm over my shoulders and looked right into my eyes with his deeply green eyes.
"Aleksey, listen. I know you came here when you were little. So I know you probably don't remember anything before then. So maybe it is time I tell you."
"Tell me what?" I asked, wondering what horrid news he was about to reveal to me.
"I know we call Father, Father, and his brothers, Uncle, but they aren't. They aren't even really brothers."
"They aren't?"
I wasn't sure to believe him. But he didn't make us stories, and I didn't think he was making one up now.
"No. Father is not related to Uncles. He is just a nice man who won't let us live alone on the streets. And Uncle Theodore and Uncle Maxim are not brothers. They are men just like Father who take care of us and care about us, and don't want us to live in poverty and sickness."
"They... Father isn't... he isn't..."
"He's going to cry like a baby!" Boris said gleefully, moving to see me better.
"It's okay if you do, Aleksey. And you have to know, too, that we aren't your brothers. Not real brothers. But we are, anyway. In all the ways that matter."
I remember seeing his face get wavy and blurry, and the hotness and pressure behind my eyes. And the churning in my guts and chest.
Gregori hugged me tighter and put his chin on top of my head. He put his other arm around me too, and pulled me tight against him.
I didn't know what to think. How would you react to finding out that your father isn't your father? And your uncles aren't your uncles. And that your brothers aren't your brothers.
Little Anatoly put his arms around my hips and hugged me too. I wondered how he knew, but I hadn't. For almost three years I'd thought of them all as my brothers. Sometimes an older one would leave, and sometimes a younger one would arrive. But Father and Uncle Maxim and Uncle Theodore were always there, and so had Peytr, Gregori, Martin, and Erik. Anatoly, Isaak, Boris, and Pavel had come after I had. And Yuri and Taras had grown and left. And Sawa, Uri, and Valentin had left before being grown under mysterious circumstances.
"What about Erik?" I asked after a time. "Is he really theirs?"
"I don't know," Gregori said softly. "But it doesn't matter. Father treats us like we are his, doesn't he?"
I nodded. He had, and did. He was kind, caring, and gave us a place to live, sleep, eat, and play. And books to read. And toys to play with. Like Uncles did, too.
"So we are brothers," Gregori said. "Just not real ones."
"No," Peytr said, now sitting next to me. "We're better than real brothers."
He smoothed my hair and patted my leg. And smiled at me in his special way. Peytr was like our big brother. He taught us and led us. If he said something, it was so.
And it was so. We weren't brothers like I had read about. We didn't have the same mother and father. We weren't born into the same family. Still, we were brothers. And we were better than brothers.
Time moved on in that slow way it does for the young. We all grew. I celebrated my eight birthday. I knew by then that we didn't know when my real birthday was, so I had been given the date I'd come home with Uncle Theodore. I had been left alone after a fire had destroyed the apartment building where I had lived, I was told after asking after learning that we weren't all brothers months before. In the hospital no one knew who my parents' relatives were. They had died in the fire. I had no one. Uncle Theodore was contacted, and he took me home on September 8th.
Over the next month another came to live with us in the house in the country.
When Uncle Maxin returned from town for food and such things during the dark of winter, he came back with a bedraggled horror in tow. The boy was dirty and wet, his clothes torn in places, cuts and scratches on his face and arms. He had no coat, only his worn shirt and pants. His shoes had holes, and he had no socks. He looked miserable, and so frightened. It wasn't possible to tell what he looked like, he was so dirty and such a mess. We had just finished dinner after waiting for Uncle Theodore for over an hour before we got started. Father and Uncle Maxim fixed the boy a plate and sat him down in front of it. He attacked it almost rabidly with his hands. We watched in silence as Father and Uncles talked.
"Is this the one you've been chasing?" Father asked Uncle Theodore.
"Yes. I've seen him many times. He's elusive. Turns out he was living in an old steamer trunk inside a pile of broken masonry behind an old factory. Clever. He had blankets and things in there."
"How did you get him to come out?" Uncle Maxim asked.
"I didn't. I crawled in after him. We talked for quite a time." Uncle Theodore scratched at his arms. "I've told him he will have to bathe right away."
"Best get rid of his clothes, and yours," Father said, shaking his head.
"Yes. Erik, will you find some clothing of his size?"
"Yes, Father."
Erik rushed off. He returned just as the boy finished the food. He'd used his grimy hands, and now his fingers were apparently the cleanest places on him. He looked very scared as he looked around at us now.
"Boys, this is Timur. He has been alone for a long time now. He thinks he is ten years old. I'd say that's about right. I've talked him into staying with us tonight. If he likes, he can stay. I'd like you boys to let him know what he'd be welcomed here, and to tell him if you like it here, and if you are restrained or detained here, or are free to come and go as you wish."
We all took turns telling Timur that we liked it there, that we were fed, had clothes, some toys, books, took lessons, had fun together, and that we weren't forced to stay there at all. Boris didn't say anything. It didn't look like Timur believed us. Not much, anyway.
Uncle Theodore put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and said, "Come with me now. We'll get you cleaned up, and in clean clothes. Then you can meet the other boys properly, and we'll get you settled in. Come along."
The boy looked up at Uncle Theodore and nodded, then stood and walked with him to the bathroom. We were told to be nice to him, and welcome him, and try to get him to feel safe there. We went to play in the large room that was ours. The games and cards and marbles and such things were kept there. We could listen to the radio or play the record-player. We were all playing in different groups at different things when Uncle Theodore arrived with Timur. He was very changed.
He was taller than me, but probably weighed about the same as me. His jet-black hair was now cut fairly short, and his complexion was so white it was like pure alabaster. His eyes were bright gray, with heavy black lashes. His eyebrows were mere lines, almost invisible. He had large ears, and I knew Boris would be making fun of them very soon. His lips were as red as little Anatoly's. His face was long and narrow, and he had a large, wide nose. His chin was nearly pointed, small and almost recessed. The clothes he was wearing were almost too tight. The shirt proved he was incredibly thin. His bare feet displayed the bones clearly. His hands also showed the bones that made them up.
"Timur, this is the family room. The boys all spend their time here when inside. There are games and things to do. You all share. Nothing belongs to any one of you. What is truly yours is yours, and you can keep them here, but you share them, too. Though you can claim first use and such of your own things. But do not claim to be using them just to keep others from doing so."
He introduced all of us to Timur. He hardly reacted at any point. His dark eyes looked at me when Uncle Theodore introduced me. It felt as if his eyes were boring through me.
"Now, Aleksey here will be your bedmate. You'll share a room with Martin and Pavel as well."
Erik came in and handed a pair of shoes and several pairs of socks to Timur. He took them reluctantly, as if afraid of them. Or Erik. Then he held them to his chest as if they were precious. Erik handed him a small stack of clothing, then tousled his hair and gave him a smile. Timur seemed afraid of Erik's smile and moved as close to Uncle Theodore as he could.
"Now, Timur, Aleksey here will show you where to put your clothes, and where you will be sleeping. Take him, Alek."
I got up and waved at him to follow me. I heard Uncle Theodore say, "Go ahead, Timur. Alek will not hurt you. He is a nice boy. You will find him very friendly. Go now."
I heard his bare feet slapping on the wooden floor behind me. When I got to the little room I called my bedroom, I clicked on the light switch and walked to my - our - bed and sat down. Timur stood at the doorway, looking around at the room. There were only the two beds and two dressers, and no room for anything else. It was clean, neat, and orderly. And rather nice, in my opinion. The walls were blue with white clouds painted on them, and a bright white ceiling. The wooden floor had two rugs covering it between the two beds, each one dark blue and fuzzy. They felt good to wiggle your toes into. I sat there and patted the bed. Timur slowly walked toward me.
I opened the two drawers in the dresser and took out the few things of mine and put them into the two top drawers. I left his two drawers open and pointed at them.
"You can use these. Put your clothes in them."
He slowly walked in front of the dresser, watching me suspiciously.
Anatoly, Isaak, Boris, and Pavel had arrived after me, and I was familiar with Timur's caution. He was worried and afraid, unsure and insecure. I smiled at him and nodded at the dresser. He threw everything into one drawer. I laughed.
"No, put them away neatly. Like this."
I reached out to arrange his things, and he nearly took my hand off when he slammed the drawer shut. He glared at me and stood with his back to the dresser, blocking it.
"Okay. Fine. You can do as you wish," I said, not wanting to argue with him right away. "Father and the Uncles will allow it, I guess, until you get used to things here."
He was taller than me, but I was obviously much stronger and healthier. I wondered if he would win or lose if we got into a fight. I didn't care to find out. I'd rather we became friends. It seemed like he needed that.
We went back to the family room. He sat alone as the rest of us played or read. When it was time to get to bed, he reluctantly stripped and climbed into bed with me, staying as far away as he could. We had to share the blanket, and it was a cold winter night. Father and Uncles led prayer as usual, then turned off the light and left us. The usual talk began. Timur remained silent. It was five days before we heard his voice.
I woke up late in the night. I don't know why I woke up. Maybe something in me noticed him missing from the bed. He was on the floor. Naked, curled into a ball, and shivering. I got one of the clean blankets from the hall closet and put it over him and went back to sleep.
In the morning, he was gone. We all figured he had left, until Petyr came in and found the clothes in the drawer. We searched for him, and Matron found him behind the couch in the adults' family room. If I haven't mentioned it yet, Matron is Father's wife. Uncles were not her brothers either. I didn't think they were even brothers. But she found him, and brought him into the dining room, wrapped in the blanket I'd put over him last night.
We had breakfast. Timur used the silverware. Then we had lessons. Timur dressed then joined us. He nodded or shook his head at questions, but didn't talk. Matron tried, but he refused. He almost cried when she nearly forced him to talk to her. She gave up and hugged him and told him it was okay, but he would have to talk sooner or later.
We played, had lunch, studied, then played. Then had dinner. We cleaned up dishes and the kitchen, then played. Timur remained silent. He was very shy and quiet. He often sat alone. Boris teased him, but didn't touch him. He teased him about his big ears and his black eyes all night. Eventually, Timur curled up and put his head down and softly cried. I pushed Boris onto the floor and Petyr yanked the back of his undershorts up so far that Boris squealed like a pig. Timur raised his head and grinned. It was the first time he had smiled.
When we went to bed that night, he was still reluctant to strip, and still stayed as far away as he could. And I found him on the floor again. I put the same blanket over him and went back to bed.
The next day was much the same. Since it was Sunday, it was bath day. We bathed every Sunday and every Wednesday. The adults were first, at some time during the morning. Us boys did so in the evening. The older boys did so alone; Petyr, Gregori, and Erik. The rest of us bathed in twos except for Martin, Isaak, and I, as I shared a room with them. The other boys bathed in twos, bedmates together. Now I was to bathe with Timur.
Tonight, Timur and I went after Martin and Isaak, just before bedtime. He was incredibly shy and timid. I stripped naked and got into the hot, clean water. He slowly took his clothes off, facing away from me. He was so skinny it was worrisome. And he had bruises on his back and buttocks. They were still dark in places. They must have been painful at first, and for days. He covered his privates with both hands, turned around, and got into the water with me. I handed him the wash rag and soap. He knew what to do with them, so he obviously hadn't been on his own for a very long time.
I dried myself and looked the other way as he dried himself. He started to get dressed.
"No, don't. We're going to bed anyway."
I opened the door and walked to our room, naked, as usual. He followed, covering himself with his clothes. I put mine in the basket for laundry. He did, but covered himself with his hands. We climbed into bed. He stayed on the other side of the bed. Father and Uncles came in and led prayer, then turned off the lights.
He was like this for four more days. He wouldn't talk, he stayed alone, and I put a blanket over him on the floor each night. Matron pulled him from behind the couch in the adults' family room each morning. We ate, played, studied, and slept.
On his fifth day, after lunch, Boris got mean to him. He'd teased him and such nearly constantly. Petyr and I had often made Boris leave him alone. I took to following him sometimes, to make sure that Boris didn't. I knew Boris would cause trouble. He might only be seven, but he would bite, or scratch, or hit him if he could.
When I was playing with Martin and Pavel, I noticed Timur was missing. So was Boris.
"Damn," I sighed.
They asked what was wrong. I pointed out my fears, then got up to look for them. I found them when I heard a small squeal from the bathroom. The door was closed. I opened it to see Boris sitting on Timur's chest, choking him. I kicked Boris in the back until he climbed off, then chased him out. Timur was crying and red-faced, and so scared that he sat up and grabbed me with both arms and cried against me.
"It's okay, Ti."
"Why does he want to hurt me?" he asked in a soft, high voice.
"I don't know. He's just mean. Don't worry, I won't let him hurt you again. Just stick close to me from now on."
He did. The rest of the night he played alone, but close to me.
When we went to bed that night, he was still reluctant to strip, and still stayed as far away as he could. But when I woke up later it was because he had snuggled up against me. When I woke up in the morning, he had an arm over my chest, his head tucked into the nape of my neck, one leg over both of mine. It was warm and nice.
When Martin and Isaak woke up and saw, they grinned and quietly got dressed and headed to breakfast. I woke him up and we got dressed and went to breakfast as well. No one said anything about him not being dragged in by Matron.
We studied, played, and had lunch. Timur stayed close by me, usually playing alone. When we were called to dinner, Boris walked past Timur and punched him in the back. I jumped up and pushed Boris down and sat on him. He was only seven, and I was eight, but I wasn't much bigger than him. His brown and bronze eyes glared at me as I said, "Stop bothering Timur or I'll hurt you!" I punched his chest to make my point. He glared at me but didn't say a word. I climbed off him and took Timur by his hand and walked to the dining room with him. Timur was two years older than me, but he was so small and quiet and shy that he was like a little child.
It was Monday night, and Father always gave us a kind of talk that night. Tonight, he asked Timur if he wanted to stay or not. That if he wanted it, Father would take him to Chelyabinsk and he could stay at the large orphanage there, and possibly get away if he wanted.
"I would really like it if you stayed. And I think the other boys would too. Is that right, boys?"
We all said we would. Except Boris, who remained silent, as usual. While Timur hardly played with us, barely even recognized our existence, we understood. Most of us. We'd all be afraid and scared when we had first arrived. I didn't remember those days, but I knew I had been much like Anatoly, Isaak, Boris, and Pavel had been. We knew that in time he would settle in and become like the rest of us.
"Would you like to stay? Or rather try to orphanage in town?"
"I'd like to stay, Father," he said in that small, high voice of his, looking at his plate. "But, can I ask for something?"
"Surely. What is it?"
"Can I sit at table with Aleksey? Next to him?"
I had Martin on one side and Pavel on the other.
"I suppose so, if Martin or Pavel are willing to..."
By then, both of them had stood up to trade seats with Timur. They laughed and looked at Father.
"Martin, why don't you switch with Timur. I know you and Isaak get along well enough anyway, and sitting with him will keep you both from throwing food across the table when you think we're not watching."
Martin and Isaak blushed, and Martin and Timur traded seats. Timur smiled at me as he sat down, then got up, hugged me, then sat back down.
"Awww, they're in love," Boris teased.
The sound of Petyr kicking his leg under the table was unmistakable.
Father, Matron, and Uncles didn't say anything, but they did give Boris that look.
That night, as Martin and Gregori and I played Durak, Timur sat down next to me and asked, "Is it okay if I play?"
"Do you know how to play Durak?" I asked.
"I used to play with my dad and mom."
By bed time, we had found out a lot about Timur, and he had learned a lot about us. And the other boys had joined and left the game at times.
That night, as we stripped for bed, he didn't hesitate or wait so long, and he didn't cover his privates, and he climbed into bed and stretched out right next to me. He smiled at me, too. Martin and Isaak curled up together in the bed next to us, like normal. Mostly to stay warm, but also because it was comfortable and felt nice.
"They always sleep like that?"
"Sometimes I would sleep with them, when it gets real cold."
"You don't have to anymore."
He snuggled up next to me, one arm over my chest, his head on my shoulder. We woke up in a tangled, warm, comfortable knot.
Timur and I became best friends over the next months. He washed me and I washed him, and he slept tightly against me. He opened up with all the boys, except Boris. But no one was open and friendly with Boris. About two weeks after coming to stay with us, he told us that his bruises were from a man who tried to rape him. He'd grabbed him one night and dragged him into a moving truck and tore off his clothes, threw him on the floor, and tried to enter him. He punched his back and butt when he couldn't get inside of him, and Timur's cries had brought a curious man to open the door of the moving van. He'd barely gotten his clothes before he got away in the scuffle between the two men. He'd been on the street since his parents had been taken for questioning one night and never returned. He'd stayed in the apartment until the landlord came to remove their things. That was over a year ago. Almost two years. He cried as he told us those things, and I put my arms around him and told him that he was going to be okay now. The other boys told him he was safe now.
By the end of the month, Timur was one of us, a brother, and playing and laughing with us.
As spring melted the snows, another boy came to stay with us. Father had gone to town after receiving a phone call, and returned with Foma. He was wearing just a hospital gown and Father's long coat. No shoes, socks, or anything else. We were playing in the usual room when Father walked in with him.
"Boys, this is Foma. He was staying at the orphanage in Chelyabinsk until he fell ill. Now there is no room there, and I've agreed to take him in. He's fourteen, and has never known his parents."
"What was he in hospital for?" Gregori asked.
"He had appendicitis. It nearly killed him. He was in there for nearly a month. But now he's better and needs a place to stay."
"Where?" Boris asked nastily.
There was only one place for him to sleep; in Boris' bed with him.
"Hell share your bed, Boris. Until we make more adequate arrangements."
Boris turned lividly red, crossed his arms, and pouted.
"I expect you to treat him well, Boris. Make him welcomed."
Boris ignored him. I knew there was going to be trouble.
Erik walked in with clothes and shoes, handed them to Foma, who took them and said, "Thank you."
"They should fit. If not, let me know and I will find something that will. If they fit I'll get you a few more."
"Thank you."
"That is Erik. He takes care of things around here and is in charge of you boys for the most part."
Father then introduced the rest of us. Foma said, "Hello," to each of us in turn.
He was tall and lean. His hair was short, very curly, and the colors of dark-stained wood. He had huge, dark, black eyes, fuzzy eyebrows of that mixed brown, and a wide face with a wide chin and mouth. He almost looked tanned, but it was just his coloration. He looked like he could be strong and maybe fat, but wasn't fed enough. His bare feet were huge and looked to be the same size as Father's.
"I'll take you to bathe and change, then you can join the other boys and get to know them before you all go to bed," Father said to him. "This way, Foma."
They left, and we played cards. After a long time, Foma returned with wet hair and was in clothes instead of the hospital gown. He looked better. He sat down on the couch by the window and looked out of it. We all knew what he was thinking. Even those of us who came there when we were too young to remember. We'd all seen others arrive, except Timur, but he surely remembered those thoughts the most clearly.
In the months since he'd arrived, Timur had become very brotherly with all of us, except Boris. Timur was one of us, entirely, and seemed to accept us as we accepted him. And now, he saw a familiar situation, and he wanted to help.
After the game, he said, "I'll finish taking your money later," and got up.
He was always winning at Durak. We didn't have money to use, so we used the little chips from the bingo game instead. He always had many of them. He went to the couch where Foma sat looking out the window.
"Foma? Hi. I'm Timur."
Foma looked at him and nodded. He looked calm and sad.
"Feeling sad?" Timur asked him.
He nodded, then turned to look out the window again.
"I'd understand if you want to be alone, but do you know how to play Durak?"
"Of course I do," he replied without looking away from the window.
"Do you want to play with us?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't feel like it."
"Oh. Do you want to play something else? We know-"
"No. Leave me alone. You don't want to be my friend. Just leave me alone."
"What? Why would you think I don't want to be your friend?"
"Because I'm homosexual. I'm sick. Get away from me."
"You're what? Is that spreadable? Is it bad?"
Timur didn't seem scared or worried, just curious. And I wondered what it was myself.
"It's why your Father decided to take me. I'm like the older boys here."
"How are you like them? In what way?" Timur asked him.
Foma looked at Timur and said, "I don't like girls. I'm a pervert. I'm sick in my head. I like boys to have sex with. Not girls. Don't you understand?"
Timur understood now, and so did I. And so did the other boys in the room. The older boys, Petyr, Grogori, and Erik, weren't there, as usual. They often did things together away from us smaller boys.
"We don't bugger each other here, like you're used to in Chelyabinsk," Boris said acidly. "So don't get any ideas at bed time."
"You keep your hands to yourself and we won't have any troubles," Foma told him.
"I can't believe I am to sleep with one of you," Boris said. "If you touch me, I'll tell."
"I like boys, not little boys like you," Foma told him.
"You do sex things with other boys?" Anatoly asked him.
"Yes," Foma said firmly, holding little Anotly's gaze. "But not little boys like you. So don't be afraid."
"I'm not," Anatoly said, puffing up his chest.
Most of us snickered at him. He tended to do that, and it was almost always funny.
"What sex things do you do?" little Pavel asked.
"None of your business," Isaak said tersely. "Leave it be and get back to playing."
Isaak was the oldest of us smaller boys, and we tended to listen to him somewhat. Not like we did Gregori or Petyr, though. So Timur left Foma at the couch and rejoined us for cards.
After a short time, Erik came in and called, "Foma. Come talk with Father and Uncles."
Foma sighed, got up, and after glancing at us, waked out with Erik. He was gone until we were ushered to bed. Father and Uncles led us in prayers, and then turned off the lights. We talked, as always. Mostly about Foma and what boys did with boys. Isaak seemed to actually know about such things. Martin knew a little. But Timur and I were at a loss, and gasped at the revelations of such things.
We were woken by shouting in the room next to ours that Foma, Boris, Anatoly, and Pavel shared. I knew Boris' voice, and since I wasn't sure of the other, I knew it had to be Foma.