Chapter Three

The Chicken Asylum
From Chapter Three

By Fred Hunter

I woke in the middle of the night in a sort of postcoital dreaminess. I was lying halfway on my stomach with one leg straight and the other crooked up between Peter's legs. I was disoriented for a moment, then realized I'd been woken by the sound of a soft click. I glanced over Peter's shoulder at the clock on the nightstand, which read 12:57.

I gently extricated my leg from his and rolled over on my back, wondering what the noise had been. Suddenly I felt my heart constrict: I could sense movement somewhere. I tried to scan the room without moving my head, not wanting to show any sign of being awake. Through the darkness I finally made out that the door was opening. For a moment I thought I was having my Saddam Hussein nightmare again, but my racing pulse and rapid breathing convinced me otherwise.

"Peter!" I anxiously whispered into his ear. "Peter! Wake up!"

"Nuh?" he said so loudly I almost jumped out of my skin.

"Shh! There's someone in here."

"What?"

"Alex?" James's voice said quietly in the dark.

"James?" I reached over and switched on the lamp on my side of the bed. The three of us recoiled from the sudden flood of light. When my eyes had adjusted, I found our young soldier standing at the foot of the bed clad only in a pair of tattered briefs. Apparently his makeover hadn't extended beneath the surface.

"Is something wrong?"

"I have question."

"You have question now?" I said, my eyes widening. Then I quickly corrected myself. "I mean, you have a question now?"

"Yes." He came around the side of the bed and sat on the corner.

I glanced at Peter, who I suddenly felt was very conspicuous. "What is it?"

James stared at me with those big Bambi eyes, marshaling his courage, and then said, "You are homosex?"

I blinked. "Personified."

His forehead wrinkled.

Peter sighed in my direction. "Yes, we are."

James turned back to me. "Your mother, she knows this?"

"Well, you could hardly expect us to be sleeping in the same bed under the same roof as my own mother without her knowing about it!" I didn't mean to sound snippy, but I was so flabbergasted by the direct questioning and the late hour that I couldn't help it.

"This is yes?" he asked blankly.

"Yes."

He looked even more distressed. He raised his hands, holding his palms a few inches apart. "You need to use much more little words."

It was my turn to look perplexed. "Smaller words?"

"I think he means fewer," Peter said in a tone for which I would be getting him back later. "Honestly, Alex, English is his second language."

"She does not mind this, your mother?" James asked.

"Of course not. She loves me. Us!"

He was silent for several seconds during which his breathing quickened. At last he said, "You see . . . Alex . . . Peter . . . you see . . . " There was mounting urgency in his voice. "I am homosex, too!"

I almost said, "Oh dear God!" but the look on James's face kept me from exclaiming. His eyes were wide and searching both of our faces, as if he feared a very elaborate trap had been set for him, the object of which had been to trick him into this confession. For the second time that day, I felt like crying just looking at him. He had the panic-stricken look of someone who has just made his first bold step out of the closet and is prepared to retreat at the slightest sign of rejection. But his fear went beyond that. Although I really didn't have any concrete information on how gays were treated in his country, I didn't doubt that he could've been killed for admitting it there.

But then in a rush something else dawned on me: this wasn't the first time he'd admitted to his sexuality.

"That's wonderful," said Peter with heartfelt sincerity.

James's tension began to drain so quickly that he almost giggled with relief. "Yes?"

Peter nodded.

"That is why you needed to come to this country, isn't it?" I asked.

"Yes. In my country it is dangerous to be such. If anyone knew . . . " His voice trailed off. From the worried expression on his face, the outcome must've been vividly playing through his mind. "But for many years I hear about America, and I think maybe I come. It is better here. They say that sex is very free."

"Well, you can still buy it."

Peter heaved a world-weary sigh. "Alex . . . "

"Sorry."

"I don't mean this," James explained. "I mean you can be here."

Both Peter and I were momentarily stumped by this one. Then suddenly it came to me. "Oh! You mean that you can be gay here. Homosexual. Yes. Well, for the most part."

Peter muttered, "Alex . . . fewer, fewer, fewer . . . "

James sat staring soberly at his own knee for almost a minute. Then he said very quietly, "This is good." He rose from the bed. "I think I can sleep now."

He started for the door but paused when Peter spoke. "James. I think you're very brave."

"Thank you," he replied with a rueful smile that showed he didn't share the same opinion of himself. But for the first time there was some warmth in his tone. It was as if he finally felt like part of a family. He turned and left the room.

"Jesus!" said Peter, putting his right hand behind his head and lying back against his pillow. "What do you think of that?"

"I think he's a bastard!" I exclaimed.

Peter looked absolutely shocked. "James?"

"No, Nelson!"

"Why?"

"Because now it all makes sense!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you remember what Nelson said when we asked him why James needed to leave Iraq? He said, "He has his reasons.'"

"So?"

"So! James must've told him what his reason was. Nelson knew it all along!"

"Of course he did. So what?"

"Don't you see? James is gay! That's why Nelson wanted him to stay with us!"

There was a beat, then Peter said, "You're probably right. But so what?"

"So why didn't Nelson tell us that to begin with?'

He shrugged. "I don't know. Probably more of his need-to-know crap."

"Well, tomorrow I'm going to tell him we needed to know. I mean, what was the point in setting James up with us if he wasn't going to tell us he was gay?"

"I don't know, honey." He yawned and turned over on his side. "Worry about it in the morning, will you? Let's get some sleep."

I lowered my head back onto my pillow. "Huh. A gay Iraqi soldier. What will they think of next?"

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