How I found Alex, and the happenings around it.
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The Street Boy
==============
by Il Musico
It had gotten late that evening. I had attended that concert, in
part to kill my excess time, and in a greater part perhaps in an
attempt to forget my grief, at least for a while. Mozart should be
a good choice to cheer anybody up, and he almost managed to do it.
But now the concert was over, and as I walked back home, I couldn't
suppress the feeling of coldness. Coldness in the night air, and
coldness in my heart.
I shook loose of these feelings. I had to get over it. Nothing
would be able to repair my loss. I just had to accept that, as hard
as it was. I walked faster, as I was freezing. The streets were so
empty at this time in the night, empty and lonely. Downtown, close
to the theater, it was almost as busy as during daytime, but here
in my neighborhood people were already asleep. Not many concert
goers, I thought.
I had just three more blocks to go, when I noticed a strange bundle
on the other side of the street. I wasn't sure at first if this was
a trash bag that some unknowing neighbor had placed there, even if
trash collection was only on Mondays and Thursdays, or if that
object was an animal. I walked closer and almost past it, when
suddenly the bundle moved. Someone was apparently trying to sleep
there! The bundle had some human shape, and given its size, it
could only be a kid. Immediately my mind started spinning off crazy
stories of runaway kids, who after depleting their shallow money
reserve, ended up sleeping in the street, picked up by police, or
suffering a worse fate. Having run away myself one time when I was
young, this touched me deeply. I crossed the street.
The dark bundle was indeed a child. As I came closer, I saw him
shaking in the cold. He was well awake, of course; no one could
sleep at this freezing temperature. He must have seen me, but
didn't react. He just stared on, as I stopped in front of him. I
had to think of my Brian. This boy was about the same age as Brian
had been, when... No, I didn't want to recall this again!
The boy was still staring without seeing, as if frozen. If I left
him there, that would be his death. The temperature was already
below freezing, and it would plummet further. At least I had to
notify the police. But then I thought again. When I had run away,
at the end someone had picked me up, bringing it all to a happy
end, without involving the police. It had surely been much better
for everyone that way. Maybe here was a mission for me.
"Hey, did you run away from home?" I asked. It was silly, but how
do you start a conversation with an unknown kid who is totally
ignoring you? To my surprise, the boy answered: "Would love to be
able to do that. I have no home." I had never heard a street kid
put together his words so well, and had expected a monosyllabic
answer, at most. "So you usually sleep in the street?" I couldn't
believe that. The boy came back: "Since today. They threw me out of
the subway station." He said it with such an air of naturality
that I almost had to laugh. But I controlled my impulse, looked
around and commented: "You have a nice sleeping place here. Only
bad thing is that your heating seems to have broken down." This
seemed to call the boy back to reality, and he used the first
street word I heard from him: "Yeah, it's fucking cold here". This
simple sentence, spoken with that boyish innocent voice, shivering
from cold, gave me the rest. "Come along. I have a spare bedroom.
You will freeze to death if you spend the night here."
The boy looked in my face for the first time. "How will I have to
pay for that? I have no money." I took a moment or two to realize
what this boy was probably thinking of me. What experiences must he
have gone through! I considered for a moment putting things back in
place once and forever, but then backed out and held my temper.
"You don't have to pay for it, not in any way." I placed the
emphasis on 'any'. He looked at his shoes. "I will trust you.
Thanks." With this the boy stood up, not without some difficulty.
His awkwardness seemed to belie his age, making him look much
older, almost rusty... We walked down the street. Halfway to my
home I asked him about his name. "Alex." He didn't tell me his
family name, and I didn't rush to press it out of him. It was quite
possible that he was a runaway. He was just too well spoken for a
street kid. If this was the case, tomorrow would be ample time to
make him think about his situation, and maybe bring this to a happy
end. Like my own case, so many years back...
Once at home, I examined my find. Alex must have been around 12
years old, but he was very thin. Definitely he had eaten much too
little during a considerable time. He was probably a good looking
boy, under that dirt, that is. He was incredibly dirty and smelly.
Outside, in the cold night, that hadn't been obvious, but here in
my living room his looks pushed me to a quick decision: "Alex, the
first thing now is that you take a good, long bath. You look like
you had none for a month at least!" "Almost two months", he
replied matter of factly. This caused me a laugh attack, which
seemed to cheer him up a little too, but he did not join my
laughter. "Come up, I will show you the bathroom." I lead him to
the bathroom upstairs. It had been out of use for so many months
now... NO, I didn't want to think about this!!! I pushed those
images out of my mind. I opened the hot water faucet. It's good to
have a large boiler, the bathtub fills in just a few minutes. I
took the bottle of shampoo out of the cabinet, gave it to Alex: "I
hope it's enough". Now he laughed. At last! Hooray! Was it my
little joke, or the expectancy of a warm bath? Whatever, he
laughed!
I left the boy alone, imagining him peeling those smelly clothes
off. They must be almost glued to his body after two months.
Obviously he had neither changed clothes, nor washed any of them,
in that time. Two months... Had he run away two months ago? Or had
he lost his family to some freak thing... Oh no, again those
memories!!! NOOOO!!!
I went to the room that had been Brian's. My little bright Brian.
Who would think that now his clothes would clad another boy. But
that was the obvious thing to do now. It would make no sense to
stuff a clean Alex back into his filthy things! I grabbed a full
set of clothes that had been Brian's, and with a heavy heart went
back to the bathroom. Alex was in the tub, but turned violently
away as I entered the room, showing me only his back. The look of
his body hit me strongly. His lithe built, the thin, long arms, he
was so similar to how my son had looked. I couldn't help but find
more and more things in common between Alex and my Brian. Even if
Alex' back looked like if he had drawn a beating. Street kids.
"Don't be shy, Alex. I know how boys look. You don't need to hide."
I placed the stack of fresh clothes on the toilet tank, and grabbed
Alex' dirty things. "I had a son who was about your age. Here are
some clothes that were his. Put them on when you are ready. I will
put yours in the washing machine." Alex looked at the clothes, at
me, and tried a smile, but still kept his contortion that hid his
front from my sight. I noticed a wound in his face, that had
previously been hidden under the layer of dirt.
Alex would not let me see the rest of him, most probably as
scratched as his face and back. I laughed inside. Most probably
this kid had taken the opportunity for a good wank, and at age 12
one definitely does not like to be catched in action!
About half an hour later Alex came down the stairs. He had given me
enough time to prepare a simple dinner. I needed it, as I had gone
from the office directly to the theater, and was really hungry. And
I was pretty sure that Alex needed it much more than I did!
As he came into the kitchen, I nearly suffered a stroke. He was
almost a reincarnation of Brian! In his clothes, with his shape...
Just the face was different, thanks God for His mercy. Then the
images of my dear Katja and little Sue formed in my mind. I pushed
them away. I had to get over it.
"Come, Alex, I guess you must be mighty hungry!" I said. He was
again the shy boy: "Not really. I'm more tired than hungry." Well,
he had a point, it was almost midnight by now. But he wouldn't
escape so easily. He was just too thin! "Eat something, you need
it. Then go sleeping." He came over and sat down. Again it hit me.
He chose just the seat that Brian used to take. Brian had liked to
sit always at the same place, he had been quite stubborn in this
regard. I brought the dishes to the table, and Alex, unasked,
placed them where they belonged. This boy had definitely not been
living a very long time in the street! He had good manners. I was
growing more convinced that he was a runaway. Well, we would
straighten this out soon.
After all, Alex was really hungry! He started slowly, then ate
more, and more, and after a while I worried if I had enough food
reserves to fill this kid up! But it was a joy to watch him
feasting. Obviously he had been very hungry, even if he was too shy
to admit it.
During the dinner I asked Alex about his injuries. In addition to
what I had already noticed, I now saw, scratches and small cuts all
over his hands. Maybe that's the reason why he hid from me in the
tub? His face went somber when I asked, and he just replied "I was
in a fight." "The subway guards?" I asked. He shook his head.
"Police?" He shook his head again. I waited for him to swallow,
then asked "Who was it then?" "Other kids", he said, and loaded up
his mouth again with another spoonful.
O tempore, o mores! What times are these, in which kids beat each
other in such a way as to cause these injuries? Brutal times, for
sure. "Do you want some bandaids? That thing in your face looks
like it must hurt." Alex again swallowed, then said: "It doesn't.
I have had worse ones."
It was not this sentence that scared me. It was his facial
expression! 'Worse' apparently was a small word for what he wanted
to express. Before I could ask him if he had worse ones right now,
that needed any attention, he expertly changed the matter: "You
said this clothes belonged to your son. Where is he now? Where's
your family?"
There it was. Me, the dumb guy, hoping to get around having to
explain it again and again. But the question was clear, and a true
answer would be best. "They are all dead. Car accident. Five months
ago." I saw Alex stopping his chewing, then I lost clear sight. I
let the tears run. There was no way to fight them back now.
A moment later, while I was still to watery to see much, I felt
Alex grabbing my hand. He pressed it with both of his. That didn't
help much, as his hands felt just like those of Brian, or even
Sue's. In fact, Sue had often applied that instinctive method of
comforting, grabbing people's hands to transmit wellness to them.
My little Sue, what wouldn't I give to have you back!!!
Alex said softly: "We are companions then." I wiped away my tears
with my left arm. Back to reality. This boy sounded true. "What
happened to your people?" I asked. "It's a long story. It will take
hours telling it." I took the hint. "Let's go to bed then. Tomorrow
is Saturday. We have the whole day for storytelling, unless you
have something better to do." I tried to smile, while Alex joked:
"I have a subway to look after!" Little rascal! I showed him
Brian's bedroom, of which he took quick possession, and left him to
sleep.
-----*****-----
I woke up rather late the next morning. Only a good while after
waking up, I suddenly remembered the events of the last evening.
Had it been a weird dream, or reality? I climbed out of bed and
sneaked into Brian's room. Sure enough, Alex was there. But how he
looked! The angel-like face that he showed, like any sleeping kid,
was really marred. That wound looked worse than it did the day
before. It must have been of more recent date than I had thought!
It was swollen and reddened.
I sneaked back, showered, got dressed, and then I went for some
disinfectant, wound cream, and bandaging material. With that, I
entered Brian's room again. Alex had woken up, probably from the
noise I made while showering, and greeted me.
"Alex, you look like an earth worm mangled in a lawn mower." He
laughed. "I will fix you up a little bit, OK?" I said and put my
pack of doctoring supplies on the desk. "Oh no, don't worry, I'm
fine!" he said defensively. It surprised me. Could it really be
that those wounds didn't hurt him? Unlikely. "You WILL be fine, but
let me patch those holes, and glue you back together into one
piece." Alex somehow didn't want me to care for his injuries.
Strange. Just short of me forcing him, he gave in and accepted his
fate. I applied disinfectant over his swollen face wound. It was
the kind of stuff that's supposed not to burn, and either it was
good or Alex had a high pain threshold, as he didn't flinch. I
applied some wound cream and then taped on a sterilized wad.
Then I pulled partly back the bedsheets. Only now did I realize
that Alex was wearing one of my son's pyjamas. I was slowly getting
accustomed to this, but still I had to think of what had been my
family. Why did it have to happen...? But now there was work to
do.
"Get off that pyjama shirt!" I commanded. "If I'm not very
mistaken, those kids banged around quite bad on your back too!"
Alex hesitated, but seeing my determination, he removed that piece
of clothing. I thought I now knew why he had been hiding his front
in the bathtub! His tummy looked worse than his back, hands and
face taken together! There was a deep cut slightly aside his belly
button, and lots of scratches and bruises. Before I could ask, Alex
explained: "I told you I was in a fight." I pointed at the deep
wound. "Knife?" I asked. "Yeah. And these too", and he pointed to
some of the lighter cuts on his hands and arms. "It wasn't sharp
enough, or they would have killed me." He said this as if he were
reading through a grocery list.
I started working on his belly wound. After a while he gave in to
my questions and told me that the fight had been just the day
before. When I was done with his tummy, and having applied a light
coating of disinfectant over the rather minor wounds on his back,
I went for the difficult part. "Now let's see how the rest of you
looks. Take off those pants." Alex' reaction was unexpectedly
harsh: "No!!!", came his piercing answer. I recalled the time when
I had been his age. Sure enough, I wouldn't have wanted a stranger
examining my privates! Just the belly area was embarrassing enough.
But in this case, either I checked him myself, or I had to get a
doctor at it. I tried the clown's approach: "My dear little Alex,
do you want me to believe that those kids cut you up badly all over
your arms, face, belly and back, but did not touch your legs? Come
on!" He had no answer to this, but still did not accept the need to
strip. There must be something more, I thought. I looked in his
eyes. "Alex, did someone force you to do sexual things? Let's get
this straight, I have no intentions of doing anything like that."
The boy did not answer, but seemed to search desperately for an
escape. So I took the moment's chance and pulled the bedsheets
fully back, and while Alex still didn't speak nor do anything, I
gently pulled down his pyjama pants. He just let it happen.
And then I saw the most horrible sight of my life. No, I don't mean
his legs, which were just as cut and bruised as the rest of him.
What catched my sight was his genitals, or should I better say,
what was left of them. Below the small, still undeveloped boy penis
was a real battlefield. There was no sign of testicles or a
scrotum, but instead a terrible infected mess of a wound. I took
some time until I could speak again. "For heaven's sake, who did
this to you, Alex? Those kids too?" With a shaky voice Alex
replied, controlling himself as best he could: "Today is
storytelling day, isn't it? This is pretty much the end of the
story. If we start soon, expect to learn this part by mid
afternoon." Incredible, he kept his wit even in such a situation!
That wound was more than I ever could fix myself. And it was a case
for the police too. But how could I tell that to Alex?! I tried my
luck and told him to get dressed, so we could go to the hospital.
But he freaked out so badly, that for the sake of the poor boy's
sanity I decided to avoid it if possible. I very carefully applied
some disinfectant to that wound, and this time he did react. After
all, the non-burn disinfectant wasn't that perfect... I then told
him to stay in bed, and went down to the telephone.
It's good to be a lawyer. As a lawyer you know many people, and
what's more important, you know many of their weaknesses and hidden
affairs. So, if I ask friends for a service, they never refuse.
They can't... :-)
It's by this method that I enlisted the help of Mark, a doctor whom
I had defended in court in a case when one of his patients had
died, and the family thought it had been Mark's fault. It hadn't,
at least in that case, but it had been hard to proof. I asked Mark
to do a home visit here, as soon as possible, and bring along all
necessary tools and supplies for wound surgery. Then I prepared
breakfast. I intended to bring it up and have Alex eat in bed, out
of fear that he would rip that wound open, but he surprised me by
showing up, fully dressed, in the kitchen, when he heard dishes
clattering! That's the power of growth-spurt appetite, I guess...
Mark arrived after twelve o'clock. If that's his diligence in
attending a call 'as soon as possible', then maybe after all that
patient DID die because of his neglect... But for now he was
helpful. I told him the story, as much as I knew of it. Alex still
hadn't loosened up enough to tell me much more, despite this being
storytelling day. I intended leaving Mark alone with Alex, thinking
that it would be easier for the poor boy to be alone with the
doctor. But to my surprise Alex asked me if I could stay! If he
felt safer with me around, that was a good sign.
So, I stayed, but I would almost have had to flee when Mark, after
applying local anesthesia, cut away the infected skin, cleaned out
the wound, pulled and tugged to make ends meet, literally, and then
stitched it all together. It was a bloody, absolutely awful affair.
Alex said that he felt everything, but that it didn't hurt. He just
felt it. He was pale, no wonder after that torment. When Mark was
ready with this major work, he checked the lighter injuries, and
then left, leaving me with a tired, half asleep boy, and a
prescription for antibiotics. He offered to write any medical
assertion I could eventually need for the legal side of this mess.
At the doorstep, he gave a bold warning: "Watch closely over Alex.
If he develops fever, rush him to the clinic, AT ONCE! There is a
high risk of peritonitis." I took a mental note of it. Then Mark
demanded that I tell him the full story when I had learned it, and
left. Nice guy. Even if he came so late.
After all, Saturday was not going to be storytelling day. Alex fell
asleep again, and I rushed to the pharmacy to get those antibiotics
for him. When he awoke, he was quite beaten and in pain. In fact he
had been in strong pain before Mark's operation too; the difference
was simply that now he admitted it! I gave him one of those
antibiotic pills, and a pain killer, and spend the afternoon with
him, waiting if he would let loose. But he didn't. And I didn't
force him. I was growing sure that there would be ample time for
him to tell me the story.
He did so on Sunday morning, all of his own. And what a story it
was. Oh boy! Only child of a single woman, father unknown. Mother
dies in an accident when he is eight years old. Lives with an
uncle's family, but feels out of place. The cousins pick on him all
day long for being a "bastard", as if it was his fault. Finally he
runs away (I was right after all!). Takes a bus, to anywhere, only
goal is getting as far away as possible. Seeks asylum in a church,
but runs away when the priest refuses to help him without first
telling the police. Not trusting the priest, he puts his last money
into another bus ticket, ends up here. Tries to get a job,
anything, but has to learn that simply no one will give a job to a
12 year old boy. Joins a gang of street kids, who put him through
an initiation rite. When I asked what kind of rite that was, his
chilling answer came, slowly but clearly: "They butt-fucked me, one
after the other." It sounds so forbidden, impossible, unimaginable
to hear a 12 year old say this, so plainly.
After that initiation, the kids treat him quite well. But he has to
"work". Which means, hang out in the streets at late night, get
picked up by some sick pederast, go spend the night with him, do
whatever he likes him to do. Fetches enough money to buy some food
for the group. "At least I didn't have to steal", he said, as in
self-defense.
And then, the biggest mistake. Alex happens to be picked up by a
member of some weird sicko club. He is brought into a kind of club
meeting, where the club members mount a crazy ceremony around him.
He is declared an apprentice, and then... this part came very
tortuously from Alex' lips. Without any previous warning, four or
five of these men grab him, pin him backwards onto a table, pull
off his pants, and then castrate him in front of everyone, with an
enormous old kind of ceremonial knife, almost killing him with pain
and blood loss. Then they keep him locked up in a small, almost
empty cellar room, while he gets that infection. No way to clean
the wound, and only some toilet paper to absorb blood and oozing
liquids. He covers the wound with a stack of toilet paper to keep
his underpants from sticking to it. After several days they let him
out of there, and try to brain-wash him into thinking that this was
a great honor, and that he is something very special now. Soon
later he manages to escape. Very confused, in pain and in fear, he
does not go to the police, but returns to the street kid gang. They
receive him well at first, but when he tells what has happened,
they tell him to get lost and never return, as they want no
'nukes', as they call them. He tries to stay, after all the
abandoned factory building inhabited by that group is the only home
he has. But they throw him out. He tries to defend his rights, a
fight starts. One of the kids pulls out a knife, Alex notices only
when he feels the blood on his tummy. He flees in wild fear and
desperation. At least his former friends had brought him back into
the real world. He makes out a place in a subway station, the
warmest place he can find for sleeping. But before the station
closes for the night, the guards throw him out of there. He walks
and walks, until pain and tiredness overwhelm him. He sits down in
my street, not knowing what to do. And that's when I found him.
After hearing this story, I could not help wondering how this boy
had preserved his wit and good manners through all of this. The
uncle and aunt must have done a great job of education on him,
after all. In fact, Alex admitted that they were quite OK, it's
mostly his cousins who drove him to the point of running away.
-----*****-----
I had already told you, it helps to be a lawyer. It wasn't hard to
obtain temporary tutorship over Alex, and after several months,
with his relative's blessings, I adopted him. He has brought my
life back into tracks. He showed me that I'm not the only one who
suffered a lot. The more time passes, the more I see Alex as a
rightful replacement of Brian. Not that I could ever forget my
little bright Brian, as we all loved to call him, but the fact is
that he is no longer.
Some months later I had a serious talk with Alex about his future.
I explained to him what hormone replacement therapy is, what
effects it would have, and so. I made very clear that it was his
very own and private decision, what he wanted and when. Somehow it
did not surprise me when Alex assumed an attitude of delaying such
a decision. As the years passed, he grew ever more affixed in his
decision not to get any such therapy. He had come to terms with
what he was, and didn't want to change it.
And there was a reason for it. Alex had soon noticed my love for
good music. He took an interest in it, and through his youthful
enthusiasm he soon left me far behind! I soon registered him in the
conservatory. He started taking lessons in violin, and - in
singing! He is doing very well, in fact making faster improvements
with his voice than with his bow work. He has a surprisingly clear
and powerful soprano voice when singing, even if when talking he
employs a lower register and sounds more like a rather high
speaking young man. I think he has a future in this field. And I
too think that he thinks it. Otherwise he would have asked for
hormones already...
For several years I tried to get the weight of the law upon that
obscure castrator's club. But they hide well, change location
quickly, never stay at a given address for too long, and it seems
just impossible to find them. Alex soon showed me the house where
it had happened. The owner was eager to join me in my efforts to
find the sickos, which had vanished without paying the rent, and
caused heavy damage to the house. But he was unable to provide any
usable information about them. They had appeared as obscure to him
as they had to Alex. Only that the damage to the house was less
serious than that to Alex...
But I won't give up. Justice can take some time, but it does come.
The only other legal action to which I have devoted as much of my
time as to this one, was when I made very sure that the drunken
trucker who killed my family would spend a tidy number of years
behind bars.
Since finding Alex, I have never put down the custom of closely
examining any garbage-bag-like bundles I see in the street, when
returning home late at night. Maybe someday God sends me a
replacement for my little Sue... or for my beloved Katja... or even
for both of them... NOOO, I must not think about these
happenings!!!
-----*****----- The End -----*****-----