White Moon Black Sea Read Free Page B

temple pulsate. He studied his cousin’s handsome, but cruelly decadent face. Visions of Humayun, stripped and confronting a group of handsome young men, came to mind. Confused memories of sick and corrupt sexual delights that carried an erotic intensity far beyond wantonness. Suddenly Rashid was filled with a prurient passion. He wanted Humayun and he wanted her now, right here in his cousin’s summerhouse. His craving for sexual delight was so great that under normal circumstances he would have had Humayun brought to him at once. But these were not normal circumstances. His quest was nearly at its end and that overrode everything else in his life.
    Rashid squatted down before his cousin. They gazed into each other’s eyes. Rashid patted Christos on the shoulder, then gently on the cheek.
    “Christos, you, Humayun, and I have had amazing sexual adventures together. There will be more, there will always be more for the three of us. I’ll see to it for you, as I always have. Oda-Lala’s door is always open to you, and Humayun is under orders to deny you nothing. The three of us will know greater ecstasy than we have ever had, I promise. But I cannot sell Humayun to you. She belongs to me. Now let’s have some coffee.”
    Rashid’s words seemed to dissolve Christos’s anger and disappointment. A light returned to his eyes, but no joy. When he spoke his voice was hard, but not empty of affection. Relieved, Rashid listened to Christos say,“There is a devil in you. But I find also a real generosity. That is what corrupts me.”
    Rashid and Christos rose and clasped each other in a hug, and nothing more was said about the matter. He listened to his cousin give instructions to the old woman to make coffee, black, thick, and sweet, and to bring tumblers of ice-cold water, the Greek and Turkish complement to all the sugar and fruit in their pastries. He watched Christos slice the cakes and tarts and other rich delicacies, spoon out Greek preserves in their thick sugary syrup on to small white plates for them to sample.
    All the while Rashid kept thinking how like Christos it was to drop one line that cut straight to the truth. Not a condemnation but a statement that told it the way it was and, at the same time, announced that the subject was closed.
    Christos had always fascinated Rashid. It was the strange mix in him: tantalized by boys, in love with beauty and elegance, yet often restrained by his passion for what was simple and lofty in Greek island life. A shrewd, agile mind; an intelligence never flaunted. In his reclusive and private world, he managed to wield enormous power with close acquaintances who were statesmen, artists, media celebrities. He was a valued troubleshooter for them, hence the wealthy erudite dilettante he was today, yet one who had not shed the friends he had made on the way up.
    Celebrated, but unavailable to international society because of his manic insistence on privacy; reputedly a man of culture and generosity who could be hard, ruthless, and shrewd, Christos remained shrouded in mystery. No one really knew him. The notoriety and gossip, the extravagant stories about his personal and public life, gave him no joy. Who could say what did — except perhaps, Rashid, his closest friend, and the men who shared his brief, indeterminate affairs?
    Christos had two passions that nourished him. His love for young nubile boys and conquering and educating them, and using his sharp, quick mind to exploit situations to their fullest. Everything in life he dealt with passionately, in extroverted joy and affection. All surface and verylittle depth. He lived his life like a Greek tycoon, without display, and with the heart of a poet and the eye of an artist.
    Rashid enjoyed the contrast in looks between Christos and himself. His cousin was still very handsome, short — only five feet eight inches tall — with wide shoulders and a chunky body. His rugged, perfectly proportioned face, with a squarish,