matter. He whispered, 'No one can hear. I want you to enjoy it. I don't want to hurt you.'
She was afraid now, very afraid. He was bigger than she was, stronger than she would have guessed and he looked crazy, no longer the smiling, helpful, funny Mr. Havel.
She didn't fight. She didn't want to make him angry. All she wanted was to get out of there. It wasn't as if she were a virgin. She told herself that made a difference, didn't really believe it. She thought about water, waves, imagined the sound of waves against the shore. She just wanted it to be over.
And when it was he got off of her and said, 'Are you all right?'
The Mr. Havel she knew had returned.
He helped her up. She didn't answer. She didn't look at him. The unasked question was in the air. Would she tell? She decided that she wouldn't give him the answer.
He would have to wait and suffer. If she wanted to, she could go into the hall now, screaming, sobbing, but she didn't. She knew she couldn't wait long. She adjusted her skirt and blouse. She started to sob and tried to stop, not wanting him to see her weakness.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I couldn't…'
She slid the storeroom door open and stepped into the classroom. Alvin stepped out behind her.
'Are you…?' he began, but she had gathered her books and, biting her lower lip, hurried to the classroom door and then out into the corridor alive with students moving, talking, laughing, having no idea of what had happened.
She did not look back at Alvin Havel. She was already planning.
She would kill him. Not today. Not this week. He had to suffer, had to be afraid every time he looked at her.
She would kill him. She might need help. She knew where to get it.
She would kill him. She didn't have to expose herself, be humiliated by police, by probing hospital hands. She wouldn't have to deal with her parents' anger and anguish.
She would kill him. And two months later she did.
Two Years Earlier
Hempstead, Long Island
Adam was ashamed. Adam was afraid. Adam did not want to go to the pet shop where he worked after school and on Saturdays. Adam loved animals. He had been grateful when his father's old friend Larry Beckerman had offered him the job. He wasn't grateful anymore.
Three weeks ago, after Adam had been working at the pet shop for two months, Mr. Beckerman had told him he needed help in the storeroom. A new shipment of cages had come in and had to be priced, labeled and put on shelves. It was a slow Tuesday night.
Adam was a small fifteen-year-old. Larry Beckerman was a tall, broad, muscular forty-eight- year-old father of three boys.
It began with Beckerman touching Adam's hand as he held up a cage to be labeled. Minutes later, when he was lifting a large cage, Beckerman reached over Adam's shoulder and ran a hand down his chest before reaching out to help with the cage.
Then, when Adam was washing his hands in the small washroom next to the storeroom, Beckerman came in, started to reach for a towel past Adam's face and then suddenly grabbed, both arms around Adam's chest. Adam tried to get away.
'It's going to happen no matter what you do,' Beckerman whispered. 'I won't hurt you.'
Beckerman had kissed his neck. Adam smelled something on Beckerman's breath that might have been that morning's breakfast bacon.
'Don't scream,' Beckerman said. 'No one can hear you.'
The caged animals chattered, mewed, crackled, cried and barked.
One of Beckerman's sons, Nick, was Adam's age. They had classes together, but they weren't friends. Nick was a jock like his two brothers. Adam wasn't quite a nerd, but he wasn't varsity material.
'Tell anyone about this and I call you a liar,' said Beckerman. 'I don't plan on doing anything that will leave evidence. Take it easy. Enjoy it.'
Beckerman's hand slipped down between Adam's legs. Adam, through his fear and hyperventilation, felt something stir. And that was the beginning. He was drenched in sweat, fear and shame.
When it was over, Adam knew he couldn't tell anyone what Beckerman had done to him and what he had been forced to do to Beckerman, an old family friend, his father's college roommate.
Adam could have quit the pet shop, could have said he had too much schoolwork to do, that he was afraid his grades would drop. He could have, but Beckerman told him he had better not. He could have told his parents, written to his brother, told the police. But what if they believed him? Everyone would know what he had done to Beckerman. He would be be Adam the Queer, Adam the Queen. He would hear it, would know it by how everyone looked at him even if they didn't say it.
He took solace in the animals, the puppies and kittens, the cockatoo who said, 'So's your old man,' 'Hold your horses,' and 'GI Jive.'
And dutifully, maybe once a week- he never knew when it would happen- Beckerman would call him into the storeroom. Saturdays were safe from Beckerman. Too busy. But weekdays were different.
And then, one Tuesday, summoned to the storeroom, told to get on his knees, Adam took hold of Beckerman's hand and bit, bit hard as Beckerman, pants down around his ankles, struggled to keep from falling, screaming in sudden agony.
Adam tasted blood. Beckerman tripped.
'No more,' Adam said.
'Get out,' Beckerman had answered, lying on his back, his head resting against a small burlap sack of birdseed.
Adam had left. He told no one. Said he had quit. He dreaded the possibility of seeing Beckerman again, or anyone in Beckerman's family. But it was more than a possibility. Beckerman and Adam's father remained friends. Beckerman said he had been bitten by the cockatoo.
Adam grew quiet, too quiet, and distant. His parents were concerned. They said they wanted him to see a counselor. He said he was fine and made an effort to look and act fine. The effort was draining, the memories overwhelming.
Four weeks after he had bitten the hand that abused him, Adam wrote a letter to his brother. He could have emailed, but the email would have existed in cyberspace forever. He asked his brother to destroy the letter after he read it. Adam apologized for writing the letter, but he had to tell someone.
A month after he mailed the letter there was still no answer. One night Adam said good night to his mother and father, straightened his bookcases, cleaned up the clutter in his room, and made sure the blanket on his bed was neat and unwrinkled. Then he showered, put on a clean shirt, underwear and pants and hanged himself from a crossbeam in his room.
