a-cantabrian-operetta-1

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Subject: A Cantabrian Operettta Chapter 1 This story is a work of fiction and only contains characters who are entirely fictitious. You’re not in here, and neither is anybody else you know. I wrote it – I should know. The action of this story takes place early in the 21st century. I have not attended any of the august places of learning mentioned in the text, and the details of those places are accurate only geographically. The fact that a crime takes place in one of them is no reflection on the integrity of that institution. I repeat – work of fiction.It is just possible that activities of a sexual nature may take place, and some of that may be cross generational. There is NO pornography. Look elsewhere for that. If you wish to provide feedback I can be contacted at lfa4321jonah@outlook and please bear in mind that you don’t pay to read these stories, but it does cost Nifty money to provide them. Please consider donating to Nifty fty/donate.html A Cantabrian Operetta. by Jonah Chapter 1, Overture. The Copper Trumpet, in the Finchley Road was never a salubrious establishment. It isn’t somewhere I would choose to be, except on the basis that everybody’s got to be somewhere. It had been chosen for a rendezvous, but not chosen by me. It was convenient in as far as it was only round the corner from my family home in Acacia Avenue but, since my parents had made it plain that it was no longer my home, that was neither here nor there. It had been a mistake to come home for Christmas. I should have stayed in Cambridge. I put down my pint of Guinness on the counter and wiped, what hopefully nobody else would notice was, a tear from the corner of my eye. This, of course, was London. Nobody notices things like that here – certainly not in St. John’s Wood. “Ready for another one yet?” “No it’s alright. Let me get you one.” “Don’t be silly. I’ll get us a couple of pints while you claim that table over there.” I wasn’t going to resist further. If Vijay wanted to spend his police salary on me, why should I prevent him. Students don’t get salaries, and my income had probably just evaporated. Vijay Khan had been a friend at school. We’d not seen a lot of each other since, but I had heard that he’d joined the Metropolitan Police. He was the constable in uniform who had found me sitting in the rain on the railway bridge on Lodge Road. I’ve always liked trains and the railway from Marylebone dives into a tunnel at Lodge Road, to take it under the hallowed turf of Lord’s Cricket ground. Across the mouth of this tunnel is a road bridge with separate footpaths on either side. The side girders to these footpaths are high and I could only really see by sitting on top of the girder. I was drenched already, so sitting on a wet girder wasn’t making me any wetter. “You’re making people nervous Jonah,” said the policeman. “I should come down off there”. I was surprised that the officer knew escort bayan my name, but I didn’t immediately jump down. “I’m only watching the trains,” I said. “Trainspotting?” “If you like”. “Well they don’t have numbers on their rooves. You’d be better off down Parsley Street, and you can see the depot from there. You can come down now.” Reluctantly I dropped down to the footpath and looked the officer in the face. “Vijay?” He nodded. “Now you can tell me what you were really doing up there,” he said. To be honest, I couldn’t. I didn’t know myself. Sure I was watching trains, but he was right. There really were better places to do that. Alright I felt pretty low, but was I really trying to balance courage and despair? Had I simply been waiting to see if I was brave enough? Certainly not. I have never believed that turning another human being into your unwilling murderer is an act of bravery. But why HAD I chosen that spot to watch trains? “I don’t know, Vijay,” was the only reply I could give. “That sounds like the sort of long story that’s best told over a pint,” he replied. ” Do you know the Copper Trumpet?” “Been in a time or two,” I replied. “Meet me in the bar at half five,” he said. “I’ll get you that pint”. I sat and watched him as he purchased our drinks. The policeman’s uniform had been replaced by denim jeans and a zipped up nylon jacket. His handsome face was wet with the rain and his wet hair neatly combed. I had fancied him once, and I reckoned I still could, but he had been more interested in girls. He collected two pints and took the seat opposite. “Now,” he said, pushing a pint in my direction, ” you can tell me all about it.” The story was not an edifying one. My parents live on Acacia Road and brought up their three children there. Joanne and I were twins but I was the healthy one. Lukemia kept her confined to her bed most of the time, and she had always been the one that my parents loved. She died a few days after her seventh birthday. My parents never forgave me for surviving her. They secretly believed that I had done that out of spite. My older brother left home as soon as he decently could and was making a living somehow in Australia. We seldom heard from him. Mother believed that I had always wished Joanne dead. My twin and I had been telepathic and Joanne always eavesdropped on my thoughts so that she could tell my parents what I was planning. I developed ways of confusing Joanne, but she still, at seven years old, managed to out me to my parents as a homosexual. Yes, I know, seven years old – laughable isn’t it. Not what my mother believed I’m afraid. Joanne had told her I was gay. Now that Joanne had died that took on the status of an pronouncement from on high. My parents still continued to look after me with an ill grace. I was surprised they didn’t send me to boarding school. When I got a scholarship to Jesus College, Cambridge, they were overjoyed – not at my achievement, but because I should be at home less kocaeli escort bayan often. It was the visit to my parents at Christmas 2010 that proved to be my undoing. We had exchanged gifts perfunctorily, and observed the usual customs, but the air was NOT charged with amatory numbers, nor soft madrigals. As for dreamy lovers’ lays, there was an unpleasant shock in store. It was the day after Boxing Day, and I was reading in my room after dinner when my father knocked and walked in. His military training always enabled him to look distinguished but, when it came to giving orders, mother could put him in the shade. He didn’t waste time on preamble. Just stood to attention, fingered his perfect moustache and opened the batting “Jonah, your mother wants to know your explanation for this.” He waved a piece of paper with a photograph stapled to it. I wasn’t in the mood for this. “Since you’ve seen it and I haven’t, it would make more sense for you to explain it to me,” I replied. “It came for you last Tuesday,” he replied irritably. “And mother thought she’d open it,” I said, deliberately not making it a question. “She has every right….” “No Father, she has no right whatsoever, but that has never stopped her, so I don’t suppose there is any point in making an issue of it.” “It’s pornography.” “Maybe, or maybe not. I wouldn’t know since she didn’t give it to me.” He threw the document on the bed. It was a letter printed on Jesus College notepaper. Stapled in one corner was a photograph of a naked young man. I stood up and faced my father. I had no interest in the letter. Everybody had read it except me and, having recognised the young man in the picture, I had no interest in what he had to say either. “Are you packed for Cambridge Jonah?” my father asked. “Of course.” “Good because you can go back there now. I’ve no interest in what happens to you after that. Your mother and I don’t approve of such perversions and we’re not having them under our own roof. Your fees are paid up to the end of the school year. Now you can get out.” “I always knew Joanne was the lucky one,” I remarked. For a moment I expected an explosion. It looked to be imminent, but I was to be disappointed. He fumed in silence for a moment or two, then turned on his heel and left without another word. I never saw either of my parents again. I simply put on my jacket and left. There was nothing I wanted to take with me. Everything I needed for university was already there. Vijay took a sip of his pint then put it down carefully. “You say you recognised the young man in the photo?” “Yes, an English language student,” I replied. “He goes by the name of Dennis Dovedale. He’s nineteen and thinks he’s fifty-nine. He played the lead in “The Pirates of Penzance” last year. This year he’s producing the show.” “Gay?” I took a sip as I thought about that one. “Hard to say,” I replied eventually. “He minces with the best of them and is as camp as camp kocaeli escort can be – calls everybody “Darling”, especially if he doesn’t like them – but as for his actual sexual proclivities – well I just don’t know him enough to say.” “So why would he write to you?” “Not having read the letter, I can’t really say. Of course he wants me to be in whichever Gilbert and Sullivan masterpiece he’s producing this year, but that doesn’t explain the photo.” “Well you’re not heading back to Cambridge tonight anyway,” He declared. “No, there’s a bench on King’s Cross Station with my name on it,” I said bitterly. “I doubt the BTP would allow that,” he responded, ” but they don’t have a lot of say about my sofa. You’d best come home with me tonight.” “Will the current Mrs. Khan be OK with that?” “There isn’t one,” he returned. “But I thought…….” “Maddie died in childbirth, having our second child,” he said. Suddenly my troubles paled into insignificance. How could I have sat here pouring out my woes as if they were the only thing in the world that mattered, to a friend who had borne that? “Oh mate…… ” I said, ineffectually. He smiled sadly. “She gave me two beautiful children before she died,” he said. “I have a lot to be thankful for.” Vijay lived in a flat in Kingsmill Terrace, three floors up from the ground. We went up in the lift, Vijay remarking that he usually took the stairs for the exercise, but he was taking pity on me. He thanked the teenage girl who had been watching his television. A small boy of about four poked his head round the door as soon as she was gone. His dusky face wore a satisfied smile, now that his father was home. “Hi Simon,” said Vijay. “Is your brother asleep?” The boy smiled some more and nodded vigorously. As if to catch him out in a lie, the sound of a child crying came from the room behind him. Vijay pushed past the boy and in a few moments emerged with a baby in his arms. The child had ceased to cry but was sucking determinedly on a plastic dummy and sniffled intermittently. Vijay held the child to his shoulder and made soothing noises. I sat on the sofa and the four-year old immediately climbed onto my lap. I sat and gently hugged him while his father settled his little brother. “I think you’d better share my bed, Jonah,” said Vijay. “Simon won’t settle in his own bed now, so he’d better join us. I’ll get Peter settled in his cot. ” I was not about to argue. The last time I’d shared a bed with Vijay we had been seven. My parent’s wouldn’t allow it after Joanne outed me. I dozed off with the cute four year old boy between Vijay and I, and his one-year-old brother sleeping peacefully in the cot in the corner. Tomorrow it would be back to Cambridge. TO BE CONTINUED If you’ve enjoyed this story you’d probably enjoy other stories by the same author, also on Adult/Youth. “Immigrant”, “Marooned”, “Letter from America”, ” Stranger on a train” and “The Boston Tea Party” are all by this author, as is, “The Pen-Pals” (on Young Friends). You would also probably like “A Neglected Boy” by Jacob Lion. Pictures of some of the characters in this story can be found on Jacob’s bly/jonah-stories.html My thanks go to Jacob for his generosity and hard work in making this available.

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