The Peacock116

 "It was Remembrance Day, 1987 when I came out to look at the house.  I still had not contacted the owners, but I wanted to get a sense of the place.  It was dismal and frightening.   Rambling old cottage, colour yellow with splashes of other colours, built in the 1930's. The grounds, about one acre, were completely overgrown and worse than untidy, and there were also three dilapidated sheds and outbuildings.  There was tremendous natural beauty, but so neglected and untended, with huge piles of rubbish everywhere overgrown by blackberry vines, ivy and weeds.   I looked in the windows and it was such a jumbled and cluttered and filthy mess that I didn't know how anyone could ever have lived in there.  But I knew that this house was going to be my next stop.  I somehow could see how this place could look once I had worked on it for a while.  Perhaps a great long while.

"I came out again a few evenings later, where I met the owners, a couple in their thirties.  It turned out that the husband, Derek, I had known when we were both high school students in Richmond, though we went to different schools.  but we did have a friend in common, for me, an acquaintance.  His wife was German, older, very beautiful, and looked like Marlene Dietrich would have looked had she been a hippy.  I agreed to rent the house, and the rent did promise to be very affordable, and almost immediately I began to work on the place.  I spent weeks with a crowbar and hammer, just clearing out junk, scrap wood and detritus from inside the house.  In the meantime, I began building a trail through the thick salal and birch wood in the back.  Then I painted, and put up palm mats on the walls.  Other venues of supply opened up.  My father had several rugs and carpets for me, and miracle of miracles, a month later, it was ready for occupancy.  I had never worked so hard in my life.  I had something to be proud of: I with zero carpentry skills, had single handedly transformed a decrepit shack into an inviting and homey cottage...

The Peacock 115

 "It only got worse.  The Abbey felt like something terrible had changed.  People seemed aloof, distant and quite preoccupied, and there appeared to be different ritual bonfires burning all over the property.  Other things suggested to me that there was something really wrong, but I could not get to the bottom of it, and I felt perpetually menaced.  I returned to Vancouver, and in the café was befriended by a young guy in his early twenties (I was thirty), who conceived a passion for me, said he was homeless and asked if he could stay with me, so, stupidly, I invited him to couch surf.  He tried to jump my bones, I didn't respond, so he got vindictive.  'Remember that time at Benjamin's (the café) when you said to me that the younger and prettier they are, the nastier they get when you turn them down?' he said,' Well, I'm going to really make sure that you never forget that you said that.' So this flakey, dishonest, completely unreliable and absolutely vindictive young man befriended my satanic neighbours upstairs, and helped facilitate their curses against me.  I won't go into detail about how I got him out of my apartment days later, but unfortunately I had to use his cocker spaniel as a hostage.  Very effective, though I am not proud of what I had to do.  The dog lived, by the way!  It also turned out that he always did have a place to stay and didn't need my couch.  He really only wanted to have sex with me.

"As soon as Christian was gone, I gave my notice and moved to the apartment on Burnaby Street.  Still pretty noisy but at least I was no longer under threat and actually did get some much needed rest.  I did have various people over to visit, for  coffee or a meal, sometimes someone who was in need slept over a few nights, but it always seemed a bit uncomfortable, and I often sensed ulterior motives coming from them.  

"Duff came to stay with me in the fall. He told me about the farmhouse in Richmond.  A couple of weeks later, I went out to have a look.  It was in really sad condition..."

The Peacock 114

 "That sense of spiritual warfare, it was all over the place.  We were going through some massive social changes, and I think there has been a lot of darkness shrouding the earth.  During the eighties, it just got so ugly.  Governments became increasingly hostile towards the poor and vulnerable, and the general attitude was becoming so selfish, cold and heartless.  Evil was penetrating everywhere.  And we also had the AIDS pandemic, when the illness was one hundred percent lethal.  On top of that, I became aware of a number of parties that seemed to be delving in the black arts.  A coven of punk Satanists moved into the apartment upstairs a couple of months later and all hell broke loose.  I wasn't sure at first, but they were noisy and super inconsiderate, and when they became aware of my complaints they got ugly.  I could hear things going on upstairs, that seemed like rituals, with silence and chanting of some kind,  Then there would be talking, and noise carried pretty easy in that building.  I was living at the time downtown in an apartment on Robson Street, near Burrard.

"One evening, just before I went out to the café downtown where I hung out with various street folk,  I heard them conducting a ritual.  Then, something was being poured from upstairs down against my living room window.  At first I thought someone was peeing out the window, but remembering that the windows opened from above, realised that would be physically very difficult, if not impossible. I could also hear one of them saying,'Make sure it runs right against his window', so I knew I was being targeted.  Then in unison, they all rhythmically were stomping on my ceiling.  Now I am sure they were putting a death curse on me.  

"All hell began to break loose. That fall, a very difficult and belligerent client I was seeing wrongly accused me of sexual assault, in order to get rid of me.  I was exonerated, but that shadow never left me till I resigned from my job a couple of years later.  Then I began having accidents.  And a huge toothache resulting in an extraction, and a totally inappropriate scolding from the dentist, who provided his services free to the local poor, and didn't seem to consider or care that I as a low income worker, could not pay for dental treatment.  I developed boils, one on the back of my neck, one on the lower tip of my spine and one on the back of my heel, all exuding the same yellow pus, which I had never seen on my body before.  I was nearly hit by a car, threatened by an aggressive dog, all of these things happening within days.

"t was early December and I went on a weekend retreat to the Abbey, in need of rest and recovery.  What a dumb move..."

The Peacock 113

 "I clandestinely noticed this same guest talking privately to one of the monks.  I couldn't quite pick up what he was saying, but I discerned that this man was up to something very diabolical.  The next day, just before he left, we ran into each other in the guest kitchen and we were drinking coffee.  He mentioned to me that he was going to New Westminster, then to White Rock, then to Victoria.  Jonn's ex -wife, who had left the satanists in repentance, had revealed to him that there were sister covens all linked together in those three cities.  That was when I struck.  I extracted from him a confession that he was involved, in fact, was one of the leaders, of this coven and he confirmed it was on Dallas Road, and he was acquainted with my friend's ex-wife. We didn't speak again after.  Two or three months later, during the height of Expo 86 in Vancouver, I was one bright summer evening very deep in intercessory prayer.  I knew there was something afoot and I was in deep deep prayer and intercession.  Then I sensed that God was telling me to get on the bus to UBC and I imagined I would be taking in the sunset from the beach there.  By the way, from conversations with his ex-wife, Jonn had learned that there was a lot of satanic ritual worship occurring in the forests of Stanley Park and the University Endowment Lands, now called Pacific Spirit Park.

"I sat in the back of the bus, still caught up in that agony of intense intercessory prayer.  I didn't know what was going on, but it felt like something really dark was being penetrated.   Just when the bus was going through the forest of the University Endowment Lands, I saw someone getting up to get off the bus.  It was the man I had talked to recently at the monastery.  I don't think he saw me.  As soon as he got off the bus, presumably on his way to a ritual in the forest, since it would soon be dark, the sense of oppressive darkness suddenly lifted from me, and I felt much better.  I have no doubt that I was in a state then of real spiritual warfare..."

"

The Peacock 112

 "During that time", Aaron continues, "My friend Jonn and I were spending a lot of time together in prayer and ministry.  Jonn had a particular awareness of this work of darkness, since his ex-wife had gone and joined a coven of satanists in Victoria and as part of her vendetta against her ex-husband, death curses were launched against both of us, and in many ways the shit was really hitting the fan for us here in Vancouver.  Without going into detail, Jonn's life was in danger at times, and this played out in some hospitalizations.  Then one evening, in a quiet cocktail lounge, Sandy and I had quite the   confrontation.  I realized that I was being called to confront the darkness that was in her, so I spoke to her with calm and almost chilling authority, to summon her to repentance.  It took on quite the powerful poetic metre, this encounter.  We were communicating as though in a form of liturgy, and she was well aware of what was going on.  This was also very typical of the kind of intensity I was living in during that time of intercessory prayer and street and bar ministry. But she responded, and came to accept the challenge of Christ.  By the way, the coven she was part of was situated on Dallas Road, not far from Beacon Hill Park.

"During that time, I was taking regular retreats at the Benedictine monastery over there. I had already been several times, and for the most part such retreats were for me a blessing.  But then in the summer of eighty-six, something changed.  I had been on retreat in May, but something in the air at the monastery had clearly changed.  There was a man there as a guest, in his thirties, and he seemed very intense and charismatic.  We were all drawn to him, I and the other guests.  But then I could see that this man had some kind of preternatural power and he was using it to control and manipulate.  He wanted to take us somewhere on the grounds of the monastery, but I didn't want to go.  I wanted to break the power he was trying to wield over me.  So calmly, and politely, I suggested we might go back to the monastery since there was a vespers service on.  At the suggestion of attending a Christian service, this man's face betrayed such an incredible disgust and revulsion, and fear, but then he covered it up again.  The other guests suddenly turned hostile on me, so I departed, leaving them in peace. .." 

The Peacock 111

 "Judith left on me a strong impression.  She seemed like a young earth mother, very warm, generous.  We never became close friends, but we often stopped  to say hi and chat.  Very different from her big brother, who was then an absolute mess.  Of course, we all go through our seasons of change, and by the time Duff was staying with me again, two years later, Judith was the mother of a newborn, and Duff was telling me about the farmhouse she had told him about.  There seemed an insistence, almost an expectation, that I should take the house.  And in retrospect I found that very troubling."

"Why would that be?" Carl asks.

"There appeared to be something really weird, creepy, and I would say, downright satanic, occurring on that same property.  And this really became an ongoing headache for the next six years that I lived there."

"How would you know for sure?" I ask.

"Well", Aaron says, "I could never be totally sure.  But those people operate in secret, and that is where they derive their power and that is one of their most powerful weapons for destroying people. Throughout the eighties and some of the nineties we had been strongly aware of a huge push against what we were doing in Christ, as opposition from Satan, who did not want to see people set free from his chains, who would resist to the very last every incursion of the kingdom of God on his territory, even if he would be always fighting a losing battle, because love is always stronger than darkness, hate and fear.  But I also suspect that we had taken on an unhealthy obsession with this same darkness, and we  ended up wasting an awful lot of time and energy.  But we were also very much in harm's way.  And I can tell you a bit..."    

The Peacock 110

 "I will begin with Duff, that young alcoholic I was looking after in the eighties.  Duff was staying with me in my apartment on Burnaby Street in the West End. He had become involved with AA and asked if he could stay with me, so I supported him for a while in his recovery.  He stayed with me almost three months, then we moved, to different places.  We weren't trying to escape from each other.  If truth be told, we lived so well together, that it often was no different from living alone, except there was someone there for me to talk to.  And we would have the most incredible conversations at night before going to sleep.  It was for both of us a very warm and nurturing arrangement, which was a real consolation, given the hell he had put me through over a year earlier when he was drinking like a camel.  

"Duff´s sister had some friends, who had some friends,  who had bought an acre of property in Richmond with a dilapidated farmhouse.  They were seeking a tenant for said house.  It was a teardown disguised as a fixer-upper.  And the rent was super cheap.  The catch?  I would be the one to take care of all the renos and repairs.

"At first, I said no.  I had absolutely zero carpentry skills, and I couldn't see where I would find time and money, much less energy, for taking on such a project.  I took on the project.  But first, let me give you a little more background.  I met Duff's sister, a little bit before I came to know Duff.  there was a theatre, the Firehall Theatre, in the neighbourhood where I was working then in the Downtown Eastside.  They had a little cafe with a beautiful deck in the back, so I would go there for lunch, bringing with me my paperwork, since I was working then with a good number of clients, all of them living with some real challenges. There was also a dance troop rehearsing there, and often we were sharing space.  One day, while I was writing out a client report, one of the dancers approached me, to say hi, and chat.  Her name was Judith.  A month later, I met her brother, Duff.

The Peacock 109

 "When I knew you at St. James," I say, "Back in the day,  I would say we were all mystified about your community.  Could you explain it a bit?"

"How much time do we have before coffee break?" says Aaron.

"It's just before nine right now," Carl says.  "We have an hour."

"I will try not to make this too boring", says Aaron.

"You are not boring", says Carl.

"Oh, you flatterer!  You do know how to make an old man feel young again."

"And you're not the first guy who's ever told me that."

"Oh, just listen to it," says Aaron, cackling loudly.  "It's the Fountain of Youth personified!"

Now we are all laughing.  There seems to be a new flower about to unfurl on the southern magnolia.  

Aaron resumes his talk, "It all sort of began with Doug and me."

"Doug", say I.

"That would be Douglas.  He is the superior of the community here."

"Oh, really?" say I.  "Small world, eh?"

"And you two are very much alike", says Aaron.

"Now, no stooping to character assassination", says Carl.

"I was only teasing, but yes, dear, darling Douglas.  Once a piece of work, always a piece of work."

"Do continue", says Carl...

The Peacock108

 "I saw those paintings", I say, hoping that Aaron will remember.  I still love him.  Even though he's well over sixty.  Who would have thought!

"That's right", he says.  "At St. James.  I was getting ready for my trip,  That was a long time ago."

Carl says, "So what made you pick Costa Rica?"

"Costa Rica picked me."

"Costa Rica picked you", says Carl.

It was a very difficult transitional kind of year.  Dianne, Doreen and I had to move a few months earlier from the farmhouse in Richmond to a suburban style bungalow in Southeast Vancouver.    The farmhouse was, of course, rented, and eventually our landlords wanted to live there.  No one really thought of all of us sharing the space.  There wouldn't have been enough room."

"Very droll." says Carl.

"Very Carol," say I.

What´s she up to right now?" asks Aaron.

"She's hanging out with Melissa in the house.  I think they're baking together.", says Carl.

"Female solidarity", says Aaron.

"Yeah, but if you want to live one more day, better not say that to either of them."

"Especially Carol", I say.

"And don't underestimate my darling little sister", says Carl, chuckling.

The Peacock107

 "My first efforts were some really bad abstracts.  Then I tried my hand at birds starting with an acrylic rendition of a couple of hyacinth macaws on poster board.  One of the two women I lived with thought it was great.  But it was really terrible, so after some lame attempts on canvas board, I switched to stretched canvas.  I bought a bunch of canvases, different sizes and experimented with different series, abstracts inspired by the coloured iris of the human eye, motif abstracts based on the Jerusalem cross, and random birds.  It was one of the last of the bird series, a composition of nine hyacinth macaws, that seemed particularly good.  Apparently, Diane, the gogo boy's girlfriend, found an architect putting the finishing touches on his fancy new hotel in Richmond.   He saw an image and decided that he wanted three more just like it, but with different coloured parrots.  It was a commission made in heaven.  In about a month I knocked off three paintings of variously coloured parrots, red, green and multicoloured.  The pommy Brit architect loved them.  I got paid, and went on my first trip to Costa Rica.

"Pommy Brit?" I ask.

"He was quite a snooty piece of work, with a very clipped public school accent, more Queen's English than the Queen herself.  He kept insisting that each painting had to be a clearly recognizable image from the other end of the corridor.  So, I quipped, that even if it was the Mona Friggin Lisa hanging there, it would be so far away that no one would know it.  Little lord Fauntleroy took offense, so I let Diane handle it from there.

"It was a most odd and awkward phase I was going through.  I was still living in Christian community with both women, Dianne and Doreen, and it was a difficult and challenging arrangement, since we were all essentially incompatible, but for our common call to serve Christ and the most destitute together,  Yet here I was, suddenly a working artist and getting all the closer to the world of high culture and other ridiculous people.  And the two ladies were simply nonplussed, since I was no longer the meek humble  Christian they had so erroneously assumed me to be...."

The Peacock106

 "This sounds interesting" says Carl.  "I don't think you've told me your story."

"Not much to tell.  Around that time I was doing a lot of small abstract drawings using coloured felts.  kind of glorified doodles," Aaron says.  "That all came out of using art therapy in  order to cope with my mother's death from cancer two years before.  But soon, the therapy drawings began to take on a life of their own.  I thought they were pretty good, but nothing to write home about.  Then one day, I bumped into a local artist.  He was also a go-go dancer in the Odyssey, which was a very popular gay club back in the day.  He was best friends with the owner of a local café whom, a year before had him as a feature artist.  One of his paintings seemed almost a visual representation of a poem I had written about the mythical Sphinx of Thebes from Greek mythology, so with the café owner's invitation, I taped up a copy next to the painting.  The artist really liked the juxtapositioning of my poetry with his art.  While we never got to be close friends, we did clearly like and respect each other a lot, and I am happy it went no further, because I really had very little patience with the kind of scene they were all involved in.  

"One day, I bumped into him on Davie Street.  I told him about the drawings.  He asked if he could see one so I pulled it out of my knapsack.  He loved it, and told me to start painting seriously.  I said I didn't feel ready.  He replied in quite a sharp tone that I was ready and it was time to get moving.  I said that he kicked my ass.  So, I went shopping, bought supplies, then I painted, and bought some more supplies, then painted some more, and more, and more, and before I knew it, I couldn't stop.  A lot of false starts and some pretty crappy looking work, but some pieces did seem to shine, so I just kept at it, and at it.

"It was the group compositions of tropical birds that really began to take off.  Around that time, the owners of Melriche´s Café, they had only been around for a year or so, invited me to be their first artist to do a show  That was an honour.  I was a regular there and I had been gently nagging the couple who owned the place to start letting local artists show their work there.  So, I became their first.  It wasn't a week after installing my paintings there when I got a phone call from a young woman who wanted to represent me as my agent.  Turns out it was none other than the girlfriend of the artist who was a go-go boy, the same guy who kicked my ass on Davie Street just a little more than one year earlier..."

The Peacock105

 "The resplendent quetzal", says Aaron, "Is native to the mountains of Central America and southern Mexico.  They were held sacred by the Aztec and Maya.  Only nobility and priests were allowed to wear their feathers.  You might have seen Montezuma's feathered headdress, with all the long green feathers.  Those are tail feathers of the resplendent quetzal.  To kill one of those birds was a capital offense.  So the priests would simply catch them live, pull out the two longest tailfeathers, then set them free.  Traumatizing for the poor bird, but at least they didn't get killed."

"You could go professional and sell these", say I.

"I am a professional artist", Aaron says.  

"yes, I remember"

"I used to paint a lot but I have so many canvases in my tiny apartment now that I have had to resort to drawing in sketchbooks."

"Have you sold a lot of your paintings?" I ask 

"A bit more than a hundred.  Over the years, I mean.  I don't show anymore.  It's too much work and too many problems, plus, if you don't get into a good gallery, your chances for success are going to be pretty limited."

Carl says, "And of course, you've already told me, Aaron, that in order to get into a good gallery, you first have to be successful.  Quite a catch-22."

"In spades, baby.  In spades."

"How long have you painted?" I ask.  "I mean, I remember back at St. James, you sold some art and that's how you paid for a trip to Costa Rica."

"It´ll be coming up to thirty years pretty soon.  Well, I'm sixty-five now, and as an artist I got started pretty late in life.  Hell, I was about to turn thirty-seven when I was given a well timed kick in the ass."

"How so?"

That was when a local artist told me to get moving.  There's a bit of a story..."

The Peacock 104

 "Oh, sorry Aaron, we re not disturbing you, I hope", says Carl.

"Park it", he says, gesturing to the other bench.  "The more, the merrier."

"You're still an artist", say I.

"Yes, Aaron is an artist, a very talented artist", says Carl.

He appears to be putting the finishing touches on a highly coloured tropical bird.  I am challenged to believe that something so wonderful could be real.

"Is that a real bird?" I ask him.

"It is indeed", he says, letting the red pencil crayon rest on the page.

"It's so beautiful."

"It's called a resplendent quetzal.  I have seen them on occasion in Costa Rica."

And the bird is resplendent.  it is an iridescent brilliant green with reflections of blue, turquoise, gold and yellow in its plumage, and a deep red breast.  The tail appears to be very long, also green, and it has kind of a busy crest on its head, rather like a punk rocker with a mohawk.  Covering its dark brown wing are several long green feathers, rather like a palm leaf.  There are also purple orchids in the drawing and a big saffron coloured sun that appears to have bleeding veins criss-crossing it and an intense sky ranging from light aqua up to a deep crepuscular blue.

"Do you have some more you could show us?" Carl asks.  And Aaron begins to show us page after highly and brilliant coloured page of meticulously rendered hummingbirds and other species absolutely beyond my ken and knowledge.  These are images that are truly magical...  

The Peacock 103

 "So his name really is Jeff."  We re taking a different route, on a path surrounded by carefully tended grass and trees.  "He introduced himself as Edward."

"There's a story here, isn't there?", says Carl.

I refrain from answering.

"Christopher, please, I would like you to dignify that with a reply."

"Shall I tell you everything, then?"

"I wouldn't mind."

"It started early this morning just after I got up.  I was just coming out of the shower, and there was the Filipino guy, George."

"And you were bare ass naked", Carl says laughing.

"I actually was naked."

"What was George doing in that part of the house?"

"He said he was monitoring the halls, that it was something they do every morning."

"I am going to have a word with their superior about this."

"Their superior?"

"They're a kind of quasi monastic order.  They have been with us here now for about thirteen years.  most of them are refugees from the Benedictine monastery across the way."

"So, he wasn't supposed to be there this morning?"

"No.  Unless Doug put the idea in his head."

"Doug?"

"Their superior."  We pause to look at two black squirrels scampering after each other in one of the trees. "What else happened?"

"Well, he followed me into my room."

"While you were naked."

"Yes."

Carl is silent, and for a moment so am I.

"Oh, he was perfectly well behaved.  He just sat in the chair where you were last night and chatted a bit while I got dressed. Then he left. He told me not to tell you he was there."

"That doesn't surprise me either."

"I guess I should have covered myself."

"No need to worry about that. nothing wrong with having a human body, you know.  But I am going to have a word with George, with Jeff and with Doug." 

We have arrived by this alternate route to the southern magnolia.  There is Aaron, seated on one of the benches.  He has a sketchbook on his knee, and is busy working with coloured pencils...

The Peacock 102

 I cannot let this go, or I am not going to let it go.  I have to ask him,

"Excuse me, isn't your name Jeff?"

He seems so focussed and fixated on the irises he is watering that he had might as well be reciting the rosary.  

"Excuse me, is your real name Edward or is it Jeff.  George referred to you this morning as Jeff."

He continues to focus on watering the irises.  I know when I am being ignored.  I am not letting this one go, otherwise, more trouble ahead.  I grab the hose nozzle from his hand.

"Will you please answer my question?"  I am shouting at him.

"Only if you return to me the hose", he says patiently.

"First tell me your real name.  I am not tolerating any more games around here."

"You are going to be learning to tolerate an awful lot more, while you are staying here, Cosme."

"My name is Christopher.  Now tell me your real name."

"First the hose."

"You tell me your fucking name!"

"Then first give me back my fucking hose."

Just when I am about to turn the nozzle on him and give him a good dousing, the water is suddenly shut off.  We both stare at the golden brass nozzle, too dumbfounded to continue squabbling.

"Jeff, you're needed back at the house."  The voice belongs to Carl.

He stares rather stupidly at the guest master.  "The irises", he sputters moronically.

"No need to worry.  I'll look after them.  Now go, please, they´re moving some furniture in the reception room and we need all the hands we can get."

"Can't you do it?" he says defiantly

Grabbing the hose nozzle from his hand, Carl says, "I will not have you upsetting one of my guests, Jeff.  Now, please, you are needed at the house."

Jeff tries to stare him down, but realises he is no match for Carl.  Without so much as looking my way, he skulks off to the house.

Carl turns on me a big hundred watt grin, then lets the hose nozzle drop onto the the grass.  He walks over to me and puts his arm around my shoulder.  "Let's walk to the magnolia."

"The irises", I say, disengaging from his arm.

"Fuck the irises.  Let's go."  He is laughing.  

The Peacock 101

 Finally, some moments of solitude.  Breakfast was again a sumptuous feast, and today we all participated in the cleanup.  Even Carol, who actually took charge of everything.  That woman has brass balls. She directed everything and everyone, and both Carl and Melissa seemed content to let someone else do their job for them.  She does have that energy of the reigning matriarch.  She must be hell to live with.  This path is taking me in a different direction.  I thought I was headed towards the southern magnolia, but I haven't  seen this big patch of lawn before.  I can only imagine the work that must go into this place, but apparently the community members all participate in care and upkeep.  What an amazing spectacle of irises.  First golden, then giving way to the richest and most intense violet.  They are bearded iris, the big classic blooms.  They smell rather like vanilla.  

There is the brother who was at dinner last night, the other brother, setting up with a garden hose and he is already beginning to water the irises.  He sees me and smiles.  I come over. 

"How are you this fine morning, Cosme?"  He does seem genuinely cheerful, and I detect a very kind soul.  He offers me his free hand to shake.  "My name is Edward."

"Hi.  Nice to meet you, Edward.  By the way, I have finally remembered my name..."

"Which would be..."

"Christopher."

"Ah, yes. So good to officially meet you, Christopher.  How are you today?"

He sounds definitely British, but by his accent, I don't think he's from around London.  Possibly the Midlands or further north.

"Better.  I'm sorry about last night."

"Think nothing about it, man.  We all go through things here,  I have also wept at table.  But you are feeling well, today?"

"Yes.  Thanks for asking.  How long have you lived here?"

"Two years ago.  Didn't George tell you this morning that we came here together?"

"Oh, yes, you both came here from the monastery."

Edward goes suddenly silent and is focussed simply now on watering the irises.  We both know the conversation is over.  For now, anyway...and didn't George just tell me this morning that his name is Jeff and not Edward...?

The Peacock 100

 "I must have imagined it somehow."

"You more than imagined it", says Carl.

"Should we tell them, Carl?"

"There are no secrets in this house", intones Melissa.

"I don't really I know how to explain it."

"There was a person named Cosme here many years ago," Carl says.  "He was a member of the cult that occupied this place during the sixties, and in all likelihood he disappeared with the rest of them."  

"How do you know this?", says Carol. She is just reaching for her cup of coffee.

"He left a diary.  And it just happens that Christopher and I found it again, last night in his bedroom."

"Well, you knew it was there," say I.

"But I still haven't read any of it."  Carl is grinning.

"Well, don't you think it's time?" Carol says, popping into her mouth a swollen black grape.

"There is just one little complication", says Carl.

"Which is", says Carol

"It's all written in Spanish."

"Jesús", says Carol, "You speak Spanish."

"We could begin today," says Jesús.

"What time today?", says Carol."

"We are all meeting today", says Jesús.  Yes?"

"After lunch", says Melissa.

"After lunch," echoes Jesús.

"After lunch", I concur.

"After lunch", concurs Carl in a radio announcer voice.

"After lunch", says Aaron, laughing lightly.

"After lunch", Carol announces with theatrical flourish.  And now, we are all laughing as she pops another grape into her mouth...

The Peacock 99

 "Carl helped me remember."  It is blackcurrant jam, and it is delicious.  Homemade I am sure.

"I brought him his laptop so he found his name on Skype", Carl says.

"I still have it with me.  You must have forgotten to take it when you left my room."

"I didn't forget nothing", he says grinning.

"And what about the rest of us!" demands Carol.

"After breakfast, you can all have your devices", Carl says, "But please don't carry your smartphones with you, otherwise you'd all might as well go home today."

"You are changing the rules", says Carol.

Aaron says, "I think you want to say that we are changing Robert's rules."

"Oh, Father Griffin", Carol snorts.

"The same", Carl replies.

"Is there some sort of civil war going on with Father Griffin?" she asks, scooping a generous portion of cheese and mushroom frittata on her plate. "Almost everything he has told us about the rules and expectations here, you have been somehow overturning."

"Aaron chuckles malevolently and says, "You ain't seen nothing yet."

"This would be a kind of revolt?"

"A palace coup", says Aaron.

"And now, Christopher", Carol says, her mouth still full of frittata. "About this Cosme business.  How did you come up with that name?"

The Peacock 98

Everyone is at their place at table, with two extra chairs and two extra guests, being our two hosts.  Everyone is already tucking into the early fare, and my chair remains conspicuously empty, as though I am today the invisible guest.  I will be seated next to Carl, and just across from Melissa.  Carol is comparing with Melissa recipes for croissant.

"You must try to use extra butter, Melissa, but this is still just delicious, and so flakey and delicate," she rhapsodizes.

No one seems to notice my arrival, except for Jesús, on my other side, at the end of the table, and he smiles tenderly, and simply asks "How are you Cosme?"

"Fine, but you may all, from now on, refer to me as Christopher.  I have finally remembered."

"Yes, Christopher", announces  Carl cheerily, now that he has swallowed his mouthful of melon.  "How did you sleep last night?"

"Not bad at all."  I am reaching for a croissant and what appears to be blackcurrant jam.

"To me you look like a Cosme", Jesús says, flirtatiously.

"Then you must call me Cosme." I can barely disguise the warmth that the Colombian guest has just stirred in me.

Carol, with subtle drama, lets her piece of croissant drop onto her elegant breakfast dish.  And I notice the plates are all exceptionally beautiful this morning, delicately rendered hummingbirds of green, yellow and red with crimson hibiscus flowers.  "Then what, pray tell, would you like us to call you", she says huffily.

"First", I say, drawing a quick breath, "Please let me apologize to all of you for my dreadful spectacle last night at dinner."

Carol suddenly drops her pretense of indignation, becoming all maternal warmth and concern, "Oh dear, you have nothing to be at all sorry about, darling.  We were all so very worried about you.  And please forgive me for not even asking.  How are you, darling?"  And I can tell that this is not an act, and I am embarrassed and flustered about how cared for I am.  Yes, they are all directing on me that same look of tender and anxious concern.

"I'm okay now", I murmur.  "Thanks all of you for caring.  I am so sorry."

Melissa says, "I want all of you to please not worry when this sort of thing happens,.  There seems to be in this house some kind of mystical power that brings out in people very strong emotion.  This has happened to all of us here, and it is going to happen to the rest of you who are visiting.  We can't escape it."

After a moment's silence, Carol picks up her piece of croissant, and spoons on a little extra marmalade, and says, "Now, about your name..."

The Peacock 97

 "Hey, Erik, I just looked at the time.  Breakfast is in five minutes, and it's a bit of a walk to get to the breakfast room."

"What time is it, where you are?"

"Almost seven."

"They start you pretty early. What is this place anyway, a monastery?"

"I really don't know how to describe it.  It's like I am inhabiting some kind of story or fable or something."

"Are you alone?"

"There's three other guests.  Really interesting people.  How about you?  Where are you living these days?"

"I'm living with an aunt.  It's nice, pretty quiet.  "We'll talk about it a bit later.  When would you like to talk to me some more?"

"How about this Saturday?  I should have more free time."

"We're in the suburbs here.  Lots of parks.  Have you ever thought of visiting me in Sweden, sometime?"

I don't know how to answer that.  I have never thought of visiting Sweden.

Apparently uncomfortable with my silence, Erik says, "I don't want to interrupt your retreat."

"I wouldn't worry about it."

"What time Saturday do you want to talk?"

"What time is it right now in Sweden?"

"Almost four."

"How about, six, or so, Swedish time.  That'll give me time to get ready after breakfast."

"Okay Bro´,  see you Saturday." Erik is smiling, as though he could hug me right now if he could.  And I would also like to hug him.

"Bye.  Say hi to Greta for me."

"I will."

I am going to be a little bit late for breakfast.  At least they have given me a key for the lock on this door.  The stairs are at the other end of the corridor, and I am passing more paintings, some abstracts, another landscape, and a couple of colourful tropical bird compositions.  Now down to the second floor, which is even wider and now to the main staircase.  It's still going to be a bit of a walk.  This house is huge....

The Peacock 96

 "This is just my second day here. It's this enormous mansion in the mountains."

"It sounds wonderful.  How long are you there for", Erik asks me."

"At least for a month."  He looks a bit anxious.

"When do you plan on coming?"

"I was thinking of June 2 or so,  I haven't booked my flight yet.  I could wait till sometime in July."

"I´ll keep you posted."  I find Erik's English to be even more flawless than his sister's.  Academic flawless, with a faint hint of Oxbridge.  "So, you're studying social work.  What's your specialization?"

"I plan to write about the integration of racial minorities in Stockholm, and their socio-economic status and experience."

"Living here might help cure you of your racism."

"I beg your pardon!" he demands. 

"Well, in Canada, you should do very well with your thesis."

"In what way?" Erik asks."Swedes are not racist."

"Oh, yes you are.  And you know what, White Boy?  So are Canadians!"

"I just might hang up right now."

"Hey, Erik, it's nothing personal."

"But, how could you say that?"

"I'm sorry, I guess I am being tactless.  But when you spoke of Mehmet as not being Swedish..."

"But he is a Turk.  He could never be a real Swede."

"Because..."

"He wasn't born here..."

"Well, in that case, I'm not Canadian..."

"What do you mean?"

"My mother, who died many years ago, is Mexican.  My Father, who died last year, is American."

"I didn't know that.  I'm so sorry, Christopher..."

"Its alright," but I am lying a bit and I can hear myself sighing, and now suddenly all I want to do is hug my ex brother-in-law...

 

"

The Peacock 95

 Erik doesn't  seem appreciably older.  His face has matured a little bit.  He would be...thirty?  We have been chatting, awkwardly for five minutes.  We don't seem to know what to say to each other.  It's been mostly about the weather, in Malmo, rather on the cool side, but spring has finally kicked in.

"Greta says hi", he says, his face solemn.

"How is she?"

"Raising her kid with her partner and doing research on marine habitats and global warming.  Her partner, Mehmet, is Turkish, but he's lived here in Sweden since he was a kid."

"Which makes him a Swede."

"Well, a de facto Swede, I imagine."

Yes, I do remember that subtle European racial arrogance.  Not even the most progressive of the progressive white Swedes appear too eager to fully embrace a visible minority as one of them.  We can hardly do it much better here in Canada, and maybe we're just better liars and greater hypocrites.

"My aunt really likes him.  She thinks of him as Swedish."

"Well, he is Swedish."

"He wasn't born here."

"And that should matter, because..."

There is no answer from Erik.  I wasn't anticipating an argument about racial bigotry so soon.

"How old was Mehmet when he came to Sweden?"

"I think he was just two or three years old."

"Does he have Swedish citizenship?"

"Yes."

"Does he speak Swedish, fluently?"

"English, too.  He says he's forgotten a lot of his Turkish."

"And that doesn't make him Swedish?"

Erik is silent again.  Then he says, "Tell me about your retreat..." 

The Peacock 94

 "Hi Christopher: It is good to hear from you.  I will connect with you on Skype in a few days, but you're on retreat right now, so you must want some time for quiet.  I am going to need a place to stay when I arrive in Vancouver, and the homestay I had arranged for fell through.  Would I be able to stay with you for a while?  I hope this isn't an imposition.  I really look forward to talking with you.  Let me know, please."

I check the time that I received his email.  It was just five minutes ago.  Maybe now.  I don't know why I am becoming so bold.  First being all stark naked in front of dear brother George, whom I suspect isn't anywhere near that innocent, and now all ready for a Skype session with dear former brother in law, Erik, with whom I very nearly committed incest.  What is wrong with me?  I will send him an invitation on Skype.  Here is the page.  New conversation.  I have just copied and pasted his address, and now it is sent.  And oh my, the light is green on his page.  His icon is a full moon.  Now here it is, just under my little invitation with that manic smiley face, so needy, waving his big yellow hand.  And now, Eric is typing...

"Hello Christopher"

"Hello Erik", I type.

"What time is it where you are?"

"Six-thirty.  Are you in Sweden?  What time is it there?

"Three-thirty pm."

"We could chat now if you have time."

"How long do you have?"

"Half an hour, then I have to go down for breakfast".

Now, suddenly, that ding dang dong ring of a Skype call, and my hand is trembling as I pick up the call....

The Peacock 93

"Jeff and I both came here at the same time", says George.

"Jeff is..."

"You met him last night at dinner, the blond guy."

Well, I could hardly say that I met either one of them, nor did anyone else, they were being so rude and taciturn, but I decide to shelve that little dig for later.

"Was he also at the monastery?"

"We were admitted almost simultaneously.  We actually go back quite a few years."

"What happened there?"

"Long story", he replies.  "And boring."

"Which is to say you'd rather not tell me."

"Right now, no, there isn't time, and I really have to get back for matins before anyone notices that I'm missing.  He gets up, waves and heads for the door.  "Talk to you later."  Then he pauses, his face looking both a little anxious and a little bit conspiratorial, "Oh, and one other thing please, Christopher.  No one knows that we had this visit.  Especially not Carl.  Agreed?"

"Especially not Carl."

"That's right.  'Bye."  As he leaves through the door that never did get closed when he followed me in here and I was naked, I reach for my laptop, open my GMail and what can it be but a reply from Erik...

The Peacock92

 Exactly where Carl was sitting last night, there sits George, not exactly looking at me, not exactly not looking at me, while I smear on deodorant, pull on a pair of navy blue briefs, a black T shirt and my blue jeans.  My socks are white.  I am an absolute cheapskate when it comes to buying clothes, especially socks and underwear, which always come in fat cut price plastic bags.

"I came to live here two years ago", says George, trying to adjust his glasses.  "I actually started in a monastery as a postulant, but it didn't seem to quite work for me."

"Where were you?"  

"Not that far away, really."  I have just fastened my belt.  It is no tighter than usual, but I cannot escape the reality of my somewhat protruding gut, just starting to hang over.  Well, I am forty-four after all, not exactly one for working out, and I am not going to fool myself about George being mesmerized by my naked charms.  In fact, he is probably quite straight.  I think he was taken quite by ambush.  And also there is the power of the naked. 

"The Benedictines down the mountain."

"Yes, the one and very same", he says.  "Let's just say that Carl and Melissa have inhereited some of us from them."

"Is there a story there?"

Suddenly, George´s head falls backward as he lets out a loud and unrestrained guffaw.  "You sound just like Carl!  Cripes!  Another journalist.  Just what we need here", and he continues laughing...

The Peacock 91

The Filipino brother looks at me slack jawed, his dark eyes bugging out of their sockets.  I can almost imagine his eyeglasses falling to the floor.  But I don't care, and I am not going to cover my genitals, since he's just another guy and really I have nothing to be ashamed of, even if my penis is well on the modest side.   I never could quite get the modesty of some men, as if anyone is going to care a damn about their dear little boy bits.  What is wrong with us, anyway?

"Good morning!" I am surprised at how cheery my voice must be sounding so early in the morning.

"Um, hi", he says with rather a dumb and timid little smile.

"What brings you up here so early in the morning", I am not accustomed to being this brash and forward.

"Oh, I was asked to monitor the halls.  It is something we do every morning when there are guests."

I see he is struggling to look me in the face and not elsewhere.  I can also tell from his voice that he was born in Canada, or at least that he has lived in this country since he was very small.  

"My name is Christopher."  He shrinks back from my extended hand.  I suppose he is a bit squeamish about touching a naked man, even if it's just a handshake.  I hold it out anyway till he slowly, reluctantly accepts it with a very quick and feeble handshake.

"I'm George."

"So glad to meet you."  My towel is slung over my back.  I have no intention of covering myself.  I am smiling, probably quite wickedly smiling.  "I would also like to apologize for what I did at dinner last night, You see--"

"No, don't worry.  What happened to you is perfectly normal.  It's something about being here in this house," he says, "It pulls stuff out of people.  None of us was really surprised.  I was just concerned that you're feeling better."

"Carl came up to talk with me after.  We must have been talking together almost three hours."

"Carl is amazing", George says, and uninvited, but not necessarily unwelcome he follows naked little me into my borrowed bedroom, without even batting an eye...  

The Peacock 90

 The peacock again.  It is 5:25 in the morning, and I actually slept fabulously well, much to my surprise.  There he goes again.   That sound would be unmistakable.   Anywhere.  Like a cat being dismembered.  I will listen at breakfast for any conversation about it.  But I am only going to mention it to Carl, whom I now realize is someone I can trust.  Given that we've known each other less than twenty-four hours, I imagine that that is a bit of a reach.  But we'll have to see.  I am certainly willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.  Now it is quiet, and I only hear the softer and sweeter sounds and songs of other, smaller and more modest birds.  I find it odd that nothing has yet been mentioned about a peacock, but perhaps that is simply one of  many details that are going to be taken for granted here.  

Time for my shower.  I seem to have the bathroom to myself, and it is just outside my bedroom, or should I say, Carl's bedroom.  I don't even know why I bother to cover my nakedness with a bathrobe, since, for some reason, I don't even care if anyone sees me walk back and forth from the bathroom buck ass naked.  There seems to be plenty of  hot water.  Buck ass naked.  Like a cross between buck naked, and bare ass naked, I suppose.  A Christopher original.

The mirror isn't quite full length,  But it shows that I have put on a little weight.  Never was much to look at, though still, not too bad for forty-four, I suppose.  I am not out to make friends based on my physical beauty.  Really, I can't imagine getting into anything with anyone.  Not even Carl, who has to be one of the most beautiful men I have ever encountered.  And what about Erik?  I just want to cuddle with him.  Little else,  Maybe a little else?  But no, and certainly not with my own brother-in-law.  I am not going to name it, but it is decidedly wrong, and a crime worthy of divine punishment.  And with Carl?  But I don't want to think about it.  And anyway, he is already like a brother, and again that is a line that is not going to be crossed.   I am not here to get laid, and really,  Greta was my last sexual partner (as well as my first, and only partner), and even that was less than satisfying.  For both of us.

There is someone in the corridor.  I know him right away.  It is the Filipino brother I saw last night at dinner, and he is walking towards me.  And here I am, fully naked...

The Peacock 89

 "Hello Christopher

It's been such a long time, I know, and I hope you've been well all this time.  I am coming to Vancouver next month to enter a post graduate program at UBC.  Yes, just like my big sister.  I will be writing my PhD in social work.  I am hoping we could get together for a meal or a craft beer.  I hear the craft beer is very good in Vancouver, almost legendary.  Please send me a text to tell me what you are up to.  Greta is married now and raising a kid, a son.  She named him Christopher.  Can you believe that?  He is four years old and really bright and full of energy.  She says hi.  Her husband, my brother in law is also in academia. He teaches psychology in the university.  They are living in Stockholm.

Hope to hear from you

all the best

Erik

I don't know if I am going to fall asleep now.  There are some things you shouldn't do just before going to bed, and I just did one of them.  I hope Carl doesn't mind if I sleep in past breakfast if I have to.  Erik I am not ready to see, but that is at least one month away.  And I can't ghost him either.  I should send him a reply, but not right away.  Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe next month.  Why does he want to see me?  Maybe to finish what we got started before they left?  Oh God I hope not, but I also feel almost paralyzed now by this fresh yearning for him.  This desire to have him lying close to me on top of the bed, to feel his heart beating while he is asleep in my arms.  And I don't want this either.  Why doesn't he just leave me alone?  Why didn't he pick some other university, some other city, some other country?  There aren't enough colleges in the US or in Europe for him?  He must really want to see me again.  And so the sweetness of bonding with my new friend Carl gets extirpated by anxious dread of the past just creeping in to visit for afternoon tea.  I had might as well just  crawl into bed and turn off the light.  First I should undress.  I haven't even brushed my teeth yet.  Details, details....

"Hi Erik. It is great to hear from you and I look forward to our visit.  I am away right now on retreat.  Here is my Skype if you want to connect in the next day or so..."

The Peacock 88

 "Even though I didn't really feel like it, I went out with Kenny.  It was a nice place, the food was very tasty and plentiful, and for the Westside, the prices were very decent.  But he wouldn't stop chattering.  About everything.  I really had to work at reconciling the garrulous chatty queen with the university student he once was.  But he was apparently an anomaly wherever he went.  Working at a florist seemed somehow a better fit."

"Well", Carl says, "On key with the stereotype, anyway.  But I would know a thing or two about being an anomaly."

"How did you pull it off?" I ask.  "How did you ever pull it off?"

"Child of wealth and social status, male prostitution, fringe Christian community, journalism, and now this absurd mansion in the BC wilderness.  I mean, what could be more normal!"

"Exactly what I mean."  I am starting to yawn.

"Are you getting tired yet?  Oh my god it's after 11 and I have to be up at five.  Shall we call it a night?"

"Yeah, might as well", I say, yawning again.  "I wish we could just go on talking."

"We could try it again tomorrow night if you'd like."

"Yes, I like."

Carl catapults from the armchair, walks over to the bed, and gestures.

"Come on, get up, so I can give you a hug."

"Oh, alright, I guess", Feeling a little reluctant to have to budge.  I stand up, and Carl enfolds me in a strong, prolonged embrace.  Then he steps back, his hands on my shoulders.

"Thank you", I say.  "Thanks for everything."

"Thank YOU!" he says, smiling and heads for the door.  

"See you at breakfast"?

"Yes, indeed.  Good night."

I notice that he has left me with my laptop.  Perhaps they are relaxing the rules after all.  I reach for it, and click on my GMail.  There is one new email in the inbox.  I can't believe my eyes at first.  I look again.  I haven't heard of him in ten years.  It is an email from Greta's brother, Eric...

The Peacock 87

 "I remember that day very well.  Kenny was very manic.  And he still was refusing to get a proper diagnosis.  And of course, no meds.  He was generally uncontrollable, now he was totally out of control.  There was no shutting him up, no calming him down,  As soon as he heard me come in the house, there he was standing at my side, and all ready for us to go out to dinner.   So, we sat at the table, and he told me all about his flowers that day.  Kenny loved his job at the florist.  He loved flowers, anything to do with nature.  And he was already starting a class at UBC, environmental science.  But right now he was focussed on going out to eat with me.

"It was my first day waitering in what he called, that fancy café.  I was quite frankly tired, and just wanted to lie down and rest, but Kenny would not hear me.  He was like an eager Irish setter dog wagging his tail manically with his leash in his mouth.     He even insisted that I promised we would go to the Thai restaurant, really, like a five year old boy pleading with his daddy.  and he repeated over and over like a five year old, please, Christopher, you promised, you promised, please, remember you promised, you promised... I was twenty then and Kenny was thirty-five.  I didn't remember making any such promise.  Dad was away at a parish council meeting, so I was left with the task of minding Kenny."  

"How long did he live with you guys, altogether?" Carl asks.

"Four years."

"That is a long time.  He must have been like family."

"Kenny WAS family. I mean, we didn't simply take him in out of charity.  Somehow, my dad and I both really bonded with him.  From the beginning, we simply loved him.  Yes, we also felt sorry for him, but somehow he was one of us."

"Even if he could be damn irritating?"

"And he was damn irritating. He was a headache, Kenny was, but he was our headache.  We couldn't imagine life without him..."

  

The Peacock 86

 "So, here is his first entry. It´s dated September 29, 1995.  St. Michael's and All Angels."

"This is a very special day for me.  because it's the day of the angels.  I love the angels.  I often feel them with me, or nearby.  It's been an extraordinary kind of day.  I was all day in the shop, and we did a record for sales.  This sort of thing only happens leading up to Valentine's but for some reason today, everybody wants to buy flowers.  The gerberas and the coloured callas seem to be the biggest sellers today.  And I often feel just so overwhelmed by their beauty.  And sometimes, they are just flowers, and only flowers.  Plant genitalia. Maybe that's why we like to stick our noses in them.  Oh, I have such a filthy mind.  Oh, but I am one sick woman today.  Always happens when I'm having a great day.  Christopher wants me to try that new Thai restaurant with him tonight.  Why not?  Thai is great.  Spicy, sweet and exquisite.  Darling, just like a good blowjob.  Oh, Harriet!  Did I actually say that!  Did I just actually write that!  oh, Harriet, you are one sick woman today!

Days like this, I almost want to take Cassandra back out of the closet and try her on for one night.  Put on some make up, make a few, um, anatomical adjustments, arrange my hair just so and put on a snazzy little cocktail dress and, Harriet, we are ready to disco and party and...snort a couple of lines, and I don't think I like where we re going with all this.

Let´s see, I haven't used in almost ten years.  Still miss it at times.  It's the energy, the lift, the intense orgasmic ecstasy of a great coke high, and then we know just where that is going.  

Plus, there is that article Jim showed me a couple of years ago.   I still have it.  Folded up on top of my desk.  About the cocaine that was being grown under the watchful eye of violent paramilitaries in Colombia, of all countries, and how they also reap the profits from all the sales, and every time we are buying a little baggy full, guess whose pockets the money goes into.  Forty-one butchered campesinos later and oh how I hate you Jim for being so fucking righteous, and how I love you Jim for helping me find a conscience, and how I hate you, Jim for allowing me the torments of guilt, and how I love you Jim for the joy of repentance and turning again....

I think I hear Chris coming in the back door.  He always comes home through the back door, and always leaves through the front.  Still haven't figured it out.  Today was his first day waitering in that fancy new coffee shop on campus.  I want him to tell me all about it..."