2051

First, Francois appears in the kitchen doorway.  He is wearing socks now, apparently felt more decorous clothing his bare feet.  The socks are white, almost blinding neon white, which makes sense, given he bleaches all his whites when he does laundry.  Not even my father, or I, could bring ourselves to be so domestically fastidious, but this is Francois.  Neat, never a hair out of place, punctilious, correct, with a sense of humour and especially with truckloads of good common sense.  He is also wearing grey track pants, and a t- shirt, white, bleached blinding white which plays so beautifully against the deep maroon tones of his dark skin. "We are starting to feel abandoned", he says with a smile, and brandishing a white piece of paper in his right hand.  "Here are the reminders, all written down.  Is there a roll of scotch tape so I can stick it on the fridge door?  Oh wait, here's a fridge magnet.  How come I missed that?" He is also super sharp and observant.  I reply, "Only because only just now did I put it on there."  It is a rainbow with a brown cross superimposed on it, a gift from Kenny before he went missing a quarter century ago. "We're having refills...with cookies!...", says Carl, "Right here at the kitchen table." "I will have to go back for our mugs", says Francois. "Never mind", says Carl, "Our guests can do that", and he calls in a near holler, "Kenny.  Ethan.  bring all the mugs to the kitchen because we are going to resume at the table here." "Your wish is our command, oh Great White Dutch Sugar Daddy", replies Kenny, who soon comes in carrying three mugs, all dangling from his fingers, a sly little smile on his face, followed by a rather grim and solemn Ethan, carrying the other two one in each hand, with great care as if he is afraid he might drop the mugs on the floor and break them.

2050

"Did I just hear you calling?" says Carl, appearing in the kitchen doorway. And now Erik appears uncertain and a bit vulnerable as he stammers at Carl,  "Oh... I didn't mean...I hope..." And Carl, grinning broadly, approaches my brother-in-law, roughly rubs his wavy chestnut hair, and says to me, "Your brother-in-law really knows how to find his way into a Dutchman's heart", then gives him a short gentle hug from behind, and slides onto the chair next to him. "Wanna help us get the coffee and cookies out to the living room", say I. "Cookies?  Well, if it's all too heavy for you guys to carry unaided...Or, the other three can get their lazy butts in here and we'll have it in the kitchen." There is something in both their relaxed posture that suggests that Carl and Erik are now really beginning to accept each other.  In fact, Erik's sidelong glance at Carl also suggests that he might be a little bit attracted to him, and Carl doesn't really appear to notice or even care.  This is going to be one very interesting little household...

2049

The coffee pot has sputtered to its inevitable fateful conclusion.  A completely full pot of Costa Rican so black, strong and intense that I wonder if it would be safe to drink. Remembering how strong my brother-in-law used to prepare it while he shared our condo with Greta and me, I ask him, "Is there any left in the bag?" "Plenty for tomorrow morning." "If any of us can get to sleep tonight." "You always liked my coffee", he replies as we both return to the table.  It is still hard to get him to take teasing and that is just so very Nordic of him, but if he is going to coexist here with Carl and his Dutch kind of rough play then Erik is going to find himself on one hell of a learning curve.  But I also know this about Erik.  He is very very fragile.  Especially right now, especially after having to escape with his life from the clutches of his own sister, and that diabolical nephilim, Sven, and especially after almost getting siderailed into an unnecessarily long quarantine in the hotel just after he got off the plane.  And if he remembers anything else, it is going to remain vague and dreamlike.  We are going to have to tread carefully and especially Carl, who is now calling from the living room, "Hey do you guys need help with the coffee or are you having a conference in there?" "You can always get your Dutch ass in here and serve yourself, Carl", retorts Erik with an unexpectedly gleeful little snicker...and now I know he's going to be okay...

2048

While the coffee maker serenades us with its manic rhythmic gurgle, Erik pulls up a chair for himself at the kitchen table, and this is his way of saying please sit and join me because I need to talk, and Erik simply never says these things out loud.  Swedish or just Erik?  Likely six of one and a half dozen of the other. After casually wiping down the counter with the damp dish rag, my unique way of forestalling the inevitable, I move over to join him.  He has his sulky little boy pout on, perhaps slightly staged this time, as it usually is, and no, this time I am not walking into his little trap.  I know him too well. "So", say I, since there is no way he is going to initiate, "You want to know how long you can stay here." No reply except a very quiet drumming of the fingers of his left hand on the table. "Why did I come here?" "For your own safety.  You were in danger from your sister, and from Sven." "Who appears to be completely out of the way now.  What happened to him?" "You don't remember?" "I got a text from Greta telling me I am welcome home any time I want to return.  That Sven has mysteriously disappeared and suicide is suspected." I am not even going to try to jog my brother-in-law's memory, since he also saw Sven detained for time indefinite with Jesus at the Refuge, along with his twin Stella.  But here I go anyway. "He remained behind at the Refuge, remember?" Now his eyes appear to be really opening.  "I saw him in a dream last night, in a place full of golden light.  I am just now beginning to recall.  He said that he will never trouble me again." "Then that should be good enough.  Are you staying?" "Might as well.  Nothing left for me in Sweden."  He gets up to check the coffee. "As far as I'm concerned, Erik, here you have come home.  Now please stop worrying."  He doesn't reply while he jiggles the filter cone on the machine, his way of saying thank you and of making sure that he doesn't start to cry...

2047

"Looks like we have a full house", says Erik, rinsing the coffee pot in the sink before adding more water which he is now pouring into the machine.   "I still have to put in the coffee", say I with a snicker. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to rush in right ahead of you. "Oh Erik, you are going to make a perfect Canadian." "Why?" "The way you apologized just now." "Swedes apologize." "Neurotically.  Like us?" "No way, we just say excuse me and move on..  Speaking of which. How long is he going to be here?" "Ethan?  That could be anyone's guess." "I'm not sure if I'm prepared for his kind of intensity." "Tron is gone.  There shouldn't be much of a problem now." "Who?" And now I am certain that none of this is registering with my friend, and brother-in-law.  In fact, I now realise that I am going to have to be constantly going out of my way assuring and reassuring Erik that he is also loved, wanted and accepted...and needed here, since he has the likes of Kenny, Carl, and now Ethan, to compete with.  Thank God for Francois, our sane, detached and benign centre...

2046

And now I see him, vaguely, briefly, a flicker of light in the grey of our very human everyday, Tron, through the window, emerald and gold undulating in the breeze from atop his white horse, Ráfaga. walking away with our ancient martyr, our wondrous holy saint riding tall and noble on his graceful strong back away from this house, away from us and now he is gone.  Kenny, from Ethan's left, says to me, "I also see him, riding away."  The others appear oblivious, frozen in time, like random pieces of fruit suspended in one of those garish jello salads some of the old ladies used to bring to church luncheon.   But the others appear motionless, even Ethan, as I mention to Kenny, "It looks like this is going to just be our own little secret." Then Ethan looks up at me and says, "Our little secret.  I am not going to forget any of this." "Nor I ", says Carl. "Nor I" , says Francois. Erik is the last to fully return to himself.  He takes a studied sip of his coffee, double cream and no sugar, as he always used to drink it, returns his mug to the end table on his right and says, "Forget what?".  Nobody bats an eye.  Getting up, he says, "Okay if I make more coffee?" "Sure", say I, also getting up, "Here, let me give you a hand."

2045

"That makes him your incubus", says Erik. "My what?"  Ethan seems right now very alone, very vulnerable.  Childlike. Francois replies, "An incubus is a kind of demon that tries to inhabit you at night and have sex with you."  Then, very uncharacteristically, he puts his hand on Ethan's shoulder and adds, "That isn't it, either, is it." Ethan now is really struggling and his voice is cracked and tremulous as though he is trying to dam into oblivion many centuries of unwept tears. "Who are you, really, Ethan?"  interjects Carl, a tremor of impatience edging his voice.  "Or are you Adrian?  Tron.  Look, like the others here I also saw you as Tron, otherwise I would be keying 911 on my phone at this very minute." Ethan right now is staring into space, then his voice begins taking a deeper, more authoritative resonance as he says, "It was those nails, those great hideous iron spikes that were driven each one into my hands, and one through both my feet and I knew I was being bestowed an honour I had done nothing to earn.  And unlike our first bishop Peter, it was too late to implore them that they crucify me upside down, because I was not worthy to die for my Lord as He died for me."  And now the light seems to have passed from Ethan's face, and now he is seated there, just and only Ethan.  A visible shudder passes through his body.  He looks up at us, takes a slow sip of coffee, exhales deeply, then says in a low murmur, "He's gone." "Who is gone?" I ask. "Adrian", he whispers.  Francois' hand is still resting on his shoulder.  "He is gone.  He has left me..."