1972

Says Carl, "You're just like that young smartass in Luke's Gospel who inspired Jesus to tell about the Good Samaritan." "The good what?" "You mean you don't know the parable about the Good Samaritan?" "Erik comes from Sweden" say I, which is a country full of atheists, and very few there have ever heard or read the Bible or seen the inside of a church." "The Good Samaritan", says Carl, "Was a member of an outcast people in the time of Jesus, whom the Jews, especially the Pharisees or religious leaders, really despised.  Their ancestry was mixed, so they were considered impure or traitors.  And Jesus often taught in parables, or little stories, so he told about a man who was robbed and beaten and left for dead on the road.  Two different jewish religious bigshots passed by and ignored him.  Then came a despised Samaritan, who took care of him and made sure he was okay.  That really tweaked the Pharisees because they knew he was telling them off for their hypocrisy." "Much like modern church leaders", scoffs Erik,  "We still have a few of them in Sweden and they are such a joke. No wonder no one in that country believes any more." "So then, Erik", says Tron, fixing on him his beautiful flaming amber eyes, "Who then is my neighbour?..."

Visions 2

Yesterday I saw two erect wooden poles with netting between them and a grapevine growing up on them and bearing an abundance of ripe grapes.  Then I saw a rushing stream of pure crystalline water, and the stream grew to  river, a waterfall and eventually to a broad mighty and slow flowing river with deep muddy water and all kinds of herbiage and trees growing on its banks and then  flock of beautiful white birds, like terns or doves taking off into the air. today I saw a closed fist, slowly opening and revealing a handful of golden wheat, and even before the grain was scattered on the ground it began to sprout and germinate and some green to all manner of plants and trees when it hit the ground, some produces beautifully coloured birds flying away and some turned into gemstones.  Then I saw several large urns, brightly coloured.  Each was being uncovered and an angel began to clean the inside.  The lids were to remain off because the urns were going to be filled with wine. You are going to bear an abundance of fruit in your remaining years of earthly life, and I have created for you a structure that will support you in this endeavour because as a grapevine cannot flourish without something to grow on, so must you have external supports for my work to flourish and be complete in you.  Your daily discipline and the people I have brought into your life and the place where you live are all going to contribuñte plus I will be bringing to you new supports.  Your life is represented by that river,, in your youth you were not ready to produce anything lasting for me buñt through the course of your life you have gained and grown in depth, knowledge and wisdom and now, even though you are moving more slowly it is with thoughtful and prayerful consideration and the harvest that results from this overflow will be abundant and as with the white birds, a great blessing shall spread to many. the closed fist is your heart slowly opening to me and revealing the seeds of life I have planted in you. As you continue to open to me and to others these seeds are going to germinate and grow into a variety of blessings.  The urns represent the talents, gifts and abilities I have given you, and s each gift is surrendered and opened to me so will I cleanse it of the world's corruption renew and reconsecrate and sanctify it to my use, and it will be like the wine of My Spirit, My blood and My holiness.

1971

"What are the two great commandments?" wonders Erik. "Hear O Israel".declares Carl, "The Lord thy God is One God, and thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, with all thy mind, and with all thy strength.  and the second commandment is like unto it: thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself  On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets." "The law and the prophets?" Says Tron, "All the writings of the Old and New Testaments spring from the same source.  The love of God, for God is love.  Regardless of what humanity has done to mar or distort these beautiful truths.  They still all consist in God who is love.  Our command to love God and neighbour is simply our native response to the love that God has for us.  For God is love; it is God, or love, that created the universe and all that is in it; it is God who is love who birthed into being this beautiful planet we call earth, it is God who is love who created our kind and breathed into us the very life of his spirit, our souls.  And though we plunged this beauty into chaos when we followed the prince of shadows in our rebellion against God who is love, he came to us as Jesus. that selfsame youth who is also our lovely host, to wear our human flesh and suffer and die in great humiliation our very human death.  But love could not and would not stay dead, so that Love, as Jesus, descended to hell, set free the captive souls and rose again triumphant over the grave, death and hell...." "And who then is my neighbour?", argues Erik.

2087

"She says, "Carl, I am every bit as confused as you are right now, darling, and I seem to be lost in this forest.  I am on a trail and have just come out to a lovely wooded ravine. Caspar whom I am seeking is nowhere to be found.  Wait, there appear to be stairs descending down to a road by what appears to be a beach.  When I am down there I shall hail an Uber.  But first I need to find Caspar, so I shall wait longer.  Please give me an address where I might meet up with you."" "That sounds like a plan." "That sounds like Stella, alright, but how did she get here?" "Talk to both Erik and Ethan when they are back from either walk.  We are almost home and I will also talk to Francois.  He might have a better memory.  Wait, Kenny is poking my arm." "I'm starting to remember, Chris". "Carl, I'll call you back.  Kenny says he's starting to remember." "This is all, if you will pardon my English, fucking confusing." "I know...I know.. call you back quick.  Also ask your mom and sister.  and what about the others because they might know something..." "How would they possibly know about Stella?" and Carl is almost yelling, he seems so frustrated. "I don't know, but let's just say I have an intuition, a hunch.. Call you back." "Hurry..."

It's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is...) 2

Yesterday, Sunday, I was minding my own business on a quiet and leafy street in East Van, while examining the contents of a little sidewalk library, when I noticed a scrawny half naked little man near my age )I am 70), wearing only shining magenta shorts and sneakers, He sported a dark suntan that would worry any self-respecting dermatologist or oncologist.  With his caved in chest and bones showing so clearly I could count every one of his ribs.  He said to me nonchalantly,"you'd better put on shorts or yer gonna melt in this heat."  I thought he resembled a medieval woodcut of death. Instead of swearing at him, I casually replied "My choice, not yours", and he got away awful quick.  I might have added in my rebuff the famous words of Germaine Greer, "You're young only once, but you can be immature forever," but I'd already made my point, and besides, it would be like hitting a child.  (mind you, with permissive parenting these days and a whole generation of entitled little brats getting ready to grow into the pack of entitled young adults that are soon to succeed us, there are some children I wouldn't mind at all hitting, and even more so, their parents, though in theory I actually do not approve of hitting either). So, what was I wearing on this hot summer day?  A mink coat?  A Canucks toque?  Woolen mittens and a big wrap around Hudson's Bay (remember them?) scarf? I was wearing a light cotten, oversized long sleeve button down shirt, very elegant with narrow vertical lilac, black and white stripes.  a very beautiful shirt actually that I got for maybe fifteen bucks at Value Village last year.  And a pair of blue jeans.  Casual elegance and easy on people's eyes.  Unlike the scrawny freak show in magenta jogging shorts.   I was also previously criticized a week ago by an acquaintance for overdressing in the heat.  None of her business but I kept my mouth shut. The thing is, I do not like wearing shorts.  They look ridiculous on adults, plus I am comfortable going out fully and properly dressed.  And why should I inflict on other people's eyes the sight of my gleaming white legs and varicose veins?  My ankles look like two slabs of Danish blue cheese.  Okay, Stilton.  Or how about Gorgonzola? No one should have to look at that.  And really the sight of some of those legs: some so hairy that they must have been sired by a billy goat, or women with lacklustre games and cellulite that will never measure up to Marlene Dietrich, or some skinny guy who finally has shown us where those two missing pool cues ended up. Yes, I get it, people like to feel comfortable.  Who cares what others might think?  As long as I'm happy.  But, anyone taking a good look at modern sidewalk scapes over the past fifteen years or so will be inclined to agree that people in this city do not know how to dress,  and I am not talking fashion plates.  I mean this:  We all visually impact one another when we are out in public.  It isn't so much a matter of how good or how awful we must think we look, but how we are affecting one another.  An extreme version of this can be found in many Islamic states where a woman appearing not properly covered could face time in prison or worse.  An absurd, tragic and lethal extreme.  And I for one do not advocate social or government controls over how people dress.  As far as I am concerned, anyone should also feel free to go out fully naked if they want.  It doesn't mean that I approve, by the way, I just think that nobody has any business telling anyone else how to dress. But what I also see here, is how people's attitudes about clothing show a decided slide into hedonism and individualistic narcissism.  I mention again our sidewalk scapes of grown men everywhere dressed like toddlers:shorts, hairy, skinny or ugly bare legs, dumb looking T shirts, often bearing logos or dumb comments.  Or tank tops.  Hey, some people look great half naked.  Nature has been very kind to them.  But why advertise?  Why draw all this not necessarily desired attention to yourself?. And by the way, no one should have to look at all those ugly disfiguring tattoos you have tagged yourselves with. There are those who do dress beautifully:  like the tall and elegant transwoman sporting a brilliant tie dye shirt.  I told her "You are wearing the colours of the day", and how she smiled and glowed.   To the rest of you I say: Please take more care and a little more pride in how you present yourselves.  You are not alone.  It is not all about you.  Others see you and react to you.  Be kind.  Dress like an adult.  As  beautifully as you are able.  And please get over your narcissism.

It's All About Me (sure it is dear, sure it is) 5

Living in a BC Housing building can be like living in a petri dish. Sometimes a crucible. This is bound to happen when you put together a group of adults with nothing really in common outside of our humanity, our age demographic (this is a building for seniors), our poverty,, and our trauma. I think it is safe to assume that everyone, or almost everyone, living in subsidised housing has had some experience of trauma. Such is life when you are poor, housing vulnerable and often have to navigate obscenely long wait lists in order to find a decent place to live, or any place to live. Our building is managed by More Than a Roof Housing, an organization of Christians who really do stellar work in helping us keep body and soul together. MTR is also dedicated to building community in their buildings, a promethean task not to be taken lightly. Especially given how incompatible a lot of us are with one another. For those of us who take seriously the Christian faith, the Gospels, and the discipleship of following Jesus, community is not simply an option. It is a command. Whether it be church, or group activities, or simply living as a good, kind, friendly and respectful neighbour. I really try to be that kind of neighbour. It isn't always easy, especially when we have such a diversity of tenants, each having a story, or rather, each one being a story, or perhaps a blockbuster novel, and each being turned to rather different pages. I try to remain on the periphery here at City Heights. I need lots of rest and time for prayer, which obviates a lot of social interaction. But in passing I have become friends with some very fine neighbours here and always look forward to running into them and chatting. Two people here appear to find me problematic and for what I think are very childish reasons, hold huge grudges and will not talk to me. One of them tried to persuade me that non white immigrants are threatening the white social order of Canada. I called him out on his racism and reported him to management. To this day he hates me, will not respond if I say hi, and will even bail from the elevator if I am also in it. The other will not speak to me because I complained about smoke in my unit from her sacred family barbecue. As hard as it is living in close quarters with hostile individuals, this does present me with the daily challenge of dying to myself and forgiving and praying for them, and,yes, even loving them with Christ's love. I do not know their personal stories. I can only guess at the kind of pain they have been through and still have to live with. It is sad, knowing that carrying hate and bitterness could easily destroy their souls and cast them away from the presence of God come judgment day, and for this reason I pray for them both. Forgiveness is not easy, but it is not impossible, otherwise Jesus would not command us to forgive. But it is only going to happen if we are willing to let go of our own self-importance and our sense of personal sovereignty. And this can only happen when we agree to love. To actually care for the person who has hurt or offended us. This letting go is not easy. It is hard, but it is also essential if we are going to move forward as humanity. Otherwise, Israel and Palestine will go on bombing the bejesus out of each other, and also Russia and Ukraine, not to mention, the US, Iran, Yemen, Darfour, and pick any one of the world's many trouble spots. Forgiving means putting to death our self-centeredness and self-importance. Forgiveness means flipping the middle finger in the face of narcissism and selfishness. Forgiveness shakes the scales from our eyes and the mud out of our ears so that we can see and hear Jesus standing in our midst. When someone offends me, they are also blessing me, because they have given me something to forgive, and forgiveness heals us and brings us closer to Jesus and to one another.

1970

"How did this all change and impact your relations with the boy?" wonders Carl, slowly pulling from the bag a scant handful of chocolate chips that he now  almost meditatively drops into his mouth. "The relations were problematic from the very beginning. He was not just my servant, but my personal property.  My possession  As a slave and as my slave, Thaddai had no right to personhood, nor to personal dignity or integrity.  Only his utility, his service to me mattered.  And that was so contrary to the law of God's love, to the two great commandments.  Still, I developed great tenderness towards him, and even in my rough handling of him in bed, tried to spare him as much discomfort as possible.  But there was no pleasure in it at all for him, and from the moment when I layed down my life for Jesus, I began to see there was neither for me any great pleasure in this.   Setting Thaddai free set us both free, and also from the unclean carnality of my mishandling of him, for I had committed against him a grave bodily crime.  The first words I uttered after I first knelt before our Lord that night in the olive grove, surrounded by the faithful, were a plea for forgiveness from Thaddai.  Then I declared him free.  I am glad to say that from that moment on we became bonded and united as true brothers in Christ..."

Visions 1

This morning, while singing in worship I had two visions.  The first was of rather an old fashioned looking faucet with two taps, hot and cold water above it, as you would find in a farmhouse or utility sink.  They were solid gold.  A small trickle of very pure water was flowing from the faucet.  The interpretation of this vision is:  because you are weak and frail with limitations of age, like this faucet the flow of my Spirit is going to appear weak and small, but it is not.  There is great strength in the small, and this work must be carefully and patiently measured because anything more intense would harm  you.  Yes, you are old, but you are also made of gold and are highly precious to me and in My Kingdom.  Accept thle blessing of your limitations and allow me to bless you and others through your limitations. Second vision: I saw several tiny coloured gemstones being transformed into yards of highly coloured fabric, as though each ream of cloth was being pulled from the gemstone of the corresponding colour: red for ruby, green for emerald, blue from sapphire, golden yellow for topaz, etc.  The interpretation: each act of kindness, every kind and loving word to others is like a gemstone from which you will gain the robe of righteousness, the garment  of praise.  I am also the Lord of Small Things.

1969

Thaddai, slowly and gently, almost diplomatically extricated himself from his mother, Thera's, arms.  She was still weeping, still wild with joy, and the three years of anguish thinking her child was dead, and then he gestured to me:  Adrian here, brought me back to be with you again.  He kept me safe on the journey...Then, following the script he had suggested to me during the journey, I opened my mouth and said, Madame, your son has been in my custody more than two years.  I bought him from merchants of human flesh and he served me and my father in our home in Nicomedia.  It is through the agency and faithful prayers of your boy that I have but recently converted to the life and service of our Saviour Jesus Christ.  I have released him from my bondage, with great repentance, and now your son is restored to you.  I dared not say any more, and could see that Thera was already struggling with what I had told her.  We had already agreed, Thaddai and I, that the last thing she would need to hear was of how I had carnally misused the child of her womb in order to satisfy my adolescent lust.  He insisted that she must never ever learn of this, and I could only honour his petition.  Almost struggling against her maternal instincts, she forced her hand towards me in a gesture of friendship and Christian pardon, and invited me to lodge with them in her home....

it's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is!) 4

I started learning Spanish in the fall of 1999, age 43.  This was my delayed response of obedience to a call I received from God in 1994, just following my first visit to Costa Rica.  I knew I would be returning, but did not know when.  My fortunes were decreasing, money was getting tight.  In 1997, when things were already desperate I asked God again if He was calling me to learn Spanish and return to Costa Rica.  Three days later,  Wednesday afternoon in early February, I felt called to attend the daily evensong service at St James, the high Anglican church I was then attending in Vancouver.  On my way out of the church a small spry elderly man started gesturing madly at me that he wanted to give me something.  So, I received from this complete stranger a small Spanish-English dictionary.  I knew then that God was speaking to me. It took me two years to get my ducks in a row, but when I became serious I bought a bigger and more complete Spanish-English dictionary, since the one the old man gave me was missing some pages, and a Spanish exercise book.  Then the doors started to open.  Within days, while out walking on Main street, I needed to use the washroom quite badly.  I was going to stop in at a café where I was a regular, but somehow felt awkward about going in there just to pee, so I detoured to the Kingsgate  Mall nearby where I went to the washroom at the library which at the time was located there.  Just as I was leaving I ran into an old friend, and as we were chatting we learned that we were both trying to learn Spanish.  She had a number of Latino friends and promptly began introducing us, plus she was very knowledgeable about helpful resources, including: various local radio programs in Spanish; free Spanish language newspapers; cheap Spanish classes at one of the neighbourhood houses for one dollar a pop plus five dollar annual membership; and a free Spanish-English language exchange program at another neighbourhood house. That was more than enough to get me started. So, over the next three years or so I got to work at classes, listening to Spanish radio, reading Spanish newspapers, studying grammar and vocabulary, and practicing with native speakers.  Fortunately, I had a lot of time for this, since I was on social assistance while also painting and shilling my art and cleaning homes.  Though I was broke, almost everything that came my way was free.  I  also had no idea about when or if I would be returning to Costa Rica, but God had already spoken and who was I to doubt His promise. Eventually I found stable affordable housing, trainng, and employment.  I continued to work at my Spanish.  Although nowhere near fluent, native speakers were already praising my accent.  I had a bank balance.  Got a passport, and in 2008, with my intermediate Spanish, I spent four weeks in Costa Rica, living as much as possible in Spanish.  Thus I began to really grow in the language.  In 2009, I spent a month in Mexico City.  Ditto.  And back in Vancouver, I continued to work at it.  I was also finding and buying books in Spanish, novels mostly, in second hand stores in Vancouver and of course in Mexico and Costa Rica.   I became involved in a language exchange program and, thanks to Skype, I connected with native Spanish speakers throughout Latin America and Spain.  Made some lasting friends.  Returned to Costa Rica for six weeks in 2010, made friends with my hotel hosts, and continued living in Spanish.  I returned to Mexico City and Chiapas for another six weeks in 2012.  in San Cristóbal de las Casas, in my hotel dining room I passed out from food poisoning.  As I came to, I had to communicate to my many helpers (such lovely, kind people) in Spanish because no one spoke English.  That was when I became fluent. I returned to Mexico City one month each, 2013 and 2014, living completely in Spanish, then Bogotá Colombia one month each, 2015 and 2016, exclusively in Spanish.  Every year, till now, I have returned to Latin America, sometimes for up to two or three months, so that when I returned home I was speaking English with a Spanish accent.  And I have come into some lovely strong and stable friendships. Now I enjoy full fluency, and an authentic Latin American accent.  Very unusual.  But I think I have done this well for one particular reason:  I was never in this just for myself.  It was with the desire to serve well and connect well with people who live in Latin America  this is why God called me to learn the language. Early in my learning stage I often suffered great frustration at not being able to understand a lot of people speaking Spanish.  It was as if there was this strict and nasty little gatekeeper in my soul,intentionally trying to protect my precious mother English from the Spanish contagion.  Rather like an immune system working too well. and I really had to fight that resistance.   I had to become vulnerable, like a little child, because as little children is how we learn our mother tongue, and only by becoming little children again in our receptivity and vulnerability are we really able to effectively learn a new language. Had I only been in it for myself, for career opportunities or simply to get easily laid, or pick  any one, I would not have done well.  In fact, I have become highly critical of people who want to learn English only to enhance their professional and income opportunities.  This is very selfish and very me-first.  For the same reason I have also criticised Latin Americans for wanting to immigrate to Canada only for their own economic advantage. I have counselled them that if they really have no desire to help and offer their time and hearts for supporting and helping others here, then they had best stay at home in El Salvador or Colombia or Perú and see what they can do in order to learn how to become  the change they desire to see.  None of those people are still speaking to me. Because I became childlike in order to learn Spanish, my heart has grown by many sizes.  I used to think that the reason I am so happy and joyful when speaking Spanish was only because of the character and good energy of the language itself.  Now I realize that it is because Spanish is the language that cracked me open, gave me a tender and beating heart of flesh, and taught me to see others with renewed and loving eyes. "Except ye be converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven"  --Jesus of Nazareth.

1968

"We later saw Larus again in Damascus.  The road was clear of difficulties and curiously, we didn't see any Roman soldiers.  Not a single one.  We went straight to the market where Thaddai's mother worked as a seller of wheat and barley as well as milled flour and baked loaves of bread.  She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw her beautiful son appear in the tent where she sat behind a table beneath an awning.  I could tell right away that his beautiful looks favoured her, and even in middle age she was a woman who would merit at least a second look. With a wild, jubilant cry tearing from her throat she sprang up and hurled herself at her child, engulfing him in a prolonged ecstatic and weeping embrace.  I thought she would never let him go again...

"It's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is!) 3

Yesterday I was chatting with a friend over coffee and cookies at my place and the subject was wildfires, and the latest tragedy to strike the remnant town of Lytton which was totally destroyed by fire five years ago during the deadly heat dome.  I asked my friend what might have caused the fires.  She answered, "Was it lightning?"  No.  "Was it a cigarette?"  No.  "Was it a campfire?"  No, you're not even close.  "Then what was it?"  It's something you put in your car every week.  "Gas?"  You're close.  Oil.  The global output and reliance on fossil fuels has not abated and this is destroying our planet, is basically what I said to her. The petroleum industry alone has a lot to answer for, because with other fossil fuels, they are responsible for up to 80 percent of the  emissions that cause global warming and climate change, and around 20  percent of that oil goes into people's gas tanks.  I told my friend that at age 16 I decided that I would never own a car or learn how to drive.  At 70, that is one decision I have never regretted.  I sensed that God was telling me, back then when I was a teenage Jesus freak, that I was not to participate in this mad dance of death towards lasting environmental degradation.  My friend is in her late seventies.  She drives a car.  She also walks with a  cane, And the nearest bus stop is quite a walk from where she lives.  I told her that I don't expect her to hobble to the bus stop. Still, her answer about the cause of forest and brush fires is a little bit concerning, and it illustrates just how much people with cars live in a kind of personal fantasy world, or a state of selfish denial.  They are and have long been way near the apex for being responsible for global warming.  Very few people really need to drive a car, at least in Greater Vancouver where we are blessed with good accessible (but still needs lots of improvement)  public transit.  Nobody has followed my lead about not having a vehicle, and to this day I remain a voice crying in the wilderness.  A loud, strong and annoying voice perhaps, but it is really like trying to speak to the chronically deaf.  The resistance is very strong with extremely complex roots.  Our cities in North America are built and designed for cars.  Almost every tween and young teen is just champing at the bit to learn to drive, get their license and their own car.  Independence.  Status.  Power.  and there is so much myth around car ownership.  It is considered one of the first rites of passage into adulthood.  Many people will not consider you an adult, or  person of any worth or value if you go through your life riding public transit.  Remember the loser cruiser?  Why, a lot of women won't even date a guy who is twenty'five years old and still riding the bus. (Has anyone ever done a survey about how many teenagers lost their virginity in the back seat of a car?) So, this is what everyone has bought into.  Basically, the climate, the planet, the wellbeing of others, the wellbeing of God's beautiful and awesome creation, can all go to hell, if it means that I have to give up my privilege, my entitlement, my illusion of adult independence.  EV's are too expensive, plus they are also uniquely problematic to the environment. As our summers are becoming unbearably hot with lethal heat waves (70,000, mostly vulnerable, people perished last summer in Europe due to the heat), and killer storms become more frequent, I cannot envision very many people parking their cars to walk or take the bus or their bikes.  Too lazy, too selfish, too entitled.   it doesn't look good. In the words of the late screen legend Bette Davis in the film "All About Eve":  "fasten your seatbelts everyone. It's going to be a bumpy flight."

1967

In Tyre we were warmly received by the bishop and in his home I was deeply troubled to see Gaius. a young man who had been my friend in the garrison in Nicomedia. Like me he wore civilian garb, but remained clean shaven.  At nineteen my young beard was already gaining momentum and I hadn't shaved since our departure.  It would have challenged him to identify me at first.  But the bishop joyfully introduced him as his son who was finally restored to him.  And Gaius had disappeared some months before.  As soon as I identified myself, he knew me and a shadow of fear darkened his face.  And then we both had to labour rather hard to persuade the other that we were no threat but brothers in Jesus.  We stayed two nights with the Bishop.  Larus had arranged to be there longer, so we left him behind...

1966

It was springtime and the weather, while not rough, did provide us with some strong winds, but fortunately it did not rain during most of the time except for a few showers on the last day, and very fortunately it never rained at night for we had to sleep on the open deck under the stars and underneath whatever else God would happen to send us. Thaddai befriended another youth. I suspected a runaway slave, but he was finely dressed and mannered. And very convivial. And another disciple of the Nazarene. They had a peculiar way of identifying themselves to each other. On a wooden post with his knife, Thaddai discreetly carved with his small dagger an upward curved line. The other youth produced his knife, which put me on the ready, since I had no way of knowing what he was going to use it for, then, marked a corresponding downward curve, directly underneath, running it from the point to just past the other end, forming the outline of a fish. By this sign they knew each other as disciples of Christ. He was dark haired, slender and very handsome, quite in contrast to Thaddai, who was also a very beautiful boy, but like some Syrians with light skin, fair hair and green eyes, so there was no wonder his type would be highly coveted by men of sinister carnality. In hushed tones, we would huddle together speaking of our faith and exchanging questions about the Way. Larus was also going to Damascus, and would be stopping with us in Tyre. The Bishop of Ephesus had furnished him a letter with his seal to the bishop of Tyre who would give him lodgings. When we showed Larus our two letters from the bishop of Nicomedia with his seal, as well as being comforted to know that we were genuine, invited us to join him for the advantage of hospitality in Tyre.

It's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is...) 1

I imagine it could be time to resume writing in my blog material other than, or, as well as, my novel, the Peacock.  I quit writing reflective, controversial, current and challenging material in the wake of the attempt of the Anglican Archdiocese of New Westminster to threaten me with their lawyers if I did not stop writing and publishing on these pages "defamatory" if very true material about those pious bastards  Well, I did win, by threatening to and starting to go totally public on them.  The cowards backed off, and even though I offered them forgiveness, to this day they refuse reconciliation with me.  Much better to save that for our First Nations People, since that gives the Anglican church of Canada such excellent PR.  I suppose it could be said they would rather reserve their pearls for worthier swine. Well, I simply no longer care.  I have been through two other churches and denominations since then, the Lutheran and the United Church of Canada, and I will likely write more on those ecclesiastical soap operas on future pages. Today, I was riding the number 33 bus out to Pacific Spirit Regional Park, that fabulous sprawling second growth forest near UBC..  One more time, on the bus, a young man was illegitimately squatting on the courtesy seat nearest the front.  Somewhere in his twenties, not going to mention his nationality or race because selfish indifference appears to be a universal human trait.  There was lots of space both in the front and in the back of the bus.  Personally I don't think younger people, unless they are children, have any business on those seats, whether they are otherwise needed or not.  I do not know Translik's position about this, but I would like to.  I am 70, so I am allowed to sit there, but I will always offer my seat to someone who needs it more, be they frail elderly, people with disabilities or mobility issues, pregnant women, or people with babies or small children.   Unless there happen to also be hale and healthy looking young people occupying those same seats, and appear to be so engrossed in their dear little smartphones that nothing else appears to be going on in their tiny universe.  Then I will say something.  If they feign deafness, I raise my voice, and will say something snappy like, excuse me, either you are too young to be sitting here or you must have a very good plastic surgeon.  Oh, and this lady needs to sit down, thank you very much.  Oh, and could you please give me the business card of your plastic surgeon?  It works every time. I am reminded of a visit to Mexico City in 2012.  On the metro train, an elderly woman was standing, and none of the selfish healthy jóvenes, or young people, would offer her a seat, not even when I tried to scold or remonstrate with them in my already fluent Spanish (I was also standing, if you must ask). So, I wrote out my frustration in my travel journal which I sent off to various friends all over the world.  One of them, Christophe, a 29 year old middle class twit who lives in Germany, responded to me with an email scolding me for daring to be so rude to people when I am visiting a foreign country.  He went on to write that when he is riding public transit, if he feels tired or is reading something he won't give up his seat either.  So, without revealing his name or nationality, I quoted him word for word in my next post.  He promptly ended our friendship. Good riddance.  I imagine that now, at forty-something, he might be married with kids of his own, or divorced, given it might take a very special kind of woman, or a very stupid one, to live with his sense of entitlement. The bus went past a very attractive looking café on W 16th ave, called Sweet Obsessions. I noticed a dog seated next to his owner on one of the comfy looking loveseats outside on the sidewalk, and right away I saw a red flag.  Dogs do not belong on furniture.  If they are permitted, they will assume to be equal to their humans and will become all the more difficult to train and discipline.  Science backs me up on this one.  Besides which, should the patron using that same loveseat once human and doggy have left, have an allergy to pet fur and dander this could be particularly problematic. I like dogs by the way, and find some of them quite adorable despite such disgusting habits as sniffing bums and crotches and eating poo.  I actually prefer cats.  But I also enjoy petting and making friends with nice doggies, and often will greet strangers on the way with, happy Monday, and your doggy too.  What annoys me is the narcissistic entitlement of some dog owners.  And I sometimes wonder if the ongoing madness about dogs in our culture is also a symptom of an ethically bankrupt narcissistic society totally corrupted by capitalism greed and selfish individualism. Likewise the fad that does not know when to die,known as sidewalk jogging.  I used to get really annoyed with joggers, like the ones hogging the narrow trails I was walking on today, for their clueless self-absorbed narcissistic behaviour.  Now I just smile if I see one coming, say beep-beep, or hi, or burn rubber, and unless they are particularly obnoxious and entitled, they almost always smile and say hi.  As if they are glad that someone has acknowledged their existence.  But that kind of isolation is one of the many bitter and poisonous fruits of narcissistic individualism and rampant capitalism. Like it or not, we are all in this together.  We really have to start addressing the spiritual and moral vacuum that has turned so many of us into such pathetic consumerist zombies.  I sense a real hunger out there.  Let's see what we can do, eh?

1965

"I imagine there were dangers and risks along the way", muses Kenny. "There was little risk from brigands or thieves, because  the high road is well patrolled.  Thaddai and I took different clandestine routes, known only to local shepherds and herdsmen, because soon there would be an alert posted about my desertion, and being caught for both of us would be a death sentence.  We travelled only at night and there was enough moonlight to keep us from getting lost, and we slept in thickets and groves during the day.  In five days we were in Ephesus where we found the home of the bishop and presented the letter and surrendered to him our horses.  We sheltered there for five days.  He was an enormously kind, generous and holy man, and per the request of the Bishop of Nicomedia, he also took care to instruct us further in the faith.  There was only one close call.  A soldier I knew in Nicomedia was patrolling the dock while we awaited the ship.  He did not appear to see us, and since I was dressed in regular street apparel it would have been harder for him to know me. But we were not taking chances.  We found refuge in the shop of a seller of purple cloth, where we had only to linger a few short minutes before the ship was ready for boarding.

1964

"We were taken under protective custody into the house of a wealthy pearl merchant who was part of the congregation of the faithful.  The bishop joined us and there for the next day we were further instructed in the faith of Our Lord.  Then the merchant gave us a good sum of silver and gold coins as well as a supply of golden pearls to supply all our needs for the journey.  A youth from the church, known already to my father and me as an adept at our trade of saddle making, agreed to take my place and assist my father in the home and in his work.  Then the bishop wrote and signed with his own seal two letters, one to be presented to the bishop of Ephesus, for our lodging and refuge for however many days we needed while waiting for the next ship to Tyre, and another letter to the bishop of Damascus, instructing him to receive us among the faithful.  Then, the pearl merchant loaned us two of his finest horses, which we rode to the great city of Ephesus..."

1963

We are all completely rapt as Tron tells us his story. His voice is deep, sonorous, but not harshly masculine, and his visage shines, his olive skin, dark hair and chiseled aquiline features showing that yes, he must indeed have been born in that part of the world, however long ago. "At the moment of my conversion, for that is what had just happened to me, I looked at my boy, Thaddai, who was now no longer mine, who was kneeling next to me, and I could already see him being taken away from me. I said to him, "Thaddai, you are no longer mine. You never were. And I can hardly face you to beg your forgiveness for how I carnally misused you, of how I also drew you into sin against our Saviour. Thaddai, here before God and before this assembly of the faithful, I release you from my bondage, from the bondage of chains and from the bondage of flesh. Only tell me now please how I could best serve you. Here we both confessed to Christ and the faithful our sin, our renunciation and, as there was a spring nearby, we were both baptised that same night. Then, we embarked together on a journey for we knew it would no longer be safe for us to remain in Nicomedia. Once they heard of my conversion I would be a dead soldier before nightfall. We set immediately together to Damascus, for Thaddai yearned to see his mother and his brothers. His father himself was dead, murdered by brigands who abducted him to sell on the slave market, for adolescent boys were a particularly hot commodity then in the beastly market of human flesh...

1962

"Ethan", says Carl. "You have a story to tell." "I am not proud of what I did", he says looking directly ahead, and not at any one of us in particular.  "I was born in the mountains of Armenia, and moved with my father  to Byzantium, in what is now called Turkey, and he found work as a saddle maker, which was his trade, in the great city that came to be called Constantinople, but was then Nicomedia, which was also the New Rome where the emperor had his throne.  My father found much trade with the garrisons and as a youth I entered into military service.  I bought a Syrian slave boy and began to violate him, as was often the custom.  He was meek and passive.  And he also followed the cult of the Nazarene.  I became very tender towards my boy, who was just three years younger than me  I was eighteen.  One day he asked permission to meet with other disciples of the Nazarene.  I felt curious and said I would come.  He looked at me in a state of nervous terror.  But I loved him, and promised I would do nothing to betray him or his fellow Christians,  The meetings were, of course, clandestine, and I was careful to dress anonymously.  They were meeting in a grove of olive trees outside the city.  I was quickly impressed.  They were mostly humble folk, then one, an aged man who appeared to be their bishop turned to me and spoke the words of the Lord to me, "You are one of the emperor's foot soldiers", he said, "and we know that you are here not to betray us but to betray your own heart to the Prince of Peace.  Now, we enjoin you that you release this boy from the vile and unclean bondage you are holding him under and turn at once to the Saviour of men and even of Romans".  At that moment, as it were, the scales fell from my eyes and I sank to my knees weeping...

1961

Retaking his chair, Tron says, "You were told, all of you, that the two dimensions have come together.  You are all going to be experiencing rather differently time, space, and sequence of events." Carl, pausing in mid grasp with the bag of chocolate chips in his lap says, "Wait a minute.  We went furniture shopping, we spent all last week visiting places, in Yaletown, South Granville, Main Street, five days we were at it.  And it was all mixed in with the other stuff". And Erik's eyes are starting to widen.  "I was in that hotel just three days.  I was helping with some of the furniture shopping.  Stella was with us." "But the other shit also happened", says Carl.  "Rescuing Jesús from his landlord, Baked, the pot cookies, the dinner party with the piñata." "It's all mixed in", say I. "And Kenny, yes we were all at the Refuge, but the day before you showed up at my doorstep, you said you couldn't stay, but you texted me before you and Amaris came to the café." "What the hell is going on?" says Erik. Turning to Tron, Kenny says, "Who Are you exactly.  I do remember you, but that was a dream, or a whole series of dreams? But on the other hand you are Also Kim Fletcher's adopted son, and you used to, and still are doing bike deliveries for the florist shop we run together Duncan. We have known each other since you were thirteen. and your name is really Ethan." "It is all still real, but not real in the sense that you have been used to", answers Ethan, because right now he is more Ethan than Tron. "Where were you just now", says Carl. "why I was taking a piss. Your sister makes excellent coffee."  He is laughing. "But you are an angel.  Yes?" says Carl. "Oh if you insist.  Okay, either it's all a hallucination, or it's all real.  It is all equally both." "I only know you as Ethan angel", says Kenny. "I am actually very human.  Not nephilim like Stella or Sven, and not angel, like Lan. And also Ethan, theology studies dropout, age twenty-eight" "Even though you were martyred almost two thousand years ago under the Roman emperor Diocletian." "You were kibble for the lions", says Carl with a snicker.  "I was crucified.  Like our young lord before me.  when I  was received into glory I was given the noble task of intercession and warfare against the dragon.  Like our lord I can walk among you but in my resurrected, glorified form.  I am still very human." "Even though yuou ar still our twenty-eight year old foster kid." "Which is why you also have to pee", says Carl, passing him the bag of chocolate chips. "And eat chocolate too", he says laughing just before tossing some chocolate into his eagerly waiting mouth.

1960

"Where do you think you're  going, Carl?" say I as I see him getting up to follow Tron. He pauses theatrically, then says, "Funny, I thought I just heard my sister."  He slinks back into his chair, then gets up again, goes to the desk and pulls open the bottom drawer.  "I knew they'd be in here."  There is an unopened club pack of President's Choice semi sweet chocolate chips in his hand. With his free left hand he pulls open an upper drawer from which he extracts a large pair of utility scissors with bright orange handles.  After cutting the bag open, he pours himself a handful of chocolate chips, then hands me the bag.  "It wouldn't be the same without the sacrament", he muses grinning. "My phone is vibrating", say I. "Turn it off." "It's Francois.  Probably important.  Hi." "are you guys alright?" "So far.  We are back in the upper room, Carl, Kenny , Erik and I, and Carl has just found us some more chocolate chips." "You can stop worrying about the house in New West.  We have already taken occupancy."  And now I have  put him on speaker phone for all to hear. "You mean to say?" "Christopher", he says tactfully, "I know about as much as the rest of you.  When we arrived at your place I got an anonymous text telling me the house is all ready.  And you should see the place now. The furniture is exquisite.  We were expecting basic Ikea, but now the place looks like a palace. and feels like a home." "What exactly happened?" "Apparently we took care of everything last week." "Last week?" exclaims Carl.  "Someone somewhere has some explainin' to do."  And now Tron, as Ethan, is entering the room...

1959

Then what happened to him?" say I. "They gave him refuge, for a long period of time.  He recomitted to the Catholic faith of his childhood and eventually took vows as a monk, but abandoned the place shortly after his novitiate was completed.  Then he found refuge with the Stolo nation where he became involved with Naomi's aunt.  He maintained a connection with the monastery and became great friends with the abbot, and then he apprenticed and trained as a shoe repairman.  He also was in contact with your father, Carl, and kept trying to persuade him to do something about the bodies entombed underneath the house, and Jan steadfastly refused.  In the meantime, I and other guardians are caring for this place.  Some of you have met some of us. "At the southern magnolia when we saw the peacock.  And one of you was communicating with Francois." "I was present.  And now I must leave you for now." "Has Melissa shown you your room?" But Tron does not reply, as he gets up and like a large beautiful cat, slips out through the door.

1958

What became of the others?" asks Kenny.  "The two women, Lydia and Rhona, were the first to leave.  Lydia was finished with Cosme, and returned immediately to Montreal.  Rhona had issues pending with the immigration authorities, and went back to Seattle.  That left Cosme and I.  He was distraught, confused, and totally lost, so he was basically under my care as I took on the task of closing down the house.  Then, in his car, we drove to the Benedictine monastery where I left him on their doorstep.  Over the years I have taken care to track him....

1956

"What really happened?", say I to Tron, for now, clearly he is no longer Ethan, random bike dude.  His glory keeps seeping out like the sun's corona from behind the shadow of the moon during a solar eclipse. "Cosme, Lydia and Rhona were using a lot of LSD.  I alone abstained, and none of them was able to distinguish between the visible real, the hallucinatory and the spiritual reality.  It all became blended together, plus not one of them was able to process the horror that had spread itself before their very eyes.." "What he wrote in his journal was all hallucinatory", says Carl. "Not entirely.  They were all wearing white robes", (And here I am imagining Douglas draped in a bedsheet toga when the police were taking him away from here in their car.  I wonder where he is or if they have found him?)..."And they were carrying torches and marching in a spiral formation.  But they did not disappear into the ground.  And they were also all high on acid.   It was Phillip, who alone was in his right mind, since he did not use drugs himself, but expertly employed them in order to manipulate and control his followers.  They had formed their spiral around him  as their centre or as their trans dimensional vortex as he prefered to be called.  We all marched back to the house.  There is a door leading to the basement, long overgrown by bushes now.  He ordered Cosme and I to stand as eternal stewards at their portal of transition into the other dimension.  They filed in one by one.  Then Phillip gave each one killer doses of sleeping pills, and then he swallowed some himself.  They all lay down on the floor in spiral formation.  Just before he lost consciousness he ordered us to close and seal the door...." "That makes you accessories", says Carl, clearly perturbed.  How interesting that now we have no club pack of chocolate chips to share among us.  This is one serious meeting. "It makes Cosme an accessory." "But you are also culpable." "I was simply under obedience.  As I have always been, as I now am." "But doesn't that also oblige you to confess?" "I cannot confess to whom can neither see or hear me." "Which means..." "All of you here can see me because you knew me in the refuge.  I cannot be made manifest to those who cannot see." I am half expecting to see Ethan transform again into the incandescent glory that is Tron, but see only Ethan, random bike dude, seated in our midst. "Cosme will also be acquitted for lack of evidence, plus inability to remember anything clearly.  But he does know where the bodies are buried...."

The Peacock 1955

Erik says, "You can't be older than me, in fact, you look even younger.  If you are that old then you must be at least eighty." "I am older than that."  And Tron, now not Ethan, looks at us all solemnly and authoritatively.  "My name then was Theo." "You were mentioned in Cosme's diary", say I. "I was appointed to oversee the end of this cult, before any more lives were destroyed.  I could only persuade Cosme and both women, Lydia and Rhona to leave.  All the others..." "How did they die?" says Carl. "They all had a stockpile of sleeping medication.  They all filed, one by one, into a room in the basement of this house.  On the orders of the leader, Phillip, Cosme and I shut and sealed the door behind them.  They were all dead within minutes....

1954

We have found refuge in the meeting room up in the garrett. Tron, still in his guise of handsome random bike dude, is in the chair near a window, and Kenny and I are flanking him, I am on his left, and Erik, and Carl has just come in with a stuffed black travelbag. "Sorry I'm late, you guys.  There were some more things I wanted to take back with me, clothes and a few books." "Are there really human remains here?" asks Erik. "They're about as human as they come, Erik", says Tron with baritone authority. "A couple of weeks ago, with help from a couple of Spanish speakers who unfortunately are not available", says Carl, "We were able to learn of this particularly bizarre cult that used to occupy this place during the sixties." "Cosme is not to be trusted", says Tron.  Many of those pages were written under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs, such as were very freely available here during that time." "You know that because...", say I. "I know that because I was here.  Living among them..."

1953

"Wait a minute", say I, "Kenny, you're staying with me, so what are we going to do?" "Plus", snorts Sheila, "You´ve forgotten Glen." "Wait a minute", says Carl. "Text from Maureen. She can take three. Glen, Mel, how about Maureen's for the time being?" "That works", says Melissa. "Glen?" "No problem." "So then", says Melissa, picking up Tron's plate and balancing two mugs on her fingers, "Let's get this show on the road..."

1952

"The apartment has two bedrooms", says Erik.  "I used to sleep there" "I wasn't thinking", say I.  "Yes, we can do it, if the ladies can help out." "Yes, Carol can", says Melissa.  "Sarah is returning to Maureen's tomorrow and she can take two.  She seems particularly interested in taking in Sheila, because of her age, and because she just said she likes her tremendously, and Michael, because she wanted mother and son to be together." "We still have to wait for Maureen", says Sheila. "Yer staying' with us, Mel", announces Carl.  "And there's room for Matthew. you can both fight over which room you get, or maybe one of you could stay in the apartment with George and Jeffrey." "I volunteer", says Matthew.  "They're both lots of fun." "How about transportation?" says Glen. "Not a problem", says Melissa.  "We can all go in my car." "And...Ethan?" says Carl. "I'm okay. I will be staying for the investigation." "but you can't sleep here", says the ever pragmatic Melissa  No one can." "I have made other arrangements", he replies, spooning half melted ice cream and cake into his mouth... 

1951

But the revelation of divine splendour is less than  momentary and again, in our presence, a handsome twenty something dude in T shirt and shorts is seated among us.  It also appears that for now we are all opting for collective denial, and together, despite where we have been in the past twenty-four hours, all we see is some random stranger named Ethan who has just sought our hospitality. "The question remains, " says Melissa, "Of where we are all going to sleep after tonight should the remains be discovered." "Oh my god", groans Carl, "Why didn't I think of that before.  Look, the house is almost ready, but there are no beds, not a stick of furniture.  We can't get everything in just a few hours.  We have to think." "I'm texting Carol right now", says Melissa, "She has a couple of extra bedrooms." "Wait a minute", say I, "what about Maureen?  They were taking possession of her house today and she has extra room." "I am texting her right now", says Carl.  "How about you, Chris?" "George and Jeffrey are still in the apartment as far as I know, and Jesús has returned to Colombia, so that frees up one room anyway, because Erik will be staying with us, but, there is also an extra room with a bed in the basement"

1951

"The truth about what?" says Sheila, as Matthew returns with two  coffees, one of which sets before her. "What!  No coffee for me?" says Michael in partial mock indignation. "My third arm got amputated because of gangrene.  Move your ass, kiddo, it's self serve around here",  says Matthew. "Yes Mom", says Michael, getting up slowly and reluctantly. "Ahem", snorts Sheila, trying not successfully to sound offended. "Oh just listen to the competition", sneers her son, glancing and winking her way. Sheila looks at Tron and says in a challenge, "How do you know all this?" "How can I not know", he replies as she stares dumbfounded at him, and I can tell that Sheila, and likely the others, are also seeing Tron in the glory of his glistening green and golden robes, because that is precisely what I happen to be seeing.

1950

"What were you three just talking about in the kitchen?" wonders Matthew, as he gets up to pour some coffee from the sideboard. "Stuff", says Carl, following him there. "And?" "Is there any part of none of your business you don't understand?" "We were talking about the police investigation and the search here tomorrow morning", says Melissa flatly. "There are human remains concealed under this house", says Tron. "I beg your pardon?" "Everyone here is exonerated. And you do not have to worry about our father. Naomi was telling the truth..."

1949

It is only natural that given Tron's incandescent good looks, and both Michael and Matthew being gay, that they would certainly notice him, but here they appear fixated and also captured in a thrall of holy awe.  They seem already to have guessed who he is, and even if they do both have a clear memory of meeting him, or that their visit to the Refuge was anything but a strange dream...yes, on some level they're going to know...they must know... but here, now, and to all of us, Tron is Ethan, a random young dude lost in the toolies on his mountain bike. "Very glad to meet you", says Matthew in a reverant whisper, but not approaching to shake his hand. "The pleasure is mine", says Tron, smiling beneficently.. Melissa brings out a dish, one of the crimson and gold art nouveau plates, with an extra large portion of chocolate orange cake smothered in an excess of melting ice cream.  "Ethan, I'm sorry to have forgotten to ask, but have you had dinner.  We still have tons of leftover vegetarian shepherd's pie...I hope you don't mind it's vegetarian, she adds demurely, "but it contains lots of lentils and a mixture of Jaarlesberg and Parmesan cheese..."  and, is she nervously fussing over him?  I have never known Melissa to do that, not with anybody.   "Thank you for asking, Melissa, that is very kind of you, but I did stop to eat something on the way over, and besides...we don't want the ice cream to melt..."

1948

"I imagine that Naomi knows about him?" wonders Carl. "She doesn't just know about him", says his sister.  "He happens to be her uncle." "You don't say!" "Naomi's mom is his de facto sister in law." "That really seems to complicate things", say I. "Don't it though", retorts Carl. "I imagine we should check up on the others", says Melissa. "Yeah, they might think we're talking about them", says Carl. "and vice versa.." Everyone seems very snug and cozy, and the conversation appears rather relaxed and listless.  Tron is at the head of the table, silently watching over the others.  Melissa says, "I just made a big pot full of coffee.  Any takers?" "Is there any more of that splendid cake left?" says Tron. I could bring you a dish right now.  Ice cream too?" "Thanks, that would be great." "Any others?" "We're all pretty full", says Sheila. "Oh speak for yourself, Mumsy", and the voice belongs to her son Michael who has just come in with Matthew from outside. "You guys know where the dishes are, and Ethan is having some more", says Melissa. "Ethan", echoes Matthew, and Melissa vaguely gestures towards our guest..

1947

"Naomi would have the answer for that", says Mel. "Then we should ask her.  Will she be here tomorrow?" "There is one little complication.  She ain't telling.  I was going to ask her then she totally shut up and backed off, like she knows more, maybe a lot more than she's gonna say." "Do you think someone from the Stolo Nation did it?"  I ask. "Oh I'm sure they know", says Melissa, "I'm sure they already know." "Do you reckon Sven Lindstrom might be the one." "Oh poor Mr Lindstrom", says Melissa, sighing, "Always the easiest target in the universe, and now there is no way we can reach him, and that holy adolescent sure ain't gonna let him out of his sight." "Nor us, but yes, he is, as it were, under special custody.  What about Cosme?" Whose name I once borrowed, "Where does he fit in?" "According to our half sister, Cosme, who is now eighty-one, has long enjoyed a friendship with the Stolo nation, including a lengthy common-law arrangement with a woman there by whom he has fathered three kids.  He has voluntarily given himself up to the authorities, and apparently there is a lot he knows that is not in the diary."

1946

"Okay." "Yesterday I was chatting with our half-sister Naomi, who came over for coffee between her nursing rounds. Can you guess what she told me?" "Only if you are so kind as to enlighten me ." "As I'm sure you are also worried, like me. that one day they would find his body back there, trace everything to us and then the shit would really hit the fan." "It's been a recurring nightmare, Mel." "If Naomi is telling the truth and I have no reason not to believe her, then from now on we can both stop worrying." "You mean?" "Just after you and I left, basically running for our little lives, Carl, people from the Stolo Nation came, dug up the body and moved it to an undisclosed location." "You mean..." "I mean that we are off the hook. For now anyway. But that also complicates things." "By the way, Mel, where did you get this coffee, it is just wonderful" "There's a new coffee roaster and café in Chilliwack. It is their house blend. Now if we could remain on topic." "So what else is new?" "There is some question, according to Naomi, who has some pretty good sources with the band, that the remains they are wanting to track are going to be here, in this house..or should I say, under the house." "Huh." "And that Spanish guy who left that journal here in Spanish? He is the principal suspect, they have found and detained him for questioning, and he has agreed to help in the search tomorrow." "And", say I, "There is also the question of how did people in the Stolo Nation know that your dad was buried here..."

1945

I did not see this coming, and bodily I am instinctively backing away from the table while still remaining in the chair.  "What do you mean?" "Did Carl tell you that years ago, when we found our dad lying dead with a bullet wound in his head out in the back, did he tell you that we buried him there, him and I?" "Yes, he did." Melissa takes a premeditated sip of coffee, then, turning her face to the door, shouts, "Carl.  Get in here at once." It isn't long before her brother appears at the table.  "You bellowed?" he merely says, a quirky little smile adorning his face as he seats himself at the end of the table.  She gets up and without asking first brings him a cup of coffee, to which she has added cream and a spoon. "Table service from none other", he comments, pulling toward him the mug and beginning to stir. "You're welcome" she says flatly, seating herself. "Thanks Mel.  To what purpose have I been summoned?" "I just heard from Christopher that you told him you and I buried dad...no, don't worry, you're not getting scolded, but there is something i was meaning to tell you, and I couldn't do it on the phone, so now you are here, but so far, only Christopher needs to know, so we can talk about it right now..."  She is speaking rapidly, with quiet urgency...

1940

There is a loud persistent knocking on the front door.  Carl gets up.  "That couldn't be the cops already", mutters Sheila. ,"They're coming in the morning". mumbles Melissa, getting up and stacking together all our dirty dessert dishes.  "Christopher is going to help me with the dishes.  Just as I am getting up to follow her into the kitchen, Carl comes in with Tron at his side, only he is not dressed in robes, but a bright green T shirt and golden beige coloured shorts and sneakers. "Hey everyone", says Carl, "This is Ethan.  We saw him riding  his bike on the road.  He is going to be an overnight guest." "Offer him some cake", says Melissa. "Thank you", says Tron, or Ethan, sitting down with Carl. Before following Melissa into the kitchen, I lean down and whisper to our guest, "Does anyone else know you as Tron?"" "They will find out soon enough", he says with a small knowing smile.  And to you and Kenny I am Ethan.  Now I believe you are needed elsewhere." I cross glances with Kenny, who reveals to me nothing  but changes his seat to put himself right next to Ethan.  They are just entering into a discreet conversation as I turn my back and head into the kitchen...

1944

As she brings the coffee pot and fills our mugs at the table Melissa sits down across from me.  "We both prefer our brew black and bitter", say I. "Like life", she quips but without even a meek suggestion of a grin.  "We both have synesthesia.  Do you know what that means?" "That we're both a little bit unusual?" "Besides that", she snaps. "I'm not sure what you're getting at." "Synesthetes are both highly sensitive and highly aware, highly conscious, it's like we can never quite reach  our off switch.  Do you have trouble staying asleep, dream vividly? ""Yes, and yes." "Greta Thunberg, the environmental activist, is not neurotypical and she calls her asperger's a superpower.  See what I'm getting at?" "Yes", and now this needs no further explaining, and yes, now suddenly, it is like being an archeologist and finally discovering the key to Linear A script and unlocking all the secrets of Ancient Crete... I did not see this coming, and bodily I am instinctively backing away from the table while still remaining in the chair.  "What do you mean?" "Did Carl tell you that years ago, when we found our dad lying dead with a bullet wound in his head out in the back, did he tell you that we buried him there, him and I?" "Yes, he did." Melissa takes a premeditated sip of coffee, then, turning her face to the door, shouts, "Carl.  Get in here at once." It isn't long before her brother appears at the table.  "You bellowed?" he merely says, a quirky little smile adorning his face as he seats himself at the end of the table.  She gets up and without asking first brings him a cup of coffee, to which she has added cream and a spoon. "Table service from none other", he comments, pulling toward him the mug and beginning to stir. "You're welcome" she says flatly, seating herself. "Thanks Mel.  To what purpose have I been summoned?" "I just heard from Christopher that you told him you and I buried dad...no, don't worry, you're not getting scolded, but there is something i was meaning to tell you, and I couldn't do it on the phone, so now you are here, but so far, only Christopher needs to know, so we can talk about it right now..."  She is speaking rapidly, with quiet urgency... "Okay." "Yesterday I was chatting with our half-sister Naomi, who came over for coffee between her nursing rounds. Can you guess what she told me?" "Only if you are so kind as to enlighten me ." "As I'm sure you are also worried, like me. that one day they would find his body back there, trace everything to us and then the shit would really hit the fan." "It's been a recurring nightmare, Mel." "If Naomi is telling the truth and I have no reason not to believe her, then from now on we can both stop worrying." "You mean?" "Just after you and I left, basically running for our little lives, Carl, people from the Stolo Nation came, dug up the body and moved it to an undisclosed location." "You mean..." "I mean that we are off the hook. For now anyway. But that also complicates things." "By the way, Mel, where did you get this coffee, it is just wonderful" "There's a new coffee roaster and café in Chilliwack. It is their house blend. Now if we could remain on topic." "So what else is new?" "There is some question, according to Naomi, who has some pretty good sources with the band, that the remains they are wanting to track are going to be here, in this house..or should I say, under the house." "Huh." "And that Spanish guy who left that journal here in Spanish? He is the principal suspect, they have found and detained him for questioning, and he has agreed to help in the search tomorrow." "And", say I, "There is also the question of how did people in the Stolo Nation know that your dad was buried here..." "Naomi would have the answer for that", says Mel. "Then we should ask her.  Will she be here tomorrow?" "There is one little complication.  She ain't telling.  I was going to ask her then she totally shut up and backed off, like she knows more, maybe a lot more than she's gonna say." "Do you think someone from the Stolo Nation did it?"  I ask. "Oh I'm sure they know", says Melissa, "I'm sure they already know." "Do you reckon Sven Lindstrom might be the one." "Oh poor Mr Lindstrom", says Melissa, sighing, "Always the easiest target in the universe, and now there is no way we can reach him, and that holy adolescent sure ain't gonna let him out of his sight." "Nor us, but yes, he is, as it were, under special custody.  What about Cosme?" Whose name I once borrowed, "Where does he fit in?" "According to our half sister, Cosme, who is now eighty-one, has long enjoyed a friendship with the Stolo nation, including a lengthy common-law arrangement with a woman there by whom he has fathered three kids.  He has voluntarily given himself up to the authorities, and apparently there is a lot he knows that is not in the diary."

1943

"I am not surprised to hear that", I am wiping and scrubbing clean the ice cream scooping spoon. "He's quite a bit better now, but still loses focus and goes off on tangents sometimes." "Like when he got drunk in the diner." "Exactly so." I am not telling her anything about her brother's adventure at Wreck Beach.  Perhaps Carl can tell her, though I am sure that is one secret he is going to be keeping for quite a while from his darling little sister. "It looks like we're done", say I. As she is wiping down the counter and sink, Melissa says, "Sit awhile at the table here with me and I'll put on some coffee..."

1942

Melissa breaks the prolonged silence that has enveloped us.  "Christopher", she says, pausing to take a lengthy, slightly slurpy sip of her coffee, "You never had a mental illness.  We are unusually wired, and that makes us also unusually conscious and aware.  We are a threat to the normies.  Time to break free." The coffee before me appears particularly black, though with a certain betrayal of red beneath the surface.  It is strong, not really bitter, but deeply flavourful and aromatic dark roast.  "Jesus said that not only was Lawrence being taken away from mental health work, but that I am no longer going to be there either." Instead of replying, Melissa says, "There is something else I have been wanting to ask you...Has my brother told you about our father's death...?"

1942

"Do you have synesthesia" she repeats. "What is that?" "You've never heard of synesthesia?"  She is repeating the word as though she really wants me to learn it. "What is it?" "First, before I answer", she says, picking up to dry one of the lovely crimson and gold plates, "I want you to tell me something...  Have you always identified that shade of green with the number seven, and gold with four?" "For as long as I can remember." "What is number three for you?" "It's an intense shade of crimson, like the red on those plates, and deeper than the red of your T shirt you happen to be wearing right now." "Number one?" "Dark blue, more ultramarine than indigo." "Two?" "A light vibrant turquoise." "Five?" "Magenta." "Bingo!"  She has just pulled out of the rinsing water a coffee cup that matches the dessert plates. "Bingo, because..." "Because that is how I see number five." "Do you have this condition too?" "For as long as I remember.  Numbers, letters, days of the week, music too.  Do you see colour in music?" "Sometimes yes.  Sometimes."  And yes, sometimes, especially when hearing Carol on the piano the colours fly everywhere for me.  "Does Carl know?" "Still haven't told him." "How come?" "Don't know", she shrugs.  "We can both tell him tonight." "Will he be okay wñith it?" "My brother isn't a normie either." "You mean..." "He has ADHD...."

1940

"Who is that guy?"  says Melissa to me as I start filling the sink, first hot water, liquid soap which drips out an astonishing shade of sapphire blue, and now I am adding the first of several dirty plates and utensils to the swelling foamy mix. "We saw him on the road just a couple of miles from here", like my father before me, I never quite got used to thinking in kilometres.  Curiously, I work well with kilograms and celsius. "He looks familiar." I am just opening my mouth and suddenly remembering that he has told Kenny and me to know him as Ethan, forbids any words from coming out.  Instead, "I am really starting to notice colour these days." "Colour is everywhere " she replies, picking up to dry the first plate I have washed. "Like the beautiful intense blue of this dishwashing liquid." "Isn't it beautiful?  And did you notice the colours that the dude on the bike is wearing?  That is the most glorious and intense emerald-malachite green I have ever seen.  And those golden shorts of his." "That shade of green", say I , "Always suggests the number seven"  The plate I am rinsing has a particularly lovely pattern of deep crimson and gold lines in  fluid art nouveaux intricacies.  "And gold is number four." "Do you have synesthesia", asks Melissa...

1939

"Miss ...Thing?" he inquires with a dear little smile hovering over his lips "How did you know," says Glen, clearly astonished.  "Have we ever met before?" "Years ago, honey...years ago....And you are still handsome." "Wait a minute.  Years ago...How many years ago...Wait...It must have been back in the...Nineties?  no, wait...the eighties...It was back in the eighties...Stephen...You knew Stephen Bloom...Didn't you? "I knew her mostly as Tanya.  And you would have known me as...Cassandra." "You were both drag queens...you were working girls..." "The oldest profession. Good-lookin'...the oldest fuckin' profession." "Yes, and now I remember...you guys..or...you gals...That was your nickname for me...Miss Thing." "Well, fancy meeting you here, Glenda." "Yeah, that would have been your other nickname for me." "You are looking very well." "As are you...Kennny?...As are you."

1938

The breakfast room where we are tucking into chocolate orange cake with ice cream is every bit as lovely as before.  Melissa has joined us, along with Glen and Sheila. "Yes, we were also there", says Sheila, "Just as you saw us and just as we saw you.  And yes, that was the same boy I kept on seeing in dreams and...I don't know...visitations?  But yes, ever since back in the late forties, not long after the war, I happened to see him on the front porch of the house we ended up living in, when he was standing there with the old widow De Souza, as though...I don't know...as though he was watching over her." "Jesus was always there for you", says Kenny. "Only, I didn't really know him as Jesus.  I couldn't put a name or identity to him, perhaps i thought of him as an angelic spirit.  It's hard to say.  But our visit just yesterday, though it really is still today, that simply erased from me all shadow of doubt about who he is. Kenny has been staring at Glen in a way that can only be called knowing...

1937

The mansion is much as I remember it, but seems a bit small, not derelict really, but kind of shabby and tawdry, like a very earnest and laughably amateurish attempt to capture on colonized soil the essence of British landed nobility.  Perhaps the accustomed grandeur of the place on first blush eclipsd all the flaws  Or maybe after visiting Jesus in the Refuge, even Buckingham Palace would seem somehow lacking or wanting.  Melissa is seated on the verandah, stirring something in a big yellow ceramic mixing bowl on her lap. "Took you long enough to get here", she said, not looking up. "We stopped at Tommy's for something to eat", replies her brother, not quite defensively. "Lots of food here", she replies in her flat voice. "Hey, we got here, eh?"  says Carl, gesturing to Kenny and to Erik."Kenny, Erik, please meet my sister Melissa."  She barely glances their way, barely grunts something inarticulate. "Erik is my brother-in-law, and Kenny is an old family friend, actually more like my brother", say I, stammering a bit because suddenly Carl's sister is a most intimidating and excruciatingly silent force. "We already met", she mutters, which obviates any need to ask her if she remembers our time at the Refuge.  "Well, don't stand out there waiting for it to get dark, come in for dessert.  There's lots of chocolate cake left." "What are you making right now", says Carl, gesturing at the mixing bowl in her lap. "Pancake batter for breakfast tomorrow.  How long are you staying?" "We'll be going back after the cops are gone tomorrow", says Carl... As I step up onto the veranda, I instinctively look back, and there is Tron at a small distance watching us on his great white horse Ráfaga.

1936

Before I can say anything in greeting, he says, "You are going to be needing an escort.  You are being surveilled."  He is tall, towering and so resplendent in his robe of emerald green and gold.  Even though I am not sure if he can fit, "Tron, please ride in the car with us."  He smiles then gestures ahead, and there is a white horse standing, watching us by the road.  It is decked in a saddle of red and yellow and blue embroidery.  Tron approaches his steed and the horse is every bit as huge as he is lithe and graceful.   Like a police horse on steroids.  Gingerly, Tron mounts the horse and rides off ahead, just ahead of us. As we are following horse and rider Carl says, "Um...why did you stop and who were you just speaking to?" "Tron...from the refuge...Didn't you just see him?  He's riding ahead, our escort, he is on his white horse." "It's just some random dude on his mountain bike." "Erik, did you see someone just now?" "A guy on a bike." Kenny says, "It is Tron and that is his horse, Ráfaga.  It seems only Chris and I could see him, and that could be the will of our lord..." "You saw him too", say I.  "What is he wearing." "His green and gold robes." "What colour is his horse?" "White.  Big and beautiful." "Describe the saddle.." "It's beautiful. It looks like Guatemalan embroidery: red, yellow and blue.  In fact the name of the horse, Ráfaga, is a Spanish word for strong and sudden gust of wind." And now I can feel my heart leap into my throat with the wild and wonderful discovery that finally, in no one else but my old and dear friend, Kenny, now resurrected from the dead, I have someone who shares with me those visions that have caused me so many problems in the past...

1931

Carl's  magic gold card does it again, and not even is Kenny permitted to pay his share.  The intense evening sunlight paints a subtle gold cast over the surrounding forest.  Everyone has resumed their usual seats, Kenny on the right and Erik on the left behind me and Carl.  Suddenly this slips out of my mouth, "Kenny, you know more, a lot more than you were letting on at the diner." "I don't know whether or not I should dignify that with a reply." "You just did", quips Carl. "Out with it", i command. "I didn't want them to know." "Tommy and Carey?" say I.  "Okay.  Fair enough." "How much do you remember?" says Carl. "A lot more than I am about to say." "So you were faking the amnesia." "Not entirely." "Not entirely." "Carl, listen, I actually was in a brain fog till we arrived at the diner." "And what pulled you out of it?" "The conversation.  Look, usually after I've been there the amnesia is total, and also for Amaris, and we have to spend hours together before we can coax each other into remembering, and that is also just when we are ready to return.  But there's something else at play. It completely messes with our sense of time.  You guys are already aware of this phenomenon.

1934

So, what I am hearing", says Erik, "Is that this Refuge, is really a place of dreams  Or collective dreams." "Except we were all actually there", says Carl, "Including you.  But you're right, we all seem to be remembering and experiencing it as a dream." And I interject, "Neither did we lose one single second of real time for having been there... There is someone standing on the road just ahead, holding out his arms as though to halt us.  There is a shining brilliance of gold and emerald green, and, it is..Tron?".  We screech to a sudden stop on the side of the road and he walks calmly and majestically towards my car.

1930

"Back then", says Carl, "I also knew a professional dominatrix", and he adds wistfully, "She was a tranny." "She was a transwoman", corrects Carey. "Yeah she was that too", he says, not quite pokers-face. "Stella was actually a hermaphrodite. Kenny, you only met Stella yesterday." "Did I?" and the awkward pause says we had better not venture any further. "She was at Jesus' mansion yesterday", says Erik whose shin I am immediately kicking under the table. "Ow",, you don't have to kick me ", he whines, spearing a couple of French fries with his fork. "My foot must have slipped", and I cannot conceal the grin that must be creeping across my face right now. "Yesterday", says Kenny very patiently, "I was in Duncan, being woken at five by a phone call from Amaris. We drove in her car to the ferry and now here we are." And naturally, Kenny, now having no memory of where we were yesterday and overnight, seems completely unaware of how slackjawed we are right now.

1933

"How much time do you actually spend there?" says Carl.  "At the refuge." "That is the hardest part to explain to you guys", says Kenny.  "That place, and our lord, are completely out of time...or out of time as we know time.  I don't think I'm making myself very clear, but, apart from a period after I was thrown from the Lion's Gate Bridge, I have always been in Duncan.  My first memory was with some woman named Kim who apparently already knew me.  We were seated in a coffee shop in Duncan and drawing up plans for going into business together selling flowers and plants.  I already had my mother's condo I was living in, and did not have a clue how I got there.  Just after we bought the business together, I asked Kim what she knew, and she confirmed that she was  third party cosigning with me for the condo with my mom, but beyond that wasn't saying anything.  Nothing at all.  She simply said she couldn't tell me anything and ordered me to never ask her again.  But that's when the dreams all started, the first dreams I had since the dreams I was having while in a coma, trying to instruñct you, Chris, about my journal." "Those were dreams about being in the refuge?"  I ask. "That is correct, only Carl and Erik were also in the dream along with Amaris and a whole whack of other people,  Then at five this morning Amaris is on the phone with me to say she was at the front door of my building and that we had to get started..." "Wait a minute", says Carl, "What was she doing there at five am. How did she get there?" "She said she spent the night at a friend's nearby, but didn't go into detail, and when Amaris tells me something in that tone, I know not to probe." "So, we took the first ferry to Tsawwassen, then drove into vancouver, parked the car and walked around for a while." "How did you find us?" say I. "We weren't looking for you, but we wanted to stop for coffee, so we wandered into this place where you guys happened to be sitting, and we both remembered the dreams and seeing you all dressed exactly the way you were and the conversation you and I had, Chris, but then Amaris felt called to her parents' home in Richmond, and now, just in the last few minutes I have pulled out of the amnesia."

The Peacock 1929

"Did you used to perform in drag?" wonders Carey. "I was a hooker." "You mean sex worker." "I mean hooker." "Here we go again", mutters Carl to me from his side of the table. "That word is offensive", says Carey primly. "Not to me it ain't." Carl jumps in. "Kenny is right. I was never a sex worker either. I was a hooker. Or ho. On the canals of Amsterdam", and he pauses for effect, "When I was a teenager." "You're a retired rent boy", says Kenny. "You bet I am." "So you both used to do sex work", says Carey. "We were not sex workers", says Kenny patiently, "We were prostitutes. I worked as a gal, Carl worked as a boy. But we were not sex workers, we were both hookers", he concludes, raising his voice a little for emphasis. "Well", if you don't mind", says Carey, her lovely face embellished by a very wide and very fake smile, "I have some paperwork to do." "No you do not", enunciates Tommy, blocking his lovely wife with his arm. "I already did it, and you, dear wife, are not going anywhere." "You can sure say that again", she grumbles with a beautiful pout.

1928

To Kenny, who is seated to my left, I whisper, "How much should I tell them?" "Never mind.  I'll handle it."  To Carey and Tommy he says, "I entrusted my journal to Chris many years ago, during a lengthy absence, and with my full permission he has shared the contents with Carl, and, who is that black fellow, the priest?" "Ex-priest", says Carl. "You mean Francois." "Why is he an es-priest, he is so young.." "He will tell you soon enough", say I.  "If you're good", prompts Carl." "But when I'm bad", says Kenny in the purest Mae West purr I have ever heard, "I'm better." "Have you ever done drag before?" says Carey, all wide eyed, "Darling", says Ken now in purest Cassandra, "Where would you like me to begin?"

The Peacock 1927

We're all gorphing down burgers and fries because Carlos is off today, and according to Tommy who with his wife has joined us at our booth, only his uncle really knows how to cook Cantonese, or Cantonese with a good dose of Venezuelan. "This is one of the best burgers I have ever eaten", says Kenny, who like me has opted for the veggie burger smothered with blue cheese. "So, what did you do with your other burgers?" says Carl with a grin. "Don't listen to him", say I. "No one does anyway, so I'm used to it." "Oh listen to it", I am laughing as I gesture with my fingers that right under my chin I am playing the world's tiniest violin. "Yep, says Carl, "I know where to find sympathy." Says Kenny.  "Under S .. Between shit and syphilis." Now we are all laughing heartily as Carl mutters, looking at me then at Kenny, "Where did you two find each other anyway?" "Oh, under a rock somewhere, says Kenny, still laughing then with both hands taking a huge bite from his burger. "And we have read your journal", say I. "You guys read his journal!" says Carey, evidently shocked.

the Peacock 1926

I cannot believe my eyes.  Yes, this is indeed Amanda's son, hand outstretched as he approaches our table, or, more explicitly, approaches Carl. "Hey", he says. "Tristan", says Tommy, "You know these guys, I'm sure. "Carl, yes,"he says, still smiling while they shake hands, "and I think I saw you before too", he adds, looking at me.   "Your name is..." "Christopher.  Yes, you had lunch here with us a couple of weeks ago." And Carl says, "So good to see you man. you are looking great  And these are two friends of Christopher's, Kenny, and Erik" All hands are shook and Carl says, "Your mom said you were working at a grocery store." "The local Save On Foods, but that's just a couple of days a week.  How are the others?" "They're all doing well." "Listen, I better get back and cook your food." "They haven't ordered yet", says Carey, passing him her pen and notepad.  "Listen, I must dash off to powder my nose.  Mind?" "Oh, sure", he says, receiving pen and paper, as she gets up and goes to the back of the diner.

The Peacock 1925

"That's right", say I,, "You are a recreation therapist?" "Close, though I have the creds and the chops for that too  I'm a music therapist.  But the three nursing homes where I have been contracted have been all shut down because of the pandemic, which makes hubby have to put up with even more of my presence in his life." "I haven't complained lately", says Tommy from the next booth. "There's room here, why don't you guys come and join us?" says Carl. "Don't mind if we do" says Tommy, swinging over from his booth to ours, "Well, someone has to do the work around here", sniffs Carey playfully "Who's cooking today?" asks Carl. "We're trying out a new guy.  Second day.  Pretty good so far."  Then towards the kitchen he shouts, "Hey Tristan, come on out and meet some of your old friends." And indeed it is Tristan, decked in a stained white chef's apron and...is he smiling?

The Peacock 1924

""Where's your uncle?" says Carl. "He's enjoying one of his rare days off with his wife and their granddaughter." "Does she live with them?" "For a few months. Their mom and dad are in Venezuela visiting the wife's parents, her mother is battling cancer right now, and Leticia is staying with grandma and grandpa." ""How old is she?" "Just about to turn twelve." Carey returns, notepad in hand.  "Nice to see you helping hubby", says Carl. "I was temporarily laid off from my day job thanks to lovely covid", she says, "So might as well do something besides sit at home on my phone.  instead I can sit in the Sunshine diner on my phone.  What'll it be?"

The Peacock 1923

"Who's hungry?" say I, and the place is open. We tumble out of the car onto the gravel parking lot, and our footsteps crunch all the way to the entrance.  The place is empty, save for Tommy and his wife Carey both slumped at the booth in the back on the comfy vintage vinyl upholstered sets, absorbed in their smartphones.  They together occupy the back seat facing the front, Tommy on the edge as though anticipating visitors. "Well here's a sight for sore eyes", shouts Tommy smiling.  "What brings you guys here today" "Well hello" rings out Carey, as though suddenly roused from a deep slumber.  We take the next booth. "We got some business to attend to at the mansion", says Carl as he takes a seat. "And you got hungry on the long drive from beautiful Vancouver and decided it's time to drop in on your pals here", says Tommy. "I'll do it", says his gorgeous wife as she slithers by him and heads in the direction of the menus.

The Peacock 1921

"What made you convert?" say I. "My experience of you Anglicans.  Wait a minute, both are equally corrupt, both denominations are equally full of hypocrisy and corruption.  But for all their foibles and historical crimes, the Roman Catholics at least know how to call a spade a spade.  Unlike you lying namby pamby weasley hypocritical Anglicans.  I am still surrounded by hypocrites.  But Jesus is present in the mass and no one lies to me. "He is present with us here and right now", says Carl. "Yes.  I can feel him here.  I often have dreams, sometimes visions that he is with me in person." "What does he look like?" say I. "Young.  very young, like a teenager, and so beautiful, with wild burnt golden hair and green eyes. No one is saying anything.  Carl and I have surreptitiously exchanged poignant glances.  We can talk about it later...

1920

"Dad identified your body.  I believe your parents were out of the country then" "Dad was in the UK teaching in a college in Manchester.  That was before they divorced.  Mom told me everything when we were reunited.  We hadn't been in contact for a long time, and they didn't find out till months after." "Dad had doubts that it was you.  He thought the face was too damaged for him to get a good look at you."   To Carl and Erik I say, "Sorry.  I hope this isn't too much for you guys." "No, feel free", says Carl. "I also became Catholic", says Kenny. "No kidding", say I.  And now I really don't know what to say. "I don't go to mass often.  it just seemed the next step to take.  Kim is Catholic and she started inviting me to church with her..."

1918

"That is just so..."says Erik..."So...."... "Weird?" says Carl. "Well, that too.  You were in a coma?" "After that incident in the Lion's Gate Bridge with Sven, the next thing I recalled was waking up in bed in the mansion, and there was Jesus, but I didn't know it was Jesus, just this beautiful shining kid with the most caring smile and powerful eyes I have ever seen." "You lived there all this time, Kenny?", say I. "Yes and no.  I had to start a new life and a new identity, as Benjamin Butterfield, but in Duncan I'm still Kenny." "How did that happen?" says Carl. "It is hard to explain.  Part of it is that within hours of being there. with Jesus in his mansion, it starts to fade like a dream and after a few days it is simply a vaguely remembered dream.  And then, not knowing what I am doing, I leave the flower shop in the capable hands of my business partner, get in my car and then drive to that beach in Saanich, and then.. no. I can't say any more.  it is starting to fade." "Does the same thing happen to Amaris?" say I. "Letitia.  No. Amaris.  It is all starting to fade.  Christopher, please, could we just leave it for now" "what's happening?" "Better to leave it.  It's all fading and fast.  Except for Jesus.  He said before we left that he would be always with us.  This I remember, but nothing else.  In fact, he is here in this car, though we can't see him-... he is always here.  Jesus is the Always Here..." "The Great I Am is also the great Always Here", quips Carl.  "What about you, Chris.  Do you remember where we were?" "We were overnight guests with Jesus and his elderly parents.  It was so wonderful.  Erik, do you remember?" "He showed me his wounds.  Now I believe." "Kenny", say I.  "We still remember.  Does this help you?" "It might.  It just might  We need to get hold of Amaris...hey, let me tell you all about my life in Duncan..."

The Peacock 1919

"In Duncan, just one door after another started to open for me.  And that was all thanks to Kim, who became my business partner.  Kim and I first met... No I can't remember.  But I was in  Duncan in a coffee shop and she was a friend of the owner and we had been talking for a while then her friend, Steve the owner of the café, starts telling us about a florist shop up for sale and since we both had lots of experience and Kim, thanks to a recent inheritance, had the capital. It was a walk in the park.  My mother was also living in the area, in fact, that same afternoon, I called on her to inform her that her son, Kenny, was indeed alive though living under a new identity." "That must have been quite a shock." "I couldn't tell her anything, because I didn't know anything, just that from what I could recall. And I still don't know how I remember this, someone in a boat rescued me when I fell in the water." According to what we were told in the mansion", says Carl, "you were brought there and remained for some weeks in a comatose state..." "I only remember sitting in that coffee shop with Kim." "And the rest of us here happen to remember", insists Carl. "Let's not go there."  And it is clear that for now Kenny no longer remembers and there is no point traumatizing him further...

1917

"You guys are like two peas in a pod", says Carl.  "In fact, Chris, why don't...why don't we stop long enough so Kenny and I could change seats..  It might be better for you both if you could sit together in the front here while talking." "Thanks, Carl, that's very kind, but I think we're okay."  And I don't want to complain about having to pull over and stop in mid-traffic. "We're okay, Carl", says Kenny.  "It'll be like talking on the phone.  But that is kind of you.  So, you guys read my journal together." "with Francois, yes, Chris shared it with us.  Sorry." "Nothing at all to apologize about, friend, and this does make you and I friends.  When I appeared to Christopher in order to tell him about the diary's whereabouts, it was with the idea that he would share the contents with a trusted party and now this bonds us together, you and Francois." "You appeared to Chris?" says Erik skeptically. "I must have been in coma at the time.  But in my closet was hanging a set of old fashioned leather pockets that Jim had given me from his own childhood.  The diary was in one of those pockets." "And that is exactly where I found it", say I. "Do you have it with you?" "It's in my backpack and that is behind your head by the rear window.  Do you want it back?" "No, not yet.  But I am glad to have it with us...."

1916

"How long did you live with us?" "Five years minus four months and three days. I am doing the math and this all seems to square. Kenny disappeared-I can no longer say he died-just three days before Christmas, December 22, 1996.  I had recently turned twenty.  he came to live with us, when?  Three days, would have been the twenty-fifth.  Plus four months, January Februrary, March, April.  Yes, the tulips were in their full glory the day he came to live with us.  "you were twirling in an abandonment of rapture at the sight of our tulips the day you came to live with us." "Are they still there?" "They didn't survive longer than a couple of more years.  We kind of let the garden go, I'm afraid." "Oh Christopher, you and Jim, between you must have had twenty brown thumbs." And he always referred to Dad, not as your dad, but as Jim.   "Where was your bedroom?" "Second floor next to yours, and we shared a bathroom." "Where was the bathroom?" "Both our bedrooms were at opposite ends of the hallway.  The bathroom was in between" "What direction faced the bathroom?" "From my bedroom door it was on the left."  Do I pass?" "In spades, baby, in spades!" "Oh darling, you know how to set a girl's heart aflutter!"  And now we are all laughing and Kenny and I are laughing the loudest and the hardest because those were classic coded lines in our friendship that we often used.

1913

Carl has just gotten a text from Melissa, his sister.  Next to me in the  front seat he says, "Get your ass back here right now.  The RCMP have a search warrant and they want you present for the proceedings." "What could this possibly be about?" says Erik from behind. "I'll ask her...wow, my darling little blister is right on the ball today..."they want to conduct a search with dogs for human remains tomorrow morning.  You have to be there to answer questions." "Are you driving out tonight?"  say I. "I haven't a moment to waste.  Chris, I'll buy you the next twenty tanks of gas if you don't mind turning around and driving me there." "We'll have to ask my brother-in-law." "I don't mind another adventure today", quips Erik "Kenny?" "Your wish is my command." And now I am taking a left at Arbutus, from where I am going to take Twelfth Avenue to the Trans Canada highway.

The Peacock 1911

In silent consensus we are all getting up to leave.  I am leading, but something is twigging in me about Aaron who is working on a coloured drawing at his window table.  I pause for a closer look, and it is a beautiful rendering of a resplendent quetzal, the bird that is also the name of Sarah's combined astrological sign.   "That is really beautiful", say I to Aaron.   "Thank you", he replies, "It keeps me away from drugs."  The gleam in his eye tells me this is indeed Aaron and he recognizes me.  "How are you guys?" "We're getting by.  This is turning into quite a story." "It is indeed.  And we are nowhere near finished writing it." "You can say that again", says Carl,  The others are standing waiting for us by the door. After standing awkwardly with nothing more to say, Aaron says, "We have to continue writing this novel.  There is much that depends on this.  We are all participants."  We are still immobile, still with nothing further to say. "You guys had better get going to your father's house, Christopher.  You are needed there...."