The Peacock 721

 Let me see if I can remember them all:  There's Glen, he's older, really kind and gentle, sort of a mystic, doesn't say much.  There is Michael and His mother Sheila.  They're both older, I think Sheila is in her eighties.  Really strong, interesting lady.  There's Francois, younger in his twenties, a priest.  He is black, his mother is from Rwanda.  There are the two gay priests, now a married couple, George who is filipino  and Jeffery..."

"Wait a minute, did you just say two gay priests?  And they're married to each other?"

"Seems like a long story.  Then there's Matthew, he is older, almost as old as Sheila  and his ex partner, Michael, who I said is Sheila's son..."

"Ex-partner?  How many of them are gay?"

"A few, but not everyone.  Francois is straight as are two of the other three ladies, Maureen and Jennifer, but Sarah is lesbian, and there's a few others, as well, or two anyway, Adam and Lazarus.you'll find yourself very much at home here, I think, Eric."

"Let me think about it, but the answer is probably yes.  Greta says hello, by the way."

"How is her Turkish husband, by the way?"

"Mehmet is good, busy with his work in IT.  Did I tell you, by the way, that he looks just like a Swede?"

"No way."

"Here, just a sec', I'll send you his photo...

After a few seconds, the image appears, a handsome blonde and blue eyed young man...

The Peacock 720

 There are three other guests here besides me.  One is an older guy, Aaron, in his sixties.  He's an artist and writer, and traveller, speaks fluent Spanish and spends  lot of his time in Latin America.  Also  very strong Christian.  And very funny.  And there's Jesús, from Colombia.  He is around your age, a journalist, and came here as a refugee because his life was in danger in Colombia.  He is really nice, really quiet.  Hard to get to know, but seems to have quite an interesting past.  And Carol, also in her sixties.  She is actually very famous, a concert pianist and you might have heard of her, Carol Barlow-Meade?"

"I was just listening to her play Rachmaninov on the radio this morning.  You actually know her?"

"She's quite a piece of work.  Very British, loves to eat, amazing conversationalist, and loves playing devil's advocate.  They have a baby grand here that she plays on.

"Lucky you.  What about the others?  You said there are other people living there...

The Peacock 719

 "Tell me more."

"What specifically would you like to hear."

"Start with the great grandchildren."

"Carl and Melissa?  They're siblings, Carl is thirty-nine, looks a lot younger, and Melissa would be, I think, thirty-four.  They both grew up in Amsterdam, and lived for a while with their mother in Switzerland.  They're super wealthy, but you'd never know it, they're really down to earth and unpretentious.  Carl is a journalist, and Melissa works in artistic design, she is also a trained chef and the most incredible cook I've known.  She has Asperger's, so can come across as grumpy and taciturn, but really has a heart of gold and will really stick out her neck for others.  She also has a black belt in karate, so you could call her a force to be reckoned with.  Carl has one of the most amazing senses of humour I've ever reckoned with, he's like a big kid, and full of love for others, kind of a party boy, but very gentle, and very direct.  He was a male prostitute as a teenager in Amsterdam, but left that life behind.  He is also quite a flirt!"

"He flirts with you?"

"Shamelessly.  We seem to have become pretty close friends, and spend a lot of time together."

"Don't make me jealous!"

"Fear not.  It's all pretty innocent."

"You said there are others."

The Peacock 718

 "How long are you going to be there?"

"At least another month.  Or if you want, you could stay in the condo alone and wait for me."

"I want to be with you. Can't you cut it short."

"There's too much going on.  I have to be here for a while.  You see, it involves a lot of other people.  Why don't you come stay here, there is lots of room, the grounds and the gardens are vast and beautiful, and the people here are out of this world.  By the way, I thought you weren't coming till July?"

"I said I want to be with you.  Christopher, you don't know how much I've missed you all these years."

"Then come here, till we're ready to go back to Vancouver."

"Can you tell me about the place, anyway?"

"It's a sixty room tudor style mansion that looks like it was lifted from an English country estate and planted here in the BC wilderness.  It was built by a wealthy Dutchman well over a hundred years ago, and now it's run and occupied by his great grandchildren, Carl and Melissa, both in their thirties, really amazing and hospitable people.  There is also a community of Christians here, along with three other guests besides myself.  The people here are awesome, really interesting, and I think you'll be a good fit here."

"Thing is, I'm not a Christian."

"Doesn't matter.  There's no pressure, they're very easy going and pretty sophisticated.

"Do you guys have services and stuff?"

"Not really.  It is really informal.  I have never seen the like."

"Hm.. I guess I could give it a try..."

The Peacock 717

He has a shadow of a beard, that really trendy look that a lot of middle class gay men wear.  Funny how they always look like clones, as though none of those twinks has ever had an original thought in their pretty little heads.  I wonder if he's come out yet?

"Christopher!" and he beams a smiling warmth more Mediterranean than Nordic.  He still looks almost exactly like his sister, except his eyes are brown, not blue.  A warm amber.  "It is so good to see you!  How are you, man!"

"Good.  What time is it right now where you are?"

"Five in the afternoon.  Where are you?"

"I'm in a huge mansion in the wilderness, about a three hour drive from Vancouver."

"Sounds romantic.  Is it a resort."

"More of a Christian retreat house.  Where are you right now?"

"In my apartment in Stockholm.  I am slowly getting ready to move out."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm coming to stay with you in Vancouver.  Remember?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

"How long are you away on your retreat?"

"When are you thinking of coming?"

"My flight is booked for May 15."

"Then you might want to come here and stay with us here for a while..."

The Peacock 716

 Now it's 7:48.  Just time for a shower, then Skype for thirty minutes with Erik, then downstairs for breakfast.  No peacock crying today, but we saw him, three of us, Carl, François and I, all saw together the peacock.  And Carl doesn't have a clue about its provenance.

Just two minutes under the shower, and now back in my room, towelling myself dry.  There is a notification on my Skype icon.  A little red dot.  Eric saying, Hello Christopher.  Maybe I'll go online with him naked.  Wouldn't that make his day.  Or maybe scare him to death.  Okay, clean shorts, socks, clean shirt, this is a button down burgundy number that I really love, and black jeans.  My don't I look spiffy right now!

"Hi Erik. Ready!

The annoying ringtone of Skype, ding dang dong, dong ding ding, ding dang dong, dong ding ding, ding dang...

And there he is.  He doesn't look much different, just maybe a little more himself, since he is ten years older now than when I last saw him.  He breaks into a wide smile...

The Peacock 715

Here I am, alone again, naturally.  Well, this is strange.  I have been around people nonstop all day long, morning noon and night.  And I should think that by now I would be glad to have time to myself, lying here alone in bed in the dark, awaiting the long-coveted sleep.  But, I still feel like we're together, Carl, Francois and I.  Nothing so adolescent cheesy as like the Three Musketeers, but still something very strong and very special that binds us three together.  Well, naturally.  This is an artificial environment, why wouldn't we all fuse together and cling to one another?  The stories I have heard today, about Francois and his mother, the dark and shocking revelations in Kenny's diary, and all the others.  This is such a kaleidoscope of persons and information.  but I still know who I am.  I still know my name.  No longer Cosme.  I am, as I have always been, Christopher Edward Jones.  Victorian, perhaps Edwardian.  How very British Anglican.  Rather a quaint sounding set of names.  My father's only son.  My mother a Mexican, long dead. And now my father, too, is dead.  And here I lie alone in the dark.  Sarah sang so beautifully today.  I hope that she collaborates with Carol...

I don't know if I slept enough.  It is 5:52.  And the early sun creeps in like streams of molten copper fire.  I forgot to close the curtains.  As if it matters here.  I did sleep well, I think just six hours, but I feel surprisingly rested.  And that dream.  Ducks.  Mallards. Males with their grey and chestnut bodies and iridescent green heads, and the brown mottled females, all trying to organize themselves on black and white linoleum, like a huge chessboard...more than two hours before I have to go on Skype with Erik, and I will see if I can sleep a bit more...