The Peacock 924

Francois and Carl have joined us in the living room, the three of us all sharing the couch, rather like exemplary schoolboys sitting for a class photo, with the two visiting clergy in opposing armchairs.  I am in the middle with Francois on my left and Carl on my right.  We are almost ready to go in for breakfast.

"So", says the deacon, "You say you've known each other only a week and already are preparing to live together.  How unusual."

"We've been in each other's presence almost twenty four seven for the past week", says Carl.  "We seem to be doing rather well, all told."

"Where did you all happen to meet", says the priest, and she fixes on me her large inquiring blue gray eyes.  This is someone who misses nothing and never rests until she has successfully probed all the secrets of the universe.

"In my family home in the Fraser Valley." says Carl, who appears poised to reveal only exactly what is asked of him, nothing more, and likely quite a bit less.

"But how did you happen to meet there", says Karen Wilson.  "Under what sorts of auspices."

"I was there on retreat", say I

"So then it's a retreat centre", she says.

"In a manner of speaking", says Carl.

"Shall we go in for breakfast", says Francois, matter of factly...

The Peacock 923

 The doorbell sounds, and  there the Reverend Deacon stands side by side with a woman of a certain age dressed tastefully in a burgundy cardigan sweater partly concealing a  beige priest's shirt with a white clerical collar and a forest green skirt.  She is wearing on her feet flat sensible loafers, and her feet are a bit large for a woman. She is not overly tall, her slightly angular face wears John Lennon glasses and she has a serene smile.  But for her feet and her hands I would guess her to be a real woman.  Her straight hair is grey and cut pageboy style with bangs.  Deacon Jenkins is well in his fifties, his greyish brown hair combed back over his high forehead, and he wears brown rim glasses,  He is dressed in a grey tweed jacket with a white button up shirt and blue jeans.  He appears calm, competent and very trustworthy.  I would say that the woman could pass for a librarian, and the deacon for a high school principal, or something like that.

"You would be Christopher", he says, extending his hand which I eagerly accept and shake.  "And this is the Rev. Karen Wilson.

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance", she says in a neutral voice that could be male or female, as she also eagerly shakes my hand...

"My friends are still making breakfast.  Let's step into the living room  and we'll start with some coffee..."

The Peacock 922

 I am suddenly feeling a bit fidgety,so I am reaching into the fridge for a pineapple , a couple of mangoes, and a papaya.  Then I grab some bananas from the fruit bowl on the counter.  As Carl eyes the long sharp knife I am pulling from the drawer he says, "is this a good time to be trusting you with sharp objects?"

"Fuck off", I rejoin while chopping the pineapple, like the head of a monster, in half.

"Such love talk", he says.  "But must we do it in the kitchen darling?  We don't want Francois to be made uncomfortable."

"Or jealous", says Francois, getting up from his chair.  "Okay if I slice up some cheese?"

"There is going to be plenty of egg left over to make an impressive omelet.  How about doing that with the cheese?"

"Not a bad idea at all", he replies, and now I am taking a particularly ornery delight in suggestively peeling then  slicing up one banana after another,

The Peacock 921

 I have grudgingly ceded to Carl the making of breakfast.  Francois and I remain at the table with our coffees

"So, what's the plan after our visitors have gone?"

"I'm going to take a long hike in the woods.  Want to come?"

"You said we could do it after three.  I want to check out some job postings.

"He doesn't want me to be his sugar daddy", says Carl with mock petulance while dipping the first slice of bead in the egg mixture.

"Poor you", says Francois.

"Francois", say I.  "The cat really seems to like you, and you do want to get started with something.  how about staying on at the house here after we've gone back to the mansion.  I would probably be back before long.  And you would have Eric..."

"To take care of?"

"Well, for company.  For both of you."

"That is to say, assuming that we're going to like each other.  How is he about race?"

"Well, he's Swedish."

"Which is to say, uber white."

"Hey Francois", says Carl, while flipping the bread in the skillet, "you would be just the guy to kick the little white boy into shape."

"And I also love you, brother Carl, and I also love you..."

The Peacock 920

 Francois comes in with his mug.

"I'm just brewing another  pot if you want a refill", says Carl.

"What's for breakfast?" says Francois.

"French toast", say I.

"Anything I can do?".

"Sit here at the table with us till the coffee's made", say I, "Then you guys can fight over who gets to finish making breakfast."

"did you run out of gas?"

"Something like that.  I'm remembering my father.  He died in this chair where I'm sitting."

"I am so sorry", he says, sitting down between Carl and me.

"It's okay.  I should have known this was coming."

"Is there anything we can do?" says Francois.

"You're both doing it right now.  I am really glad that you are both here with me", and now I hear the coffee maker beginning its final gurgle, like a death rattle...

The Peacock 919

 He sits down across from me.  "Taking a break?"

"I can't."

"What's wrong?"

"Where I am sitting right now, this is where I found my Dad the day he died.  This is the first time I have sat in this chair since except last night at supper with you guys.

"You must really miss him."

"No.  He's still here.  I feel him with me right now."

"Would you like me to cook  breakfast?"

"Sure please.  I'm making French toast.  The eggs and milk are already in the mixing bowl.  There's lots of time, they won't be arriving for another hour, maybe let's just sit for a bit longer here."

"Can I pour you some more coffee?"

"It's almost all gone."

"Okay.  I'll make some more", says Carl, getting up...

The Peacock 918

 I really can't do anything else right now.  Just sit, and stare at the climbing rose blooming in the kitchen window, here in this very same chair where my father died almost two years ago.  I don't feel like continuing with breakfast.  If the other two want to continue, that's fine.  I am not budging.  It just feels right, good and proper for now to do absolutely nothing.  A house finch is singing lustily outside near the house.  They are lovely birds, like sparrows, but mostly red, the males are anyway, and how wonderfully they sing. I could just sit here for days, my first time here really in years.  No, I am not returning to the condo, I am going to sell it, furniture and everything.  It really belongs to Greta, who bought it then signed it over to me after we separated and she returned to Sweden.  We are still not properly divorced, but it wasn't really a  marriage.  Three times we attempted sex.  It simply was not going to work.  Carl walks into the kitchen just as I am putting my mug of coffee to my lips...