by Claire Dobbin
"Here you go," Alex told him as he set the pint of Guinness on the beer mat in
front of Walter. "The bark and the berries, the roots, the nuts and the grass."
"And you think that information is going to make me want to drink this?" Walter
queried.
"It's good for you," Alex countered, pointing to the framed fifties
advertisement on the wall, which had that very slogan emblazoned below the
picture of a workman carrying an iron beam with apparent ease.
"It tastes like it's made from an iron beam," Walter said, grimacing at the
drink. "And having them draw a smiley face in the foam doesn't make it any more
palatable."
"No, but it's cute." Alex turned his glass round so Walter could see. "I got a
shamrock."
Walter snorted as he watched Alex take a first, long swallow of the stout, his
eyes closing in blissful appreciation of the bitter liquid. When he set the
glass down he was wearing a creamy moustache and Walter leaned in to remove it
for him, taking a Guinness flavoured kiss as he did so. Pulling back Walter
glanced around. Not surprisingly, in a pub called 'Sodom and Begorragh', no one
paid the slightest attention to what he had just done.
He looked back at Alex and smiled, saying, "Mmm... that didn't taste so bad."
"Course not," Alex told him, holding up the glass to peer into the depths of the
dark brew. "You know, they say that if you put a pint of this in a horse's mash... there'll be no holding the bugger back." The latter was delivered in a
frighteningly realistic Moore Street accent.
He fixed Walter with a meaningful look. "So drink up. It's going to be a long
night."
Walter let loose a roar of laughter. "I'll take that as a compliment," he
chortled.
Alex laid a seductive hand on the older man's upper thigh. "Too fucking right,"
he said, huskily. "A compliment... and a promise."
"If you want to follow through on that promise," Walter warned, pointing to the
half finished pint, "that had better be your last."
"I don't make promises I can't keep, Walter. You should know that by now." There
was a menacing edge to the quiet tone in which Alex spoke the words and it sent
a shudder of anticipation up Walter's spine. He leaned in again to take another,
deeper kiss that left them both a little breathless.
"Soon," Alex whispered a second promise, before returning to his drink.
Walter dragged his attention away from the beautiful sprawl of his lover to take
a closer look at their surroundings. The recently converted Georgian townhouse
didn't have the authentic feel of 'The Brazen Head', the oldest watering hole in
the city and their first stop that evening. Nor did it have the blood stirring
music that poured from the traditional musicians to be found at 'Fibber Magee's'
where it appeared to be socially acceptable to spit in the sawdust. But it was
full of people, talking and flirting and enjoying the 'craic'. Walter felt the
good humour of the place seep into him as he sipped at his pint, deciding that
whatever its 'goodness' it was going to be his first and only Guinness.
The barman tapped noisily on the side of a glass and announced, "A bit of hush
for Fergal please."
Stepping out from the crowd, a twenty something, dark haired lad began to sing.
The sweetness of his lyric tenor voice, and the haunting tune of the ballad held
the audience enraptured from the moment the first pure note resounded through
the room.
...dear thoughts are in my mind, and my soul soars enchanted,
as I hear the sweet lark sing, in the clear air of the day...
For a tender beaming smile, to my hope has been granted....
And tomorrow he shall hear, all my fond heart would say...
Walter felt Alex's arm winding around his waist as the younger man moved to rest
against his side, and he leaned back into his lover's body counterbalancing the
welcome weight. The melody swirled around them, and the words told of feelings
familiar but seldom spoken.
...I shall tell him of my love, all my soul's adoration,
and I think he shall hear me, and will not say me nay....
It is this that gives my soul, all its joyous elation....
As I hear the sweet lark sing... in the clear air of the day...
The final note faded into a silence that held for several beats before the
audience erupted into noisy appreciation of the fine performance. Walter watched
the singer's partner walk over to enfold his lover in his arms, his expression
one of love and pride.
When he turned to Alex the look on his own lover's face told him the time had
come to make good on the promise, and without a word they stood and made their
way to the door.
Once outside, Alex pulled on the creamy Aran sweater Walter had insisted on
buying for him in the Kilkenny Shop, when he found out his love had packed
nothing suitable for the unexpectedly cool Irish summer evenings. Walter smiled
as he reached out to straighten the snagged collar, then together they walked
across O'Connell Bridge and wended their way up the cobblestones of Grafton
Street to St. Stephen's Green. In the historic, leafy square the grand, old
Shelburne Hotel opened its doors to welcome them home. And all the while in room
312, a big and comfortable double bed awaited them, and the keeping of a
promise.
Hearing the Music
Hotel Sacher
Alex gave up ignoring the polite tapping on the room door and reluctantly pulled
away from the solid bulk of his lover. He put on one of the fluffy white robes
provided by the hotel and ran his hand through his hair as he walked through the
suite to the door.
"Good morning, sir," the cheerful waiter greeted him, wheeling in the breakfast
cart.
Alex found his wallet and took out what he hoped was an appropriate tip. They'd
only been in Austria for two days and he wasn't yet fully conversant with the
schilling.
"Will that be all sir?" the waiter asked as Alex signed the check.
"Yes, thank you." He handed over the tip and wheeled the cart into the bedroom,
placing it close to his side of the bed.
He slipped off the robe and climbed back in, enjoying how Walter immediately
turned towards him, two strong arms seeking him out.
"You awake?" he asked gently, bending down to kiss the closed eyelids.
"Sure..." came the muffled response, "what time is it?"
"Breakfast time," he replied and watched the eyelids flutter open to reveal his
lover's beautiful brown eyes.
He dropped another kiss on the end of Walter's nose and reached over to pour out
the coffee. A snowy linen napkin covered a basket of buttery croissants and
pastries. He placed it between them on the bed and handed Walter his cup. Taking
a sip from his own cup he chose one of the spiral shaped, sugar coated puff
pastries and settled down to enjoy a delicious and leisurely breakfast.
Eleven o'clock saw them hot on the tourist trail, St. Stephen's Cathedral, the
Hofburg, then the Kunsthistorisches Museum. In the late afternoon they decided
to have dinner at the Café Mozart right across from Opera House, its interior
decorated in polished mahogany and crystal chandeliers. A buzz of relaxed
conversation filled the place, while between the tables passed quietly efficient
waiters, dressed in full evening wear. They were soon seated at a window table
and Walter gazed out at the strolling pedestrians and passing trolley cars as
Alex got to grips with the German menu.
The meal was ordered in Alex's halting but sufficient German, which he refused
to translate for Walter.
"Trust me, you'll like what I've chosen," was all he'd say.
When it arrived he was proved right. The first course was a clear consommé with
liver dumplings. For entrée, Walter had Talelspitz, a kind of boiled beef with
horseradish, roast potatoes and bread sauce, while Alex had gulasch. For dessert
they both had the strudel with sweet cheese filling, and melange, coffee with
lots of frothy milk.
A kind of pleasant lethargy descended on them with the heavy meal and they went
back to their hotel. Stripping down to boxers and t-shirts they climbed into bed
together. Contented and close they drifted somewhere between sleep and
wakefulness, until Alex pushed their underwear out of the way and encouraged
Walter on top. The sensuous and rhythmic contact brought them slowly to
satisfaction and afterwards they went back to cuddling and necking, leaving the
bed reluctantly when the time came to shower.
By eight thirty they were dressed and in a taxi on their way to Schloss
Schonbrunn. The driver dropped them at the gates and they walked along the
gravel drive towards the magnificent rococo palace, its yellow walls turning
golden in the rays of the setting sun. Lights had begun to shine from some of
the hundreds of windows in the façade and they climbed one of the curved stone
staircases to a set of open double doors. A palace official looked at the card
the travel agent had included in their travel documents and waved them inside,
giving them directions in perfect English to the tour starting point.
Unlike the daytime tours, in which thousands of tourists trundled through the
beautiful, old building, the evening tours were restricted in numbers, so only
about thirty people had gathered in the reception area when the guide arrived
and welcomed them. She gave an introductory talk and led the way towards the
first of the forty state apartments they would visit. Alex and Walter stayed at
the back of the group, their hands loosely twined, feeling a real sense of
history as they walked through the same corridors and rooms that had echoed to
the footsteps of such giants as Mozart and Napoleon.
Saving the best for last, the guide brought them into the Great Gallery. The
huge room was brilliantly lit with sparkling crystal chandeliers, their light
reflected in many large gilt framed mirrors. Its white walls and golden parquet
floor enhanced the effect. It was breath taking in its grandeur. One by one the
members of the tour group made their way along the length of the ballroom and
out of the door at the other end until only Alex and Walter remained.
Glancing into one of the mirrors, Walter's attention was caught by the
reflection of his lover watching him, similarly reflected. Their eyes held for a
long moment before Alex smiled and turned towards him and that was when he heard
it... the music. He could tell from Alex's expression that he heard it too. And
then they were in each other's arms and they were moving across the polished
floor, their feet following the centuries old pattern of the countless lovers
who had danced in this room before them.
Alex closed his eyes and allowed Walter to guide them as the older man imprinted
the beautiful sight on his memory. The sight of Alex completely open, completely
trusting, completely happy, and like his heart, the music swelled and carried
him along.
Neither of them noticed the guide watching them from the shadowed doorway, nor
did they see her indulgent smile as she pulled the door almost closed, gifting
them with a private moment in the place where memories are made.
The Brass Ring
'La Bandita'
Alex had gone into full hibernation mode. For the three days sine they'd arrived
at the old Tuscan farmhouse he hadn't stirred from the terrace, other than to
allow his lover to take him to bed. And he had no plans to spend the rest of
their time in this glorious place any differently. Five weeks of 'seeing' and
'doing' had left him ready to simply 'be'. Much as he'd enjoyed every moment of
their trip, the museums, the theatres and restaurants, this was 'their' time,
with no distractions other than the beauty of the landscape around them or the
occasional shout of the farmhands as they went about the work of the estate.
Each morning a large basket filled with the fresh bread and fruit for the day
was left on the kitchen table. The larder and fridge were similarly stocked and
they helped themselves to breakfast and lunch from the store provided. In the
evening Celestina would let herself discreetly into the kitchen to prepare their
evening meal, and soon the whole house would be filled with the aroma of garlic
and parsley. Leaving the meal cooked to perfection, only needing to be served,
she'd slip away again. They ate on the terrace, by candlelight, watching the sky
turn from crimson to indigo, while one of Walter's jazz CD's harmonised with the
chorus of crickets in the meadow below the house.
Walter had spent the first day and a half with Alex on the terrace, but he
didn't have the younger man's capacity for indolence, and he was soon up and
around investigating their temporary home. But he never strayed far. Alex
smiled, thinking how, even the afternoon Walter had climbed into the hills
opposite the farmhouse, he had been careful to remain within Alex's light of
sight. Or within his hearing, like now when he could hear Walter trying out the
rudimentary Italian he'd picked up from the language tape he'd listened to in
his car in the weeks before they'd set out. The estate workers were harvesting
olives in the small grove at the side of the house in the time honoured way of
their ancestors and Walter was there with them, clearly enjoying himself. Alex
could hear them chuckling at his lover's mistakes, correcting them and offering
him encouragement for his efforts.
Alex let the voices fade into the background and resumed his contemplation of
how the colour and shape of the stand of cypress trees across the valley changed
with the passage of the sun across the sky.
He must have fallen asleep for the next thing he knew he was being kissed awake
by a familiar and knowing mouth.
"Mmmm..." he responded, encouraging the contact. But it was removed and he
looked up to see Walter's face beaming down at him.
"I have lunch ready," Walter told him, grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him
upright.
On the table rested a heavy iron pan, from which a delicious smell arose. Alex
sat down eagerly, suddenly aware of his hunger.
"Amailia gave me a bundle of asparagus fresh from her garden and this recipe,"
Walter explained. "You just fry the asparagus in a little butter with salt and
pepper, then crack the eggs over it and bake it in the oven. Grate some
parmiggiano over it and it's ready."
Alex took a mouthful and nodded vigorously at Walter's questioning look,
managing only a muffled, "S'wonderful," as he loaded his fork again.
They finished the meal in appreciative silence, and then carried their glasses
and the bottle of wine back to the sun lounges. Alex pushed them together and
they lay down. After a few sips of the wine Alex set it down and rolled over so
he was lying partially on top of Walter. He nuzzled into the older man's neck
and ran his hand up under the damp shirt to stroke along the well-defined chest.
"You've been working hard Walter," Alex remarked.
"Yeah," he agreed, "guess I could do with a shower."
"Uh-uh," Alex assured him, "you smell wonderful."
Walter chuckled at the comment and Alex immediately resumed his nuzzling.
"They are going to press the olives tomorrow," Walter told him. "There's a
celebration after and we're invited." He glanced down at the younger man. "If
you feel like it...? "
"Sounds good, Walter," Alex replied. "Anyway we have something to celebrate
ourselves."
"We have?" Walter questioned.
In answer Alex reached into his pocket and took out the two rings he'd been
carrying around since they'd left home. Somehow he knew this was the right time.
He held them up for Walter to see.
Walter became completely still, his gaze riveted on the small objects that
carried so much meaning. They were traditional Russian wedding rings,
interlocking bands of yellow, white and pink gold. He drew a shaky breath and
looked into Alex's eyes. Solemnly he nodded his consent.
"Give me your hand, Walter," Alex requested.
When Walter held out his right hand Alex looked up at him confused.
"No, the other," Alex said.
"Equal in all things, Alex," Walter told him.
The statement drew a loving smile from the other man.
They fumbled a bit, but eventually Alex slipped the wedding band onto Walter's
finger and watched as his lover did the same for him.
They kissed then, deeply and demandingly, sealing forever the silent vow they
had just made.
"Let's go in," Walter said, standing up and taking his lover with him. Eyes
never leaving each other's face they walked hand in hand into the coolness of
the shady bedroom.
The Fair City
August 2001
alter Skinner watched Alex weave his way back from the bar with two glasses
balanced aloft on a tray to avoid the crush of the Saturday night crowd. He
noticed Alex's footsteps were not as sure as they had been when they'd begun
their Dublin pub crawl several hours ago, but he nonetheless managed to make it
back to the table without spilling a single drop of the dark, thick brew for
which he seemed to have developed a taste.
Vienna
Three weeks later
Abbazia di Spineto Estate
Tuscany
The next week
