The beauty of the sight made Terry feel quite alone. He needed someone he loved next to him to share this moment. At once he texted James, knowing that it was the middle of the night back home, and told him that he loved him more than ever, and one day he would bring him back here to share the exhilaration.
The expedition returned to the boat in time for breakfast, the usual buffet of bread, cheese and meat. Most had been warned off the fruit after a bout of sickness. The balloon party ate in silence, quite drained by their experience. The predatory man joined them having just got up, but none of them felt like responding to his eager questions and intrusive interest. He particularly wanted to know if Terry had enjoyed it. His interest brought breakfast to a quick conclusion and returning to his cabin Terry rested, ready for the morning trip to the Temple of Karnak.
Terry had been to this site ten years before and immediately, such was his keen sense of space and visual memory, he noticed how much it had changed in the intervening decade. It seemed much had been restored, statues righted, broken walls in-filled, whole sections rebuilt with supposed accuracy. He did not mind because he was not a purist about such things, and he thought if it enhanced the experience of the tourists then it had to be good thing.
“The Temple of Karnak …” said the guide in a voice that betrayed her boredom. She had given the talk already three times that day and was due to show another four groups around before the afternoon. Occasionally, someone might ask an interesting question but she never expected to be surprised.
“Over here …” she continued.
Terry decided to linger at a point while the party moved on. He had become bored with wall carvings and tales of the exuberant and immoral pharaohs. He sat on a small ledge, and his thoughts drifted to James. Where was he going right now? Who was he speaking to? In a flash the nightmare of the previous day came to him and he felt a pain in his head, a searing sharp stab that lasted only a second but enough to send a shiver down his body. For a moment it blurred his vision. How could he know he loved James and James loved him, and how could he change his life without being absolutely certain?
He looked across the Temple courtyard, at other groups coming in and looking tired with yet another historic monument. He heard their guide start to give the same speech. It did not matter if it was in French, German or Japanese, he still knew what they were saying.
Just then he noticed where he sat there were pebbles, fragments of ancient Egypt, silent witnesses to centuries of tourists, Nubian peasants and perhaps even the pharaohs themselves. These pebbles, although small and insignificant were as much a part of the Temple as the colossal pillars that surrounded him. He took a handful and inspected them carefully. They were pale brown and grey in colour, irregularly shaped, subjected not to the action of water as on the seashore, but the harsh sandy winds of the desert. He held them in his hand and squeezed tightly as if they might exude some ancient wisdom, some power of discernment gained from being in a holy place for millennia. He opened his hand, stared down at them and tossed them in the air, turning the back of his hand to catch them as they landed. Several bounced off returning anonymously to the pile beside him. But three were caught, resting precariously.
“He loves me,” said Terry, recalling something he had heard when he was child but now seemed so necessary and adult, “he loves me not, and he loves me.”
Carefully, as if they were precious gems, he took the three stones and placed them in his pocket. Perhaps his prayers, not so much articulated as silently wished, had been heard. He had not expected it to happen in this way, or receive so certain an answer. Whether it was a god of the Nile, or just the random action of inanimate objects, here, he believed, was something he could not ignore.
There was no time to sit there thinking of this. He slid off the stone ledge and quickly joined his group. Only the predator man had noticed he had been missing, and gave him a sickly smile when he returned. Terry did not care, for his heart had been made up and settled. He was strengthened for the future, whatever the consequences, and given energy that began to show in the glowing of his face. It wasn’t just a touch of sunburn.
“Here we have the obelisk of Queen Hatshepsut, 27.5 metres high and weighing over 320 tons. It shows the story of how she took over the throne and had the blessing of Amun – pure propaganda in her desperate bid for power …”
Terry heard of how deceit and corruption were part of the politics of ancient Egypt, of how people will lie to get what they want. He remembered a story depicted in hieroglyphic script on yesterday’s tour. Horus, the falcon-headed god, led a princess to the judgement hall for the ceremony of the Weighing of the Heart. Balanced on one side of the scales was truth and only if the heart passed the test would the princess earn her place in the afterlife. Terry saw perhaps more than ever the heart is the measure of truth. What matters is not what we say, not what we think, but what we feel.
When the plane landed at Gatwick three days later it was the middle of the night. They had left a dry and sunny landscape, with all the vibrancy of an Arab city, and arrived at a near deserted airport and the shock of the cold freezing air. Terry walked the seemingly endless corridors, and at last came to the liminal place where airport gives way to the real world, to a small crowd of people wrapped up against the English winter. He scanned the expectant crowd for a face he longed to see, and was at once delighted to see him.
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” were James’ first words. “It might be 3 o’clock in the morning, and freezing cold, but it is so good to see you.” They allowed each other a hug in this public place, since no one knew them and they could quickly hurry away.
“I have missed you so much, like crazy,” said Terry almost with a tear in his eye.
“Come on, I have parked the car just over there.”
“Hang on, hang on,” said Terry stopping in his tracks, his hand digging deep into his pocket. “I have got something for you, and I wanted to give them to you the moment I saw you.”
He pulled out the three pebbles and offered them on the palm of his hand. “They are from the Temple of Karnak, and they are for you to keep.”
“Thanks, Terry,” said James as he took them in his fingers. He looked at them closely. “A real bit of an Egyptian temple for me. I will put them in my pocket where they will be safe.”
“You will probably never know how important those little stones are,” Terry added quite cryptically as they walked towards the car. “Make sure you look after them.”
When they got to the car James was finding it hard to contain his excitement.
“I have got something for you, too,” he blurted out. “It is an early Christmas present but I want to give it to you now because I suppose I might not see you on the day. You have got to guess what it is!”
“Go on then, I love surprises!”
“It is made of wood, well mostly, with bits of metal. It is about four foot tall, and you could easily break it,” were the clues James was willing to give.
“Can we get in the car, I’m freezing here, and just let me see what it is.”
Terry was not a patient man, but he loved the game that they were playing. It fulfilled an absence in his childhood when his fighting parents had cast a gloom of insecurity over life. He loved James because he made him feel the wanted and cherished child he never was.
“Come on, you have got to guess. You would hang it on the wall, and it helps you predict things.”
“I don’t know, I can’t think, show me, show me!”
James reached into the back of the car, and very gingerly brought out a huge stick barometer carefully wrapped in a blanket.
“It is mid-nineteenth century, with a full head of mercury, that’s why it so heavy and I had to drive miles to collect it,” James proudly proclaimed.
Terry looked dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say. It was probably one of the few things he had always wanted and never thought he could have. It was carved in beautiful mahogany, with silvered dials
and lettering. He took its weight and cuddled it in his arms. He knew it would have cost a considerable amount, probably much more than James would earn in a month.
“You know, I think this is the most wonderful Christmas present I have ever had,” he began, but could not continue for he burst into tears. “Thank you so much,” he continued when he could. “You are so gorgeous, so good, so …” His words were lost as they kissed. Terry and James felt happier that night than ever before in the whole of their entire lives.
The journey home was laborious, for the traffic was heavy, but they did not mind the delay in arriving back into normal life. As they approached Terry’s village both of them grew uneasy.
“Just drop me off on the High Street,” suggested Terry. “I think Victor is at home so it is best if I walk the last bit.”
They pulled up about four houses away from the cottage, but within sight of the bedroom window. James thought he caught a glimpse of someone’s face looking out for them, but he could not be sure.
“Well thank you for bringing me home,” said Terry as he leant over to kiss James. They had the confidence to be bolder in public, less worried about who might see.
“Love you, now and always,” whispered James.
Just then the driver’s door was flung open, and there stood an angry man with a screwed up face and bulging dark eyes. He was tall and muscled, dressed in a well-tailored suit, with a light brown shirt and black tie. Below his mop of blond hair, roughly tussled, his face was well-tanned, the inheritance of generations under a foreign sun. His lips thinly marking a tight mouth, which began to pout with an uncontrollable rage.
“Victor!” shouted Terry, with some surprise. “I was just coming.”
“You dirty filthy lying scum,” screamed Victor. His words, made all the more curt by his stinging foreign accent, were directed solely at James. With his thick muscled arm he brought a heavy hand down on James’ shoulder as if he wanted to drag him out of the car. James resisted and was glad that he was held in by his seat belt. It was obvious that he was not going to be pulled out, so in return received a punch on the arm.
“May you rot in Hell!” spitted Victor slamming the car door as hard as he could.
By now Terry had got out of his door and went up to Victor to put his arms around him. This way Victor could do no more damage to either James or the car.
“It is all right, Victor, just calm down,” he said, but the look on his face was one of terror. Victor pulled himself free, and with a heavy kick against the car door he turned to walk brusquely back to the cottage. He muttered the word ‘slut’, probably directed at Terry, and something in French.
“He was just upset, he will get over it, but are you alright?” Terry was trying to be reassuring.
“I am ok,” replied James, though of course he was not. He had seen, and felt, something of the violence that existed in the relationship between Terry and Victor. There was an intensity there that was frightening, a forceful expression of love presenting itself in physical aggression.
“Are you sure you are ok?” Terry looked worried and torn.
“I am fine. Just thought it was wasn’t a very good way to meet Victor.” He wanted to make light of the encounter but he couldn’t.
“I will have to go and see if he is ok. He could do anything when he is in a mood like this. He will calm down and then be all apologetic, I am sure.”
“Are you sure you will be ok?” asked James.
“Yes. You go and get to work. I will speak to you later. And maybe we can meet up this evening?”
Terry began to walk towards the cottage and turned to wave. He blew James a kiss and mouthed the words ‘love you’. With reluctance, although also wanting to escape from the scene, James started up the engine and began to drive away down the road. He kept a view of Terry in his mirror until he disappeared.
Once out of the village James pulled up in a lay-by. He found he was shaking all over and quite unable to drive further. He knew how much he abhorred violence and how he was not the kind of man to pick a fight. He remembered at school he was always one of the on-lookers and not a participant in the playground scraps. It was a shock to be involved in something violent, all of a sudden. And yet he felt brave, perhaps braver than ever before. He loved Terry so much, and his life had been so jilted out of its normal orbit that he was willing to suffer for Terry. If he had to fight for him he would. He put his hand into his pocket and felt the stones. He brought them out and held them in the palm of his hand. For a while he looked at them intently, touching them gently with a finger. They were mottled in colour, their rough edges long since made smooth and shiny by the friction of thousands of years. Then he closed his hand tightly until it hurt, making a fist.
Just then he heard a bleep. The text read: ‘all is well xxx love you more than ever xxx lets meet tonight’
Chapter 7
The next day life returned to the uneasy balance. It was a compromise that helped others think nothing substantial had changed. For James and Terry the veneer had become transparent. Others were more content. The bishop thought his practical wisdom would prevail, Rachel hoped her passivity would be honoured and Victor believed he had shown enough violence to scare off his rival.
That afternoon James and Terry arranged to meet. It was in the usual teashop, at a table away from the window and prying eyes. Just outside was one of the cobbled streets leading to the Cathedral, and several people who knew them could walk past and perhaps cast a glance their way. Paradoxically their meetings had become more furtive and secretive now people knew about their relationship.
The teashop served its drinks in plain white cups and saucers, much to Terry’s distaste for he preferred something more ornate, such as Crown Derby or Wedgwood. Then he could test himself on the pattern and approximate date, and would turn the saucer to see if he was right. This attention to detail was one of the things James found attractive; it was a quality found in few men.
The décor of the teashop was mock Tudor, to give the impression, no doubt accepted by the American customers, there had been a teashop on this site for over four hundred years. The uneven and sloping floor was probably more the result of poor materials and cheap labour in the eighteenth century. For although the teashop now stood amongst desirable properties, thriving businesses and quality little apartments, all part of the jumble of structures stacked around the Cathedral Close, these buildings were in former times the homes of the poor and little industrial workshops, hastily erected, extended and rebuilt, to utilize every square foot of land within the old city walls. Such places had witnessed generations of tragedy and death, perhaps even abuse and murder, and certainly crime and deceit. What went on in the teashop that afternoon could hardly register against the scandals that had gone before.
Terry looked a little uneasy, and James knew it wasn’t just the china.
“Are you all right?” James asked.
“Fine, but I have been thinking,” Terry replied. “Do you think we should carry on? Isn’t it all too painful?”
James felt an ache down his right arm, which always came when he knew Terry was trying to draw away. It was a dull pain of fear and rejection, a physical and tangible symptom of what was happening in his heart. He waited before he responded, in case Terry had something more to say, but he could not wait too long such was the overwhelming emotion building up inside of him.
“Why, when we have come so far?” James blurted out, perhaps too loudly for the atmosphere of the teashop. A woman two tables away looked up from her victoria sponge.
Terry had no answer, for the moment. Inside he knew how he felt. He wanted to take James in his arms there and then and hold him tight, as if forever. But that day he had thought of all the implications of their relationship, and the way Victor was angry. The day before after James had dropped him home, Victor had thrown a glass at Terry which when he ducked had smashed against the fireplace. He thought about what Charles had quietly said: ‘married men can never be trus
ted’, ‘James only wears that ring when it suits him.’ He remembered the angry words of Victor screamed in his face: ‘have you lost the plot?’ ‘I really love you, why throw it all away?’ Even his mother, on the phone that morning, could not understand. No one could see the love he had for James, nor how delicious it was to be in his company, and how empty and starving to be apart. He looked down at the uneaten scone on his plate.
“I need to know,” said Terry “whether this is for real. I need to know if you love me more than anything else, if you are willing to give up everything and come and live with me.”
James was a little taken aback by this, but he had no hesitation in saying yes. The word was out before he even knew he was saying it. He would give up anything and everything to be with this man, because he had never felt like this before and he feared he might never feel like this again. He was dogged by the dread of unrequited love, of a missed opportunity, of deep regret for not saying what you think and doing what you want to do.
Terry stopped him in his thoughts by saying, “and you must tell me, not now, but by midnight tonight what you have decided!”
It was an ultimatum, calculated to settle the uneasiness of their relationship, to prove to each other their love was true. It had been very difficult for Terry to put it to James. It had been Charles who had given him the idea and forced his hand. He had said men like James would never commit, always promise and never deliver. Forcing the issue, thought Charles, would kill off this unsavoury business and make both Victor and the bishop eternally grateful. Charles enjoyed taking the moral high ground, but his shallow experience of life and love was to undermine his plan.
“Ok,” said James, quite nonchalantly, “I have no problem with that.”
In his mind there was no doubt he would opt for Terry. There could be no other way as far as he was concerned. Having eight hours to declare his love, was just a painful delay, but he could wait.
Gay Before God: An Awakening Love Forbidden by the Church Page 8
