CDXCIX (Jolyon)
(i)
His trust is the pressed willow bark
camphor, eucalyptus and menthol
His faith motherwort for the fluttering heart
and berries and herbs quintessential
(ii)
I first saw him . . . was it really?
fourteen years ago
Skin like dandelion milk
hair like its chaff
Cheeks piqued with blood
red clover bud
I loved him then
and he another
(iii)
And when stung, he is mellow green leaf
and in mourning the draught for my grief
my garlic, my grain and my fish
sweet liquorice
(iv)
We lived in the smoke
the many mirrors
of our youth
Such bliss to be young
indomitable
unshakeable
The family that plays together
stays together
(v)
Clove for sore tooth
and honey for throat
In fever my broth
Angelica root
(vi)
Our time was too brief
but I remember its musk
its flare
its thunder
And then time rent asunder
Dark days
ended
Dark thoughts
remain
Too many years
but I found him again
(vii)
My lavendered sleep
my soul antioxidant
Balm for my cheek
and my heart’s smooth emollient
(viii)
So I will not go down in the water
And I will not go down in the air
And I will not go down in the fire
And I will not go down in the earth
(ix)
Love
salve
saved
I read Dee’s poem and cry. I transcribe her poem for you and cry. I have never been anyone’s saviour, only in need of one. And now we are each other’s.
Love salve saved. Is Dee being merely poetic, referring to the love that exists between friends? Or do you think . . .? Could it be . . .? Is Dee still in love with me?
I want to read every poem but there isn’t time, so I work my way back. I mark a few favourites but allow myself only thirty minutes of reading. There is still so much to write about. Partings, absences, escalations. And most of all, Jack.
Jack and the beginning of his end.
L
L(i) While Emilia lay in her hospital bed they played on like the ship’s band as the Titanic sank. They were English, after all, or most of them. And Chad had begun to think of himself as being closer to English than American. He thought of Englishness as being defined by stoicism, determination, intelligence.
And Chad’s play was undeniably smart. It was Jack who was sitting to his left on that occasion and therefore Jack who suffered from Chad’s best hands, his careful strategies.
Several of Jack’s consequences had been suggested by Dee and when the time came to pluck his fate from the pot, it was one of Dee’s ideas that surfaced. She had intended the consequence mostly as punishment for Jack’s dubious opinions. It would have pleased Emilia, it was a shame that she couldn’t be there to witness it.
It began three nights later in the bar, Jolyon ready to begin the show, Tallest sipping sparkling water from a green pear-shaped bottle and now only four glasses on their table. But before they could start, Tallest cleared his throat and said there were a couple of trifling matters that needed taking care of first. He reached inside his jacket and placed an envelope on the table. Emilia’s name was written on the front and you could see the outline of the stack of notes contained inside. Jolyon picked up the envelope but Dee snatched it away, suggesting it might be better coming from her. Jolyon nodded. And then Tallest continued with a statement. Middle would no longer be attending any sessions of the Game, he told them, and Game Soc would not be answering any questions on the topic. The matter was closed.
Chad acted as shocked as the rest of them while they peppered Tallest with questions he refused to answer. And then there fell over them a silence that started to gather weight, so Jolyon nodded to the table that, yes, it was indeed time to initiate Jack’s consequence. He finished his drink, wiped his mouth and stood up.
L(ii) David sat alone and on the same stool most evenings in Pitt’s bar. His homosexuality was something he wore awkwardly, the other gays at Pitt averse to his company, something starched and antiquated to his queerness. And the straight students preferred their gays cool and charismatic, David made them feel guilty.
He always had an old book for company in the bar, something by Wilde, a history of the Byzantine Empire, the Industrial Revolution. And nightly his eyes would hover the page, leaping up from time to time to survey the scene. Who was with whom tonight, where might he be wanted, with what sort of quip might he open?
Jolyon touched him on the shoulder to rouse him from his reading. ‘David, why don’t you join us for a drink?’ he said.
‘If you’re sure I’m not too gauche for such esteemèd company,’ said David.
‘Can I be honest with you, David?’ said Jolyon. ‘I think we’re all washed up tonight. Jack is resorting to fart gags and Chad has been telling us about his favourite episodes of The Cosby Show. Our conversation is in desperate need of an injection of genuine wit.’
David shut his book with a snap and followed Jolyon to the table. He had a large blond beard, its whiskers splayed out like the bristles of an overworked toothbrush. Jack’s other nickname for him was the Bearded Clam. Such sprouting around so young a face made David’s head appear shrunken and his eyes small among the wisps. He wore tortoiseshell glasses and often a cream fedora to match a cream linen jacket. He was wearing both that night over tight black jeans.
‘Well, I’m surprised that Pitt’s most guarded cabal has any time for little old me,’ said David, sliding cautiously into the chair. ‘I thought you were all quite strictly entre vous these days.’
Jack swallowed. ‘You’re always more than welcome to join us, David,’ he said, playing his part without gusto.
David laughed. ‘And this from the man who likens my face to a vagina. Which is just about the most ugly analogy one could choose for a man of my . . . circumstance. Oh, no offence, Cassandra.’ Dee waved away David’s attempt at a look of concern. ‘And just how, exactly, am I welcome?’ David continued. ‘The whole band of you guard the spots at this table like les tricoteuses their front-row seats at the guillotine.’
Jack sniffed. ‘We’d love you to join us more often, David.’
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ said David. ‘But only until eleven, one assumes. At which hour Brigadier Jolyon leads the parade to his room each night. And by and large the exact same group.’
‘Well, you’re more than welcome to come with us tonight,’ said Jolyon.
‘And what, may I ask, is the cocktail de nuit?’ said David.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Jolyon, ‘we’re going to Jack’s room and I have no idea what he has planned for us.’
Jack shrugged.
‘Oh, Jack’s room tonight,’ said David, his voice vaguely suggestive. ‘A sanctum whose walls I have yet to penetrate,’ he added, archly.