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""So, an angel apiece, thwarted love, contorted family backgrounds. Tell me, Ralph" Oliver swept his hand around the room, " why do you think we're here?""-----
Maurice pushed on the dark stained door, just beneath the coloured ovals and lozenges of the door's window. The bitter scent of long dead cigarettes, spilt beer and unwashed bodies swept out to greet him. He let the door swing shut behind him and headed across the worn, grimy carpet, towards the third pint sat on the only occupied table in the bar."Maurice," he said, offering his hand to the British naval type."Ralph! Our colonial friend here is Oliver," he gestured across at the third blonde in the room.Oliver took Maurice's hand and shook it. "Oliver. I guess this must be yours," he slid the foamy glass across the cracked, dark wood table to rest in front of the solitary stool and downed his own drink. The glass refilled with bitter and he downed it once more, wishing that it were bourbon instead.Maurice sat and accepted his beer before pulling off his slim leather gloves and handing them to Ralph who placed them on the bench between himself and Oliver. The Yank looked like a scholar, the seamen looked like he'd been head of house, no, head of school. He reflected on the truth - they both could have done with some sort of intellectual fairy-godfather, dripping with insight and wisdom sent by the pagan gods. Pity all they were getting was a dull stockbroker with not much more of a clue than them. But at least he had his Friend, he had Alec.There was an elephant in the room - three elephants - blue-eyed, blonde, young and well over six feet tall. Ralph had other things on his mind but Oliver was an analyst by nature.
"You'd think novelists could be a little less literal and unanimous about drawing up the gay knight wouldn't you?" Oliver's brow quirked and they all turned to examine themselves in the bar length mirror. Three men stared back at them, Oliver the tallest, Maurice, as in everything, middle height and Ralph solid but just a little shorter."Quite," was all Maurice could think to say, wondering again, why me? There was a steady, studied silence as each man held onto their pint and looked between the shoulders of their opposites."Gentlemen, loathe as I am to take centre stage," so true Maurice thought, ask Alec, "I do think we are here to talk.""I'd rather be left alone to act," said Ralph "There's a third person involved and I need to get back..."Oliver's eyes were red-rimmed. "I'd rather be here," he stated flatly. "back there I'm in a smothering carriage, a coffin, rolling away from my own heart." He downed the beer and waited. The glass refilled and he tilted it up to his mouth again. Maurice's hand reached out and held his, staring him down, forcing him to lower the glass. "What?" he croaked."Well truth to be told, I need to get back too. I left Alec to unpack in our new digs. He's my 'valet' so that's his job now. But I want to BE with him. Outsiders be damned, I want to be setting up home with my lover. I want to protect him from prying eyes. So gentlemen, can we proceed please?"Ralph leaned over and put his hand on Maurice's shoulder.
"When are you from Maurice?" They both knew what he was asking - is it legal then, has some grand muck-a-muck un-stuffed their arse and gotten close enough to earth to let humanity shine onto the law of the land and recognise what the Greeks and Romans had freely accepted when you come from?"1914," Maurice replied.Both Oliver and Ralph stared down at the table. God, what do you say - it ends in 1919, don't worry, just head for the hills and hunker down till Europe comes to its senses? Both chose to say nothing."1983, Italy... heading for New York City," sobbed Oliver.
"1940, England." Ralph didn't want to mention his war either. God did Maurice live through two world wars?"Why are we here?"
The Yank seemed to think he had the answers by dint of his birth year. Maurice considered them both.
"Ralph, if you weren't here, what would you be doing right now?"Ralph grinned, "I'd be in Spud's trousers as often and as long as possible. I'd be grovelling if I had to. Arguing, wrestling that damned white horse into submission!""White horse, black horse, exhausted charioteer?" asked Oliver. "The Phaedrus has a lot to answer for!""Yes, well Andrew is the white horse but I've taken Laurie to meet his black horse and he's hooked; we both know it, all I need to do is keep reminding him. I need to be there, can't let him think too much, because thinking takes him back to Andrew and I will not give him to anyone else.""So, I'm the only one who doesn't want to be back where I belong?" said Oliver downing yet more beer."I'd say so," agreed Maurice, staring his glass back down onto the table."You're setting up house in 1914 with a gay lover? That takes balls!" he gestured at Maurice then turned to Ralph
"And you, despite all that's going on, you're all but out there, fighting someone else for Him." Oliver wasn't going to spook Maurice about what was going on in 1940 either.Ralph squinted back at Oliver, accepting his unspoken support. 'Discretion' in war-haunted Britain was both harder and simpler than in peacetime."So, Oliver, what would you be doing?" they'd spoken together, but Oliver hardly heard them.Oliver looked at the full glass in his hand and put it down. He got up, a little unsteadily.
"Look guys, I hope it all works out for you both, because the way you're fighting for what you NEED, " he choked a little on that,"for what you need... to live....you both deserve to succeed !
Me... I think I'm on the wrong train, but what the heck? All it takes is the price of a return ticket."He looked down at his feet with a dawning sense of wonder. "I'm just on the wrong train .... ?"Ralph and Maurice got up and put their arms around him to pull him into a tight hug, Atlas' together. Who else was there to see them?Pushing out the door, Oliver was too intent on where he was going to feel the place dissolve behind him.Surely Plato would have put Socrates into a bar in the Symposium if he'd been alive in the twentieth century?
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