Warning! This story refers to homosexual love between males. If you are underage, here by mistake, or do not like such stories, leave! All others, please write me and tell me if you enjoy it.
We Three Go "Home"
The Bagboy, Chapter 14
by Bob Nelson
"Let me push him Brother Greg," Ralph asked.
"Sure, Brother Ralph."
"Hey, can I join the Band of Brothers, or is it a closed group," I asked.
"Well, Bob, you and I are a lot closer than most brothers," Greg replied. "That's the reason Ralph and I decided on "brother" instead of "cousin." Besides, he's not really my cousin, but I feel closer to him than I could to any cousin," he said with a look of real TLC (tender, loving care) toward Ralph.
"Yep, me and Greg -- excuse me, Greg and I talked this out and we both feel so close that we don't think there's a name for it, but "brother" sure sounds good to me! I never had a brother and always wanted either a Big Brother or a little brother. Sure glad I came along a few days ago to get one!"
"YOU'RE glad? How do you think we feel? Glad, grateful, happy -- no words are strong enough to let you know how much we are thankful, and how much we love you, now that we've gotten to know you, after you saved my life" I said.
"Both our lives, Lil' Bro," Greg added, with a big, warm smile.
Ralph's smile spread almost ear to ear, and his face lit up. This gorgeous young man was a pure, unabashed real man! Not a single grain of phony, made up, or learned look or action in him. Truly WYSIWYG, as they said in the early days of computers. "What You See Is What You Get," and it is a lot more true about Ralph than it ever was about diodes and transistors! He had a natural beauty and grace that turned heads all the way to the front door of the hospital, where Nurse Jane was waiting for us.
"You boys don't have to check out. I already cleared you with Admissions, and yes, it is a funny way to let you out. As though we only have an "In" door and no "Out" door. Your Mom still has an account in good standing here, Greg. Tell her I said Hi, and to not be a stranger!" she said with a beaming smile.
We all smiled back, none of us about to challenge her use of "boys" for us. She wasn't that much older than me, but she certainly had an aura of professional responsibility that you couldn't cut with a scalpel, and any term she wanted to use, she could and would!
"Well, Nurse Jane, I owe you my life for expediting me into the OR. Maybe a new TV series "From ER to OR, with Nurse Jane"??
She stopped smiling, then her face got calm, then cold, then cloudy. Sounds like a weather report, but believe me, her face did all those. Just before the thunder and lightning began, she took pity on us poor mortals and smiled again, saying,
"Oh, I don't think so. We have enough fun and games without tripping over actors, make-up men, lights, cables, cameras, and all the other folderol that goes with TV production. We have a Church here in Lynchburg that does it all up way over the top, and they definitely lose the meaning of God, so I don't want to risk losing the meaning of Hospital!" she ended with a beatific smile.
"We wouldn't want you to, either, Nurse Jane," Greg chimed in. "Thank God you were on duty, so we had both spiritual and medical attention ASAP. Both worked fine without any lights or cameras -- just Action!"
Ralph looked a little puzzled at Greg's use of the old term for movie sets, but it was too arcane to explain it to him. He shrugged and nodded, understanding the meaning from the syntax. He carefully rolled me to a stop and said,
"I'll wait here with him Brother Greg. I couldn't get the car, anyway."
"Sure thing, Brother Ralph. Be right back!" Greg said, heading out the door.
Nurse Jane raised one eyebrow and asked me,
"Aren't these two cousins, or cousins once removed?"
Ralph caught the double meaning before I did, and replied,
"Oh, yes'm. They removed our family once, then removed Greg's Daddy's family, so I guess you could say we've each been once removed."
I explained as simply as I could,
"Ralph's mother was one of a small band of Cherokees who came back into their ancestral homeland, almost forty years after the Trail of Tears from Georgia to Oklahoma. Her ancestors had been bullied, shot, and driven off this land until they joined the Georgia part of the tribe, just in time for that horrible example of the white man's rule. Ralph has more claim to the Blue Ridge than any person I've ever met. Greg's Great-great Grandfather homesteaded a place up there, then his Grandfather was told to move by Roosevelt's group when they made the Blue Ridge a National Historical Preservation area or whatever they call the whole thing. Their place is south of the National Park, but they still weren't allowed to stay."
"Aha! That makes it more clear and even more intriguing, as the almost-cousin came along in the nick of time, not having any idea whom he was saving! WONderful true story!" Nurse Jane concluded, with a contented smile on her face.
Just then Greg pulled up in front, so Ralph pushed me out to the car. Nurse Jane walked with us and gave me a strong supporting arm to insure I didn't fall. It looked to anyone else like she just rested her fingers on my arm, but there was steel strength of purpose and ability in that lady! She could have lifted me from wheelchair to back seat without much more effort. After I was safely in, she opened the back door for Ralph to get in, then went around to the driver's window and passed a kiss to Greg by kissing her fingertips and lightly patting his cheek with them. He smiled like he'd just received a benediction from Mother Theresa. In a way, I guess he had, with our own Sister of Mercy. We all waved goodbye and Greg slowly drove out of the hospital parking lot, using minimal acceleration and slow, gentle stops to keep me from hurting. I appreciated his thoughtfulness -- just one of the many things I love about this man!
"Well, guys, we're on our way home! Oh, I know, it's not really home for either of you, but I hope you'll soon feel that it is. No, don't object. My Mom was raised by the same Head Nurses that brought Nurse Jane up, and anyone who is hurting or in need is always welcome at our house. Especially if Mom feeds you! So Ralph, you're not only my brother, you've been adopted by Mom. Bob, Mom made me promise to tell you that you are welcome and expected to stay until you are completely well and strong -- whether that's two weeks or two months. There. Messages delivered. Any questions?"
I couldn't see Ralph in the back seat, but his smile was apparent in his voice as he and I both said, almost in unison,
"Thank you! No questions."
Then we all relaxed and enjoyed the late afternoon sun of an Indian Summer day. Autumn leaves starting to drift down with hazy, golden sunlight slanting in from over the Blue Ridge. So peaceful, again. It had seemed more wonderful just three days ago when Greg was taking me up there with a picnic lunch, first to show me a special place, then to have a Lovers' Lunch. That part was rudely interrupted, but I heaved a big sigh and said a silent prayer of thanks that it had all turned out okay. In fact, it had turned out better than we ever could have planned or dreamed -- with Greg gaining a little brother, and me gaining another young friend. Ralph began humming a little tune as he looked up at the Blue Ridge.
"What's that tune, Bro?" Greg asked. "It's catchy, but I sure don't recognize it."
"We call it 'Aho-hama' which means Homecoming in the People's Tongue, or as you all call it, Cherokee," Ralph replied.
"You speak Cherokee? Where and how did you learn it?" Greg asked.
"The first summer of my manhood -- between my twelfth and thirteenth years, I had a great yearning and longing to find my mother's people. She had just left a year before, but in her last two years with us, she had told me much about her father, mother and grandfather. They lived quite a long way from where Pappy -- no, where Cain lived. As he told us, she had lost face with her people by not having a man of her own when she was carrying me. She felt much worse than her family saw her -- any baby was loved and accepted, with no bad words or thoughts to the mother, no matter what."
"So, in that year, when Cain went off with two old mean-eyed men to hunt for a Spring bear, coming out of its den, I went up and over two mountains to find my family. I had never felt related to Cain or part of any of his ways. The only thing I learned from him was to shoot straight. I think I had it in me from my mother's family how to walk and stand quietly in the woods. I could walk slowly up on any animal except a mother with babies or a bull in rut. None of the other animals saw me."
"How in the world could you do that?" Greg blurted out in amazement.
"I taught myself to think and move like the animal I wanted to kill, then later, the animal I wanted to study and learn from. Many animals have great knowledge if we only listen and learn. When I got to my mother's old home I later learned all about that. But I was scared as I came up to their house -- or Lodge as I learned to call it."
"You were scared?" I asked, incredulously. "I didn't think you had ever been scared."
'Oh, yes. That day, after traveling three days with only water from the creeks to drink, with only some dried pemmican to eat, I was afraid that I would be driven off. Remember, my mother ran away thinking that they would drive her off if she stayed. So I approached the Lodge as though it were a wild bear mother with cubs. It took me two hours to go the last hundred yards until I stood ten feet from the front porch. Then the door opened and the fiercest looking warrior I'd ever seen stepped out, looking right at me. He closed the door behind him and folded his arms over his chest. He just stared at me and I felt like a small rabbit fixated by the stare of a coyote or hawk ready to pounce on him. But I stood there looking back, not moving. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he just said,
"Well?"
'I answered as my mother had taught me, "Ohak-pahanta?" which she said means "Father of my mother?" He stood there another time -- maybe minutes, maybe more -- then stepped forward, came slowly down the steps, walked straight to me, and stopped three feet in front of me. Now I could see his eyes -- they were so black I could not see where the black spot in the middle was -- they were black all the way, with yellowed whites around them.
My mouth was dry, I could not swallow even if I'd had some water, but I repeated in a croaking voice,
"Ohak-pahanta?"
"Tlay-hum!" he replied
'He reached out with his right hand. I did not know if he would strike me, push me away, or had a weapon hidden in his buckskin shirtsleeve. But he just put his hand on my head and repeated
"Tlay-hum!" then said "Correct! and Welcome Home!"
'With that, my knees became weak from relief while hearing those words spoken with honest meaning -- the first time since my mother had left us. He moved his hand swiftly but smoothly from my head to under my armpit, to hold me up. He held me up in a strong, manly way, but with care, as though he considered me of value. I searched my memory for any other words in the Peoples' Tongue, but I was so relieved from my stress that all thoughts flew away. I just stood looking at this reddish brown man the color of aged, smoked tobacco, with long, gray and black hair, a lined face, a prominent nose, and thin lips, who now looked just strong, no longer threatening or foreboding. I said
"Thank you, Grandfather. It is good to be home."
'His lips moved just a bit, and I realized it was a small smile. But it was so much more to me than the biggest smiles I have seen before or since. This was my mother's father, my own Grandfather, smiling his strong, Warrior's smile to welcome me while giving me just enough support to strengthen me, not to indicate that I was weak. All this passed between us without further words.
"Come inside. You will eat with us." he said and released some of his hand's support, to make sure that I could stand and walk without his help.
'Only when I took my first step did he drop his hand to his side, in a manner that seemed to indicate I had not really required help. I followed him up the narrow, steep steps to the porch. A log cabin with a shake roof, the porch roof held up by mostly straight skinned poles, the porch floor large shakes split thick and long enough to go from the front wall out as far as the steps. The cabin looked exactly right for the top of the little glade, similar to my Grandpa's cabin where you guys met me, but very different in little ways; windows smaller, floor covering of wild animal skins, furniture made of tree limbs mellowed with age and use, pelts stretched across for seats. Inside was an old woman, two middle aged women, a middle aged man, and three fellows just about my age. One girl was in front of the fireplace stirring whatever was bubbling in the big iron kettle hung over the fire, a little girl pulling threads off the edge of a piece of cloth. All of them looked at me with quiet acceptance. It felt very strange, but so nice! I hadn't had that feeling since Mother had left. The old lady held out her hand to me, palm up. I moved forward and took her hand in mine, then felt an urge to kiss the back of her hand. I gently turned her hand over and lightly pressed my lips to her soft skin, but made no kissing noise.'
'My Grandfather said quietly,
"Aho-altan," then "It is good! Your mother taught you well. Only speak when needed, greet your Grandfather and Grandmother in the Old Ways, showing respect. Welcome!"
'My Grandmother, as I then realized who she was, raised my hand to her lips and returned the greeting, a gentle kiss without sound, while slowly smiling her welcome. I truly felt at home, and loved. She patted the pile of pelts that were beside her chair and I sank down beside her. She clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth to get the attention of the girl stirring the pot and then pointed at the pot then at me. The girl picked up a wooden bowl and ladled some food into it from the pot , picked up a wooden spoon, then brought them to me. As she held them out, she smiled shyly then looked down. I smiled, probably in a shy way, too, and said
"Thank you. It smells good."
"Eat," my Grandmother said, gently.
'I began to eat the mush, stew, or whatever they called it. Rich, wholesome flavors of meat, corn, squash, turnips, and some other things I didn't know. It was hot, so I had to blow each bite for a few minutes, but it was so good! I realized after the first few bites that I was really hungry! I cleaned the bowl and looked at my Grandmother with a questioning look. She nodded, took the bowl from me and held it out to the girl who refilled the bowl and handed it back to me. The second bowl tasted even better, or maybe I just slowed down enough to taste it. I finished it and could not help giving a small belch, which made the girl and both my grandparents smile. Later I found out that was good manners in the Old Ways -- a compliment to the cook.
'My Grandfather motioned me to come outside, then pointed to a log with deep notches in it, leading up along the front cabin wall into a hole above the porch, leading into the space over the cabin. He pointed and said "Young men sleep." I crawled in and saw, in the last of daylight, four pallets beside each other, with space in the middle to stand up under the ridge pole. Just enough space for me. I turned and smiled at my Grandfather, moving my hand from the top of my head the six inches to the ridge pole. He smiled and nodded, saying,
"Yes, you sleep up here until your head touches, then you go on your Quest."
'Without explanation he backed down the rude but effective ladder, and Ilay down, grateful to be Home. I fell asleep immediately, awaking only at dawn when my three boy cousins were getting up.
"Come. We wash, then bring wood in for the fire."
'That began my summer with my mother's family. I was totally accepted as a member, and taught all the things that I would have learned had I grown up there, like making and shooting my own arrows from my own bow, strung with gut from a deer that I skinned and stripped out tendons. Later I killed my first buck and my oldest girl cousin made me moccasins from it, with a loin cloth, a pouch and a quiver. Soon the only "white man's" item I had was the knife my Grandfather gave me my second month. He said it had been his Grandfather's who got it from his Grandfather, Sequoyah. He then told me the story of how Sequoyah had invented the Cherokee written alphabet, to give The People the power of the white men, to be able to talk at long distances and to remember things exactly. It took Sequoyah twenty years to work it out with pieces of bark and different symbols. His wife and all the men of his band called them his "talking leaves" which would blow away and be worth no more than tree leaves in the winter wind.'
'But when he was finished, he taught his oldest child, his daughter, how to read and write the symbols. Then, when the Chief called him into Council and told him his "talking leaves" were worthless, Sequoyah told them he could learn all they said if his daughter were there with them, even if he was beyond the river that flowed near their camp. They snorted in disbelief, but said that they would do so, if he would promise to throw the "talking leaves" all away if he failed. He left, his daughter stayed and wrote everything down, then was taken off to a different place than Sequoyah.'
'When Sequoyah came back, they pointed to the pile of bark "leaves" which his daughter had done something to. Sequoyah amazed them all when he not only quoted the insults against him, but told who had said which one! They called it MOST powerful medicine, and asked him to teach all Cherokees how to read and write their own language. He taught some who helped him teach all, and within five years the Cherokee Nation was almost completely able to read and write. My Grandfather told me the tale with such pride, telling me I was directly in the line of the Great Chief Sequoyah, that from that day on, I felt a real pride in who I was. Cain had never told me anything that made me feel proud. He had only told me things to make me feel ashamed, bad, weak, and different.
"Oh, I see your folks' place up ahead, Brother Greg. I'll tell you the rest of the things later that I learned that summer, if either of you are interested.?"
"Are we INTERESTED?" we both shouted,
"We want to hear it ALL!" I said.
"When we have time to let Dad listen, too." Greg said.
We pulled into their driveway then carport, which was the shortest distance from the car to a door. Greg hopped out but not before Ralph had popped out and opened my door, reaching in to help me up and steady me if I needed it. It felt really good to have this handsome young Native helping me. What a heritage! No wonder he acted so self assured. He had several thousand years of history in these hills, it seemed.
Greg's folks welcomed me as though I were a long lost son, easing me down into a big recliner, asking if I wanted my feet up. Then Greg's Mom brought a big piece of hot apple pie, fresh out of the oven.
"It's just a little something I threw together," she said, shyly. "My friend Nurse Jane called me a few hours ago and told me you'd be released this afternoon. I hope apple pie is all right."
The aroma triggered such a rush of my saliva I felt like Pavlov's dog when the bell was struck. I had to swallow twice before I could open my mouth for the first bite, otherwise I would have drooled on my shirt. I blew to cool it, then bit into the tender firm apples, the flaky crust, and the cinnamon-rich thick juice. MMmmmm!
"Ma'am, That is the very BEST apple pie I have ever tasted! Just 'threw it together' did you? I'll bet some of the others you threw together won blue ribbons at the County Fair or the State Fair!"
"Aw, pshaw! How you talk," she said, blushing slightly, "Greg, did you tell some tales about me?"
"No, Ma'am, Mom! Honest! I had no idea you'd have time to make one, and you had it served before I could 'warn' Bob about your famous pies! But you're right, Bob. She won the Blue Ribbon so often at the County Fair they finally made a blue cloisonné ribbon with her name on it, plus "Best Apple Pie, every year, 1949-1960." After they displayed it ten more years, they gave it to her. I think I see it still hiding in the dining room breakfront. Right, Dad?"
"Right you are, son. Right in every detail, and we are the proud recipients and beneficiaries of all the Best Apple Pies since then, except the dozens she's made for shut-ins, church bazaars and pot-luck suppers. But we don't begrudge sharing this kind of happiness with others. Do you really like it, Bob?"
"May I have another piece, just to chew slowly enough to really taste it? That first piece was so awesome that I inhaled it and hardly tasted a thing," I said with a smile wide enough to show that I was joking.
Greg's Mom had another piece on a clean plate and in my hand almost before I finished asking for it.
"Don't spoil your supper, Mr. Bob. We're just having stew and cornbread, as I didn't know what time you'd be released when I planned supper, this morning. You can always keep stew simmering slowly, and it just keeps getting better. The cornbread is fresh, though."
Until she'd mentioned it, I hadn't realized the other smell was heavenly stew. I put my fork down with the pie half eaten, saying,
"May I save the rest of this piece till after supper? It would take away too much of my appetite if I ate it all, now."
We relaxed another hour until six PM, when Greg helped me into the dining room, where we ate and talked, laughed and relaxed, until I squeezed the half piece of pie in around the stew and cornbread. What a meal! How did Greg and his parents keep from weighing three hundred pounds each, I wondered. After another hour of conversation to settle dinner, I excused myself for bed.
Greg and Ralph each helped support me down the hall to the bathroom, Greg holding me up while I brushed my teeth and took off everything except my pants. Greg asked if his mother could check the bandage to see if it needed replacing. I'd forgotten about it, but said OK. His Mom was quick and efficient in taking off the old one (almost painlessly, as she yanked the old one off quickly) and putting on a new one.
"Was that Dr. Dorn who did your surgery?" she asked.
"I believe it was. How did you know?" I replied.
"I recognize his overhand, back lock stitches," she said. "They're the strongest, and he does them more neatly than any surgeon I've ever worked with. They'll be easy to get out, too. The inner ones just dissolve, you know."
"No, I wasn't sure. I think Nurse Jane told me, but I was too anxious to get out to listen. Oh, they were wonderful to me, but I do NOT relish time in a hospital. That was only my second time."
"What was your other time?" Mrs. Hanson asked.
"When I got my tonsils out at age three. I didn't want to stay then, either."
She laughed and left so I could get out of my pants and into bed. Greg helped me into the other bed in his room, about a foot away from his bed. His Dad had helped him bring it in, saying Greg wouldn't bump my stitches, this way.
"Wait a minute! He said THAT? Like it would have been normal for us to sleep in one bed if I didn't have a wound with fresh stitches?"
"That's just the way it sounded to me, Bob. Great, huh? I think he might have guessed, and seems to be very OK with us being very good friends -- you might say 'Special Friends' even."
Hmmmm, this may be easier than I thought -- or maybe not. No use jumping to conclusions. With these stitches in my side I can't even do that kind of jumping. Later, maybe we'll find out....
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Will Greg's Dad be that different than his brother, Cain, or did Bob and Greg just imagine a hidden meaning in Mr. Hansen's comment? What else did Ralph learn, that summer? Were there other summers? We still have only heard about ONE of the sexual activities he said he's seen. What were the others? When? More will be revealed!! Please send me feedback: Bob Nelson at NailsB69@hotmail.com and join Gay Vikings at the following URL -- ttp://communities.msn.com/GayVikings and say "Coming in from Bagboy" when asked why you want to join. BUT, you MUST be 18 years old or older. If not, don't apply. Sorry, but you're not allowed to read about sex, though you can watch and participate in all the Violence you want to on TV, Gameboys, or Video games. Whose moral values???