Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard
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Chapter 9
By general agreement the academic staff went easy on their students as the holiday Thursday approached. Tristan managed to get his assignment on The Repeal of the Corn Laws and an essay on Aldous Huxley submitted on time. He would try to get a term paper on Descartes completed over the holiday, as he had to deliver this to the class in his Philosophy seminar. He was not sure about Colt's progress, save that he had received a `distinction' in his prac assignment on the adaptation of a certain type of mollusc.
The campus was visibly emptying when they set out mid-morning, directly after Tristan attended Greek, throwing their backpacks into the truck.
"I thought we'd be heading west on the interstate?" said Tristan to Colton who was at the wheel and wearing sunglasses.
"I don't come from West Texas, dumbass."
"Oh, I never asked, I just assumed that...you know."
"Y'all been readin' too many gay cowboy stories. Our place is southwest, in Hill Country."
He put on country music and turned it up very loud. Soon they were laughing and singing all across the flat country until they stopped at Giddings.
This was a quintessential Texan township. On either side of its wide and dusty main street crouched single and double-storeyed shops and offices baking in the late autumn sunshine. Many were boarded up. There was a stupendously ugly courthouse from the 1890s and, on the outskirts, were some brave newer business ventures, but several of these were already derelict since the GFC and now weeds grew tall in their concrete parking lots. The rusting infrastructure of a short-lived oil boom could also be detected, but there were now more churches than pumpjacks. It was a typical story of hope and despair and was the great cancer rotting out the heart of America. The world was passing it by.
"Not here," said Tristan as Colt went to turn into a Macdonald's. "Try that diner over there."
"But it looks old and the restrooms might not be clean. Good thing 'bout Maccas is that he food is 'xactly the same ever'where."
"That's another reason. Just think, there's bound to be a really nice lady behind the counter. She'll be called `Gloria' or something and will talk tough but have a heart of gold and love handsome college boys passing trough." Colton snorted. "Or there maybe a hot boy called Timmy--red head with freckles and who's itching for someone to suck him off."
"Could dye m'hair."
"Or a horny trucker or even two..."
"In my stories it would certain t'be a not-so-sweet gal called, Maybelle' or Dolores' and she's be in these bitty cut offs under her apron and she'd lick her pencil when she saw this fine stud slam the screen door and then she'd get right close and bend over to take ya order..."
In the end the proprietor was an Indian from Bradford. "Oh, I am so very glad to hear another English voice," he said, and outlined his amazing translation to this place. The coffee was served in thick china cups and the "Blue Plate Special" was Chicken Tikka Marsala with French fries. Tristan told Colton to order the ryebread sandwich.
They sat on the lime-green vinyl seats of the booth in the window. Hardly a soul passed by. Colt munched on his sandwich and between bites said: "Y'all is too romantic, Tristan. Y'read too many of them trashy stories as y'all beat off and it rots y'brain." He leaned across the chipped wood-grain of the tabletop. "Life ain't like that. It ain't a story and it ain't romantic. Look at this place." He meant more than just the diner. "Y'all can't go through life looking for some fantasy."
Tristan wanted to vehemently disagree and was about to relate the story of the great rationalist Rousseau's sudden epiphany when he was on a journey to see is friend Diderot who was being held in a dungeon in Vincennes. On the road he suddenly beheld another universe and became another man, falling to the ground and sobbing for hours until he had ruined his waistcoat. Instead Tristan said, "Well, I was right about Hetch Gleeson."
They stocked up on water and hit the road. Tristan offered to drive, but Colton was enjoying it so he remained at the wheel. The country was green and progressively became more attractive as they headed into foothills.
"D'yall know about roadhead?"
"Yeah. Girl sucks off the driver as they're driving. Usually a big, high rig will pull parallel and sound his air horn in approval. There're stories about amputations in collisions."
"That's about it. Speciality of Texas girls, they all do it."
"Even your Momma?"
"Sure, 'spect she did m'Dad in his truck on the way back from Galactic Cowboys' concerts in the 'nineties." He grinned and then in unison they cried, "Ewew!"
"Perhaps, she still does?" offered Tristan and received a friendly punch.
"So, you wanna give me roadhead?"
"Isn't it dangerous? It's not very respectful of Texan girls."
"I'll be careful if you don't nip me. 'sides you ain't no Texas gal and I ain't runnin' f'Congress."
He unzipped and struggled to get `his piece' out. "Should'a gone commando today."
Tristan unfastened his seatbelt and leaned across. It was awkward and Colt's groin was sweaty. Tristan felt like the worst slut as he bobbed up and down, hoping that Colton kept the truck's path steady.
Suddenly the vehicle swung right and Tristan felt Colt's penis push right into his throat. He coughed and pulled off. They were in a layby.
"Sorry about that. Cop car was tailing us." Tristan felt panic and looked about but they were alone. "Man, that was good. You gotta take me deep like that more often." Tristan was unsure what so say, but promised to practice. "Finish me off here. You can beat yourself if'n you wanna get off too."
Back on the road Colton threw a few bouquets. "You give the best head, Tris. Chicks can't suck and swaller a damn compared to you. Trouble is, they most don't like doin' it, only do it to get a relationship. That's why they is always smilin' at the wedding--they know they'll never have to do it agin." They both laughed. "But you really love it, don'tcha? And don't ask for nothin' in return."
Tristan was not sure about this assessment at all and merely said, "Sure."
That behind them, they chatted about their school days, Tristan trying to explain about his boarding school in Sussex and Colton recalling all the things he got up to with his buddies at the high school they'd attended. "Weren't but one senior high in our school board district, so y'knew most ever'body."
They drove on, the countryside rising gently up onto limestone plateaux. As they skirted big cities, some areas were full of large new homes on an acre or more and were obviously within commuting distance. It was neither properly urban nor truly rural and Tristan did not like it. "That's the Colorado River down there," said Colton. Tristan couldn't see anything because of the concrete embankments along the interstate. "This is the proper one, mind, not that other one in Arizona." Soon they headed away from this and passed through some attractive small towns, some with Spanish names and some with German ones, with an occasional plainly constructed, white-painted Lutheran church to be noted. The Wendish people had been early settlers, said Colton.
The countryside became more forested and was suddenly very beautiful, with everything on a grand scale, juniper trees, escarpments, cloud-flecked sky--like the paintings by the Hudson River School, only this was in Texas. "We're comin' into m'town," said Colt breaking the silence. It was passed through too rapidly for Tristan form an accurate impression and they were now on a much more rural road. Then they were on a gravel road, which Tristan realised was the entrance to the farm. There were farm buildings. "Tammy's over thar," said Colt with the toss of his head. In a moment they were before a small timber homestead.
Although the iron roof had some rust patches, the house was quite pretty, with red shutters and turned posts and balusters on the front porch. There was another porch to the side that was enclosed with insect screens. Colton stood by the truck and pointed out the features. "There's a basement with a storm cellar. We put up storm windows in the win'er. Often get snow, tornados too. Be getting' cooler over the next couple weeks. Oil furnace is in the basement, but there's a fire in the livin' room. Used to be my job to chop wood. Reckon that's how I got m'big guns. Our room is out back. Other beds is in the attic," he said indicating the dormer windows.
"Shall we go up?" suggested Tristan, who almost didn't want to break Colton's revere.
A few steps landed them with a hollow thump on the porch. The font door stood open behind a screen door. "We're here!" hollered Colton as they stepped directly into a small sitting room. Tristan barely had time to take in the floral sofa with two 1960s `TV trays' set before them, and a rocking chair (possibly a family heirloom) with a crochet rug on it, before Mrs Stone bustled out from the kitchen in jeans and a shapeless top.
There was a very warm welcome, with hugs and kisses for Tristan as well as for Colt. "Where's Dad?"
"Resting. He'll be down in a minute."
Tristan had a little speech of thanks prepared, which he delivered and then produced a wooden box for Mrs Stone. ("Please, Tristan, call me Clarice, you sound like the kids at School."). She opened it and was apparently genuinely surprised to find a dozen compartments each filled with neat stacks of Twining's teabags.
"Why bless you, you'll be making me into a real British lady. We'll have to get started directly after supper--the spiced apple one sound delicious." Tristan made some appropriate comment and tactfully made no reference to the doubtful the choice of spiced apple.
"What is for supper, Mom?"
"Shit with oregano," came the surprising reply before Clarice could apologise and explain that this was a family joke and not to think too badly of a family that `cussed'.
Colton just laughed and said, "I'm so hungry, that sound real appetizin', Mom."
"Show Tristan where to put his things and where to wash up. I'm plum in the middle of bakin' for tomorrer."
Colt led Tristan through a narrow corridor and down a step to a large room. "This here was our boys' bunkroom. Mitchell, Dacey and me." There were three single beds and a pair of bunks. A sewing machine suggested that the room had other uses now that Colton had left home.
"And your brothers?"
"Both be here tomorrer. Mitchell and his wife, Kelsey, live about an hour away and they'll be brinin' the two little 'uns. Dacey lives with his girl right here in town. It's an on again-off-again thang, so don't know if Sheree is coming or spendin' Thanksgivin' with her folks. Her pa's a minister couple towns over."
"Will you be catching up with your girlfriend while we're here?"
"She'n her husband done moved to Brownsville. Bastard's been beatin' up on her."
"That's terrible."
"Yeah. Wished they'd kept him in jail." Colt was lost in thought for a moment.
"Can you show me around after I meet your dad?"
Colton leapt from the bed and they returned to the main part of the house. In the kitchen and helping Clarice with some pies was Drake. Tristan had his hand firmly wrung and he hoped his own was not a limp fish. Clarice shooed the three men out the kitchen door and into the yard.
"Show Tristan ya'girlfriend, boy."
Tristan looked puzzled until he realised they were walking to a stable. In a yard just beyond stood three horses. One broke free and snorted and trotted over to the slip rail where stood the tall figure of Colton as might have been painted by Remington. Colton allowed Tammy to nuzzle into his neck before kissing her. He took a piece of carrot from his pocket and fed it to the mare. She tried to nose into his jeans looking for more.
"Ain't that a purty sight?" said Drake with a chortle. "Sure has a way with the fillies, that boy."
Tristan had to agree and then he looked up the hill. "They're your vines, Drake?" asked Tristan. They walked slowly up the rise, leaving Colton with his horse. The vines were attractive in their autumn colour and their rows formed a striking pattern over the southern slopes of three low hills. At the end of each row was planted a rose bush.
"If'n the rose gits sick, the vines is in danger--sort o'like the canary in the coal mine."
There was a good deal of mechanical equipment and large stainless steel tanks, but the vineyard was too small for a crushing plant of its own and so this was contracted out to a neighbouring vineyard. It was all very interesting.
"The real work is winter pruning. All has to be done manually. Generally employ a hand and Matt helps out. Since I've been poorly he's had t'do more n' more."
"Colton said you worked off the farm."
"Did. Worked for a livestock firm as an agent. When there was a downturn I was laid off. Trouble is, no job meant no healthcare plan just when I had to go under the knife. We mainly depend on Clarice's steady income. The place ain't stocked like it was years ago when I employed six hands full time." This was the most Tristan had heard him say. To his surprise he was invited to `set a spell' and they sat on a bench on the shady side of the barn overlooking paddocks fenced with barbed wire that ran down to dense vegetation that bordered a river. "Tell me about health care in your country."
Tristan was surprised by the request but, stumbling, began with the state of Britain in 1948 and went on to describe the NHS as he knew it. "Of course, many people go private if they can afford it. Gives them more choice of doctor and shorter waiting times. There's also a lot of criticism about the level of funding and stuff like that. I can't remember how much extra we pay in taxes--more than here. But it's a pretty good system and if you're sick, not having money for treatment is one less worry, I suppose. Covers all sorts of stuff like dental and physio and psych too. Wheelchairs and mobility aids. We're pretty used to it now and just expect it to be there, like schools and the police, I suppose. I know Americans don't think like we do."
"No, we 'xpect people to be responsible for theirselves, most rightly. But I thank we call helpin' others `socialism' too readily. I 'xpect y'all heard that some since y'bin here." Tristan nodded. "Lookin' after your own family's a very fine thang, but so is lookin' after your neighbour's family when their house is on fire. 'sides, one day it might be your own place and then you'd want the lend of their hose."
"Well, the United States is a much bigger country and you have a different tradition..." began Tristan, playing the devil's advocate.
"Yeah, and the big 'surance companies and the big medical funds and the big companies what makes the drugs have got their claws so deep inta the system that they'll never loose their grip. Bought up the politicians too. Then there's the folks who won't toll'rate notion of welfare for imm'grants and poor African-American folks. You'd reckon we were a third world country to hear 'em speak. Well, 'nough politics. Best find that boy of mine and get him to help me with bonfire--we're having one tomorrer night for the gran'kids and the neighbours."
Colt was a bit depressed that he could not ride Tammy with his cracked ribs. He asked Tristan if he could ride. "A little bit. We had it as an activity at my school--you know, on weekends when we didn't go home. Is she easy? Would she let me ride her? She's a one man girl, it seems."
"Real sweet, she is. Maybe take her out tomorrer?"
Tristan agreed, hoping he wouldn't make a fool of himself. They went back to the house for supper, first expunging the worst of the dirt in a room off the barn and then finishing the job, after they had changed their clothes, in the ground floor bathroom in the house proper.
Supper was taken in the big kitchen on a table very practically covered in a cheerful plastic cloth, although very little of the design of Parisian bistros could be appreciated due to the spread of dishes that made the table groan. Sweet Onion Pie formed a sort of first course, although one helped oneself to green' beans and creamed corn and other things in a very friendly fashion. For the main course (rather anomalously called the entrée' in Texas) there was Chicken Fried Steak with a peppery white gravy, which Tristan had heard of but was still surprised to find that it didn't have even a passing acquaintance with anything that had feathers. This was accompanied by a big bowl of potato salad, and two bottles of their wine were uncorked.
"I must 'pologise for the slim pickin's tonight, boys," said Clarice as she pressed some more of her `famous' coleslaw onto Tristan, "but I've been flat out preparin' for tomorrer so it's kind of pot luck tonight." Tristan was amazed at the quantity of food eaten and that it was so good, in an unsophisticated and artery-hardening way. He supposed that farm work generated big appetites and the men of the family were all big framed.
There were desserts (a cobbler and home made pastries) and it was over these that the conversation started in earnest. Drake returned to the topic of health care and this morphed into a general political discussion about Donald Trump of the usual kind and of which Tristan was quite weary "We're registered Democrats, although most of the county are Republicans--some better n'some worse than others; most decent folks," began Drake. "Course it used to be a Follette county in my grandpa's time. You wouldn't know about the Progressive Party, would you Tristan?"
"As a matter of fact, I do, Drake. We're studying it in History this year. A guy from Duke is our professor. La Follette supported the farmers in Wisconsin and opposed the big banks. He wanted an income tax brought in and tariffs reduced--or was it raised? I can't remember. I didn't know he had any support in the South."
"Didn't we always have income tax?" asked Colton. Tristan shook his head.
"You know more'n about it than me. M'daddy said that he was pro-German in the First War. Lotta German families here."
"We haven't got that far yet."
Clarice took over. "Trouble is, most want lower taxes in this school board district and the teachers are already paid fifteen percent less than in schools in Austin." She began to clear the table and when Tristan stood to help, she waved him to sit down and did so herself. "It's a good school, but we can't fill a lot of the positions 'cause the good teachers would rather go someplace else where the pay's better. Also the buildings need updatin'. Many folks who don't have kids at the school just think we're complain' liberals."
Colton spoke up and gave examples of the shortcomings that he remembered from his own school days. The discussion drifted from topic to topic, even racial prejudice was touched on, with a bill to improve voting accessibility in the State having only recently been quashed.
"This wine," began Drake, holding up his half glass. "D'you know how much it costs to make?" Tristan didn't know, but Drake told him. "Now, to get it bottled by a bottlin' plant costs me two dollars. I don't have my own plant, so me and a lot of other family producers have to go to SouthernPak--they's a packaging outfit right across the South. We could go to Ziln's, but it don't make no mind. Anyways, if we take the cost 'o production, plus the cost o'bottlin' we break even at seven bucks a bottle. Retail it would sell for eighteen, maybe twenty, 'cept we can't get stores to sell it. The big liquor stores say that they will only buy at six-fifty and then only in big quantities. After two years they want us to sell it at six-twenty five and then at six even. It's crazy."
"What can you do?" asked Tristan.
"Well, don't have y'family depend on vines for a start! In theory--theory only mind-- we could form our own co-operative, maybe buy or build our own bottlin' plant or, better still, form a co-op to market Hill Country Wine, maybe Texas wine. Then we might have a chance to bargain with the retailers, but even so, they buy it cheaper from all over the world--from the big producers in France and so on.
"Local dairy farmers tried to do that, formed themselves a co-op and had their own butter factory a town over. All the farmers had shares. Then a Lactil North America makes them an offer, the fools accept it because prices had been down. Lactil then forces 'em down further and even makes the farmers pay them when they oversupply their contracts. Now they've closed the plant to consolidate in Hopkins County and thirty men are out of work."
"The outlook for agriculture seems gloomy, then," said Tristan twirling his glass.
"Yes, Tris, it surely is. The family farm is dyin' if it ain't dead already. Big mul-tie-nationals is buyin' up the land. My boys certainly don't want to be farmers, ain't that right, Colt?"
"Yes, Sir. 'fraid so. Sorry to dissapoint ya, Dad."
"You never dis'point me, boy," replied Drake and leaned over and kissed his son on the forehead.
"Dad!" cried the quarterback, blushing.
"Our Colt's made for finer than farming," said Clarice. Colt dodged away from a second kiss. "Did he tell you he was salutatorian last year?" Colt groaned.
"We don't have that. Is it second to the dux of the year?"
"Yes. Chynna Randle beat him by just one grade point," said Colt's mother as she turned to get the tea pot off the kitchen counter, whereupon Colt mouthed the words, `Fucked her, though,' so as only Tristan could see. He grinned.
"He didn't even tell me he was on an academic scholarship," complained Tristan, who had to stifle a laugh. "He's smarter than me."
"Well, you were expectin' a dumb jock hick just fallen off the onion wagon and I didn't want to shatter your book-learned fantasy, Roomy."
"Yes, I'm sorry. I suppose I did have preconceived ideas." He thought for a moment. "There's the Texas created by nature and the Texas in books and my imagination, and the Texas made by the actual people," said Tristan, paraphrasing Socrates who, presumably had never been to the Lone Star State.
There was no television that night, but several rounds of cards, interrupted frequently by Clarice having to tend to `somethin' on the stove.' Then Tristan found himself in the bedroom with Colton.
Tristan lay on the middle bed in his boxers. "I love your parents," he said. "Your Dad's great. I could never imagine my parents saying stuff like that. They really love you. Hey, I love the way you Southern boys call your parents sir' and ma'am'--we don't do that in England.
"I know, its all, I say, Mother'; By jove, Pater'," laughed Colt, putting on what he imagined was an English accent.
"Something like that," said Tristan, feeling suddenly bitter at what he had missed out on.
"Is this where you and Dacey and Matt jacked off?"
"Yeah. Dace taught me how to do it when I was twelve. Matt had taught him. Matt gave me some finishin' school lessons, so's why I'm such a sexual ath-a-lete. He's six years older. Taught me a lot. We had some fun times here, even snuck some girls in when Mom and Dad were at the County Fair.
We used to have a poster of Kylie Jenner and we'd have jack off competitions to see who could jizz her face."
"I bet you won."
"Well, I wasn't very accurate, but I cum the most, so...'
"Poster ruined?"
"Pretty much." There was silence. "So you enjoyed today?"
"Very much. I liked Tammy."
There was another pause. "You wanna come over here? I kinda miss y'all and it'll be nice in m'old bed, though a might tight. Lock the door and take y'boxers off."
Tristan woke early. He had not slept well in the conventional sense, but the forced proximity to Colt in the single bed meant that it had been a very good night in another. They had slept with their bodies touching, skin-to-skin and Tristan breathed in what Colton breathed out. To prevent his falling out, Colton thought it best to sleep with his arm around his roommate and Tristan didn't disagree with him. Colton's erection jabbed into practically every orifice of his body. Apparently rule number one did not apply on home turf.
They lay talking desultorily in the early morning light, comparing families and their respective homes. There was also a great, unspoken, intimacy. Colton started to stroke his cock under the covers. "Don't you want me to do that?"
"No, not this morning. I ain't got to do myself in weeks and I've almost forgotten how. But I want you to watch; that's real hot. Watch your cowboy get his nut, Tris."
There was a huge country breakfast waiting in the kitchen, even though dinner, the main meal of the day, would be not so many hours away. "Lord, eat up, Tristan, we have to put some meat on those bones," said Clarice as she kissed him and slid three more pancakes onto his plate.
In the yard, Colt saddled up Tammy who was docile under his touch. She was surprised when it wasn't her master who mounted her, but this stranger. However, she settled and began to trot, with Colton walking alongside and soothing her. They explored the farm, passing the vines and bisecting some of the cattle paddocks, Colt opening and closing the steel gates. The stock were in the lower paddock and the curious beasts all began to migrate to where they were. Tristan was fearful of being crushed by them or that Tammy might panic, but Colt took charge and they were shooed back. "What sort are they?" asked Tristan, who had expected the dangerous Longhorns of fiction.
"Red Angus. We raise 'em for meat, though some folks milk 'em."
They were soon at the trees and Colton guided them through to a clearing where a small river was flowing.
"It's lovely," said Tristan, dismounting. Colt tied Tammy to a tree and the boys sat on some rocks, throwing pebbles into the water as it burbled over shallow rapids.
"I know. This is my favourite spot. We--my brothers and the guys--come down here to drink and hang out."
"Skinny dipping?" asked Tristan thinking of another story.
"Course. But I also likes to come here by myself and just sit n' thank."
"Good thanking spot," said Tristan and received a friendly punch.
"Only trouble is that the river is too shaller for good fishin' and y'all can't launch a boat o'course."
"Yes, my Dad likes to fish from a rowboat; they don't allow motorboats on the lake."
"What lake?"
"The lake at the cabin."
"Your dad has a cabin--and you never told me?"
"You never asked. I say cabin, but it's really a lodge. He bought it when he came to Texas because all the other execs own cabins. They go up there for business, but mostly it's just to drink and get away from their wives. I've only been there once."
"Could we...?"
"We could go, right enough, but you mightn't like it."
"Why not?"
"Because it's technically in Louisiana and you never leave Texas."
"Well, I suppose I should broaden m'horizons some. You'd ask your dad?"
"I suppose so, let's see if we're still talking when he gets back from San José. You know, we could ask the guys to come and the girls too--in the Christmas holidays. What do you think?"
"Shit! How big is this cabin?"
"Five or six bedrooms, I think. A lot of bunks and stuff."
"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Colt again.
"I didn't think of it. It just wasn't important to me. It was just his cabin and part of that gross materialistic lifestyle he's embraced since moving here--you know, the god-awful apartment in Dallas that Cylvah has decorated--looks like a fuckin' bordello."
"Now, how would you know what a bordella looks like?"
"I've read books."
"You and yer damn book-readin'," laughed Colton. Then, "Do you really hate y'dad that much?"
"Yeah. No. I don't know. I've got to work through some stuff. He's very concerned with things--you know, money and stuff. He didn't have much time for me, at least not when I became a teenager."
"About the time he knew you were gay?"
"Yeah, I guess so. He said he was supportive and stuff and that it made no difference to him if I was straight or gay, but we did drift apart just the same and it was about then that he and Mum had problems. She's very concerned with position and appearances. She's good at her job too. That was always first." He made patterns in the dust with a stick. "I suppose I sound like a spoilt, rich bitch?"
"Nah, bud. You just hurtin' like we all are."
They made their way back to the house, Colton mocking Tristan for his `British' way of riding. Then he urged him to gallop the remaining distance, as it would be good for Tammy.
The next duty was to collect Clarice's mother from her retirement village on the other side of the town. They went in Tristan's truck, Tristan driving this time.
Mrs Garvey proved to be a real character. She let out a whoop when she saw her fav-o-rite grandson' at the screen door of her little home unit and Colton had to bend low to kiss her, for she was small but feisty. She slapped his arse and asked if was getting' plenty'. When she saw Tristan she demanded to be introduced to the `hot dude' but had to be satisfied with a stiff English greeting and a handshake.
"Well, ain't your accent just dandy, cutie?" Tristan blushed then jumped. He'd been pinched.
"Gramma!" cried Colt. "Tristan is our guest, not one of your gentlemen friends."
"As if. Harry Merch died last month and Ron Amor didn't look too good at bingo last night. I'm starved of mas-cu-line company. Tired of bein' respectable. Bring the bottle, Colty," she said indicating a quart of Jack Daniels on the hall table.
The ride to the house was hilarious with Mrs Garvey regaling them with all sorts of funny stories. She closely followed the football and cross-examined Colton on recent events. "You play football, Tris?" she asked. Tristan, once again had to admit this was another of his shortcomings. "Y'all's so cute. Bless y'heart, ain't he gorgeous, Colty?" she asked to the backseat. Tristan couldn't see if his roommate blushed.
"Cute as a speckled pup under a red wagon, Gramma."
When they reached the farm, it was clear by the two trucks in the yard that Colt's brothers had arrived. There was a good deal of noise, with Mrs Garvey contributing the most. Mitchell was 25 and looked like his father and had the same taciturn manner. His wife seemed nice but was so focussed on their four year-old twins boys, that it was difficult to get to know her. The little boys were adorable and looked rather like their uncle Colt. Kelsey was glad that Mrs Garvey provided a new focus for their attention.
Dacey had come alone. He was darker haired like his mother but had a lively personality similar to Colton's but was not quite so handsome or as strapping. There were handshakes and greeting all around and Tristan thought again of that dreadful first day.
The men immediately adjourned to the screened porch and were soon drinking beer, Dacey and Mitchell, lighting up cigarettes and talking to their father. The womenfolk' were in the kitchen and Tristan found himself standing in the living room, not knowing which group to join. One of the twins came running through, being chased by the other, and so Tristan made an effort and decided to play with them. They made a game of climbing on the bunks in the bedroom and jumping off, then covering Tristan with pillows before they decided that they could turn one of the beds into a boat and Tristan made them laugh by insisting that their fishing' had hooked all sorts of unlikely things such as carrots, cell phones, elephants and chewing gum.
Colton came and rescued Tristan who was tiring rapidly and was mightily amused to find his roommate so completely involved with his nephews.
There were two new arrivals by the time Tristan returned to the living room. Colton's Aunt Livvy, his father's divorced sister was there. She apologised for Beau's absence as he was having Thanksgiving with his boyfriends' family--Tristan quickly recognizing that this was the gay cousin who was close to Colt. There was no particular reaction to this and so Tristan presumed it was old news.
The final visitor was something of a shock, although Tristan's upbringing allowed him to keep all such displays of emotion well hidden. Miss Lillian was the most enormous woman he had ever seen. She was morbidly obese and was sweating from exertion as she was helped through the screen door by her neighbour who had brought her from the trailer park where she apparently lived. Lillian was an affectionate woman and laughed a good deal at nothing in particular, her collection of double chins wobbling like ruched window blinds in a stiff breeze. She wore flip flops below an enormous, shapeless print frock and had obviously gone to the trouble of putting on earrings and, with some inaccuracy, red lipstick. Tristan wondered if she had elephantiasis. A sturdy chair was produced and she was lowered into it, rearranging her various prolapsed organs for comfort. Tristan passed a cushion for her back and almost recoiled at the dreadful smell that emanated from her body, which was possibly explained when she laughed and said that her ulcerated thighs caused by chafing had been worse these last few weeks. She let out a large fart as she settled.
"Tristan, could you help me with the cornbread?" asked Clarice.
When they were safely in the kitchen, Colton's mother explained that Miss Lillian was a good person who had suffered from gland problems' all her life. Although she lived in an old trailer, she was well liked by her neighbours who looked after her the best they could. In fact Lillian was descended from one of the first families who had settled the district in the 1840s. Lillian had lived with her sister until a few months previously when the sister had passed'.
"So I thought how lonely she must be and I got Drake to invite her today. I hope you understand."
Tristan said that he did and smiled. Clarice kissed him.
The meal was eaten at three tables joined end-to-end that stretched from the kitchen doorway right into the living room. Bed sheets covered with colourful cloths masked the joins and the whole was made bright with decorations formed from striped squash and hollowed out pumpkins filled with flowers from the garden. All the best china and glassware was set out and the table was replete with bowels, plates and platters of all sorts of food, more than could possibly feed the company. It was inescapably Norman Rockwell.
"Do we say grace?" asked Kelsey, Mitchell's wife. This was Tristan's first hint of discord.
"You know we do not in this house," said Drake firmly.
"Well, I just wanted to thank the Lord for blessing us," she countered. "For giving us so much," she waved her hand and then Tristan followed her eye to where, for a moment, it lighted on a brand-new truck seen through the window.
"You can think what you like in private, Kelsey, but I suggest that you also ask the Lord why he has not blessed so many others today." He turned to Clarice. "I just heard from Jack that they found Renee Polk dead in her cottage and the little'uns have been taken by the welfare." He turned to the table at large. "It were a Fentanyl overdose--maybe accidental they reckon; she's been addicted for years."
Mitchell said: "Dad, Kelsey only meant that we should be grateful--think ourselves lucky."
"Maybe," said Mrs Garvey, "but don't sound s'smug about it."
This was forgotten with the commencement of the meal. Tristan lost count of the dishes that he struggled to even sample. There was turkey, of course, with a spicy and nutty stuffing, but there were also such things as candied yams, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, green beans with bacon and cheese grits. Tristan had no idea what grits were.
Miss Lillian was liberally supplied with food by those nearest to her (she was seated on the end where there was more room) and she ate with great gusto and kept laughing, even though no joke had been made.
Tristan was quizzed about his life in England and he explained that there was no such festival as Thanksgiving. Mitchell asked him about his father and Tristan replied, simply, that he lived in Dallas and worked for Globoco and hoped that was all he was required to say. Mrs Garvey then asked Dacey where his girl was and he admitted that they had had `a difference of opinion--again' and sighed. She patted him on the knee. Mitchell told his grandmother that he had received a big promotion at HoffmanStuart, which Colt explained was a big realtor in the county.
"I'm doin' ranch properties too now, Dad," said Mitchell turning towards Drake. I've just closed on the Manning place and they're real pleased."
They all thought this was marvellous. Tristan asked each of Kelsey and Dacey what their jobs were. Kelsey worked at HoffmanStuart too, but the precise nature was not disclosed. Dacey said he was a fabricator and fitter by trade but mostly worked on CAD computers now at Steelex, a machinery company.
Tristan could detect that Colt's oldest brother had taken a dislike to him and he didn't quite know what to do. The topic of foxes and chickens turned to the one of hunting.
"Do you like huntin', Tristan?" Mitchell demanded.
"Well, I've never actually been hunting and I don't think I would enjoy killing things...of course there isn't much hunting in Wimbledon," he finished with a weak smile.
"But you enjoy, eatin', don't ya?" said Mitchell, indicating the plate of turkey meat.
"Yes, I'm not a vegetarian or anything. I just don't think I'd like to shoot things for fun."
"But foxes and rabbits and wild dogs are pests."
"Oh yes, they should be culled, but I just wouldn't do it for fun-- you know, as a sport."
There was a slight sneer. "Beau don't hunt neither."
The implication was clear to Tristan. "Yes, I'm gay, Mitch, you know that. I don't see what that has to do with guns?"
"Mitchell!" cried, Clarice, "Tristan is our guest. There's no call for that. I don't hold with guns neither."
Just then, Aunt Livvy chose to speak. "That was a dreadful shootin' in that sports stadium the other week and did you hear about that little boy down in Hebbron?"
Of course everybody knew. An eighteen year-old boy had taken two high powered rifles and shot up patrons at a Christian music festival, killing his former girlfriend who was pregnant and two other young people. More had been injured. He then tuned a rifle on himself, but somehow had not died. The second was bizarre: a three year old had taken his mother's handgun from her purse while she was looking for the keys to her trailer and fatally shot her. The newspapers implied that the African-American woman was a junkie.
The hares of the gun debate had now been let to run and Tristan, having a good idea of the pointless nature of such conversations in the United States, made to leave the table, until Colton put a hand on him to remain.
"Gun crime is no worse in Texas than it is in a whole lot of other places," isn't that a fact, Tristan?" demanded Mitchell. "It's the pissweak liberal media who is spreadin' lies."
Tristan was prepared. "I believe the figure is more than twelve deaths per thousand in all the USA. Texas is about average, I believe. In the UK it is 0.02 per thousand, or something."
There was silence for a minute "Well, there are knife deaths in Britain. In London there were a whole bunch of deaths caused by Muslim terrorists."
"Yes, there was."
"Well, that boy in the gym was sick in he head and shouldn't have been allowed to have his daddy's guns. Was his daddy's fault for not lockin' 'em up proper. Same goes for the woman."
"Weren't they his guns? Didn't I read that they were legal?" Aunt Livvy backed up this assertion.
"I never carry a gun in my bag," said Kelsey, although some do, even t'church. But it is our right, Tristan. We have a right to protect ourselves from crazies"
"It is our last bastion against the government," said Mitchell.
"It's in our Constitution. Have you ever read it Tristan? Do you have a Constitution in your country?"
"I have read it, Kelsey and, yes, we have an unwritten one." Kelsey snorted at the obvious unsatisfactory nature of such an arrangement. "Perhaps you need to change yours if you find it's not working."
"Our forefathers were wise men, Tristan", she explained patiently, as if addressing an imbecile. "Godly men who followed our Lord. They prayed over that Constitution when they wrote it and vouchsafed it to us today. It mustn't be changed on some whim. It's almost God's word. It's part of the greatness of our country that we protect the family unit first, even if there are so many in today's society who are not in favour of families and others who do bad things with guns. It is the criminals who are to blame, not the guns."
Tristan was trying to keep calm and knew that Kelsey had almost certainly never read the Constitution or the Bill of Rights. However, he called her out on one point. "You said they were godly men. I say they were not--even if I concede they were good men, on which I have a few doubts. Of the seventeen signers of the Declaration of Independence, only John Jay could be said to be an orthodox Christian. Most were atheists, like Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin. Some, like Washington, believed vaguely in a universal spirit, but did not believe in Jesus' divinity. They were `deists' I think is the word. They were men of the Enlightenment. Science was their god.
"Well, I can only say you are one hundred percent wrong, Tristan!" said Kelsey, huffily and whose own armoury was now obviously depleted.
"Now now," said Drake, commanding attention. "I like a good argument and I admire your guts speakin' up in a house full of strangers, Tristan. Kelsey, I think he's given you a history lesson. Better check the facts with Pastor Ellsworth before you go shootin' y'mouth off to a smart college boy."
"Dad!" objected Mitchell.
"I say keep a rifle for huntin' rabbits and keep it locked up good; you don't need no mil-i-tary weapons to use 'gainst y'neighbours."
Clarice steered the conversation into he safer and bountiful waters of `neighbours' and the rest of the meal passed more quietly, except for the children who were growing restless and were looking forward to the evening's bonfire.
Everybody helped clean up. Tristan put on rubber gloves and wiped Miss Lillian's vinyl chair. She had been incontinent. Clarice thanked him quietly for not making a fuss. Lillian, herself, was collected by the kindly neighbour and said her farewells from the back of the truck where she was placed like a sow from market, but remained cheerful through the indignity.
It was dark early and the neighbours and their children began to arrive at the farm for the bonfire. The gravel drive was lined with old trucks and aging station wagons. The pyre had been constructed in a field that had been cropped short by the cattle and so there was little chance of a disaster. With some difficulty and lots of unasked for advice, the boys set it ablaze. Gradually the people gathered around, sitting on what ever they could find or just lying on rugs on the ground. The beer was brought out and the women produced more food, although few felt like eating. The children ran around, but were kept safe.
Mitchell came up to Tristan. "I'm sorry for getting all het up, Tristan. I had no right."
"That's all right. I'm sorry for making it two. I've had discussions like that many times since coming here. It's a different world." There was some sort of rapprochement.
"You like having my little bro for a roommate?"
"Yeah, he's great."
"He still jerk off all the time?"
"Yeah and he farts something awful too."
They laughed.
"We're powerful proud o' him you know. Smartest one out of us all, though he don't always show it."
"Yeah, I've come to realise that."
"Hey, do you want to come to church with us on Sunday? It's a visiting preacher from L.A. and he's got a real hot wife--oh, sorry."
"Thank you for the offer, Mitch, but I don't think so. I'm just a lost cause," Tristan said with a half-laugh.
"Hey man, no one is ever lost," he said, just as the twins ran up to claim him.
He was replaced by Dacey. "Can I ask you a favour, Tristan?"
"Sure, if I can help."
"I need to get away from here. I can't put up with Sheree no more. Colty said that your pa worked in shale oil. Do you reckon he could tell me where to look for a job an' who to ask? I don't mean to get me a job; I reckon I can do that on my own, but give me guidance and a few tips--maybe put in a word, but no favours like. If I could go out west to Odessa or somewheres I could start again. I'm through with here."
"We're only barely talking--or emailing--but I'm planning on working on it, so yeah, I'd be proud to do that. Email me your details." They exchanged information on their phones.
"Thanks, Tris. My brother is plum lucky to have picked y'all as his roomy.
"He didn't..." but Dacey was pulled away by the children who wanted to do something dangerous and needed his help and Tristan let out a laugh.
Mrs Garvey came up to Tristan next, handing him a glass of whiskey. "You did well at dinner today, boy."
"I'm not so sure, Mrs Garvey. I did not behave like a proper guest."
"Non-sence. That grandson of mine thinks that his shit don't smell now that he's climbin' the greasy pole of real estate. Kelsey's full o'herself too.
"Now, I knows you got a thang for my other grandson. Now, don't bother to deny it. I can see it in the way you look at him. Don't blame y'none neither. He's a fine boy."
Tristan `fessed up'. "I've fallen for him rather hard, Mrs Garvey. Please don't tell him or any of the others. It's torture living with him but, at the same time, I've never been happier. I lost my own grandmother just recently and my parents have divorced and gone their own way, so Colt sort of came along out of the blue when I was ready, although I didn't know it."
"Colty told me a little. Sorry to hear that. Families is funny things."
"He doesn't look at me in the same way, does he?"
"Can't rightly tell. I'm sure he cares for you though. It's in his nature. He's softer inside than his brothers. Takes after his grandfather, I always reckon. He was fine man. And handsome! Almost as handsome as Colty. Don't know what he saw in me; maybe 'cause I'd put out when the other girls wouldn't?" She laughed and Tristan, when he had recovered, laughed too.
The sky was black now, but above the rising myriad of oranges and yellows of the fire, when the smoke was just wisps, the everlasting stars shone in all their glory. It was a breathtaking sight and one that Tristan was not used to, his `being raised on concrete'.
Colt came up to him and put his arm around his shoulder. "They's somethin'."
"Yeah, the stars are certainly bigger and brighter than at home."
Suddenly Colton began to sing in his wonderful tenor:
The stars at night is big and bright
Deep in the heart o'Texas
Some people nearby gave a triple clap.
The prairie sky is wide an' high
Deep in the heart o'Texas.
Tristan clapped with others who also began to sing
The sage in bloom is like perfume
Deep in the heart o'Texas.
There was now general clapping and soon everybody, men and women, was singing lustily around the fire.
The song came to its final clap and there was a whoop of joy. Tristan was beside himself with laughter. "Oh my god! It was like stepping onto the set of a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical. That was so hokey!
"Hey! That was the wrong state." He grabbed the hysterical Tristan around the neck and gave him a noogie. "Rather be a fence post in Texas than king o' Oklahoma."
Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.