The Persistence of Memory

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 19

Quintus told me that it was my choice, Duncan's fate. I know what's happened. Duncan has been bewitched, just as I was bewitched by the charming and ridiculously handsome twenty something. So he's going up to Quintus's quarters at least twice a day in between his classes and the other activities, so there's time. But time for what exactly. Talking? Certainly, and who knows what else. He's always ready when it's time to take him and Robbie home, but a couple of days I need to stay late after school, so that gives him more time to trot off to Quintus's rooms. Duncan has never spoken about his apparent friendship with the man, but it can't be good news for the boy or me, just at the time when Duncan and I have started sleeping together, fully, hopefully.

Quintus has hinted at a deal to resolve the situation. My choice? Quintus's anatomy is very obvious as he wears those Levi trousers some of the boys wear too when they want to show off what they've got inside their knickers. Levi Strauss saw a market for the kind of grey school trousers that boys would want to wear. I have some too, cut high and tight into the crotch which has the effect of pushing everything up and out. They even make them in shorts for the youngest boys, not that the effect is quite the same, in most cases, due to natural immaturity. Charlie is the exception that proves the rule. Gosh, he does look good in those things. He's a prime example of what I heard Quintus refer to as jailbait. Not a very nice term at all.

I decided to tackle Duncan on the Quintus issue. He'd gone up to bed alone, before me as usual. I had allowed some time for his final preparations for sleep before I joined him. Our bedroom doors are never shut completely, apart from my father and Garth's room. There was enough light from the hallway to see him lying on his side, still looking wide awake. I sat on the bed facing him.

'So what's going on Duncan?'

'What do you mean, what's going on?'

'I mean you and Mr Beer. Quintus to you and I. I know you're going up to his flat. Not just once but probably at least twice a day.'

'I like him and he likes me. He asked me to. I said I wanted to, so we talk about things. What he's doing and stuff. New bits of video. He asks me about everything.'

'So you tell him?'

'Umm.'

'So you just talk do you?'

'No not always.'

'So what do you do then, besides talking?'

'Nothing. Honestly. Are you going to kick me out now. Out of this house? For what I've done?'

Duncan looked terrified.

'Of course not! This is your home Duncan, all the time you need it. I promise you. That's never going to happen. Not ever. But you need to be honest with me Duncan. You're going to have to tell me. Why did you say that? What have you done?'

I lay down next to him as he began to explain. In his quiet words then…..

'We talked about the camping trip. How he would run it. How many tents and all that stuff, and how many of us to each tent. He talked about the film he was making to show all the things that we do here, besides lessons. He said that not everything we filmed would end up being seen. There would be fun things he wanted to do and maybe there would be a camera there too. On the hike I got quite friendly with Charlie Van Hoeven. He always ended up walking with me. Robbie was getting on well with his new friend.'

'Oh. Who is that?'

'Robin Honey. He shared with me the first night; at least the first part of it. Then we swapped. He went in with Robbie and Charlie came in with me.'

'Did Mr Beer know about the swap?'

'Yes. He knows everything we do. He's always there.'

'Is he? Do you mind that?'

'No. He says he needs to keep records of us. Everything we do.'

'Even now?'

'Yes. We talk every day.'

'Do you like him?'

'I think so.'

'You're not entirely sure then?'

'No.'

'So how long do you stay there?'

'About an hour; usually. If I have my shower there. After Games I have my shower in his flat, and then I can get changed afterward that.'

'You would tell me if there was anything you didn't like about going there wouldn't you? Anything he was doing you didn't like? Or want?'

'Yes.'

'I have to remind you that you are our responsibility while you are with us at Morwenna?'

'But not when I'm with Quintus.'

'Yes you are! All the time.'

'No you're not! I can do anything I like with him. He likes me. He likes me a lot. He's…………'

'He's…… what Duncan?'

'Nothing.'

'Go on, say it. What is he?'

'He just likes me. That's all.'

'And you have showers there? With him? Does he come in with you?'

'No.' Duncan insists, looking hunted, his face reddening.

'And when you come out. Is he there?'

'Yes. He has a towel ready. Usually.'

'So he puts his hands on your body.'

'Yes. He has to doesn't he. You can't dry someone properly without………'

'Being rubbed dry? Is that an exciting thing to happen for you Duncan?'

'Yes. Because it shows he………'

'Shows he……..what Duncan?'

'Shows he cares about me, like you do. I'm sure he loves me.'

'Has he ever told you that? That he loves you?'

'No, not yet.'

'And then what do you do? After your shower?'

'Go and lie down. I'm tired. He says I need to relax properly.'

'In his bedroom? It's the only place you can go isn't it? And then? Does he come in with you?'

'Yes, so we can talk and I can……..'

'What do you do Duncan. While you are lying on Quintus's bed?'

'Nothing………much.'

'So you don't want to tell me. Is that it?'

'I don't need to tell you. It's our business, not yours. He likes it.'

'Tell me one thing Duncan. Does he touch you?'

'Of course not! What do you think he is? He's not a bad person. He just likes boys like me. And Robbie. That's all. And Charlie too. He just likes boys. There's nothing wrong with that.'

'Is this how you got friendly with Charlie Van Hoeven?'

'Yes.'

'Does he come too. After Games?'

'Yes. Sometimes.'

Duncan hasn't looked me directly in the eye for some time, but now he does. His face is a potpourri of expressions and feelings, but I have to say, there's no sign of guilt there. Goodness, this is deja vue is it not? This was me six years ago, infatuated by an attractive elder. Two boys are approaching, or even at that dawning of their full sexual lives when such strong feelings have become quite irresistible. I'm not saying it's not a good feeling, wanting it morning noon and night like I did. It is a nice feeling. But this? No. Quintus can have me as much and as often as he likes.

I thought it was quick work, the scene in the tent on the last night with Duncan and Charlie Van Hoeven. They'd done it before in Quintus's flat up there in the Old Building. It was just a matter of the two boys doing again what they had been doing for some time before.

'He wasn't there Alex! I promise you, he wasn't. Just stop it! Please!'

Oh dear, a nerve touched. Quintus was not present .

Dr Angus Simpson, our Head Man, knows. He had me into his study to fix yet another problem with his new machine so I had another opportunity, after office hours of course, to put things right and to have a peek into all the dark places. It's all there, passed to him by Quintus, for Angus's delectation. He has two children, a girl and a boy. Their photographs are on his desk. They both look very sweet in their sexy school togs, long legs in short skirt and short shorts holding hands and smiling for the camera. That was an invention was it not? The camera? The world of moving figures brought into the privacy of your home, all enhanced by sound . Gosh.

You didn't need to see what's going on in that tent, you just had to listen. You'd know exactly what stage Charlie was at on his journey to the stars. And when it happened one would know exactly how he was feeling during those crucial moments that persist in the memory.

I drove Duncan home to his people up there on the north coast of The Duchy of Cornwall at Padstow, the capital of the fish and chip industry it always seemed to me, with its attractive harbour and marauding seagulls. They attack from behind usually, timing their run to perfection, and in an instant, whoosh, your bag of chips is on the floor with a few more of those pesky creatures fighting for what you've paid through the nose for. Very annoying if you're the one whose been selected by the flying snow-white bird, and a shock for people you're sitting next to on the bench as they stare across the harbour, licking their ice cream cones.

Duncan's parents are lovely, and very appreciative of the care he's enjoying with us at Morwenna House. I was given a sandwich lunch before I arranged the time when I would return to fetch him back for the new half-term. I'd brought my sketch book with the intention of doing an hour of drawing around the harbour, a good excuse for a bit of people watching. I wanted to be on my own for this exercise so I left the car up Fentonluna, the lane going the hill where Duncan's lovely home is, and wandered down to the busy harbour I knew would be thronged by families.

Luckily I found a bench three feet from the sheer harbour wall on the north side of the quay with a space at the end with children engrossed in their crabbing activity, some lying on their tummies looking down thinking one of their hungry prey might be biting the bait of bacon rind in the little green bags, others standing holding their lines, others just sitting patiently for nothing to happen. I was happy to reach in my bag for a 2B pencil and my pocket sized moleskin book and have a look around.

When one crabbing party leave, disappointed but otherwise happy, others will take their place, and to my delight one person did, immediately to my right, sorting out his line and the transparent bucket already filled with water to receive the unwary catch. He kneels, his bare knees on the large stone harbour wall edging, polished smooth by countless feet. The bait in the netting bag is lowered carefully before he settles back on his haunches. He's in a pale blue tee shirt and slightly grubby beige shorts, his mid-brown hair in need of a trim. I notice as he bends forward to look over the side, as of course I would, the pleasing gap that's opened up between the top of his shorts and the lowest part of his tee shirt. Lovely brown skin. When the boys at school do this, waiting for instructions from the Games master as they sit on the grass cross-legged, you see the same thing; bare flesh and if you're lucky, some visible waistband of underwear into the bargain, if they're wearing any.

My interest in the subject I'm sketching, the Custom House over the calm reflective water on the opposite quay to the south, has suddenly waned in favour of a new and much more exciting subject to look at. The boy, about eleven or twelve, thus nicely located inside the upper popular age range I'm reliably informed, is satisfied that his crab lure is now in position and he can relax for a few minutes and enjoy the scene in this lovely weather we're having. I've turned sideways, just enough to make it clear to him that he's my subject I'm sketching. He looks at me, then looks away to take stock. Then he looks back again just to confirm his suspicion that I'm the artist and he's my chosen subject. I've always found that human subjects, eventually, just have to see how they've been portrayed. Sooner or later, curiosity getting the better of them, and they will come up to you and ask you if they might look at your attempt. He gave me ten minutes, longer than I expected.

He stands up, hands in the side pockets, very straight, a tad under five foot tall at a guess. How a boy stands is important in my book. Deportment. Posture. Poise. All those things. Garth threatened to sew up Duncan's pockets if he didn't desist from that bad habit of automatically putting both hands in pockets. He did desist.

The boy looks at me, unsure as to what he should do next. I glance up at him and smile. That should do it. I wanted a longer look but that had to suffice for now. I'll give him another minute as I work on, the kneeling figure taking shape nicely. I've got the essence down quickly, just as good teaching will tell you to do. Essentials first. Detail later, if at all. That way you can stop anytime and you have a drawing.

'May I look please?' He asks in that lovely Cornish burrrr…..y sound. The voice is soft, clear and still mistily pre-pubescent. May I , he asks, not, can I ? Good boy! Looking to my right I see a knee with evidence of recent scrape, more or less healed over. Below that a limb covered in pale downy hair and feet in worn white trainers and thankfully, no socks. Looking up, all this fairly instantaneously mind you, I see the grubby shorts high up the boy's thighs. Finally I arrive at the boy's face as he looks down, his brown hair falling forwards over his eyes, the mouth open and rows of gleaming teeth inside, the sun's effect forming summer freckles either side of his nose which in six months will have disappeared in the winter gloom. The eyes are a deep blue, nicely marked, the eyelashes curiously long, the nose a Greekish one, the head well-proportioned. In other words, he's a nice-looking example of the human race.

'Yes of course you can look.' I answer enthusiastically.

'Is it finished?'

'No. Another five minutes. Then you can have it. I'll do another one for me to keep. You're a good subject in case you didn't know it.'

'Am I? What's that mean?'

'It means you're interesting to draw!' I said as meaningfully as I could, with a noticeable time lapse between the words; interesting and to draw .

He laughs at that.

'Why? Why am I interesting?'

I didn't look up but fiddled aimlessly with the pencil. Then he said something I really wasn't expecting.

'You like boys don't you.' As more of a statement of fact. At least he was still smiling. Boys can say things like that, a result of stranger danger lectures in their schools. Quite right too.

At this point I had better get this issue off my chest, the event I never told anyone about. My walk along the footpath that ran next to the river Nene. I was nine I think. Perhaps as young as eight. A man stopped me and asked me what I was doing walking into the countryside on my own. He asked me to sit down for a minute. He sat down next to me and undid his trousers, and hooked out his penis and told me to hold it. I did as I was told. He asked me to take my shorts down so he feel mine. I obeyed him. Then he told me to rub his penis up and down as fast as I could manage. Again I did as he told me, while he fondled me. He asked me to kneel to his side and watch what happened, but keep rubbing his penis up and down as fast as I could. After a minute he told me to do it slowly. He was taking deep breaths by this time. He grabbed my hand to take control of my movements. I had no idea what the stuff was that flew out of the tip of his penis that felt hot and very hard. It went all over the grass in several whitish spurts in front of him and some dribbled down onto my thumb and hand. He let go of me, stood and di himself up and walked off quickly. That was it. All over. I knew that something bad had happened, and knew I must not tell anyone about it, ever. I suppose he thought he'd just got lucky that day. I wonder if he ever felt any remorse. One likes to think he did, having done such a thing to a very young child , for entirely his own selfish pleasure.

'You do like boys don't you?' The boy insists.

'I suppose so, if they're good subjects.'

'Like me?'

'Yes, like you. I can finish this thing off if you'll go back exactly how you were.'

'Ok, but did you mean it? I can keep your drawing?'

'Yes.'

I finished the job ten minutes later. He'd had enough, his patience exhausted. I carefully detached the sheet from the book and handed it to him, unsigned. He looked at it and seemed pleased. Finally he says…..

'Thanks. It's good. What's that line there?' He asks, pointing a finger.

'It's the top of your underpants. When you lean forward it shows like that.'

'Does it?'

'Yes it does. Didn't you know?'

'Do you want to rub it out?'

'Certainly not.' I said, and here comes the dodgy bit.

'I think it looks good. Are you embarrassed then?'

'No.' He says defensively.

'You don't mind me knowing what kind of pants you wear then?'

'No.' He says, smiling again.

'Good. They're nice, what I can see of them.' I said looking up into his face and thinking how far I can push this conversation forward. 'Are they all like that?'

He didn't answer that question but he's not walked off.

'How long are you staying here?'

'Why? Have you got to go home?'

'Yes, by one o'clock. Will you still be here this afternoon?'

'Yes, if you are.'

'Can I sit next to you?'

'Yes, but I'd like to sketch another one of you. If you didn't mind? You keep the first one and I'll keep the second one? How's that?'

He sat in the classic cross-legged pose, the knees wide apart, one foot over the other and the hands either side of his lovely brown limbs. I now have the perfect view I wanted. With the narrow 'inseam' of his shorts inadequate to cover the wide gap between his open thighs, the fabric can't hide his modesty. He's tucked into plain and simple boys' briefs, and very nice they are too. Like his tee shirt, a pale blue.

He knows what I've done when I posed him like this. It's another risk I took, but worth it to save my precious time. He can see me looking up his thighs alright. At least I assume he's worked that out. Perhaps not?

He very kindly sat for another fifteen minutes until I had the thing done. Not my best, but that's not the point here. So what is the point? Just listen to what he said next.

'When shall I come?'

'As soon as you can. What's your name by the way. Mine's Alex.'

'Ruari.'

'Gosh that's nice, but hard to spell. Unless it just R-o-r-y?'

'No it isn't. It's spelt the hard way.' He says, smiling.

'Good. Much more distinguished. And come when you want to. I'll be ready. Anytime. Don't be too long will you? I don't want to stay around here though. It's too busy. Do you know anywhere else that would be good?'

'Yes, loads of places. There's a path up to the Memorial, and then if you carry on walking you get to Hawkers Cove. It's nice there. Or you can go right to the end at Stepper Point.'

Ruairi was back in a half hour, beaming as he found me on the same bench on the edge of the harbour. I was tiring of the smell of chips by this time. He stood in front of me, dressed as he was earlier but without the crabbing kit. I stood up and gave his shoulder a gentle nudge with my closed fist.

'Come on then, show me this path Ruari.'

He walked in front of me on the narrower latter section of the path towards the first port of call, S. Georges Bay, a very small sandy beach reached by walking off the path through a gap in the black rocks. There's a good view over to Trebetherick, the other side of the Camel Estuary. And then back to the path and on to the altogether bigger sandy bay at Hawkers Cove. There were maybe a dozen people visible, sitting in the low dunes or walking dogs, or paddling.

'We can go on if you want.'

I wanted to get somewhere private.

'If you do?'

'Yes. You won't see anyone at Stepper, apart the walkers on the coast path. There's plenty of other places we can go.'

It took us another twenty minutes to bypass Hawkers Cove and reach the Point with a fabulous view eastwards across the estuary to Pentire.

'We could get away from the path?'

'But not too close to the edge Ruari. It's very dangerous.' I warned.

Ruari stands watching me and the waves below us.

'It's a bit Daphne du Maurier isn't it.'

'Daphne who?'

'Oh never mind. She wrote books about………Cornish people.'

'Will you draw me now?'

'I don't have to, if you just want to chat? That's fine too.'

'You could draw me again?'

'Yes I could, but I usually draw people in a room with a heater on.'

'A heater? Why?'

'To keep them warm. If the heater wasn't on they'd freeze.'

'Why?'

'Because we draw them without their clothes on, like you would in an Art School. It's very traditional.'

'You mean in the nude?'

'Yes. That's how I normally draw figures. Nude. The nude form. That's what we call it.'

'Are they men or women?'

'Boys. They're all boys.'

'Do you like drawing boys Alex?'

'Yes, but they're just the same as adults really. They have the same bits but smaller. Otherwise they're the same. Legs, arms, feet, heads, and so on.'

'Do you want to do me?' He says pulling his tee shirt up and over his head.

'Like this?'

'That's nice Ruari.'

'Or more of me? I don't mind.'

'It would be quite nice to see what more looks like? Only if you want to? It might be an idea to get further away from the path?'

'Down here.' He shouts running through the long grass waving his tee shirt around his head. He gets about fifty yards away and stops.

'Here. This is good.'

And it is good, very good. Ruari looks a picture standing in classic pose with Pentire behind him. He sits to take off his shoes. But I'm beginning to wonder about Rauri now. There's an air of dangerous unpredictability about him. He stands still for a moment, his hands to his front.

'Why do have to draw Alex? Can't we just play?'

'Fine. Why don't you just have a run around, but don't go too near to the edge please.'

Basically, he ignores my request as he runs wildly up and down the grassy slope to the left and right of me just in his shorts looking the epitome of a young boy enjoying his freedom in this stunning landscape of cliffs, a deep blue sea, and tiny white horses rolling in from the benign looking Atlantic ocean. I shout to him….

'Not too far Ruari. You're getting too close to the edge! Come back now!'

He continues to ignore me, so I shout again, this time with an urgency I recognize as the beginnings of panic.

'Come back here you stupid boy! Come back……..now!'

I'm standing up now shouting at him to come away from the edge but he, standing still now, looks back at me, laughing. How on earth have I found myself in this situation? He's just a few feet away from the edge. At least that's what it looks like. I decide to run after him. As I set off in pursuit, he's off too, looking back and laughing as I chase him. I get close to where he was and see that the land slopes away further and realise that he wasn't near the edge at all. It was an illusion. I thought he was about to fall to his death, the stupid boy. It happens around these dangerous and sheer cliffs. People fall hundreds of feet down into the sea below and are lost.

I'm quicker than him and it doesn't take me long to catch up with him. He's run back up the hill to where we were originally. That's where I finally catch him, my arms around his middle. We both fall to the ground, me on top of him. He's still now, the smile gone, the face calm, the breathing fast, the eyes wide open, my hands holding his head.

'That was incrdibly naughty Ruari. I am very very cross with you. You could have been killed you silly silly boy.'

I'm almost in tears.

He looks back at me, his expression unchanged.

'That was a very unkind thing to do to me. Do you realise that?'

He nods.

'Sorry.' He says. 'What are you going to do?'

We just look at each other as I take another deep breath. I'm just feeling relieved. Ruari has such a lovely face when he's been admonished for his unkindness.

'That was so naughty. Do you realise what you put me through just now?'

He smiles at me now, my hands still holding his head firmly, his knees drawn up.

'Sorry.' He says again, the smile gone.

I let him go, turn over onto my back, lying next to him, looking up at a passing cloud as it floats by, white again the blue. I take a deep breath and feel like crying from the relief of it all, trying not to imagine what might have been.

I watch helpless as the figure falls, hapless, to the black horrible killing murderous rocks below. The horror of it all. The broken body washed over by white sea.

Ruari has laid his head on the grass, his arms outstretched. I can't be angry with him anymore. Suddenly I'm gaining pleasure from this.

What I'm doing is the beginning of something , maybe. He's just a random boy I've met.

'Are you ok down there?' I ask quietly.

'Umm.' He says.

'Shall we go now?'

'No. I want to stay.'

So we stay as we are, still. Poised in timelessness.

'Can we go home now?'

I just had to laugh.

He might have said anything I suppose.

Can we go home now. That's what he said.

'Good idea Ruari.'

I looked at my watch. Three thirty.

'In a few minutes?' He says

'I thought you wanted to go now?'

'No. Not yet. In a while.'

'I think we should go……now Ruari.'

'No. In a while.'

'No, not in a while. Now. I'm not leaving you here. You're coming with me. Now.'

I'd had an interesting drive back to Truro, thinking about my unexpected adventure on a Cornish clifftop. Another of those chance encounters that bear so much fruit, in my mind. No one ever really knew what I was thinking when I was twelve. You just don't want to tell anybody. They probably wouldn't want to know anyway. The deepest thoughts and longings of a boy desperate to step onto the sexual stage. Ruari might be at that stage but he needs to be careful, the dear boy. Be careful what you wish for, and do not go off on wild journeys with any random older boys please. Anyway, we both came out of it unscathed, but it would have been easy not to have done. I have a clear conscience about my afternoon with Ruari, but it might so easily have been different. In my fantasy moments with nothing else to think about, I might just go back to that tranquil harbour……port and Padstow……..and the acrid smell of vinegar and potato chips, and a boy called Ruari.

I've decided to call on Quintus on my way home. Duncan's safe with his people now, for a fortnight, and off the scene. I want to see Quintus urgently. It's time.

Talk about this story on our forum

Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.

[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]

* Some browsers may require a right click instead