| < Prev |
Truth Denied
By the time I was fourteen the atmosphere at home had improved. Not least because in this new house there was space to avoid each other. It had seven bedrooms, a bathroom, three living rooms, a kitchen and a huge walk-in pantry. My father had landed a job as manager of a small building firm and his new wealth was reflected in the house which was furnished throughout. Quite a change from the old place. He was still drinking a lot and I failed to see how he could hide it at work. Somehow, though, he must have done. He was back to hiding the bottles behind his chair, which no one else was ever allowed to sit in. There was nothing new in him having his own chair. He'd always claimed the best one for himself.
The youth club where I'd met Mike was a place I came to feel at home in. Mike liked to play table tennis so I decided to learn and practised whenever I could. The idea being that when I was good enough I'd invite Mike to play. I practised and practised because I just wanted to be near him. I wanted his friendship more than anything in the world.
I was beginning to outgrow my clothes and became really quite particular about what I wore. I made demands about the kind of clothes my mother was buying and insisted that I was old enough to select the things I had to wear. If I'd have left things to her I'd still be wearing grey suits.
It was an exciting time. My inner world was merging more with my new outer world and my confidence was increasing. I was beginning to feel beautiful for the first time. I didn't have any spots like some of the kids my age and was longing for the day when I could start shaving.
The voice I'd heard that time when I had my accident was kind of with me and merged with me. It didn't talk to me or anything like that. It was just in a way there, deep within me. All rolled into me. It felt good.
School life too had improved dramatically, thanks solely to my new form master, Mr Kerrigan. He was a man who never once used the cane. Instead, he talked things through. I rose from being bottom of the class to second and when you consider there were over forty boys in the class you'll realise what an achievement that was. My search for answers drove me on in every subject. Because of my new interest in school I was made a prefect and was heralded as an example for other boys to follow. The feeling that I belonged to the priesthood was still around and found its outlet in being an altar boy. I still couldn't talk to anyone about it though. I knew, but I wasn't sure, if that makes any sense. For the first time in my life I felt integrated, whole.
Mr Kerrigan brought new ideas to the school. He would send us out on projects, which we'd write up and present to the class. He trusted us to go out on our own and do the work. I think it was the first time anyone had ever trusted me. I vowed never to break that trust.
I was on one of those projects that day. I'd been down to the docks to count ships, see where they came from and where they were bound. We had to find out what kind of cargo they carried, what kind of work dockers did and things like that. It was a marvellous project to be on. I warmed to the dockers instantly. Their sense of fun and their dirty jokes reminded me of school. I explained all about the project and they responded helpfully. These were the same kind of men who'd turned a blind eye to our gang's raiding parties years before. They'd known what we were up to and could have caught us if they'd really wanted. These were real genuine people. I sat with a group in a dockers' canteen called Stan Water's and heard all kinds of things. The dirty jokes I tried to remember for school. One man of about sixty asked me if I knew what the Dockers' Umbrella was. I blushed thinking it was going to be another dirty joke. He wasn't joking, though. He took me outside and pointed to the overhead railway.
'That, my son, is the Dockers' Umbrella.'
He anticipated my questions and went on to tell me that it was the first overhead railway in the world and had been given its name because the dockers would shelter under it in bad weather. He was a proud man, a man easy to like. He went on to tell me about how the men were herded like cattle into pens each morning. The chargehand would then select out those he wanted for the day's work. I was outraged that this should be the case but no more than this man himself. He spoke with sadness of how people were selected by their religions. That is, Catholics and Protestants. I had no idea which religion he was but I told him that I was ashamed to be an altar boy. He disapproved and told me that the future belonged to youngsters like me. I should never, he insisted, ever be ashamed of what I was.
'Just look to the future and change it for the better.'
I left him as he turned back into the dock gates. I felt a bit like a traitor because I had no intention of having anything to do with either the docks or Catholics and Protestants. I was tempted to run after him to explain that it was people like him who were the ones who should make the changes now. Stuff the future. I merely turned and watched him join a group of other dockers. I was left with the noises and voices of the canteen in my head as I made my way back home. 'Get some qualifications under your belt, lad, and stay away from the likes of this.'
My home was only a fifteen-minute walk from the docks and lost in thought I headed there.
'Excuse me, do you think you could help me?'
The polite question had come from a man of about thirty or so. A working man not unlike the men I'd just left.
'Yes, if I can. How?'
'Well, I'm locked out you see. Left me keys on the kitchen table. Can't get in. There's a small window which goes into the kitchen which I can't get through. Would you mind climbing through for me and opening the kitchen door?'
'Sure. Where do you live?'
'Just through here. The next street.'
He pointed and began to lead the way. I followed prepared to do my good deed for the day. However, as we entered the back entry there was something about him which wasn't quite right. I couldn't put my finger on it but thought that perhaps he was using me to break into a house.
'You want me to climb through a window?' I said with suspicion in my voice.
'Yes, if you wouldn't mind. There's a table just under it in the kitchen. You'll see my keys on it. I'll give you some money...'
His explanation was convincing and I felt awful for having doubted him. I told him that it was alright and I didn't want any money. I followed him down the long back entry. He was walking very slowly and kept glancing at me. Perhaps he wanted me to break in to a house after all. I started to ask him questions about which house it was, what colour it was painted. Things like that. He stopped and took a cigarette packet from his coat pocket and leaned against the wall facing me.
'Smoke?'
'No thanks. Which house is...'
'You know what I want, don't you?'
'Yes, to climb through a window but I don't think that it's...'
He started to rub the front of his trousers and said, 'Not really.'
'Then why...'
'Come on, you know.'
I was beginning to get the idea.
'I'll pay you.'
It was now obvious that he had an erection and I became both scared and intrigued at one and the same time. A voice in my head was telling me to get the hell out of there and another was saying stay.
'You know what it's like don't you. You do it don't you?'
As he spoke he reached out and touched the front of my trousers. I was rooted to the spot. I'd like to tell you it was with fear but I was getting a hard-on and he kept talking about wanking and things like that. Why did I let him do that? He undid the front of his trousers and showed me his erection. He began to masturbate.
'You do this don't you?'
How did he know? How could he tell? His hand went to my zip and as he began to pull it down he told me to get hold of his. I felt my hand rising towards it. He knew I did things like this, but how? Perhaps there was something about my face. I was just about to touch it when Mike came to my mind. Instantly, I took to my heels and ran for all I was worth. I was an altar boy not a wanker. Sure I'd done it with Pip in school but he was at least the same age as me and besides I knew him. Freaks like this man should be stopped, right? I mean, he could go on doing this to loads of lads for ages, right? At the corner of the street I went into a phone box and called the police. They told me to wait there and they'd send someone. I waited for half an hour before this policeman slowly arrived, on foot.
'Was it you who phoned?'
'Yes, but it's too bloody late now. He's well gone. I phoned ages ago.'
He waffled on about the police having lots to do and there being no cars available. I didn't believe a word he said. He took my name and address and asked me what had happened. I told him in graphic detail but left out the bit about getting a hard-on myself.
'You won't get him will you?'
'Perhaps no, perhaps yes. You've given a good description. Can't guarantee these things but you never know.'
His eyes told me that they wouldn't even look for the man.
'Just forget it!' I said with anger and walked off.
I went to my grandmother's and had a cup of tea with her while she told me yet again about how important it was to go to mass and confession. I told her that it was all a waste of time considering the way things were on the docks.
By the time I got home there was a plainclothes policeman waiting to see me. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. My parents were with him and they were all drinking tea out of the best cups. The policeman asked me to tell him exactly what happened. I felt very embarrassed to do this in front of my parents but he insisted and so I told him. I felt like I was making something out of nothing and getting my family into trouble with the police. The policeman had been glancing at my parents while I'd been speaking and they were saying things to each other with their eyes which I didn't understand. When I'd gone over the story a couple of times the policeman asked me to wait in the next room while he had a word with my parents. I went through to the kitchen and made an enormous sandwich. I had plenty of time to eat it before I heard my father calling me. His voice came from the hallway and it said just one word.
'Richard!'
The atmosphere had perceptively changed. They seemed more relaxed and the policeman smiled and told me to have a seat. Then he began.
'Lads talk about these things, don't they? At school?' How did he know?
'No,' I lied.
It was too embarrassing for words.
'We think they do,' he said disregarding my denial and nodding his head towards my father.
'Your dad tells me that you used to run away a lot.'
How could he? Keep things in the family, he'd said. Now he was telling them about me running away. Jesus! Did they know about the old man in the pictures and how I'd liked the way he touched my leg? I began to panic.
'That was ages ago.'
'You strike me as being old enough to understand these things,' he went on.
Jesus. He did know. I must have some sign over my head which people can see. It says 'Wanker' and has a flashing neon light with an arrow pointing to my head.
'You know what I'm driving at, don't you lad?'
'I think so,' I confessed.
'Right,' he said with relief. 'Strong imagination lads of your age, right?'
Then it hit me. He thought I was making the whole thing up.
'You don't believe me do you?' I said from one to the other.
'We've wasted enough of this man's time,' my father interjected.
'You don't believe me!'
'Look, we understand,' the policeman said.
I was horrified at their mutual alliance. Did they really think I'd make such a thing up? Yes they did!
'Richard! We are wasting time,' my father said firmly.
'Dead bloody right we are,' I said with anger.
'This has gone far enough. We know what boys are like...'
As my father spoke so they all began to stand up. 'We'll say no more about it,' he went on.
The next minute they're all shaking hands and my father was telling the policeman how sorry he was for wasting his time. I flew out of the room and headed for my bedroom. I slammed the door shut and then locked it. I'd show them. They were all the same, adults. One giant alliance.
Bastards. I felt dirty again. If they could believe that I could make up such a thing then what did they actually know about me? Perhaps more than I realised. If that's the way things are, fine. That's okay with me. I masturbated. No, I wanked!
Pip was delighted at my return to our old routine and we began to meet almost every day. Never again would I tell the truth about sex to anyone. We met in school and out. He introduced me to a picture house were men gave you money to let them toss you off. He told me of a toilet where we could do the same thing. I abandoned myself to the new sport with relish. Vengeful relish. I'd make them pay. I got Pip to tell me everything he knew about the sport and of every place he knew. I tried each one and found places by myself. I masturbated a lot on my own too. It became that it was the only thing I could trust or rely upon. I stopped going to church and began to steal small things from shops and from school. Things I didn't want and would, more often than not, throw away afterwards. It was weird and I thought that perhaps I was going out of my mind. If I was bad then I was, at least, getting good at something!
The scene of the guy in the back entry with his cock in his hand telling me that I did the same thing replayed itself over and over in my mind. He'd been right. I did know about wanking and stuff. All that crap about being an altar boy and a priest was a waste of time. I was bad, real bad and I knew it too. I mean, I felt bad so I must be, right? I must give myself to it without reserve. I concluded too that I must be queer because I enjoyed it so much. There was no way out now apart from death. Why not? I mean, why not die? It had to be better than this. I was cracking up and going to pieces and no one apart from me knew it. I mean, why tell anyone? Who cares?
| < Prev |