Date: Sun, 24 Jun 2007 09:07:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: crispin emrys <crispinemrys@yahoo.com>
Subject: Crispin-and-Zephyr/Part-1-Crispin/Chapter3-revised

This series of fictional stories are the product of my imagination.
However, nothing happens in a vacuum.  Like most fiction, it is based on
real people I have met, places and events I have seen.

The Prologue and Chapters 1-13 appeared on Nifty this winter.  They have
been extensively revised (especially Prologue and Chapter 13) and Chapter
13 has been completed.  I will post two per week then continue with
Chapter 14.

It may be against the law to read where you are because of its content or
your age.  Or you may feel uncomfortable reading it because of the belief
systems you have accepted.  Follow the dictates of your heart.  If you do
read this series, I hope you enjoy it.

When this five part story is completed, it will have told the tale of one
boy and one man and how their intimate relationship and love for each
other led to the creation of a modern day legion of boy knights. These
knights errant became young champions of human and social rights and
defenders of the weak and the downtrodden.  These Boy Knights of the
Green Republic reveal the true meaning, purpose and power of boyhood.

You may be aware of the etymology of the word knight, that it is derived
from the Old English cniht, meaning page boy, or servant, or simply boy.
Knighthood, as in the Old English cnihthad, had the meaning of
adolescence, that most intriguing period between childhood and manhood.
In this sense every boy is a knight, and in my estimation a potential
knight errant.

Copyright 2007  Crispin Emrys.  All Rights Reserved.

This series may be displayed on any website so long as no money is
charged for access and attribution is retained.  Just ask permission
first.  Thanks.

This project is dedicated
    to Guy Davenport, a gentle genius and unsurpassed writer of short
stories who died in 2005,
    to every Crispin and Zephyr in this or any other world,
    and to you the reader that you may be encouraged by it.

I am Crispin Emrys at crispinemrys@yahoo.com.   Feel free to contact me.
I always enjoy hearing from my readers.


Crispin and Zephyr
Part 1 - Crispin
Chapter 3 - Revised

San Francisco
February 1999

     Cris called Chipper that evening and they made plans to spend the
weekend together at her ocean cabin.  He would pick her up at her
houseboat mid morning the next day, Saturday.  Just the act of making
plans alone already made Cris feel better and a bit more relaxed.  A
weekend away from town was something to look forward to.  But, still
feeling a bit emotionally wound up between thinking of Robbie and Misha,
he grabbed a book of Rimbaud poems and read them until he grew too tired
to keep his eyes open.  The double scotch probably helped, too.

     The next morning, first thing after making a strong pot of Assam
tea, he called Alyosha.  They had a very long and pleasant chat.  It was
really good to hear the boy's voice again.  He sounded great, and was
obviously doing very well in Vermont.  Yet, Cris could sense in Alyosha's
voice the longing he had to be together again, one he felt as well.  But
he just could not commit himself to a visit.  Things were to unsettled
right now in his life.  Cris did suggest, however, that they would get
together sometime soon, maybe during the summer, or better yet, in the
fall when the leaves reach their glorious peak of color in that part of
New England.  The excitement in Alyosha's voice was evident.  Cris even
spoke with Annie briefly, who sounded very good, too.  Although he had
been somewhat apprehensive, Cris was glad that he had made the call.

     After some household chores Cris packed some clothes, hopped into
his pickup and drove over to Chipper's houseboat in Belvedere, a thirty
minute drive across the Golden Gate.  They sat  for a while on the back
deck of her houseboat looking out at the incredible view of the massive
orange bridge and the huge bay sipping gin tonics.  Because it was
already late morning when Cris had arrived, it was moving on to early
afternoon before they finally headed out.  They drove up the coast road
as far as Bolinas, where they stopped and had a marvelous late lunch at a
restaurant known for its outstanding seafood.  From there they drove to
Dillon Beach, a little town that had up to this point escaped the tourist
imprint, and turned off onto the dirt track that traversed the two miles
to Chipper's cabin.  It was close to five when finally drove up to the
isolated cabin situated above the steep, raggedly worn cliffs overlooking
Bodega Bay and the awesome Pacific Ocean.

     Late that evening, dressed warmly against the expected mist and fog,
they walked down to the small sandy beach in the lovely isolated cove,
which was accessible from the headlands above by a rugged fisherman's
trail known only to a few of the locals.  They built a fire out of drift
wood and spent a relaxing evening together surrounded by magnificent
ocean-carved rock formations, listening to the music of the crashing
waves of the incoming tide.   They talked over a bottle of wine and ate
bread and cheese and fruit.  In fact they talked until well into the
early morning hours.  By then the cold dampness of the fog had chilled
them both in spite of the fire which they had kept going until they ran
out of wood and the glowing bed of undulating white hot coals turned
first orange and then slowly to ash.

     On Sunday, after a leisurely brunch, which Cris cooked, they drove
back to the San Francisco by way of Napa's excellent wine producing
valley.  They visited a couple of Cris's favorite wineries and picked up
several cases of  merlot and  syrah, wines for which the area was most
famous.  Cris was excited that he was also able to purchase a few bottles
of sangiovese.  He liked this wine which he had first experienced when he
was in Italy.  Sangiovese, the ancient Tuscan grape, was beginning to
become more popular with the local vintners, and as a result they were
becoming increasingly skilled in its production, much to Cris's delight.

     When hanging out with Chipper Cris never felt he was under any
pressure because she knew exactly where he stood both with her and with
his own sexuality.  Not that she might have responded if he had pushed
things in that direction.  But that did not enter into the equation.
Their relationship, one that had started professionally and had grown
into a warm and trusting friendship over the years, never took that
turn.  They were good, good friends who could confide in each other
without fear or doubt.  Cris took full advantage of this opportunity to
share with this very experienced counselor about some of the things that
were troubling him.  Chipper, in her typical upbeat mood, and using her
very incisive intuition, was able to help Cris reframe what initially
looked dark and foreboding into something exciting, unwritten and
adventurous. He was willingly infected by her lucid optimism.

     During the weekend together Cris talked through much of what had
happed the previous couple of weeks, though as a professional therapist
and counselor, he was always careful to protect his clients
confidentiality and not give details and specifics.  Sometimes, this
meant speaking only in vague terms about some things and some clients.
At the same time, Chipper knew Robbie because he and Tanner had spent
quite a bit of time together at her cabin, especially during those last
months.  And, of course, she knew Misha and his mom and brother, because
they also happened to be her friends as well.   So it became an
opportunity for Cris to unwind and at the same time, consult with another
professional, and in so many words, get his head screwed back on
properly.

     By the time Cris had dropped Chipper off at her houseboat and drove
across the Golden Gate, around the downtown, through the Mission District
and up Bernal Heights to his home, he really was feeling refreshed and
renewed.  It being Sunday evening he did not bother to check his phone or
email messages before pouring himself a large glass of merlot and curling
up on the couch with a recently published collection of Guy Davenport
short stories.

     The next morning, after making a strong pot of English breakfast
tea, Cris was seated back at his desk preparing for the week ahead.  He
checked his calendar, opened and responded to email messages as needed,
then checked his phone messages.  There were several, mostly clients
confirming or changing appointments.  However, one was from his long time
friend Gwen Powell-Jones, asking Cris to call her office first thing
Monday morning.  This immediately set off Cris's thought processes, as
Gwen always has something very interesting up her high-powered
professional sleeve.  Obviously, it had been left over the weekend when
he was out.  Typical of Gwen to be working on a weekend.

     Dr. Gwendolyn Powell-Jones was a highly respected and successful
Welsh developmental psychologist.  She was internationally recognized as
an expert on early adolescence, those most challenging formative years
that set the stage for further adolescent development.  She had spent
most of her career addressing ways to bring long overdue reforms to
schools.  And not just bandaid changes, but real structural changes that
would prove meaningful to students, as they, that is the kids, were
always her primary concern.  Her career had taken her to from the UK to
Continental Europe, stints with the United Nations, and finally to the
United States.  She was a woman of action and could be very intimidating
when facing down some of the stalwart educational and political
bureaucrats who disapproved of nearly any constructive deviation from
their well-ordered plans, or any attempt to usurp their pockets of
authority. But she rarely took no for an answer or lost a substantive
battle, and usually got exactly what she wanted through a combination of
charm, patience, moxie and brilliance.

     Gwen was now an associate superintendent in Boulder, Colorado,
having moved there about five years ago from San Francisco.  Although she
and Cris had first met when he was working on a youth rights project in
Wales in 1980, it was during her time in San Francisco that she and Cris
had become very close colleagues and very good friends.  And it was
during that time in the Wales and England that Cris and Cully, Gwen's
only child, had also become very close.  He hadn't seen Gwen in a couple
of  years, and even his communications with her had become pretty
infrequent over that time.  When Cris and Gwen did keep up with each
other's doings, it was usually by way of Cullen, who was now living in
New York.  Cris and Cully still communicated somewhat regularly and Cris
had made a few trips to New York to visit him, the last being about a
year ago.  In fact he and Misha had stayed with Cully several years ago
on their summer visit.

     Cris took a sip of tea and furrowed his brow, all the while
pondering what this could all be about.  He was still feeling that there
was some major change for him on the immediate horizon, and he had that
gut feeling that Gwen was a significant part of it.  As Cris dialed her
number, he thought to himself, 'most likely some project Gwen is cooking
up and wants to involve me in it.  I will have to be careful not to make
any commitments without giving it some thought.  Boy, she can be so
incredibly persuasive.'

     "Good morning, Dr. Powell-Jones's office, may I help you,"
answered the pleasant male voice.

     "Yes, thank you.  I am Crispin Wyndham.  Dr. Powell-Jones had left
me a message asking that I phone her back."

     "Oh, Dr. Wyndham, yes, of course.  She was hoping you would be able
to return her call this morning.  Please hold the line while I transfer
your call."  The phone went dead for a few seconds.

     "Cris," sang the very Welsh-English accented voice warmly into
Crispin's ear.  "It was dear of you to call me right back.  Thanks ever
so much."

     Cris smiled.  "Gwen, how the hell are you doing there in frigid
Colorado?  I haven't heard from you in ages."

     It was Powell-Jones who, years ago as an educational administrator
first in San Francisco and later in Oakland and Berkeley, had coaxed Cris
into becoming involved with students who in today's parlance would be
stereotyped as "extremely high risk".  Together they had created what
was at the time and may still be one of the most innovative and
successful programs for early adolescent boys anywhere in the English
speaking world.

     "I am fine, thank you for asking, Cris.  And Colorado is so very
beautiful.  I don't really mind the weather, though we have more snow
here than in the UK.  But here the winter cold is so much drier.  It
doesn't get into your bones like it does back home in Wales and England.
But I do miss San Francisco and I miss you awfully, Cris.  You hardly
keep in touch, you know.  Whatever I do hear is when Cully passes on some
tidbit of information."

     "I'm sorry, Gwen.  But you know me, I'm a terrible letter writer
and never get around to sending out Christmas cards, and find it easier
to travel to New York than Colorado.  Actually, I haven't heard from
Cully in a few months.  How's he doing?"

     "Terrific, as always.  And, of course, we have you to thank for
that.  His Internet service is booming and he has that adorable boyfriend
of his, you know who I mean.  They finally moved out of Brooklyn into a
lovely loft in the East Village."

     "That's really great," Cris was able to interject before Gwen went
on, full steam ahead.

     She was on a roll now and was one who liked to get to the point
without dallying.  "But let me tell you why I wanted to speak with you.
I want you to come out for a visit.  Since I arrived here I have been
working to develop a program like the one you and I started.  Finally, I
have the received full backing from both the school board and my fellow
administrators to proceed with a pilot project that targets middle
schoolers.  I am so overjoyed.  However, there is one thing that is
missing:  someone to pioneer it and make it operational for the first few
of years.  I was hoping you could be persuaded to do that, or at least
consider it.  That is why I am asking you to come for a visit."

     As Gwen was explaining this, Cris sensed the timing of it all.  It
was clear to him that this could be the change that he had sensed earlier
in the weekend.  Here was an opportunity to become involved with
something he really enjoyed and was quite gifted in doing, working with
someone he knew well, and at the same time get away from San Francisco.
He had lived in the Bay Area on and off since the early 70s and full time
since returning from Europe in the mid 80s.  Maybe it was time for a
change of location.

     Cris and Gwen talked for some time.  Cris listened as Gwen explained
the parameters of the pilot project and what she thought his role would
be, should he agree to do it, of course.  She was very excited about this
scheme, as she called the project using the English variation for the
term, which usually carried a very negative connotation in American
English.  And Cris knew that she was true to her word when she said she
had the necessary support to begin and sustain it.  If nothing else, Cris
thought, a visit to Colorado would be a good opportunity to get out of
town for a little while, sort of like a mini vacation.  Visiting Gwen,
seeing what she was up to, maybe even offering some advise on the
program, would be a good break from things here.  He needed some space to
think through what was happening to him, to get things back into
perspective.  He was even open to taking her up on this offer, although
he certainly did not intend to say or even hint that he would at this
point.

     Gwen concluded, " I know you can't make a decision about visiting
on the spur of the moment, my dear.  But, would you please just agree to
think about it for a week or so, then call me back?  I am really hoping
that you could come for a visit anyway.  It will give us a chance to
catch up on old times."

     How could Cris say no.  "Sure, Gwen, I will give it some thought
and get back with you as soon as I make up my mind one way or the
other."

     "Cris, you are such a dear.  I knew you would."  Cris could tell
from her tone that Gwen was more than pleased.  "Well, I really must be
ringing off.  I look forward to hearing from you my dear very soon.
Ciao!" and the phone line went dead.  Typical Gwen.