Date: Wed, 12 Sep 2007 16:08:26 +0200
From: dino alpacino <dinoalpacino@gmail.com>
Subject: In the still of the night-Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual contact
between men. If it is not legal in your community to read such contents
then you should move.



This story is set in the 1930's. It's based on the accounts of a boy named
Dylan. During WWII, he got wounded on his tour of duty in occupied Europe.
My grandmother was a nurse for the Belgian Red Cross at that time and her
family offered their house to the Allied Forces to station wounded
soldiers. From her stories I deduce they had about twelve visitors during
their little hospital endeavor. Canadian, British and American soldiers
accepted their hospitality and care. This summer I was helping my
grandmother with cleaning the attic when she stumbled upon a box. It was
filled with pictures and letters from that time of which she had always so
fondly told me about. Familiar with every of her wartime memories I was
intrigued to see the faces of these men. One of them struck me, I can't
really explain why. I just knew there was something about this guy. So when
I asked my grandmother who he was, she smiled and told me we better go get
a cup of tea.

While I was sipping a cup of Earl Grey she rummaged through a cabinet and
came up with a leatherbound journal. In an almost ceremonial way she handed
it over and told me she had meant to give this to me ever since I came
out. Surprised and somewhat puzzled what this had to do with my being gay I
took the journal. I opened it and a picture fell out. Two guys, one light
and the other darkhaired, with their arms around each others shoulders
smiled at me. On the back it read: 'me and Thomas, 1937, Newbourn College'.

No further questions were answered, I was told to read it. And with a
little giggle she added that it wasn't meant for the eyes of a Catholic
girl like herself.

It contained his written memories of a happier time, long before he was
sent to fight for his country and mine. During his long weeks in one of my
grandmothers hospital cots he had written so he wouldn't forget, or
wouldn't be forgotten. I don't know, all that matters is that he did. After
reading the journal I decided to paraphrase it, bring it back to life. It is
a story of another time, another mentality but still very familiar to all
of us, I believe.



Chapter 1 : A new breeze



The wind passing through the window of the cab was refreshing and I closed
my eyes. After almost an entire day on the train to New England I had
gotten tired and sweaty. Early September was unusually warm, and not at all
what I was used to from growing up in Chicago. I missed the cool wind from
the lakes, but with my eyes closed I imagined sitting on the deck of our
sailing boat, cutting through water and wind. My reverie was abruptly put
to a halt by the drivers rough stop. I heard the gravel under the tires and
I lunged forward.

'Sorry sir. Here we are, Newbourn College.'

'Thank you driver. What do I owe you?'

'Two dollars fifty cent sir.'

I gave him an extra dollar, as I usually did. I've always been a generous
tipper. It must have something to do with my feeling embarassed in the
company of blue collars. My father said it was nonsense, it is the way the
world works. But still, being a rich and spoiled child often made me
uncomfortable when dealing with people who worked hard for very little
money. The driver offered to carry my bags for me, which I declined. I
could carry my own. And besides, I didn't have a clue where it was I needed
to be.

I walked up to the Administrations Office, bags in hand.





After a lot of form filling and with a stash of introduction leaflets I
went to look for my dormitory. The campus was quite beautiful, old
buildings, large lawns and magnificent trees. The oaks and maples had just
turned color and the sweet scent of late summer flowers was in the air. I
passed the first dormitory, Evans Hall. A string of girls walked by me, led
by a stern looking woman. I nodded a friendly goodevening to them. Some
replied with a courteous nod, others blushed and smiled and some even
looked away. My brother had slapped me on the shoulder and winked lewdly at
me when he found out I would be attending a coed college. My mother had
pressed upon me to behave like the gentleman she had raised me, and my
father had joked not to make him a grandfather. But he had given me a look
that told me he was deadly serious.

Some lecture halls, the library, the cafeteria and then the mens
dormitories. They surely gone through some trouble keeping the men and
women as far apart as possible. Not that it would be of much difference, I
gathered. Young and suddenly released of parental bounds as we all were,
distance would have no effect on romance. Or whatever we were looking
for...





My dorm, Barstow Hall was the smallest of four. It was three stories high
and housed only eighty residents. The key read 23, so I presumed I would
find my room on groundlevel. The halls were fairly quiet, just some guys
milling around. Most people would have arrived at noon, and it was already
six o'clock. Finding a door with the number 23, I put down my bags and the
key in the lock. This would be it, for the next five years I would spend my
time here. Away from home. It excited and scared me at the same time. Not
being one to contemplate to no end I opened the door. The room was
beautiful. Hardwood floors, large windows, a fireplace. And a roommate.

On one of the beds lay a blond boy, reading. He looked up from his
book. Sharp features, smartly dressed. 'Arrived at last, I see.' He spoke
with an elegant British accent.

'Edward, Edward Buntings, ever so pleased to meet you.'

'Dylan O'Keafe, likewise.'

'Hm, Irish.'

'Not a problem I hope?' I asked remembering how delicate a subject it still
was with the British, even fifteen years after Easter Rising.

'Not at all, Erin Go Bragh.'

'You speak Gaelic?' I asked surprised.

'Hardly. I've read a book on Connely, that's all.'

'Neither do I, born here in the States.'

'One can gather as much.'

I didn't know how to respond to his slight demeanor. So I chose not to.

'I've taken the liberty to claim this side of the room. I can't stand
waking up with the sun on my face you see.'

'Excellent, I can.' I replied, playfully starting a little competition. To
no avail. Edward returned to his book.  I wasn't really used to such snubby
behavior. My family was well off, but we weren't exactly Lords and
Ladies. I was taught to be respectful, courteous and mannered. But I was
also used to being in at-ease athmosphere. Even when my father had a dinner
party for business associates we all behaved just like we would have on any
other eavening. I hoped Edward would loosen up a bit. I unpacked and
started to organise my things on my part of the room. Not that I had all
that much with me. Enough clothes to last me through the first semester,
pens, paper, books and my violin. I got down on my hands and knees to shove
my suitcases under the bed. There was a full length mirror on the closet
next to my bed. As I looked up, I caught Edward looking at me. I didn't
think much of it, but the question why he seemed to pay attention to me now
and not before flashed through my head.

'Are you a fiddler?' he asked.

Glad he seemed to want to make conversation I got up and sat on my bed,
facing him.

'I've been playing since I was seven, but only really started taking an
interest to it last year.'

'What, since you dicovered the pleasure of drunken nights of ale and folk
songs?'

Jesus, this guy was a handful. 'I'm more into gypsy and klezmer, actually.'

'How original for an Irish Lad.'

'Do you play?'

'Well, if you must know. I used to play the clarinet. But'

'...since it got lodged so far up your arse the interest waned?' I finished
for him.

He looked at me tightlipped and squinted his eyes and then burst out in a
laughing fit.

'You're allright O'Keafe. I can be somewhat of an ass sometimes.'

'It works for you, keep it up.'

'Thank you, I have no intention of letting it go. Have you eaten yet?'

'No, I'm starving.'

'Let's go out for dinner then. The lovely hollow of Newbourn has some grand
bistro's.' he said sarcastically.



As it turned out, Newbourn had quite some bars and diners. Like most
college towns, it thrived during the academical year and was a ghost town
during summer. Edward rolled his eyes at every diner, so I chose one. One
of few to have outside tables. It was still warm out and I planned to make
as much of the late sumer night as I could.

'Eating al fresco, how very bucolian of you.'

'It's not like a countryside picnic, Mylord. But it's the closest thing
we've got.'

'Oh well, the countryside is overrated. And this is rather
Continental. It'll have to make up for the food. Or whatever they're going
to pass as it.'

I ordered spaghetti and meatballs and a milkshake. Edward just pointed at
something on the menu with a big sigh, making a show of his disdain.

'Edward, for God's sake.'

'What?'

I just shook my head and fished a cigarette out my almost empty pack.

'Delightful, something we have in common.' He cheered and took a silver
cigarette case from his pocket.

'Thank God, this will get us through the year, for lack of better interests
to share.' I laughed. Strange as it was, despite all his irritable
mannerisms and endless ennui, I felt at ease with him.

'Oh but we have some other things we share, my friend.'

'Such as?'

'All in good time, Mister O'Keafe.'

I was puzzled but decided to find some common traits and started the
Q&A. 'So tell me, which courses are you taking?'

'I plan on Philosophy and Sciences.'

'Impressive. Literature and Art History for me.'

'Oh the plebeian has come to cultivate himself.' He said dejectedly, but a
I was starting to get used to it. I even heard an undertone of friendly
jest, though that may have been wishful thinking on my behalf.

'This hoi polloi has taken an interest to the Arts, beyond all reasonable
expectations of his mudmingled lineage. Your Grace.'

'There you go.' He said delighted, 'You've got our dynamic just right.'

The waitress put our food on the table. My spaghetti smelled delicious,
though I must admit the presentation left something to be desired.

'What's this?' Edward asked our waitress.

'It's a hamburger honey. Just like you ordered, so don't give me any
flack.' She turned on her heels and sighed, 'Damned little brats.'

I struggled to keep a straight face as Edward studied the plate. 'I guess I
won't be needing those.' He said looking at the cutlery. 'Ah well, when in
Rome...'

I munched down my food, hungry as I was. Decorum be damned. So did
Edward. You can put up as much of a faŤade as you want, a hungry 19 year
old is what he is.

'Enjoyed it anyway, by the looks of it.' The waitress smirked, 'there's a
little ketchup on you face. Your Majesty.'

'I did. Must have been your enthused service.'

'Well we aim to please.' She smiled half-heartedly.

'No seriously. I like you...' he peered at the name tag an her breast,
'Doris. You remind me of the maid.'

'Don't get any ideas buster. Tips are mandatory.'

'If you scurry on back with two coffees, who knows...'

I just sighed and said, 'It was lovely, thank you.'

'Oh don't spoil her, before you know it they'll come begging for scraps at
the table.'

'You're a piece of work, you know that?' I said.

'Oh please O'Keafe. You're not a bolchevic are you?'

'So, are you joining a team?'

'A team?'

'You know, sports?'

He laughed loudly and lit a cigarette. 'You're quite the joker. Boys like
me don't do sports, my Irish Setter.'

'What, Brits?'

'Yes, Brits.' He chuckled. The joke was lost on me. 'You do then?'

'Yes, I'm a rower. Try-outs tomorrow by the way.'

'Figures.' He mused.

'What now?' I asked, expecting another derogatory jest.

'The broad shoulders, small waist.'

'Oh.' I suddenly became very selfconscious, in my shirt that was a bit too
small. My mother had insisted on buying me new ones. But I liked these.

'Don't act all shy now O'Keafe. You've got a very nice physique. Doesn't he
Doris?' He asked her as she set our coffees down.

She took a look at me, while the blood rushed to my head, and smiled. 'Sure
does, if I weren't a married woman...' That comment kept the blood up high
and my face beet red.

They shared a laugh and Edward slipped her a dollar bill. 'For your kind
service, love.'



I took of my shirt and put it on a hanger. Shoes under the bed, pants
neatly folded. I had taken the resolution of keeping tidy, not my point
fort. But necessary when sharing a room, I thought.

'Dylan, would you mind playing a tune for me?' That was the first time all
evening he'd used my first name. Instead of my last, or another smart Irish
refrence.

'In my underwear?' I laughed.

'What's the difference?'

'Well, none. It's usually the other way around though.'

'What?' he asked, suddenly very piqued.

'You know, imagining the audience in their underwear.'

'Oh right. So, would you?'

'Of course not. What do you want to hear?'

'Whatever you see fit.' He said and leaned back against the wall, lighting
a cigarette.

I took the violin out of its case and tuned it. The wood felt cold to my
chest and neck as I put it in position. I felt my nipples harden and a wave
of goose bumps washed over me.

Closing my eyes I put the bow on the strings and started the fluid
movements of Dvorak.

The music flowed through me, and in my head I heard the orchestra. I forgot
all about being in my underwear and swayed with the music. I didn't play
long though, it had been a while since I'd played anything classical and I
wasn't a hundred percent sure how to play the next part. As I looked back
up, Edward had a distant look on his face but his eyes were glued to me.

'That was uhm, God sorry for calling you a fiddler earlier.'

I laughed shyly. 'That's okay, I like fiddling better that these classics.'

'Then why didn't you?'

'I wouldn't be able to stop, and it's about time for bed, right?'

'Hm, yes. I'm going for a quick shower first.'

I crawled into bed. Edward sure was strange. Keeping up this high and
mighty appearance and the next thing you know he seemed so dazed. Well, I
would figure him out. There would be plenty of time.