Archive for February, 2006
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I’ve only had to don the burqa once when in Damascus to go into a particular Shiite Mosque and didn’t like it very much, but I’m not going to tell someone they can’t wear it. I think the PM would love to but knows that trying to ban what people can wear would not be worth the trouble it would cause.
Howard wants to see the back of burqa
By Farah Farouque
February 28, 2006
WHEN she steps out, Zeenath, 21, always dons her burqa. It’s a voluminous black garment that covers her from head to toe.
Is she oppressed? And do others find her appearance confronting?
These are big questions that are once again resonating in Australian politics. Prime Minister John Howard weighed in yesterday with a quick sartorial assessment while riffing on John Laws’ radio show.
While he wasn’t contemplating the “Paris option” — legislating against Muslim headscarves in schools, which is what some coalition colleagues have advocated — Mr Howard said he found “the whole outfit” problematic .
“I don’t mind the headscarf, but it’s really the whole outfit,” he said. “I think most Australians would find it confronting.”
Warming to his theme, he said: “Now, that is not meant disrespectfully to Muslims, because most Muslim women — a great majority of them in Australia — don’t even wear headscarves and very few of them wear the full garb.”
In her “full garb” yesterday, Zeenath, a computer science student recently arrived from Bangladesh, was occupied with more mundane matters — like shopping for new clothes at the Sydney Road emporium, Emaan: Islamic Garments. Here, they do a roaring trade in a rainbow of scarves (“the pink is the hottest, we sell a lot to the young,” said proprietor Zurlia). One garment it doesn’t carry is the burqa. “We don’t get a lot of requests.”
Her daughter, Fauzia, 19, a Melbourne University student who wears the headscarf, was disappointed by the PM’s entry into what she believes is the marginal issue of the burqa-wearers in a diverse Australian Muslim community.
“Why did Mr Howard bring that up? It’s not helpful at all for the Muslim community,” she said. “It’s a free country, you can (wear) clothes that show off your midriff and you can cover yourself.”
There is a hugely trivial debate going on about conservative Muslim women’s dress, according to Hanifa Deen, author of Caravanserai: Journey Among Australian Muslims.
Deen, a third-generation Australian of Muslim-Pakistani ancestry asks: “Why is what Muslim women wear so fascinating for Australian men? It’s a 19th-century Orientalism — fascination with the exotic. In Australia, it comes down to choice: Australia is not like Afghanistan, where women have no choice.”
Eva Cox, founder of the Women’s Electoral Lobby, said: “I find it equally confronting when I see a woman in bra-top and tight knickers, gut hanging out. Blokes too, when their gut is out.”
She said Mr Howard was playing “dog-whistle politics” again. “He is saying you can’t really be an Australian unless you talk like us and dress like us,” she said.
And what does Zeenath, in her burqa, think? Mystified by the hullabaloo over her outer garments, she said: “Australia’s quite a nice place.”
Man forced to marry goat
Posted in Uncategorized on February 27, 2006| 7 Comments »
I think this is a much more humane approach than the Royal Navy’s response to man-goat love*g* –
Man forced to marry goat
From: From correspondents in Malakal, Sudan
February 27, 2006
A MAN caught “in flagrante delicto” with a goat has been forced to marry the animal.
Goat … identity of the victim cannot be revealed
According to the local newspaper, The Juba Post, the goat’s owner, a Mr Alifi, caught his neighbour, Mr Tombe, assaulting his goat and reported the man to the local council of elders for adjudication.
“It was around midnight when Tombe came to do his nonsense on my goat, and I was already in bed inside my house,” Mr Alifi said.
“Suddenly I heard the goat make a loud noise. Immediately I rushed outside to find Mr Tombe was naked and engaged in a relationship with my goat. ” When I asked him what are you doing there, he fell off the back of the goat, so I captured and tied him up. They said I should not take him to the police, but rather let him pay a dowry for my goat because he used it as his wife.”
Mr Tombe agreed to pay a dowry of 150,000 Sudanese dinars ($125) for his new spouse.
“We have given him the goat, and as far as we know they are still together,” Mr Alifi told the Post.
But I’m not sure the goat would think so.
Man forced to marry goat
Posted in Uncategorized on February 27, 2006| 7 Comments »
I think this is a much more humane approach than the Royal Navy’s response to man-goat love*g* –
Man forced to marry goat
From: From correspondents in Malakal, Sudan
February 27, 2006
A MAN caught “in flagrante delicto” with a goat has been forced to marry the animal.
Goat … identity of the victim cannot be revealed
According to the local newspaper, The Juba Post, the goat’s owner, a Mr Alifi, caught his neighbour, Mr Tombe, assaulting his goat and reported the man to the local council of elders for adjudication.
“It was around midnight when Tombe came to do his nonsense on my goat, and I was already in bed inside my house,” Mr Alifi said.
“Suddenly I heard the goat make a loud noise. Immediately I rushed outside to find Mr Tombe was naked and engaged in a relationship with my goat. ” When I asked him what are you doing there, he fell off the back of the goat, so I captured and tied him up. They said I should not take him to the police, but rather let him pay a dowry for my goat because he used it as his wife.”
Mr Tombe agreed to pay a dowry of 150,000 Sudanese dinars ($125) for his new spouse.
“We have given him the goat, and as far as we know they are still together,” Mr Alifi told the Post.
But I’m not sure the goat would think so.
Copied from tenderberry
Posted in Uncategorized on February 27, 2006| 4 Comments »
You scored as Mystic. You are a Mystic. Practical magic isn’t really your thing; you much prefer to take the inner roads to self-development and spiritual evolution. You find ecstasy in meditative silence and commune with the divine without aid of any church or religious leader to guide you. You will seek the light of heaven in your own way, even if that way is not apparent to the casual observer.
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What Subversive Alternative Paradigm Are You?
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A Mystic?? Me???
Copied from <lj user = “tenderberry”>
Posted in Uncategorized on February 27, 2006| 2 Comments »
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You scored as Mystic. You are a Mystic. Practical magic isn’t really your thing; you much prefer to take the inner roads to self-development and spiritual evolution. You find ecstasy in meditative silence and commune with the divine without aid of any church or religious leader to guide you. You will seek the light of heaven in your own way, even if that way is not apparent to the casual observer.
What Subversive Alternative Paradigm Are You? |
A Mystic?? Me???
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It’s a pity that the PM and the Treasurer seem to want to spend all their time demonising the whole Muslim community by using the opinions and actions of a small group of extremists and a criminal element (that exists in all communities). Interesting piece by Nabila Ahmed a staff writer for The Age –
Do moderate Muslims get a say, or are we all terrorists?
By Nabila Ahmed
February 27, 2006
It was a Sunday afternoon earlier this summer and Dad and my brothers had just returned home from the cricket.
As Mum laid out a late lunch of halal sausages and salad amid the cacophony of sport on the television and the boys’ excited chatter about the cricket, Dad had a warning for the kids. “Don’t tell anyone you are Muslim. These are not good times.”
It was an odd time for such a sombre remark but he had spent the morning reading about the Howard Government’s anti-terrorism legislation.
It was exactly what he had said to me on the phone when I was in London shortly after establishing that my sister and I were safe from the tube bombings on July 7 last year. On both occasions, we dismissed his concerns as just another case of the paranoid parent syndrome, to which our strict parents seemed more susceptible than others. But what have we done wrong?
Reading Treasurer Peter Costello’s speech on Friday, I began to think that maybe Dad was right. Maybe it is not such a good idea to identify myself as a Muslim. Aren’t they all terrorists? Don’t they all want sharia law to replace this country’s constitution? Aren’t they just preparing to take over Australia? The truth is that we are no different to any other Australians. Mum shops at the same shopping centre as our Christian neighbours, and Dad takes my brothers to the Boxing Day Test. Weekends are dominated by family and sport. We follow the same laws as everyone else. We are even familiar with the concept of a democracy, having come from Bangladesh, a Muslim country that is not only democratic but enlightened enough to have a female prime minister and a female opposition leader.
Costello and his friends have forgotten that it is only a tiny minority of Muslims who have extreme views. Why should the rest of us stand accused as well?
As a moderate Muslim I was dismayed and sickened by Costello’s comments. How long are we supposed to put up with this Government’s breathtaking demonisation of Muslims and immigrants?
This is not the Australia we imagined when we arrived here 15 years ago. My dad, a mechanical engineer, had applied to migrate here for his four children and their education. We were comfortably ensconced in our typically middle-class lives in Dhaka, but my parents wanted to give their children a chance at better, Western education.
They believed that Australia, with its reputation as a free, egalitarian country, could provide this better than England or America, where Dad’s brother had moved with his family.
It was difficult for a young family to make the move to a country where we knew only one other family, where, apart from my father, we did not speak the language and where everything seemed so quiet and foreign compared to bustling, bursting Dhaka. Dad found a job, Mum, who had been accustomed to servants, learned to cook and clean and my sister and I made new friends.
Often there was conflict between our old lives and values and our new environment. Dad liked his daughters to dress modestly, Mum wanted her boys to appreciate her food rather than hanker for meat pies and hot chips. It was confronting for my parents when I decided to become a sports journalist and work not only in a male-dominated field but also in a job where hours are regularly irregular and there is constant travel on my own.
But in this new country, we learned new ways and adapted the old. I moved out of home but spent at least two nights a week with my family. I met a blue-eyed Australian boy, who loves my mother’s cooking and my parents have welcomed him into our family. Mum still prays five times a day but she also runs a family day-care service from her house. My now teenage brothers learned to like curries and are also excelling at school and cricket. When my sister became ill last year, we battled with the bumbling health system just like anybody else.
Unlike most other Australians though, we are also Muslims. But Mr Costello does not seem interested in hearing from people like me and my family.
Why is it that he and his government pay more attention to the voices of a hateful minority than people like me?
Of course, people who do not obey the laws of this country, regardless of their religion, should be dealt with in the appropriate manner The Government can even kick them out of the country. But please remember that Australia is my country too and not all of us are terrorists.
Nabila Ahmed is a staff writer.
Protected: A Known Deformity
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged a known deformity, Fic on February 26, 2006|
A Known Deformity
Posted in Uncategorized on February 26, 2006| Leave a Comment »
Title: A Known Deformity
Characters: Stephen, Jack
Rating: G
Spoilers: The Surgeon’s Mate
Disclaimer: Characters borrowed from Patrick O’Brian & his heirs on a non-profit basis
A Known Deformity
The packet, Diligence sped across the broad, high rollers of the North Atlantic on its way to Portsmouth to bring the most welcome news of victory at sea. The news of the defeat and capture of the USS Chesapeake by the gallant officers and crew of the Shannon would be a tonic to the Royal Navy and to the public of England. For both had been made despondent by the string of losses inflicted by the infant navy of the United States over this last year. On receipt of these glad tidings, the pride of the Royal Navy would be restored and the confidence of the people of Britain renewed in their Naval Heroes. Along with the despatches the packet carried three additional passengers all witnesses and participants in the battle, but only one would be considered a Naval Hero by the general populace and he stood on the deck beside the commander of the packet, revelling in the speed of the little craft as she was pushed ever easterly and home by this glorious wind.
Jack was soaked to the skin, his yellow hair plastered to his skull. His injured arm had begun to ache a little from the cold but he stood on, buoyed by the speed and the thoughts of home and of Sophie and his children, feeling he had enough of confinement and restriction these last few months and wanting to experience the exhilaration that could only be found on a flyer like the Diligence and all that was to be experienced of his natural home, the sea. He laughed and clapped Captain Dalgleish’s shoulder, “We’re home and free now. Not long before we’ll reach The Channel now with this southeaster.”
The older man nodded his agreement, “Yes that old fox Mr Henry and his Liberty have pushed us so far and fast, tomorrow or the next day we’ll be in the Channel, if the wind don’t change.”
The other passengers were below, Diana, semi-conscious, totally prostrated by her seasickness. She had relapsed once the excitement and danger of recapture had passed, still clasping the jewel box with the Blue Peter to her breast. Stephen, who had spent the night attending her, lay in his cot reviewing the last few weeks of freedom, literal freedom for himself and Jack and freedom from the ache of loving and desiring Diana. Now he must face his life without that which had been one of the mainsprings of his life, his love for her, this love that had driven him to obsessively pursue Diana, hoping against all reason to win her hand and her heart. He tsked in disgust with himself and turned on his side in the cot muttering, “Yet I continue with this folly, still pressing her to marry me. Is the habit of wanting her so ingrained in my being? The desire to possess her so strong in me that after my love has died for her, like some kind of automaton I blindly plod on, my course pre-determined and unchangeable. Am I no better than all those other men who have used her and wished to possess her for her grace and beauty? What deformity, what canker resides in me that I persist on this course?”
His thoughts ran on, unvoiced, ‘Am I just like that scrub, Archbold in Halifax? An evil creature who deprived of his arrest then sought to sell Diana and me to Johnson. I saw the way he looked at her at the ball. He wanted her and when he couldn’t have her, he would sell her life and mine to that monster, Johnson. No I’m nothing like that creature. I wonder how much he was paid for that piece of information by the Americans. I must ensure that Beck is made aware of our pursuers through the correct channels, inform him of the traitorous dog working for him. Yet Beck and every other person I have known that has worked in intelligence seem similarly blighted with the marks of what? At the time I reflected that he was a strange misshapen creature who had the look of a man who fitted nowhere. Do I belong anywhere? My heart and soul is with Catalonia, my mind with Britain in its fight against the godless tyrant and Ireland, no …. No I don’t think she will ever be my home again.’ He sighed and turned on to his back, restless, his mind churning and churning, as ever and longing for just a tint of laudanum to still the ever-present tumult of thoughts and feelings ripping through his mind, keeping him awake when all he longed for was the blankness, the emptiness of sleep.
He nodded and continued with his thoughts, ‘Yes with all of us there is a certain degree of coldness, our relations with others always at a distance as we calculate every utterance, every response, nothing spontaneous and always on guard. So we are always separate from others, alone, trapped in the need to conceal. Yet how I long to break out of this self-imposed prison, this isolation. I long to tell Diana all, but of course I cannot. Only with Jack can I truly be open and even with him there are still so many self-imposed restrictions. It would not do to worry him unnecessarily by telling him of all my doings, for he does worry so whenever he knows that I am to go into action.’ He snorted with disgust, ‘Yet there is little danger of that happening, my very nature is corrupted, not a word uttered or action made when it is to do with intelligence is unconsidered. There exists, inside me a voice warning, prohibiting, shrieking disapproval whenever the temptation to confide my worries or thoughts about a situation or to confide my fears. Yes and that is gone too, that fearlessness that once I possessed. Has the torture and degradation of my body I experienced in Mahon broken my courage too? If I had been captured and returned to Johnson would I have submitted to his demands, given up my integrity, my all to avoid torture? I don’t know …. But then when I was starting out in this profession I had no fear. I possessed the fearlessness of those who already felt themselves condemned. I had no care for my life then, but now … Why should I care? All my feelings for Diana seem to have died. The occasional flutter around my heart, a brief reminder of what once existed is all that remains. What have I to live for? There is Jack, but Jack is going home to his dear Sophie. I cannot expect … and yet part of me longs for that intimacy, that closeness we have shared in these last few years … sometime he too looks at me …. A questioning look of timidity, unnatural for a being of such candour and courage as Jack, is sometime there on his face. I see it, quite clearly. Does he still want me? Want me more than a shipmate, a friend? With him I could belong … I do feel I belong. In the music we play together and in his arms, yes to renew those intimacies that would surely be enough, enough for me to continue. Only then would this loneliness that’s eating me away inside would stop suffocating me. Yes perhaps that is it the defect, the fault that lies in us all … the fear of this loneliness and the greater fear that in desperation one day we would break and confess all, sick to death of the secrecy, the deceit and risking death even as the price for just one decent and honest exchange with another. Is it a type of madness? Yes the desperation grows in me, how long will I last before it grows too strong? And if it were possible, is Jack the remedy, the one thing, the one being who will bring surcease to this agony? How has Sir Joseph survived all these years? Perhaps that is why he is a confirmed bachelor for maybe it is that he too could not stomach a marriage where there is no true honesty, no opening of heart and mind to one’s partner. Is that all I can look forward to, a sterile, lonely existence, forever separated from the ones I love?’ Again he sighed and turned on his stomach burying his face into the thin pillow of the cot, in an attempt to squelch the desire to weep which was welling up in him stronger and stronger.
At last through sheer exhaustion of spirit he slipped into a slumber, a slumber disturbed by dreams, phantasms of all his fears and insecurities. Stephen’s head was moving side to side, the tears that were not shed when conscious now streamed down his face in sleep. During a lull in the nightmares when Stephen’s body and head were still, Jack stepped into the cabin and looked down upon his sleeping friend, examining his face and he too felt a longing to breech the separation between them. He hurriedly looked around to see that the deck was clear and bent to gently kiss Stephen’s lips. He then turned and would have gone out again and stopped when he heard the muffled sounds of the newly building distress from his friend entrapped in nightmare figures yet again. He hurriedly returned to his friend’s side and bent down, cupping his cheek and then lightly touched his brow, crooning softly to him, and then began a slow caressing movement of his other hand of his right shoulder and down Stephen’s right arm and then whispering across his chest to begin caressing his left shoulder. Under Jack’s ministrations Stephen calmed and he snuggled his cheek against Jack’s hand and slipped into a calm and deep sleep, the bodily exhaustion and the comfort of Jack’s touch sending him deep down. Jack smiled briefly, a little sadly and whispered in Stephen’s ear, “My dear if only I could ease all your pains so simply. Will we ever touch and love again? How I want you my dear Stephen.” He heard Diana’s light footfalls as they approached the canvas shield surrounding Stephen’s cot and Jack stood up to his full height, regretfully withdrawing his hands and looking down with such love at his dear friend. He was not quick enough to hide that expression from Diana, a rather bedraggled Diana who noted it, bringing a quick smile to her lips.
“So, he’s asleep at last. He’s been awake with me most of these last nights when I felt so ill. Poor dear, he is exhausted and you look after him so well Jack. I hope you continue to do so for a long time.” She smiled wearily at his now confused expression.
He stammered, “I thought … well I had gathered from Stephen that you and he would be getting married.”
She smiled again and reaching up on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, “I don’t think so Jack. There is no reason on earth that even Stephen should want me now. I’m not that blind. At least he has you.” The little packet lurched again and the blood drained from her face, Diana cried out, “Oh God, I thought the worst was over …”
Jack turned and helped her back to her cot, “Come Diana back to your cot, you better lie down again. The wind should ease off a little in a few hours as the glass is rising and things should be calmer. Can I bring you something?”
“No Jack, I’ll just lie here. Nothing seems to work to stop this …. Please go Jack … I hate people seeing me like this.”
Jack nodded his head, touched her cheek lightly and walked forward to Captain Dalgleish’s cabin where he had been quartered. But it was many months later that Jack had a taste of that loneliness, a taste of Stephen’s life. The results of his foolishness with Amanda Smith had pursued him home. For many weeks after returning home he began to dread the appearance of the post, fearful of yet another letter from her full of silliness, hints and pleadings and all too obvious demands for funds. In the mean time Stephen had been away, first up in town and then across to Paris with Diana and Jack missed him so. The loneliness he now felt as he had to lie to Sophie and the deceptions he practised every day only disgusted and shamed him further. He was no good at deceit and his attempts at subterfuge and concealment were extremely distasteful to him. It was only then that he thought, ‘What of Stephen, the poor dear, is this how he feels all the time. This loneliness and the solitary life he must feel every day, cut off from his fellow man. No wonder his sleep is troubled. At least what lies he tells are for an honourable cause. What would he think of my damned behaviour these last few months, the behaviour of a scrub?’ As if his thoughts had called him Stephen appeared just five minutes later and Jack stuffed yet another of the ridiculous Miss Smith’s missives in his pocket and stepped forward to embrace his friend crying, “Stephen there you are. I had just been thinking of you not five minutes past? How do you do? How come you here? We had not looked for you this fortnight or more.” He held Stephen a little longer than was considered proper but did not care. They were safely away from prying eyes and the embrace was returned as Stephen briefly grazed his neck with his lips and then reluctantly pulled back.
They then turned towards the house, the thoughts of music and the comfort of conversation with Stephen foremost in Jack’s mind. His hopes were quickly dashed when Stephen told him that he was on the wing and asked him how he was situated. Jack looked at him for a long minute, tempted to tell him all his misery but he only told him that which could be considered honourable. He did not want to be seen by Stephen as a scrub, no that he certainly did not. Then Stephen as always offered him what he needed most, a ship, a ship to command. Jack beamed down at his very dear friend and was tempted to kiss him but only squeezed his upper arm tightly. The chance of someone seeing them too certain to risk it. Jack despite his relief sighed and thought, ‘Is this too, the love I have for this man to be a secret, hedged around with deception, oh Lord, pray it will not be so and yet it must be so.’
Stephen looked at him sharply, concerned at the fleeting look of despair on Jack’s face and held his hand, seeking to comfort, “My dear, what is wrong? How can I help?”
Jack’s face changed quickly to a smile as he squeezed Stephen’s hand, “Nothing now, my dear, you, as always make my life so much easier. Thank you my dear.” He bent quickly and kissed his cheek. Stephen smiled and continued on outlining the situation concerning Grimsholme and their mission.
Jack turned to Stephen and suggested that they should go up to town together. He had to go to Whitehall to enquire about the payment for the Waakzaamheid and that they should share a room at the Grapes, a secret hope welling that he might re-commence those intimacies with Stephen he had been longing for these last few weeks. From what Stephen had told him, Diana was staying in Paris for the moment, perhaps whatever she and Stephen had, had ended at last and there was a chance that Stephen needed some comfort, some pleasure even. Jack certainly knew that he did. With a shock he realised yet again he was venturing into dangerous waters, his desires for this man drawing him there. Yet another source of deception and of lies and things that must be concealed from Sophie. Jack was still musing on this in the carriage as they bowled along the turnpike road in the carriage. ‘Why does, what I did with Amanda Smith, seem to be a source of shame and what I desire to do with Stephen not? What I want with Stephen is illegal and considered infinitely more immoral than the foolishness of my behaviour with Miss Smith. No, the difference is that I love Stephen, she was just a… Oh God, I am a scrub, for even thinking it. She may even bear my child.’
Stephen had all this time been surreptitiously observing his friend, the frown clouding Jack’s usually happy, open smiling face. He touched Jack’s arm, “Joy, what frets you so? There is no profit in worrying over your financial and legal problems. Leave that to Mr Skinner and your lawyers. I’m sure they will be able to confound the machinations of the despicable Kimber.”
At Stephen’s touch, all resolve not to tell him of Miss Smith folded and he abjectly confessed the true source of his worries and ended with … “You need not tell me that I’m a scrub Stephen; I know it very well.”
Stephen’s expression did not look promising and he replied a little snappishly, “I am not concerned with the moral issue but rather with what may be usefully done.”
Jack felt a surge of love for this man beside him. ‘Even now when I’ve admitted what a craven and foolish wretch I’ve been, he still wants to help me.’ The insistent longing to touch him rose yet again, but this was quickly squashed by their rather acerbic conversation concerning his actions and those of Miss Smith. Stephen’s distrust of Miss Smith, the imputations he made concerning her behaviour and his cynicism angered Jack somewhat but in the end he felt a hypocrite and diverted the conversation as soon as he sighted London Bridge.
Once they had been properly welcomed by Mrs Broad and settled into the Grapes and had a late supper of codlings and humble pie, the thoughts, the desires that had flitted through Jack’s mind about Stephen resurfaced and he glanced at him as he drank his port and reached for another piece of Stilton. These hopes were crushed when Stephen rose from the table telling Jack not to stir and that he must be away and would meet him for breakfast. Jack finished his port and went to their room settling into the wide bed, “I wish Stephen were here,” he sighed and promptly fell asleep.
He woke the next morning to see Stephen asleep beside him, deeply asleep, curled round in a ball. Jack reached to hold him but then stopped and shook his head, ‘Let him sleep.’ He bent and kissed him gently on the cheek and tiptoed around, washing and dressing for his appointment at Whitehall that day. He waited as long as he could but Stephen still had not come down to breakfast by ten so he set out for his day’s business at Whitehall. The day and his business in Whitehall did not go well and his hopes for the evening were dashed. For Stephen brought along Monsieur Jagiello of the Swedish Service to dinner and they were all to post down with the King’s Messenger to the Nore to leave on the evening tide. All these disappointments were overcome by the joy and relief of having another command and before he settled down to sleep in the coach he looked searchingly at Stephen and there was a brief returning smile and a look that passed between them, a look that Jack interpreted as a promise, a promise he intended for Stephen to fulfil as soon as possible.
The loneliness, the isolation returned in full flood the night that Stephen had made his way on the Minnie towards his rendezvous on Grimsholme. Jack’s fear for Stephen closing his stomach, his whole body rigid with it as he waited hour after hour for Stephen’s return to him. The relief as he saw the Catalan flag hoisted was extreme, and as he made his way down from the maintop, the joy bubbling up in him and the desire to reclaim Stephen was strong. For those hours in the maintop were an agony for him as hour after hour in the dark Jack contemplated his life without Stephen. How would he live without him by his side? Yes there would be Sophie and the children but there would be a hole in his life and an emptiness that he could not fill with work or friends, no the loss of Stephen would devastate him more than any other. To lose Stephen would be to lose the person that meant most to him. Yes that had been the truth he had learnt that night. He loved Stephen more than any other being in this life and the loss of him would be a wound from which he knew he would never recover. He now knew the most horrible fate that would be his; the loneliness that he would experience with Stephen’s loss and swore he would do all in his power to keep him safe forever. But how to do that in Stephen’s line of work, how to do that without Stephen knowing? He was as proud as sin and would resent it mightily. Jack for the moment pushed all these thoughts aside as he clasped Stephen to him as he was boosted on board the Ariel, saying, “So glad my dear Stephen … all is well with you?”
Stephen retreated a little and nodded, “Yes my dear, I’m quite well.” He smiled at him again and turned towards the shore and signalled, a small boat left the jetty and made its way towards the Ariel across the bay. “Now my dear, please to welcome my godfather, En Ramon d’Ullastret Casademon and please my dear with full honours.”
Jack laughed, “Of course, my dear Stephen if he is your godfather, he must have the full honours due to him.” And in a lower voice, “The honours due to you.”
“No, my dear any honours to me must be strictly secret. All I need is the satisfaction of having landed a blow against the bloody tyrant.” Stephen whispered patting Jack’s hand.
Jack grimaced and whispered, “Must everything be secret Stephen.”
Stephen looked carefully at him and touched his hand gently, “Yes my dear, but it will be our secret. It must be. You know that is how it must be, my circumstances do not allow …” Stephen looked puzzled for a minute and glanced up quickly at Jack’s face. What did Jack mean by everything?
Jack returned his gaze and smiled at him, repeating, “Our secret Stephen, only ours.”
Stephen nodded his head once and replied, “Yes, my dear and now for the honour guard, please?”
Jack had not realised how soon the terror, the terror for Stephen would return. That day waiting for Stephen in their cell in the Temple, imagining all the horrors of the torture cell and Stephen in it. His fears expanding as each hour passed till he thought he would go mad with worry and again that same relief with Stephen returned to him whole and uninjured. He held him apart from him for a minute searching for any damage and finding none embraced him and whispered fiercely in his ear, “Stephen come to me tonight. Be with me tonight. I need you.”
Jagiello entered the room at the sound of Jack’s initial cry of delight, Stephen held on to Jack, whispering, “Of course my dear.” He stepped back, squeezing his hand.
The tumbled and urgent lovemaking of that night saw the rekindling of all the passions that had been shared in those glorious days and nights of what seemed a far distant past. After their joining and their passion that night, they both knew that the loneliness, the isolation both had felt would never be there again, if only they stayed together. There was no question for either of them of being parted again. Stephen had found his place, his place was with Jack. He fitted somewhere at last. He may still feel the loneliness and isolation of not being able to unburden his thoughts, his plans and secrets but the pain was less acute in that at least he could seek comfort from this man who understood and loved him more than any other. Jack would heal that deformity in his being, his love an anchor and a guide when Stephen’s self-disgust grew to unbearable proportions at the day-to-day duplicities and subterfuges that he must commit. He may fall now and then and revert to his old comforter, laudanum for the sweet oblivion, the not thinking, he sometimes craved but from that night on he knew he could always turn to Jack for the comfort and love that was far superior to anything that laudanum could give him.
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