In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive and the setting is real. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or prohibited for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two young men is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
BEGGARS AND ANGELS
by Marin Giustinian
Nowadays, Salamanca, Spain
Prologue
William Smith's parents were both leading actors in the Royal Shakespeare Company. He was literally raised, immersed in an Elizabethan world. As a boy, he took extensive music lessons with the Company's lutist.
Later, he studied with masters in France and in Italy. At the age of twenty, he auditioned and was hired in the Elizabethan Music Ensemble of London. The director, Richard Crawley, hurriedly seduced William and after three months, William was living in with him. This lasted for five years. However, Crawley fell in love with an even younger flutist and William was thus put out of the house.
It became impossible for him to remain a member the Ensemble after their rather nasty separation. He received a very decent bonus cheque following his 'resignation'. Now alone, he felt the need to totally change scenery! He was only twenty-five years old and a very comely lad at that.
He remembered how much he loved the sun, the fun and the rest of Spain as a boy on holidays and said to himself he should go there for a while and let life decide for him. He checked out the ancient music scene in Spain and saw that the ensemble affiliated to the University of Salamanca was auditioning for lutists and guitarists. He sent them a recording and his curriculum and was accepted for tryouts. It was a good enough reason to flee England! He flew over to begin a new life.
William's story
Salamanca! This city is fabulous! I really feel great here! I found a perfect little hotel in the heart of town. It's early April here and the sun is already warm. I was freezing under the rain, leaving London and now I'm walking around in shirtsleeves!
It's the first time I've really felt good since I left Richard's house and his cramped little dusty, dismal world. Thank God, I possess very few personal belongings. That way, when I packed and left, I was light as a lark, free and easy!
I don't know if I'm going to miss him or not! For the past year, I felt we were getting on each other's nerves more than anything else. To be honest, the fellow was so flamingly superficial that when the sex fun wore out, there was only work left and I must admit that the music of Purcell and Dowland can be rather dreary, even depressing after a few years!
When I opened my bags after checking into the hotel, I was appalled! My lute had suffered from a shock somewhere in the baggage handling. Its belly had a crack in it and the sound was horrible! I always carried my lute around in a supple bag so coming over, I just checked it that way with a FRAGILE tag stuck on it. I guess I was really stupid thinking that the guys slinging bags around, loading and unloading the planes, read stickers!
At the same time, that made me laugh. The poor old lute was so full of nasty vibrations that it probably committed suicide leaving the U.K.! However, with the audition coming up, it was urgent that I replace it. The receptionist at the hotel gave me the address of a nearby artisan, making guitars and lutes. I found my way there and entered the shop.
A very distinguished elderly gentleman greeted me. He spoke excellent English. I told him my problem. He looked at my lute, then at me and said, tilting his head and shrugging his shoulders, that the heart of my lute was broken. Even if I repair the blow, the sound will not be as clear as before. I felt that the instrument was definitely dead and really wasn't heart broken like it was, but it was urgent that I have another lute. I asked him what kind of lute could he sell me since I had an audition the following day? He thought a moment, looking at me, and then walked over to the wall where a certain number of string instruments were hanging on display.
He took a lute off its hook and cradling it in his hands, said, "Here, I think this one should suit you. I made it out of some very special woods : local cedar, imported ebony with ribs of lemonwood from Andalusia. The sound is quite warm, even sensuous -- like your voice, if I may say."
I'm sure I blushed! I took his exquisite instrument in hand, caressed it and checked the tuning. It was an alto lute with nine strings. I adjusted the D2 string which was just a bit 'sour' and began one of my favourite little tunes by Monteverdi.
"My lute is happy to sing in your hands, my young Maestro," exclaimed the gentleman, with his smiling eyes almost wrinkled shut.
I was happy too! Its sound was the richest I'd ever heard, a true miracle of an instrument, something like a harp with guts.
"I do think this lute was made for me, Sir. How much are you asking?"
"It's not my most expensive instrument, but it's not among the cheapest."
I was a bit scared, waiting as he thought.
"Usually it would be €1000... However, since you're forced to buy because of the circumstances, and since you're not old enough to be wealthy, can you afford €800?"
I made a swift appraisal in my head, strummed the instrument and decided that it was in fact a deal on British terms.
"That's fine for me, Sir. Could you sell me a solid case to go with it?"
Relieved, he sighed, smiled and exclaimed, "Let me give you one, Maestro! It's my pleasure," he said, rushing over to fetch a black, lute-shaped case in the show window.
When he returned, he continued, "If you're still in Salamanca, after playing it for, let's say ten to twelve hours, please return and let me give it a final touch. An instrument can change, according to the way the owner tames it," he stated, smiling at me in a very knowing way.
"If I'm hired and stay for a while in Salamanca, I shall graciously accept your very kind offer, Sir," then indicating my dead lute, I asked, "Can I leave you that?"
"Of course..."
"I sincerely thank you! Good day, Sir!"
So here I was, with a brand new masterpiece of a lute in my modest possession. Instead of rushing to my room and playing every kind of music possible on it, I decided to stay calm and celebrate my purchase with a glass of wine, seated under the arcades of the Plaza Mayor. It was happy hour after all!
That was when I heard him -- the gorgeous, dark-eyed, singing beggar! He was a tall, lithe young man -- barely seventeen, eighteen at the most. He was halfway, singing, halfway chanting a melodic meditation, like a sort of pagan prayer, a primitive flamenco floating in the air. His voice alone, with no accompaniment, went straight to my heart, moving my soul. He sang soprano 'a cappella' with no stress, no forcing of the higher notes. The sound was clear as crystal, not overdone, neither too heavy in vibrato. His singing was spicy and sensual like an oriental bouquet of jasmine and gardenias. Of course I didn't understand a word, but didn't care! The subtle modulations of his breath, the raptured expression of his face, conveyed to me a very rich and deep emotion. If archangels sang, they would sing like him! I was enthralled and captivated. This town is crazy!
I'm not usually very bold -- in fact, I'm almost shy, but when this apparition came to my table begging a coin our two, I couldn't resist asking him, as I put a five euro note in his hand, "Do you speak English?"
"Thank you. Yes, a little. Why?" he answered with a mistrustful look shadowing his smile.
"I have something to ask you -- only about your music, I assure you... nothing more."
I saw him relax. I stood.
"Your voice is astonishing. You see, I'm a musician too," I stated, patting the lute case in the chair beside me. "Please, let's sit down. By the way, my name is William, William Smith," I said, holding out my hand.
He took it, bluntly saying, "Rafael Mendoza," and sat, still a bit on the defensive and inquired, "You a tourist?"
"Not really, I'm auditioning for a group of ancient music here in Salamanca tomorrow."
"I see... What do you want to know?"
"Where do the songs you sing come from?"
"They come from my heart. I make them up as I sing."
"Wow!" I was a completely bewildered over the fact that the fellow improvised like that, on the spur of the moment, "Do you sing here often?"
"Every evening. Good money. You like?"
"I love it! I'm very, very impressed..."
"Well I'm glad. Now, please excuse me, I have to go back to work. Maybe I see you around, William... Maybe, who knows."
"Yeah, sure... See you around, Rafael... Who knows..."
The next morning, I went to the audition and wasn't taken. In fact I actually walked out on them. The director gave me the impression of a pompous toad and the group was like shadows. As I played the score they handed me, my lute sang, filling space. When I finished, the director simply commented that my interpretation lacked the academic reserve one must observe for ancient music and that was a terrible handicap. I smiled and replied, "Ancient music was never academic and your ignorance of that is a terrible handicap too, Sir! Good day!" and I left. I felt so good after that! I suddenly realised that I really didn't want to get involved in a group again.
Back in my hotel room, I stretched out on the bed and just stared at the ceiling. I was relieved, yet confused. The question mark of my future was bigger than ever before. The only thing that came to mind was the fact that I wanted to just do my own thing, on my own! -- But do what? Damn it!
I stood, looked at myself in the mirror and said aloud to myself, "Take your time, man! Now you're here in Salamanca, so go have some fun, play like a tourist, wander around, get lost for real! You're sure to come across something inspiring."
I visited the cathedral and strolled some by the river. The city is really very beautiful, full of students, lively but not boisterous. There was something aristocratic about it all that pleased me, made me feel rather dignified. Once I was back in my room, I took my lute in hand and played some. Such a treasure couldn't go to waste, neither hanging on a wall, nor playing in one of the many mainstream, ancient music groups on the planet. The sound coming out of my lute was alive, full of energy, just like... just like... My God, my fingers froze, I chuckled to myself and said out loud, "Just like Rafael's voice!"
Rafael... ? Of course! Rafael! And why not try it! Nothing to lose. Try a duet!
I was so proud of myself! I decided to dine, on the Plaza where I met Rafael the evening before. If he comes by, I'll ask him to make a recording with me! I was excited and proud of my excellent idea!
'Si dolce è il tormento' (So sweet is the torment) by Claudio Monteverdi would be the best song to work on! It's so sensual! I had never tried accompanying a solo singer, without somebody directing. I remembered hearing that piece sung by Philippe Jarrouski. The melody was engraved in my head and hands. That's what I wanted to play and have Rafael sing it. That's what I wanted to record as my souvenir of Salamanca and leave behind Elizabethan melancholy, laments and tears! I felt baroque, and since he was capable, we could do as they did back then, improvising on the theme. I could do a bit of solo with my lute and Rafael could break away on his own, singing, 'a cappella', out of his heart, as he said. We could hit the theme again and get back on track together... Wow! I could hear it already!
I was excited as a flea, seated at one of the front tables facing the square. When he comes by, he couldn't miss me! I was so nervous, I had problems concentrating on my food. After the first, then the second course, I was feeling a bit less 'high', almost resigned to the fact that he wouldn't return. I put my dessert fork down and poured myself a refill of wine. That's when my ear caught his voice coming up our way.
There he was, coming toward us, singing. He noticed me and winked. I winked back. He finished, nodded an elegant 'thank you' to the people applauding and came directly to my table, beaming.
"Hello William! Still here!"
I replied, almost too enthusiastic, "Glad to see you too, Rafael! Can you spare a minute? I've got something important to ask you," I stuttered, nearly shaking with emotion. My pits were dripping cold sweat like mad under my shirt!
"Sure. I'm thirsty. Ha!"
He plopped down in the chair in front of me. He poured himself some wine in my unused water glass and lifted it. I followed suit and we made a silent toast, just winking at each other again. I loved the way he made himself at ease immediately!
"So, is it about your audition, William?"
"The audition? Good God noI"
I told him about the audition, that I'd walked out, putting the director in his place! He laughed saying that I was even more arrogant than he was.
"What's important is that I want to record a duet with you!"
He looked at me like I had gone mad!
"There's a song I love that you could sing and improvise with and I could accompany you and maybe improvise too."
He looked less puzzled, even interested.
"Sing some of it," he said, leaning in over the table.
I softly sang the refrain almost in his ear. He listened. When I stopped, he said, "That's easy. The tune is awesome. I love it! Listen!"
He stood, leaning a bit on our table, looked at me and began singing. He had memorised the first lines of the melody and was making up words as he sang! I grabbed my lute and began playing along with him. He stared at me wide-eyed and let me play a line or two. When I repeated it, he caught on and we did a stint together. I took over, alone again, then he moved in, singing as we finished together in a flamboyant, vibrant conclusion.
I jumped up and hugged him, both of us laughing together. A tidal wave of applause hit us! People from the square had even gathered behind us were clapping, shouting "Un otro! Encore!" Rafael bowed, pulling my arm to bow with him. Good God! Was I dead and in heaven? What we had just dared was mind-blowing for me. Never had I heard an audience return so much satisfaction. Never had a fellow musician given me so much intense pleasure. Was this jazz? flamenco? renaissance? baroque?... I could care less! It was me. It was him. It was us and it was our music. I'm sure if Monteverdi heard, he would be just as thrilled as we were! Perhaps his spirit was there too!
The whole terrace kept on belting out, "Mas un! Un otro!"
I looked at Rafael, "Do we do it?"
"Of course!"
We played again and at the end Rafael said, "I'll pass around for the money. You keep a hand on your guitar! Okay?"
"It's a lute, not a guitar..."
"Keep a hand on whatever it is! It's magical! Thieves here can steal the underwear off your bottom without you knowing it!"
When he came back with the money he spilled it on the table, saying, "Half for you, half for me?"
"No! All for you!" and with that the owner of the restaurant came over with a bottle of chilled, white wine in an ice bucket, saying, "My gift. Dinner free."
Rafael and I broke out laughing like school boys. Rafael filled his pockets while I joyously filled our glasses and we toasted again -- and again! I didn't know where we were, who we were. I was simply happy as a three year old with a red ballon... happier than I had ever been for years! Madonna's tune came to mind as I smiled, sipping my wine! Yes, I felt like... Like a Virgin!
Rafael brought me back to earth. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about, William?"
"Uh... Yes, I want to talk with you about us! Do you want us to work some together and make that recording?"
"You crazy? Of course I do!"
"Do you know a place where we could record?" I pursued.
"We could work together where I have my van, under the arches of the Roman bridge, only fifteen minutes from here. The sound is very good under the arch. Like in a church. That's where I sing. The other beggars won't bother us. They only are there at night."
"Other beggars?"
I had forgotten that Rafael was, in fact, a beggar...
"The other beggars that sleep out there."
"Rafael... Beggar and angel! You know that Rafael is the name of an Archangel!"
"Yes! That's me!" he proudly stated, putting one hand on his heart and the other on my shoulder.
We agreed on meeting the following day at four o'clock on the far end of the Roman bridge. I knew which bridge it was. With the wine, he loosened up some and when I asked him to tell me some about himself, he looked at me a moment and then softly confiding himself, he spoke.
"I worked doing gardens for English residents before leaving Marbella. When I was sixteen, my father and me, we had a big fight -- over nothing -- and I left home and school. Like I said, I got some work, saved up some money and learned how to speak some English with my bosses -- at least enough to get along."
"Who trained your voice?"
"Nobody. It just comes out of me like that when I sing. I sing like a woman or a child or Michael Jackson, but higher, stronger! I started singing by myself, making up songs while I worked, no guitar, just me by myself. Then I tried singing in front of restaurants and bars, begging. It worked! I liked doing that! Then I met an old English hippy who nearly gave me his VW Combi for almost nothing. He said he was too old to stay on the road and that my voice should go on the road for the world! So I bought his old van I went on the road... all the way to Madrid."
"You already had your drivers' license?"
"No but I left anyhow. No problem for me!"
That guy will always surprise me!
"I got in trouble in Madrid and ended up here. Here I'm fine."
I gave Rafael my phone number and we hugged good-bye. I felt sort of empty when he left. He looked a bit down too as he walked away, his fists in his pockets and his hoodie pulled over his head. As he entered the empty square, he looked back once. I waved and he shouted, "Hasta mañana, amigo!"
His face remained in my mind as well as the echo of his voice in my ears while I slowly drug myself back to the hotel. Once in my room, I showered and made a mental note that I had to buy a digital recorder and earphones tomorrow!
I was restless in bed, tossing and turning. Oh, Rafael -- what have you done to me?
I was up and out rather late the next morning. I felt really confident about my upcoming appointment. The haze of euphoria yielded to a clear, strategical state of mind. I began to believe in my guardian angel, my... my Archangel! Damn it! Here I go again! Rafael! Oh, Rafael, please be kind! Don't make me hurt again!
I bought a neat little recorder with good head phones and a set of earbuds so we could listen together. I figured out how to use it, made a few recordings of my lute, practiced the Monteverdi, ate a late snack -- Spanish eating hours are really hard to get used to!
I packed my lute, the recorder and away I went. Fearing to be late, I hurried to meet up with my new friend.
Four o'clock, four fifteen and finally at four twenty-five he showed up.
"Ola, William... Am I late?"
I didn't answer. We just hugged and I said, "Let's go to work. Are you ready?"
"Always!"
When building the bridge, flooding was kept in mind so that the first arches spanned over the grassy banks before reaching the water. That was where Rafael had put his van, well sheltered from the sun. The iconic Combi had seen better days, I must admit! We went under the last arch by the water. The sound was perfect! We worked some more on the Monteverdi. Rafael easily learned the whole piece.
"This is so beautiful. I like singing this kind of music. Can you teach me more songs like that?"
"There are hundreds, Rafael. There are songs, there are airs from operas... It would take a lifetime to learn them all. Do you know how to read music?"
"No. I need to hear music, not read it."
That was his flat and final answer.
We made the recording and when we listened to it, Rafael surprised me with a question that hit me like a slap in the face!
"Who hurt you, William?"
"Why... why do you ask?"
"Your music hurts when you play the part you improvise."
"Could you explain...?"
"You see, when skin is cut or burnt, it leaves a scar. When soul is cut or hurt, leaves a scar too. In my voice, I can hear the scars on my soul. I can hear the scars on yours too when you play your own notes."
"That's weird. Carry on, please."
"There are scars that are ugly. Other scars can make beauty. We all have scars on the soul. Yours is not healed and it is sad, confused. You don't know how to decide for yourself."
I looked at him, smiled and lowered my eyes. He heard that my heart was still bleeding, upset and in trouble. I told him about Crawley, my family's disinterest. I described my leaving the group and London. I told him about me being literally paid off to get out of the house, feeling like a long term whore.
"I was a whore one time, William. In Madrid, I had no money and singing in the street was not working. A tourist man offered me fifty euros to go with him. Why not? I like men. I went. I told him to give the money first. Then he used me, forcing me to swallow. I vomited in his fancy hotel room and ran away before he could hit me. I knew other boys who sold their mouths, cocks and holes and who are dying, doing it too. You are not dying. Don't say you were a whore because your heart made a mistake. Now you know! So decide to make up your mind and do what you really feel... Did you love him?"
"Not really. I loved him because he said he loved me. I went with him because he was good to me and good for my music. I went with him because I know I wanted man sex. Love? I don't know if I know what that it is."
"You can never know if you don't decide to know. To know love, you must decide to open your heart, decide to believe that love can happen to you. I decide that I love myself. I decide to be with you, because I feel it is my fate to be with you. I feel that you ask me to work with you because your needs don't come from you, but come from above you, through you. They come to me through you because it is our destiny -- for the moment. You feel it too, even if you don't know you feel it. If you didn't feel it, I wouldn't feel it myself. You must learn how to say 'yes' to your feelings, especially the hidden ones, William. Say 'yes' to tomorrow, whatever it holds and stop scratching your scar. Make up your mind. Decide that your turmoil is over. You got the money. You earned it. Decide that the past has passed, that it's dead, rotting far away behind you. With the skill you have, with your talent, you can forget how you learned it. But remember this : whatever you play now must be YOUR music! And what you do with the notes, anybody's notes, belongs to you and to nobody else!"
His blatant words shook me. They hit me like a low punch in the balls... and yet his concern went straight to my heart. I wanted to hug him, to kiss him. I suddenly felt like I was finally awake. God knows how right he is! Just DECIDE to feel and DO what is felt.
All I could reply was, "Let's make one more recording, just one more! Okay?"
"Even two!"
We finished the piece with tears in our eyes.
"Rafael, if you can spare not working tonight, could we dine together? Please!"
"I can, William!"
We drank a lot and laughed a lot too. Rafael asked when I was leaving. I replied whenever I want.
"Could you teach me more of your kind of music before going away? I love learning it and improvising with it -- and with you..."
It was my turn to say, "I can!"
There was a moment of silence. Rafael looked at me in the eyes. Our eyes locked.
I heard myself utter, "Will you stay with me tonight? We can return to the bridge and continue working tomorrow."
"Yes. And we can make other songs and do our thing on the Plaza tomorrow night, you and me together... if you want."
"I want!"
"And I want a shower too! You got a shower in your room?"
"I've even got a bathtub! Let's go!"
We hurried up to the room, horsed around in the shower together and slid in bed nude. Rafael seized me. I let him do it. There was something terribly wild and urgent in his kisses, in his insistence, in the way he swallowed my cock. His urgency awoke mine. I wrestled in lust with my angel. He found is way up inside me. I welcomed him up inside me, riding his cock. I died and rose from my death with every thrust, and when the lightning of my orgasm hit, killing me, I was screaming, "Rafael! Oh my God!"
He clawed me as he spewed his essence in me, bucking jolt after jolt deep inside me. I collapsed on him, spent, nearly faint, gasping for breath as he held me tight, humming, nibbling my earlobe.
Slippery with sweat and semen, we wiggled a little and slowly began laughing. The laughter became louder. We laughed like dying stars exploding, all scars of the soul, vanishing. More kisses kindled the fire of our reckless abandon. In the midst of darkness, we dove again, drowning, glowing in the lusty light of our blazing souls, opening the gates to unfathomable love.
He had touched my soul before touching my body and for that I knew he was now my wildest passion.
I feel no need to describe any further what we did. It was, in fact, something very ordinary that men in love do all the time. What I needed to describe, if words can do so, was what was happening in us, between us, together... in love, overflowing, our exploding souls melding until dawn surprised us.
But, there is just one word. Resurrection!
Epilogue
Our music was pure like our loving.
It was decided that we live together in Spain, so I called my parents to come and introduce Rafael. I had to go back anyway to give notice to my landlord and sort out matters pending. Mother and father immediately fell in love with Rafael. They gave us their blessings and two very generous cheques, as they said, for their favourite troubadours. My mother's was for a small caravan and my father's for an automobile to tow it. The symbolism was perfect!
Once back in Salamanca, we rented a little studio, opened a joint bank account and junked Rafael's old van. After Rafael had passed his driver's license, we spent my parents' cheques as they instructed. We are now performing hither and yon, free as the wind, free as beggars, beggars and angels, lusty angels, angels in love.
A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net.