Tristan

Tristan

by Henry H. Hilliard

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Chapter 16

Jessica was all Colt could talk about in the subsequent weeks. When they were running around the campus, Colton would turn around and jog backwards for short distances so could huff to Tristan about her many charms, which included graphic and unwanted details about how she performed in bed--a noun that included Tristan's truck. In the Cafeteria he regaled everyone within hearing with her manifold virtues; apparently she came from Nebraska and was greatly devoted to her large family, which included two sisters and a brother. She was the first of her family to attend college--she was real smart' as well as plum gorgeous'. Her father was some vague sort of salesman, dealing in products for complementary medicine'--whatever that was. She, herself, was intending on becoming a chiropractor or something in natural therapies'.

While Tristan was preparing skinless chicken breasts in the microwave in an effort to get Colton back to eating healthily, Colton sat there and embarked, once again, on what a great body Jessica possessed and how she was so into Colty'. Tristan imagined, for just a moment, that it was Jessica's severed head that was being placed on the revolving Pyrex plate and he enthusiastically pressed start'.

Of her `sexy body', Tristan was able to judge for himself in the coffee shop. Jessica was clearly good fun, and laughed a lot as she hung onto Colton's arm like a limpet. She was quite petite--tiny next to Colt--with a tight, trim figure and pert breasts--just the sort Colt said he liked. Long blonde hair fell halfway down her back and only served emphasised her stature and made her look younger than her eighteen years. "Look at that ass!" said Colton as Jessica departed for her class.

"Not a patch on yours," said Tristan.

For the first date, Colton broke out the Axe--surely the bottle must be nearing empty, thought Tristan--and he wore his good jeans--the light blue Wrangler's that were indecently tight. "Commando tonight, Tris. Jessica is hot for what I'm packin'." Tristan merely grunted. Colton pulled on a white muscle tee and rolled the already short sleeves right up to his armpits. "She loves m'guns." Then he was gone, telling Tristan that he wouldn't be back.

Tristan had barely started on his Greek when Hollis appeared at the door. "Colt gone?" Tristan said he was out with Jessica. He laughed. "That boy's hotter than a depot stove."

Hollis was a Texan too, but from out west. He was tall and rangy, with a distinctly red tinge to his blonde hair. He had some freckles too, and his skin was white where it wasn't burnt red by the summer sun. He was quite sexy of course and the tattoos helped.

"Tris, could you do me a favour?" Tristan said he would try. "Well, I'd like m'balls shaved like Colt's. He's always goin' on in the showers about how great they feel and sayin' that that the chicks love 'em."

"You've got someone in mind?"

"Well, there's this chick works nights in the library on the desk and we've been talkin'. She likes footballers."

"The dark one who wears the really tight windcheater with the Perdue Boilermakers logo?"

"Yeah. Her brother goes there."

"Wow! She's hot. So, I'll get you my trimmer."

"Er, Tris, I was wanting y'all to do 'em, like y'all did for Colt."

"How much?"

Hollis was taken aback. "Er, twenty bucks?"

"Shit!" said Tristan, looking in his wallet. "Only got fifteen."

"No, I'll pay you..."

"Hollis, I'm kidding you; it would be a gay boy's dream to shave your balls. Drop your boxers while I look for the trimmer."

When he returned from the closet, Hollis was on the bed grasping his scrotum in his fist and presenting his bulging balls for Tristan's admiration.

"I wish I could do that. You've got great low-hangers, Hollis. Last time I saw something like that was at the rodeo in Amarillo."

"Huh! You ain't never been to Amarillo. And it's pronounced rodee-o' in Texas, not ro-day-o'. They is m'best feature, though."

Tristan set to work with alacrity and quickly the strawberry blonde hair fell away. "Lift it." Hollis did. Now I want to shave the base of your piece; it's quite thick there."

Presently the work of the clippers was nearing completion. Do you want me to do more? They say, `back, crack and sack'."

"Nah, that'll do for now. Maybe later. Sure feels funny."

"Wait, not finished yet." Tristan found the lotion and smothered it all over.

"Stings some."

"That just means it's doing good." Tristan liberally applied more and was soon slicking all of Hollis' groin using both hands. This went on for several minutes.

"Stop, buddy!" cried Hollis in alarm.

"It's important to rub it into all the follicles," lied Tristan, who saw no reason to stop as now even Hollis was applying more himself.

Finally there was a happy ending. "Do you always cum that much?" Hollis was breathless and couldn't answer clearly. "Do you mind?" inquired Tristan. Hollis shook his head and Tristan sampled a gout of his spooge on his index finger. "Mmm. Ponderosa Pine." He then cheekily bent over and licked Hollis' belly button.

"That is so gay."

"Says someone with shaved balls."

"Thanks, Tris." He pulled on his plaid boxers and departed saying, "See you in the Cafeteria in thirty."

Tristan didn't see Colton until he spotted him in front of the house in Baxter Drive. He was talking seriously to a man wearing a heavy overcoat--it was his father. His father's car stood at the kerb, the driver at the wheel. Ms Chambers was just emerging from her Mercedes as Tristan walked up.

"Well, so this is it, Tristan." his father said flatly. "It looks different to the picture on the net." He didn't say better or worse, in fact his father was quite neutral and Tristan had to work hard to figure out what he was thinking. "What do you think, Colton?"

"The location is great, Mr Isley. Can't be faulted for that." Tristan detected faint praise. "It's the sort of thing Tris is really into."

His father made almost no reply but directed some questions to Ms Chambers as they once again entered from the rear porch. The tour was repeated, this time Tristan noticing some things that he had overlooked two days earlier. In the kitchen there was an old wooden dresser built into the wall. It had obviously escaped the 1970s remodelling but was now painted mustard yellow.

"My grandmother's house in San Antonio had a pass pantry like this," said Ms Chambers when Tristan pointed it out to her. "They must have closed up the dining room side."

The dining room, with its awful fake timber and mirror tiles, actually had four crossed ceiling beams that must have been original but were now painted white. Tristan's father made some comment about the `good' size of the rooms, although none were anywhere near the size of those in his Dallas apartment.

The living room had original light fittings on the wall and in the centre of the ceiling, but the dining room had a chrome and gold thing that looked rather like a tumbleweed.

The dreadful bathroom was briefly inspected. To his horror, tree roots could be seen in the bottom of the lavatory. "The sewer pipes will need to be replaced, Tris," was all his father said. Tristan grasped at this as being a faintly positive comment.

The maid's room with its closet facilities was looked at. They opened and closed cupboards. They went down into the basement. Colton reiterated his idea of making an extra bedroom here and Mr Isley listened. Thus encouraged, Colton went on to say that a deck could be built in the backyard. He could do it with some help, because he had built one for his brother, Matt. "Made me do the post holes while he did the supervision," he laughed.

They went upstairs again and then to the attic. Tristan explained his idea about this being the girls' dorm. He noticed another door, which, when opened, revealed a small room that he had failed to see before. "This was probably a sewing room, said Ms Chambers--that's what these old houses had."

"Doubt the gals we know can even sew on a button," laughed Colton. Tristan saw his father smile slightly at the joke.

Next they went out to the stable. Tristan must have explained it well to his father on the phone, because he did not recoil in horror like Colton had done. Instead he stood looking at the upstairs space, perhaps tying to envisage its transformation. He then tried to shake some beams and paced out the floor area to gain some rough idea of the dimensions. "Would building permits or planning permits be needed to remodel this?" he asked.

"Not if your not pulling it down or making it bigger, I think," said Ms Chambers "Plenty of folks build a `carriage house' over their garage."

"Would you find out for me, please, and let Tristan know. Let's go around to the front porch."

They did, the realtor pointing out the basement windows and the parking bay, Mr Isley pointing out the rotting boards and the disconnected downpipe. They stood on the porch, which was up four steps from the lawn. A big bus noisily pulled up outside the Mormon Church with a hiss of air brakes. A crowd of people got on and then, with a throaty roar, it pulled away again only to stop at the intersection of William H. Traft Drive where it waited for the light to turn green.

"You know, Tris. This is a rather noisy neighbourhood and the house is very rundown. It will cost a great deal to make it habitable. A new house further out might be a more realistic plan. You could rent first, then buy. Wouldn't that be a more sensible idea, Colt?"

"Yes sir."

They bade farewell to Ms Chambers who left her card with Tristan's father, promising that she could show them brand new homes if they wanted.

"So you don't like it?" said Tristan, near to tears when she was out of sight.

"I do, Tris, but there's no need for the realtor to think she's hooked us so easily."

"You better not play poker, Tris," added Colton.

"So what do you really think, Dad?"

"Well, the location is very good and that will not change," he said in the calculated manner of a lawyer. "It is true that the proposed condos were turned down, but that may not always be so, in my experience. The house really does need a great deal of work, but the bones are probably good. Just about anything is possible if you throw enough money at it. It certainly won't be a profitable `flip', as they say." Then in a burst of something that almost approached warmth said, "Most importantly, how do you feel about it, Tris? How do you feel standing on this porch?"

"I feel good, I think," said Tristan uncertainly. "I feel like maybe it could be `home'?"

"Well, I know that's something money can't buy and I know that's something you need. I also know that the owner is in financial difficulties and owes back taxes. He's been unable to shift this place. You'll notice that there is not even a sign up anymore. I think they'll give on the price. Would you allow me to deal with it, Tristan?"

"I was going to ask you. I suppose I am a bit young for high finance."

"Might I also suggest that you consider using the big building firm that Globoco uses here in central Texas. They owe me plenty of favours and I'm sure they could take on a little domestic project for once."

"I don't know any builders, so that might be a plan, Dad. I was thinking of employing an architect--or rather two." He turned to Colt. "Ben and Ivy. They're friends from our film group, Dad. They're sophomore Architecture students."

"Sounds like it's worth investigating. Now there's something I want to say and I don't want any arguments." Tristan stiffened. "I know you are using your Gran's money, but I want to pay for the barn."

"No, Dad! No way. It was my idea and I want...." Colton dragged him by the elbow to the other end of the verandah.

"Tris, he's reaching out to y'all. Don't shut him out. I know he's trying to do it usin' money, but it is his way of trying to make up with you. Accept graciously like a Southern gentleman. Don't be a fuckin' prick f'once!"

They walked back. "Thanks, Dad. That's very generous of you. Jiminy Cricket says that I'm not to be a selfish prick, although he's probably just frightened that he won't have a dry place to sleep."

Colton said goodbye, Tristan explaining that he had a hot date. His father managed a smile as they shook hands. "Cylvah and I will expect to see you in Dallas, Colt. They watched him walk away, the muscles flexing beneath his jeans.

"You like him very much, Tris?" Tristan looked down, but nodded. "I gather you are doing this partly for him." Tristan said nothing. "That's why you must let me do part of this for you." He looked at his watch. "Now I must be getting back."

"A cup of tea and something to eat first?" asked Tristan, suddenly.

"No, I'd better...well, yes, coffee would be nice, Tris. Get in and tell the driver where to go."

Tristan was surprised to see Colton on the Sunday morning. The football team had won and there had been a party to which he had taken Jessica and he did not sleep in the dorm.

"Tris, Jessica wondered if you would like to come to Church with us."

"`Us'?"

"Well I went with her and her girlfriends last Sunday and she would 'specially like you to `share', she said.

"No, Colt. I'm an atheist--or rather an agnostic--as you well know."

"Please, Tris, I'm asking a big favour, y'see I promised her."

"Well, there's your mistake. I didn't promise her."

"Please, Tris. She's real nice--you know that-- and so are her buddies. She said that you will get a lot out of it."

"That's a bit presumptuous, isn't it?"

"If'n I knew what that meant I might be able to tell y'all. Please, Tris!"

"Oh, all right. I suppose we can look at the house while we're there."

"No, it ain't one of the churches on William H. Taft, it's over in Sunset. We can take the girls in the truck."

Tristan grumbled even when he found that he didn't have to dress up. The girls arrived promptly at half-past ten and they headed to the truck. Jessica's friends were rather like her. One was from her hometown in Nebraska and the other was from Oklahoma City. Their names were Meghan or Morgan or something like that.

"You'll like it, Tris," said Jessica. It's not really religious, it's more just spiritual."

Tristan made no reply to that nonsensical statement.

"The band is really good. They played at Cityfest in Tyler."

"That is a Christian music gig, Tris," explained Colton.

"Who do you like?" asked the other girl.

"Mendelssohn."

"Who are they?"

"It's a him."

"Is he Christian?"

"Was Jewish, converted."

"Oh, just like our saviour, Jesus."

"Yes."

Tristan was directed to a large carpark for what had formerly been a big box supermarket. There, a small army of men and women in uniforms and white gloves directed Tristan to a parking bay.

A sign proclaimed this to be The Pine Ridge Family Church and Spiritual Wellness Temple.

They proceeded inside and were ushered into seats as in a theatre. Jessica and her friends spoke to several people, being regular parishioners, and the boys were presented as fellow students. "I suppose you are missing your home?" one lady said to Tristan who told a lie and said that he missed his mother greatly.

There was a brightly lit stage and a rock band was set up to one side. There were none of the usual ecclesiastical accoutrements, instead the back of the stage was a giant screen upon which, at that moment, there was an image of outer space as imagined from a some crater-pocked planetary surface. Tristan watched it closely and it slowly changed until the familiar blue dome of the Earth hove into view.

Suddenly the band began playing and, after a few minutes, a tall man and a slim woman strutted to the middle of the stage. He was in his mid-forties, just greying and revealing a toothy smile. He wore slacks and an open neck shirt. She was in a cowboy shirt and tight jeans, which were tucked into tan boots with stiletto heels. She had masses of dyed hair and wore a ton of makeup. She was perhaps in her thirties. "She's hot," Colton whispered.

There was a greeting. The congregation responded. Then there was a prayer, perhaps of his own invention. He spoke quickly, but with a hypnotic rise and fall to his voice. He began by looking down at the floor and ended by casting his eyes upwards to the lighting grid. The congregation responded with Amen' and Praise the Lord'.

Tristan thought it odd that even in the most unconventional and modern of churches, archaic formulas of words and expression seemed to assert themselves. They seemed an inescapable feature of this sort of evangelistic preaching. There were lots revealed words', proclamations', glorifications' and halleluiahs'. Surely these were words reserved only for Sunday use.

Then there was a hymn, although it wasn't called as such. The band played and the pastor's wife, clutching the cordless mic, strutted up and down in her boots and lead the singing. For convenience, the infantile lyrics were projected onto the screen and a `bouncing ball' kept everyone on track. They were enthusiastic songsters and many of them held their arms out in supplication. Tristan felt unnerved that people could be so moved to irrationality and nastily suspected that many did it for mere show. As a former Anglican, he could open and close his mouth silently like a goldfish and so his reservations went unnoticed.

Next there was a visiting pastor from Philadelphia. He was an African-American--the only one Tristan could see in the PRFA&SWT. He had a voice that throbbed with terrible excitement--like Martin Luther King's--and he took a passage from the New Testament and analysed it to death, twisting its meaning to somehow make it relevant to his audience. It was quite a performance but went on for far too long and Tristan was bored and so picked up the large Bible from the shelf of the seat in front and began to search for the passage in question.

"I see you're reading that, son," whispered the elderly man next to him. "I want you to take it home."

"No I was just looking up..."

"You take it, son," he insisted, tapping the leatherette cover. "It will change your life too."

"No I..." Tristan tried to put it back.

"There's the truth in there," he insisted and again pressed it into Tristan's hands. A small struggle ensued.

"No really," said Tristan pressing it firmly back, "I think my father's cook already has one."

"Shh!" hissed one of Jessica's friends.

There was another song from the Contemporary Christian Hymnal and then the pastor spoke. His topic was how, by letting Jesus into one's life, it made one whole and a person might aspire to become truly righteous' and more powerful' in the sight of Man and God. He drew strained analogies from diet, exercise and self-improvement programs. He then turned from the individual to the family and stressed that only through admitting Jesus could this fundamental unit of society be `vouchsafed'. It wasn't explicit, but there was an implication that a couple of sinning poofs, did not constitute a family that could be saved and indeed raised up without a great deal of redemption first.

There were the usual parish notices and an advertisement for the health products that were available for sale in the foyer. A final ballad, I Was Fractured But Now I'm Whole was rendered by the pastor's wife with considerable sex appeal and the congregation swayed in time with the electric guitars and with its arms outstretched, many seemingly overcome with tears in their eyes and others unable to help themselves from crying out Old Testament lamentations.

"What did y'think?" whispered Colton as they filed out.

"Well...!" was all Tristan was able to say.

"Let's go to Denny's for breakfast," suggested Jessica. Soon they were settled into a booth and eating country fried steak with eggs.

"Isn't he a remarkable man?" asked Jessica.

"Who?"

"Why Matt Grayndler, that's who. He started our church less than ten years ago and now he has eight of them--one in Grand Island and one in Omaha. He has that line in ethical supplements and he's on Youtube."

"He must be very enterprising then," said Tristan for want of any other comment.

"Not enterprising," said Morgan or Meghan, "Blessed. Jesus has blessed him so he can make a difference to people's lives."

"Is that so?"

"He's an influencer for Christ," contributed Meghan or Morgan.

Tristan found they were irritatingly slow over their food; he wanted to get out of there, but he found they wanted to talk and were not above quizzing him about his beliefs.

"You know, Tristan," said Jessica, "Pastor Grayndler could help you pray for guidance with your problem--your weakness. He helped me with mine--I just couldn't stop buying shoes."

"And handbags," added Morgan or Meghan.

"And don't forget your sex addiction, said the other with a winsome smile.

Jessica chose to ignore the comment. "And Colty told me of your struggle with drugs."

Tristan raised no more than an eyebrow in Colton's direction and the look of pain on his face made Tristan want to laugh, but he kept it serious.

"Well, that's terribly kind of you, Jessica, to think of me, but it is extremely unlikely that God even exists and I'm sure Jesus said some wise things, but I will struggle on alone."

"Are y'all so resistant to letting Jesus into your life because y'so troubled about y'life style, Tristan?"

Tristan thought them was fightin' words, but kept calm. "I'm gay, Jessica, it's not a lifestyle choice like being a vegan."

"Oh I didn't mean that, Tristan. I know it's just how some people are wired; it's not even a real disability. There has been a lot of new studies done on the science of orientation and Pastor Grayndler is all for it. He sees a strong connection between physical and spiritual health."

"Tristan is not sick, Jess," said Colton.

"You don't have to be sick to be unwell, Colt. Look at all those soldiers with PTSD and kids who have autism. Loneliness, addiction, depression. I know my father is working with a heap of doctors who are devising matrixes to help heal people whose lines of force in their bodies have become suboptimal. The clinic he works for has had great success with this machine that stimulates the misaligned hemispheres of the brain. You should hear what fantastic results really troubled folks have experienced--famous people too. Then there's nutrition. The big universities and drug companies are trying to stop the study of Christian pharmacology because they feel threatened."

"What's that?" asked Colt.

"C.P.? Why, that's developing natural drug therapies from studying the scriptures. There's a powerful lot revealed if you pray and study hard."

"Let's talk about something else," said Tristan, holding his temper and thinking of the great peacemakers in history. "That game was a blow-out, wasn't it?"

This conversational avenue proved to be a dead end and soon the three girls were discussing what they had planned for the week. It soon became apparent, to Tristan's horror, that the three eighteen year-old girls were going to protest outside an abortion clinic.

"That ain't very nice, Jess," said Colton. "Those women can't be goin' to that place f'fun. I'd sure hate to havin' to make that decision. Y'all don't even know the reason why they're agoin' there or why they might want a term'nation. Besides, ain't none of y'all business what they does with their own bodies."

"We are just going to hand them some brochures from Pastor Grayndler, Colt. We want them to think seriously about the life they are carrying inside them and the murdering that the doctors do in those places." She caught Tristan's face. "Don't look like that, Tristan. They are murdering babies in these clinics, hundreds every week. Do you want to know about how they go about murdering the living baby just before it's born? What they do with the tiny corpses? I have pictures on my phone."

"No, I don't want to hear any horror stories or look at your damn pictures. Only a tiny fraction of women have late abortions anyway. About three-quarters have it in the first trimester and only about half a percent have it late term and we don't know the reasons why, so shouldn't make judgments. Those pictures are an exaggeration. It's getting harder and harder for women to have a termination in Texas. There are a lot less clinics now and many counties don't have any at all, so maybe that's why some women are having later ones. I don't know and neither do you."

"You don't realise what's happening right across the country, Tristan. There's a terrible industry murderin' babies and it must be stopped."

"Say it's killing foetuses', if you like, but it isn't murder'--that's a specific legal term and can't apply to something that is both legal and not involving a living person. It's just being emotive."

"But that's where you are so wrong, the unborn baby is `living'. It's Life, the gift of God. It's a living baby and could be given to married people who want to adopt a baby but can't get one."

"Even so, it can't be called murder."

"It is murder," insisted Morgan or Meghan. "And me and my family support the Tinderholt Bill for the death penalty for women who murder their unborn babies. `You kill and we'll kill you back'."

Tristan said nothing to this so obviously flawed argument.

"You seem to know a lot about it, Tristan," said Meghan or Morgan nastily. You're not even an American. What are you, Canadian or somethin'?"

"I'm English."

"Is that the same as British?" Tristan did not reply to this stupidity so she continued. "Well, if you don't mind me sayin', I don't think you should be tellin' other folks what to do or think."

"When you're not in their shoes, you mean?"

"That's exactly what I mean, Tristan."

"You just made an ass of yourself, Morgan," said Colt. "He's smart and I would shut y'all mouth if'n I was you."

"Colt!" snapped Jessica. Colt took no notice.

"Well, he shouldn't even be talkin' about havin' babies seein' his kind can never have them," concluded Morgan.

"Yeah," chimed in Meghan. "No wonder he wants to kill them."

"Right!" shouted Colton. Tristan thought suddenly of the angry Colt on the weights machine. "This is to stop right now. Into the truck, all of you! That is if Tristan will still drive us home."

"Of course I will," said Tristan, magnanimous now after a `blow-out' victory of his own.

Tristan didn't see Colt for a few days. It was no real surprise then when he appeared and told Tristan that he had `broken up' with Jessica.

"I'm sorry, Colt," said Tristan, not sorry at all, but thinking this was the right thing to say.

"No, I'm sorry the way she n'Morgan n'Meghan treated you the other day. They were right bitches."

"We'll they've `got religion' and I suppose they see things only through that prism."

"They're fuckin' kids and they're tellin' women not to have abortions. What do they even know about Life?"

"Well..."

"And all that carry-on in Pastor Grayndler's Church. Most of 'em are prayin' for themselves. Save me Jesus!' And all that stuff about becomin' powerful'--what's that all about?"

"Perhaps people are looking for community or something. America is pretty rootless. And Americans do have a tendency to buy snake oil."

Colt snorted. "You know what she said?"

"Please don't tell me, Colt. It's not my business."

"No, I wanna. She said that creation--`creation science' she called it--should be taught equally with evolution. Grayndler is pressing this university to run it as a course in the Science Faculty. Can y'all believe it? Evolution is science. Course we can learn more how it works or even where scientists got it wrong in the past, but we do it by usin' science--the scientific method. Creation is just a fable. The Scriptures might make interestin' readin' but they can't ever prove nothin'."

"Well, I don't know what to say, Colt."

Colt threw himself on his bed. "Say `don't do y'thinkin' with y'prick, Colton'. I'm through with chicks!"

"Well, that's a piece of news that I've been praying to hear. But I don't quite believe you, Colt. Perhaps you should ask Pastor Grayndler for guidance?"

Colt roared with laughter and threw the cum towel at Tristan's head.

Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.