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 maringiustinian@laposte.net. Please remember to help Nifty stay online by sending your contribution. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
A SONG OF SILENCE
by Marin Giustinian
It was on a hot Friday afternoon in mid-July, 2015, when Ivan Moore, busking as a mime in the south of France, approached the small, fortified village where market was to be held the following morning.
He was twenty-four, from Dublin, and had gladly chosen the life of a wandering street artist a year ago.
Jeremy Martin, seventeen, was doing yard work in front of his mother's Chambre d'Hote, B&B in English. As Ivan drove by, Jeremy was very impressed by the rare sight of a horse and gypsy wagon on the road. A young, very handsome man was holding the reins. It was for him the vision of a fantasy come true, the wandering prince of his dreams, free as the wind in the willows, appearing and then disappearing in the direction of the village.
The following day, Jeremy put his backpack on and carried two empty baskets to be filled at the market with seasonal fruits for his mother's jam.
Crossing the bridge, entering town, he noticed the same gypsy wagon he saw yesterday. It was parked down by the river with the horse peacefully grazing along the water's edge.
"We all dream about it... Some do it!" he said to himself.
It was just after ten thirty when a small crowd began to gather in the middle of the village square. Jeremy was heading back home, having spent all of his money filling his baskets and backpack. Laughter was rising from the gathering. His curiosity got the best of him as he decided to take a look.
Ivan's talent captivated the people. The force of his art charmed the audience. Not a word was spoken. The title of each sketch was elegantly calligraphed and displayed on a wooden easel. That was the only object other than Ivan's delicate and yet powerful presence creating space amidst the silent crowd.
Jeremy was immediately fascinated, even amazed at the sight of the mime. His was white faced, wearing a striped, black and white top, black tights and ballet shoes. His black paperboy cap covered his hair and his hands were clad in white gloves. His black lined eyes gleamed and his scarlet lips beamed an unforgettable smile.
Jeremy gazed at the unearthly angel, seemingly moving without touching the ground, creating illusions of things that really weren't there. The young man was awestruck not only by the grace of the man's movements, but also by his athletic beauty. His androgynous face portrayed such deep emotions that even the youngest children were silent.
Sometimes delighted by the fragrance of an invisible flower, or surprised by an invisible butterfly on wing, he filled the empty space with imaginary wonders and contrasting emotions. A comical episode suddenly became tragic, then hope returned and the crowd applauded.
Jeremy beamed, clapping like mad, unable to realise why he was so enthralled. Ivan bowed, passed his cap, circling the edge of his invisible stage. Jeremy dug into his empty pockets. He sheepishly shrugged with a faint apologetic smile on his lips. The mime winked, tilting his head as if to say, "No problem..." and went on his way.
Jeremy emptied a big paper bag and refilled it with a selection of peaches, plums, apricots, along with a honeydew melon and a little punnet of strawberries. He then ran to catch up with the mime before he left.
He found Ivan by the fountain. He was wiping his make-up off when Jeremy showed up, breathless.
Jeremy immediately recognised the young man he saw the day before driving the horse and wagon.
"C'est pour vous! Merci!," he exclaimed presenting the basket in front of him.
Ivan's hopeless English accent betrayed him as he stuttered, "Merci, Trop... too much!"
"Are you British?" inquired Jeremy, with a broad smile on his face.
"Well, Irish to be exact. I'm from Dublin."
"Your performance overwhelmed me! You made me dream! This fruit is the least I can give to thank you!"
"Wow! That's really kind of you, but I don't know how to carry all that with me," he stated, pointing at his easel and title boards.
"The horse and wagon by the bridge are yours, aren't they?"
"Yes..."
"Then I can go with you and leave the fruit at your wagon... I saw you passing by on the road yesterday. Now that you have your make-up off, I recognised you."
On the way, they spoke some.
"How is it that you speak such good English?" inquired Ivan.
"My Mum's from Scotland."
"I feel lucky to meet you. It's good to speak English again... and the fruit looks really delicious! By the way, my name's Ivan Moore. And yours?"
"Jeremy... Jeremy Martin"
"Glad to meet you, Jeremy, and thanks again."
"You're welcome, Ivan. My pleasure!"
Jeremy nearly danced walking beside Ivan. He asked, "Are you going to be around for a while?".
"Well, not exactly here, by the river. I doubt it's permitted. However, I'd like to find a place to stay long enough to make some repairs, clean up, rehearse some new ideas for my sketches. Romeo and I have been a long time on the move and we could use some rest..."
"Romeo?"
"That's Romeo grazing over there. He's my best companion!"
"Listen, at the back of my mother's property. It's rather big... there's a freshwater creek and a little pond. It's simple. From the road, there's the house, then the rose garden, then a green and at the back, a little patch of woods ending at a shaded grove, a kind of clearing I keep mown. I like to go there. The creek's clean and just a bit beyond there's grass galore for Romeo. There's nobody around to bother you. It's easy to get there with your wagon. If you want, I'd be glad for you to stopover there. I know my mother won't mind. She's the coolest woman on earth!"
"How much does it cost?"
"It's free."
"Well! I can't give that up, can I?"
"Good! If you want, I can take you there now."
"Why not? No use waiting. Is it far?"
"It takes me about twenty minutes on foot!"
Jeremy was thrilled to ride, standing beside Ivan, on the driving deck of the wagon. Once arrived at the house, he introduced Ivan to Mary Martin, his mother. He explained who Ivan was and how they met. Seeing her son's enthusiasm, and the young artist's fine allure, she immediately welcomed him, saying he must come and dine with them that evening.
"Let me show you the clearing now," exclaimed Jeremy.
"Lunch will soon be ready, Jeremy..." reminded Mary as they were leaving.
Arriving in the clearing, Ivan exclaimed, "This place is heaven!"
"It suits you then, does it, Ivan?"
"It couldn't be better."
"You see, it's really secluded behind the woods. The creek water is clean. It's okay for washing and boiling for tea and such. Romeo can drink it too. I'd prefer you getting your drinking water at the house though. I can give you some spare bottles..."
"That's really nice of you... Just one little favour. Can I gather some fallen branches in your woods? I cook with a tiny wood stove and my stock is nearly out."
"I'll split and bring you some of our firewood."
"Listen, Jeremy, I don't want you to go too far out of your way for me. Really..."
"Please don't deprive me of the pleasure of having an international artist as a guest! It's an honour for me, believe me! Make yourself at home," stated Jeremy.
"At least let me pay you for the wood..."
Jeremy hesitated and then openly proposed, "If you show me some things about your art, your mime, how you move, that would be far enough pay for me..."
"You've got a deal!"
"Wow! I'm overwhelmed!"
"What time should I arrive for dinner this evening?"
"Seven... seven-thirty..." shouted Jeremy running back to the house.
"See you then, Jeremy... and thanks again!"
"You're more than welcome, Ivan!"
The doorbell rang.
"Mum, Ivan's here!" shouted Jeremy as he opened.
"Have him come in... I'm busy on the phone with Charles."
"Make yourself at home, Ivan! When Mum's talking with her boyfriend, that can last quite a while... What can I give you to drink? We've got beer, wine and a whisky left from my grandfather's collection..."
"A beer would be nice. Thank you."
Jeremy disappeared in the kitchen and came back with the bottle of lager and a glass. There was a little bowl of peanuts on the side. There was a can of Coke for him.
"Charles -- my mother's boyfriend... or man-friend I should say -- is a really nice fellow. I'm glad for my mother. He teaches school. He was my English professor in high school.
Mary rushed into the living room with a glass of white wine exclaiming, "Charles says he's really sorry to not be able to come over and meet you, but... Well, anyhow, how do you like Jeremy's 'secret' clearing. Ever since he was a little boy, he loved going there. I really don't know what's so special there... but that's his business, isn't it, darling?" Jeremy's mother gushed non-stop, caressing her son's smooth cheek.
"It's very nice, thank you. I'm lucky Jeremy invited me to stopover there..."
The dinner was simple, cordial and light hearted. They enjoyed chatting about the plight of the world and of course the Brexit was amply commented and lamented. Mary said that Ivan was welcome to come with her in the car when she went shopping, if needs be. Some other practical matters were settled too. When dessert was finished, Jeremy cleaned off the table and Ivan asked, "If it's not to personal, could you tell me how you came about living in France, here with Jeremy. I noticed neither he nor you ever mentioned his father... am I too nosy?"
"Not at all!"
Mary had no problem talking about herself. In fact she loved it, especially with the wine helping tongues to loosen up. Jeremy brought the coffee and cognac as they settled in the living room.
"I came here with my parents in 1991 -- I was an only child, like my son, here. My father loved France. He sold his farm machine business and took his retirement. He was already sixty-four. So, my stepmother and he -- my mother died when I was six and father remarried soon after. Anyhow, he bought this farm house and surrounding land in 1991. I was then sixteen. I went to high school in the nearby town of Condom and loved it. However my stepmother was never able to cope with living in France. She hated the language, the customs, the people. She and my father had dramatic fights. I used to shut myself up in my room, waiting for the storm to pass over. When I was twenty, my father... his name was Jeremy and so my son was named after him, my father had a heart attack and just dropped dead out there in the rose garden. My stepmother returned to bury him in her home town in the Borders. This house was left to me as well as my part of his insurance money. I remodeled it into a simple B&B. By the age of 22, I was in business."
"And Jeremy, your son?" inquired Ivan.
"Jeremy was born two years later. I had been invited for a weekend to go skiing in the Pyrenees with some friends. In the chalet-hotel where we were staying, a big party was going on and we were invited to join in. I'm always ready for a party -- Well, it so happened that during the party, I met this extremely becoming Spaniard. I admit, I was seduced from the start -- He left me with that wonderful gift sitting there beside you. I gave the boy my surname. I never even knew the name of his father. All my son has of him is his fabulously good looks! Isn't he the best looking lad you've ever seen, Ivan?"
Ivan nodded and as Mary took another sip of her cognac he turned to look at Jeremy and asked, "So how do you feel about not knowing your father? Not even his name?"
"I don't feel anything. It's the way nature chose for me to appear on the planet. I can't question nature, can I?"
"Ha! I guess not..."
"Ivan, I haven't finished bragging about Jeremy!"
"Mum... please..."
"You don't have to listen, sweetheart... Jeremy was and is a boy easy to live with. I home schooled him very early and sent him to school only when he was ten. He was admitted directly with a year in advance over the other pupils. Even though he hated school, he finished his secondary education with honours and I didn't object when he said he wanted to then put an end to school. How could I object? He was bilingual, very sharp in math, and was able to read and write both in French and in English without any problem. He loved books and music and enjoyed keeping the grounds in perfect shape, especially the rose garden. He had time to find himself. Am I not right? Well, to finish covering him with my motherly praise, he sings like an angel. As a child he sang a perfect soprano, better than a choirboy from Canterbury! When his voice changed, it didn't squeak. It just mellowed into a lovely tenor, able to sing counter-tenor quite naturally. Sing something for Ivan, Jeremy."
"Mum..."
"I'd love to hear you sing, Jeremy..." calmly stated Ivan, leaning forward some.
"Okay... but don't expect me to sing regular songs, with words and all. I just improvise what I feel. The music comes out of me from the inside, spontaneously, if I'm in the mood. This is for you, Ivan."
"Thank you, Jeremy."
Jeremy's voice was uncanny. It vibrated with that mysterious timbre that only lads of his age can sing. His was even more unreal. The mellow depth of his maturing voice was hadn't yet expelled the treble. Ivan was moved, more than he liked to show.
"Thank you very much, Jeremy. I'm touched."
Jeremy just blushed.
"Now it's your turn to tell us some about yourself," stated Mary.
Ivan explained that he came from a very special kind of Irish family from Dublin. His father was from a long line of pub owners, pure Irish, and his mother was Russian. Together, they ran the family's musical pub in the Temple Bar district of the city. He grew up with musicians, artists and night life people. At the age of fifteen, he went on a school trip to Italy where he saw a street mime performing in Venice. From that second on, he knew what he wanted to become, a mime. His parents, especially his mother, backed him, never sparing a penny for him to fulfill his dream. He joined a theatre group in his high school, took ballet lessons, and then went to Paris to study in the international school of mime and physical theatre. After finishing the curriculum there along with taking courses in somatic dance and chakra balancing, he asked his parents to finance him a horse and a gypsy wagon and let him travel Europe, busking in villages, and live in nature as simply as possible.
"Having always lived in the crowded heart of Dublin, then in downtown Paris, I was yearning for lonely country lanes, fields and glades and fair weather sunshine, all by myself! So that's what I did last year... and here I am now!"
Jeremy's drank in Ivan's words.
"That's terribly interesting, such an exciting life!" concluded Mary.
"Mum, Ivan's going to teach me some mime in payment for the firewood I'm giving him."
Mary immediately exclaimed, "That's wonderful! How kind of you, Ivan. Be careful. Jeremy has a way of hanging on to people he likes. Don't let him become a pest."
"Mum, please..."
"I'll watch out, Mary! Promise!"
"Listen, I'm exhausted. If you don't mind, I'm going to retire. Don't stay up too late, Jeremy. It was a real pleasure to meet you, Ivan. I do hope you'll enjoy your stay here! Good night."
"Good night, Mum."
"Good night, Mary."
"Do you have to leave too, Ivan?" asked Jeremy.
"To be honest, I'd like to check on Romeo. Could you lend me a flashlight. I forgot mine and it's pitch black outside tonight."
"I'll walk with you back!"
Jeremy returned with Ivan to the wagon, carrying some eggs, bread and pear juice for breakfast.
Apparently, Romeo was happy where he was.
Ivan then asked, "Do you want to come in and finish some wine with me? I don't mind drinking alone... but your company's better."
"I usually don't drink wine, but this is a special occasion!"
Inside the wagon Jeremy looked around, commenting on what he saw.
"It's really nice in here! The stove, the sink, the cupboard and the big bed in the rear under the windows. It's a real home..."
"It's my palace and the world is my kingdom!" proclaimed Ivan opening wide his arms.
"I've been noticing the bracelet you have tied on to your wrist? It's so colourful! Does it mean something special?"
"It's my chakra bracelet."
"Chakra?"
"I can explain that to you for your first mime lesson."
"Okay... I can wait! When do we start?"
"Why not tomorrow afternoon. Can you come around five? If the weather holds out we can work in the clearing. I can't work with you earlier. I've a lot to do, laundry, cleaning out the wagon. It needs some repairs too and I'd like to work on a new idea for an act."
"Five is fine for me! What should I wear?"
"Just some baggy shorts and sweatshirt. Anything in which you can move around easily. That'll do!"
"I guess I better go now... Thanks for the wine" uttered Jeremy as he stood, looking a bit awkward. He looked at his feet and then at Ivan, blurting out, "Ivan, can I hug you?"
Ivan simply held out his arms with a very tender smile on his lips.
"Good night, Jeremy."
"Good night, Ivan. See you tomorrow. You've made me one happy lad today! Thanks again..."
"You've made me happy too!"
The next day, Jeremy showed up early... too early in fact. Ivan was washing up, nude in the pond. Jeremy admired the sudden vision of his idol dripping in the sun. Oblivious to Jeremy's distant presence, Ivan stepped out of the water and returned to his wagon. Jeremy arrived and knocked on the wagon.
"It's me, Jeremy! I'm here, Ivan."
"Just a minute..."
Both Jeremy and Ivan smelled of cologne. Their baggy T-shirts and shorts were immaculate.
"You look great, Jeremy. Ready to join me in the magic world of mime?"
"More than ever! Are you still satisfied with the place?"
"I just love it. Not only is it beautiful, but the pond is great for bathing in this heat."
"I'm really glad it pleases you that much!"
"I'll bring the wood tomorrow. Is that okay?"
"Of course. Follow me."
They went and sat under a nearby tree.
Ivan began, "So since you asked about the chakras, we'll begin by that. It's really fundamental for me and my way of feeling my energies flow as I do my mimes. Just remember, like for the dancer, the mime is his own work of art. My body, my energy, my most intimate self become a work of art. The way you sing, Jeremy, is sort of like that too. Your flesh becomes music... Am I right?"
"I never thought about it like that."
"Well, you can think about it now!"
"This is getting deeper than I thought!"
"So here we go! Our physical body is evident. It's visible, it has a shape, a weight, and so forth... Our energetic body is more difficult to feel. Some people say they can see the aura of a body... I can't... at least not yet, so otherwise, our energetic body is invisible. It has no weight, but we can feel it like when we say, "I'm in shape..." That's the shape of our energy and when we say, "I feel light, or down..." that's the weight. The chakras are a way of feeling, helping, and intensifying our energetic body, of opening ourselves to the world and sending our energies out into the world. Our chakras determine our presence both to ourselves and to others."
Ivan then gave him a brief explanation concerning the different nexus of the whirling vital energy along the axis of the body.
"Let's stand up. The energetic root of the body, connecting us to the earth, is the chakra situated between the anus and the testicles. You can make it throb by squeezing your perinea."
"My what?"
"Your perinea, the muscle you squeeze when you need to hold back from peeing. It's the same muscle that squeezes all by itself in spasms when you shoot off..."
That made Jeremy laugh a little.
"Go ahead, put your fingers there and rub it."
"I'm not sure I'm touching the right place."
"Spread you legs, I'll show you."
Gently massaging Jeremy's perinea, Ivan said, "Now pulse the spot I'm rubbing on."
Jeremy concentrated and little by little he was able to locate the muscles and make the bulge throb under Ivan's fingers.
"Very good! You've got it. How does it feel?"
"Ha! It feels like I've got a hard on!"
"I noticed... no problem. You should throb that muscle a little everyday. It helps you stay grounded. That's where you share with the Earth its energy."
"There... I'm getting better at it!"
"Let's move on up. The next chakra going up from the perinea is the sex chakra. Our creative energy is there, in our fluids. It whirls clockwise. Now, to open the chakra and its energy there, massage yourself, stirring the fleshy little mound just at the top of your penis, right under your pubic bush. Just close your eyes and try to feel the message your chakras is sending to your awareness."
Ivan gave the instructions so clearly and in such a simple way that Jeremy did as requested, this time without giggling.
"It makes me feel like I want to float, to flow. It makes me harder too."
"That's normal. The element associated with the sex chakra is Water. Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Yes, it feels real good."
"It's also normal that you erect and even wet yourself a little. That means you're in good health! Don't forget that for your body, what we create comes from the same energy with which we procreate. For us, the masculine half of humanity, that spring is our cock and balls and the pelvis where they hang."
"I've got to think about that too..."
"Now let's move on up a little more. Put your hands on your plexus like that."
Ivan put both hands, one on the other, on his abdomen, just above the belly and under the junction of the ribs. Then he began massaging in a counter clockwise movement. Do like me, while I explain.
"This is the source of action, of doing. It's the sun shining inside you, it's your fire, your solar plexus."
"I think I'm getting the gist of this."
They continued onto the heart.
"That's our energy of love, love of life, love of nature, love of others, love of ourselves."
Then he massaged the throat. That's for our communication with the outside world. Our food, our breath, our words pass by there. The throat chakra includes the mouth. It's also a port of our sex. Our throat is shaped like the sheath of our penis. Obviously, Jeremy was puzzled.
"Don't worry, this will become clear to you later in the work."
He then touched his forehead explaining that spot was the chakra of light, understanding, intuition. "Our visionary energy is where the orientals place the third eye."
"I see..."
"As for the crown chakra on the top of the head, no use massaging. It's our relation to the Spirit and that's a very personal thing. That chakra opens or closes by itself and to reveal itself, it depends only on the six other chakras, harmonising together. The meaning of this chakra is up to each of us. It's the meaning of our lives and perhaps even beyond... You can review all of this by going on the internet. There are hundreds of sites that talk about the chakra. Most of them are just catchy, commercial junk. Others are a bit more serious. The simplest one I know of is https://spiritualtoo.com/the-7-chakras-and-their-meanings/. So, I'll just resume by saying that the three most important chakras for us are the three L's: Lust, Love, and Light, the sex chakra, the heart chakra and the forehead chakra. We keep them open through Meditation, Movement, and Massage. But all that's just words. It's the combination of the three experiences, repeated over and over that gives us meaning, power, and above all, creative delight!"
"That's a lot all at one time, Ivan. I'll have to let it seep in."
"That's very wise of you, Jeremy. Now let's get some action going, get involved in our body, our flesh, our fluids, and our breathing. We're going to sculpt space, create clouds of energy, and let the energy of the planet take over as it flows through us. Come on, do like me. Don't try to copy me, just follow along as it comes. Don't worry if it's well done or not, if it's correct or not. Let's go play on the lawn and share the energy we create together."
They began to move, slowly at first, twisting, turning, hunching, and stretching. Little by little, patterns set in, then the movements became faster, larger, moving more air. Their arms reached out into the late afternoon light, their breathing deepened. This went on close to an hour. "Wow! I'm beat!" huffed Jeremy, collapsing on the ground, "That was fantastic. I felt so many things. I felt like you and I were feeling and doing the same things too. We didn't need to talk. Our souls were communicating, dancing."
"It's a beginning to somatic dance. And you're right. Sometimes words aren't the best for understanding. Life is something we experience... and only the poets can talk about it in a halfway decent way. But, we can't do without words either... so... do you want us to go on working together or not?"
"More than ever, Ivan!"
"Come back tomorrow at dawn... we'll greet the day, whatever the weather! And for now, let's strip and take a dip!"
"Yippie!" yelled Jeremy.
End of part one out of three.
A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at maringiustinian@laposte.net.