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Subject: Heatwave in the City Chapter 26 This is a work of fiction. Everybody in it is entirely my own creation. Don’t even think of suing me for putting you in a story, because I haven’t. If you happen to be resident in one of the places mentioned, or to belong to any of the institutions mentioned, don’t even think about telling me I haven’t portrayed them accurately. Work of fiction. The name of the institution only occurs because it is common knowledge so I couldn’t get away with pretending it was otherwise. If I’ve borrowed your Church, school, police station, laundrette – I haven’t. I’ve merely used the name on the building because people walk past and see it every day. Work of fiction. None of the people in the story exist, so none of the things that happen in the story can have happened to them. The world, however, is the one exception to this – the world which has in it so many wonderful people that writing fiction of this sort becomes an obligation – for me; not for everybody. You’ll have found your own place in the scheme of things, and can be wonderful in your own way. This is a story of love. It isn’t a story of sex, though that might get mentioned. There is no pornography here. Some of it is cross-generational, but it isn’t about perverted love either. Some is what nowadays is termed “gay”, but the same applies. If you think you might be offended by that, the time to go and read something else is now. Still reading? Then enjoy, and remember, you don’t pay to read these stories, but it does cost Nifty money to bring them to you. Please consider donating to Nifty fty/donate.html Heatwave in the City by Jonah Chapter 26 Kori’s Story It was twenty to six when Jake dropped me at the end of Sheringham High Street. I crossed to the sea wall and walked the few yards down the front to the concrete bridge that carries the promenade over the fishermen’s slipway. There are always boats pulled up there, but at this time of the morning there are men with them. Ten boats were lined up on the slipway, though today we would only be taking out five of them. Hallelujah met me on the slipway and took me to his boat, the Sally Lunn. Some of the boats are identified only by their YH (Yarmouth) registration, but most carry names, Good Girl, Tomtit, Jane B, Good Fortune. Hallelujah was stowing empty lobster pots, in the bottom of the boat together with floats, netting, spare fenders and other nautical equipment. The boat was almost like a broad rowing boat, but huge, by rowing boat standards. Hallelujah said that the locals sometimes called it a “wherry” but that really referred to a different type of boat, with a sail. This boat was simply a lobster boat. The lobster boats usually carried a small mast, mostly in the bow (so looking more like a jackstaff), so that they could carry navigation lights. They were two-man craft but, looking at the size of them, it would be interesting to see two men try to get them in the water. Eventually all five skippers declared their boats ready and climbed aboard. “Go you with Joyful and his crew,” said Hallelujah as he boarded the Sally Lunn. I had to join the other four crew members in dragging the Tomtit, down the slipway and over the shingle until she was afloat. Then we went back for the Sally Lunn and dragged Hallelujah and his craft into the North Sea. We dragged all five boats down in this manner, last of all being Joyful Peggoty sat in the centre of the Good Girl. As soon as the Good Girl was afloat Joyful cried, “Come you aboard boys,” and willing hands hoisted me over the gunwhales. I tumbled in among the lobster pots. The other four clambered in after me till the Good Girl was almost down by the gunwhales in the water. A few waves broke over the gunwhales and Joyful asked, “Hev you got enough room to bale some o’ that out Blessed Morn?” “It’ll be right Joyful, as soon as we lighten her,” replied Blessed Morn Spratt, starting up the boat’s small engine. “Good,” said his skipper, “Get some way on her and we’ll make for Good Tidings’ boat.” The boat identified simply as YH923 didn’t dignify itself with a name, so Joyful just referred to her skipper. The engine put-putted more rapidly as we pitched and rolled our way toward the other boat, shipping more water as we did so. We turned and Blessed Morn pulled her stern in toward the stern of YH844. Three men reached across and siezed hold of her gunwhales and clasped the two boats together. As they did so Good Tidings called out, “Come yew aboard Faithful.” The middle man of the three stepped over the gunwhale into the other boat. As soon as he had both feet in his own boat his two companions let go and the engine puttered some more. “We’ll make for Sally Lunn next,” said Joyful. I couldn’t believe how the swell on the ocean increased as he said those words. The Good Girl rose to the crest of each huge wave and then plunged into the trough. I have never been sea-sick, but I was never closer than at that moment. The boat rose and plummetted so much that I couldn’t catch more than fleeting glimpses of the Sally Lunn with Hallelujah sitting patiently in her bow. At each glimpse she was much closer. “Kori, stand yew between Thank the Lord and Springtide,” called out Joyful. I didn’t want to trabzon escort move, but Joyful hadn’t said it was a suggestion. As I stood to move to the starboard gunwhale I almost pitched into the bottom of the boat, but strong hands steadied me. It was suddenly borne upon me that every one of these men had once been where I was now. My two companions had grasped the Sally Lunn by the gunwhales and I reached over to help pull her to us. “Come you aboard Kori,” I heard from somewhere in front. I stood as well as I was able and clambered across into the other boat. Every movement between the boats seemed momentous, and I could imagine myself falling into that angry sea, and being crushed between the two hulls. I would have fallen ingloriously into the bottom of the other boat, but Hallelujah’s strong hands guided me firmly into the stern seat. As I looked back the Good Girl was no longer there. Only the puttering of her engine told of her existence. The engine noise grew quieter until only the noise of the wind and the waves surrounded Hallelujah and I in our boat. The big man had settled himself in the bow and seemed to be lost in reverie. After a few moments he spoke. “Kori, when you’re out here at the mercy of a huge, unforgiving sea, you pray. Don’t ever be ashamed to do that. Every man in every one of them boats’ll tell you the same.” I sat back and relaxed. That was probably fairly close to what Hallelujah had described as praying. I had been brought up to go to Church, but there are times when you feel closer to your creator than you do in Church. This, as I looked round at the huge expanse of heaving water, was one of those times. But there was work to do. “Pull the cord and get that engine started Kori,” said Hallelujah. The engine spluttered into life first go. “Right, now if you give her a bit on the throttle to put some way on her, you can take the tiller. We’re going for that float on the water over there.” I could see the pink plastic float. “Aim over there and come at it in a big arc,” he said. “Never drive straight at something in a motor vessel. The propeller effect, combined with the current, will take you off and you’ll go straight past it. Approaching things in an arc give you time and room to see what the current’s doing and make corrections. It’s different with a sailing vessel, but you do that with all single prop motor boats.” I cut the engine with the boat about a boat’s length off the float so that Hallelujah could catch it with a boat hook. For three hours we serviced the pots, checked the catch and puttered around the area. “Joyful’s signalling time to go back in,” said Hallelujah suddenly. “Not a bad catch. about two dozen edible crabs. In lobster season I’d throw them back, but you don’t get that many lobsters.” I was surprised, because I had only twice seen another boat since boarding the Sally Lunn. I knew the other boats were around somewhere but they weren’t visible – or at least not to me. I suspect the concentration on steering our craft had blinded me to anything I didn’t need to see. “The tide’s turned, “said Hallelujah, “but keep some way on her until we get really close in. It’ll help you to steer.” With Hallelujah’s help and advice I managed to bring the Sally Lunn to the slipway where we nosed in before the other boats. I beached her as best I could. “Now jump out and hold her,” said Hallelujah. “You won’t be able to pull her up, just stop her sliding back till another boat arrives.” Good Girl arrived next and while Joyful held his craft, his crew ran over to help me drag Sally Lunn a few feet further up the shingle. “That’ll do boys,” said Hallelujah. “Go you and wait for the next boat to arrive.” We did that and hauled Tomtit right out of the water, when she arrived. With the assistance of her crew we now had enough people to drag Sally Lunn and Good Girl right onto the slipway. “That’ll do Kori,” said Hallelujah. “Your friends are waiting for you up by the ‘Boats. If you ever want another ride out, you’ll know where to find me.” I found the others, as he had said, outside the Two Lifeboats Hotel – a sprawling, half timbered building that, apparently, had once been a brothel. I hadn’t asked Jonah what he had planned for the rest of the day but, whatever it was, it would seem tame. Jonah resumes: With Luke’s help I had grilled kippers for the rest of the boys, then taken them and my back-pack down to catch the first train. That was the DMU, which I suspect was more a staff train than anything else. The 9F was simmering in the shed yard, and we were just in time to see the standard class 4 set off light engine with Simon on board. Our DMU had to wait till the light engine got to Sheringham, before it could follow suit. Our run to Sheringham was a familiar journey by now, and we ran into platform two when we got there. The class 4 with its train of carmine and cream coaches was in platform one and I quickly ran across the bridge. Simon, under the supervision of the regular fireman, had just shut off the blower so that he could start to build up the fire. Seeing me he leaned down from the cab and said, “I might be a bit later tonight. I have to dispose this before I can leave.” “That’s OK,” I replied. “We’re tunalı escort off into Norwich when we get Kori back, so we’ll probably be late too. Have a good day.” He turned back to his firing as I walked back down the platform to find the others. Having found them we walked down the High Street to the promenade where we found Jake seated outside the Two Lifeboats sipping a cup of coffee. “They’re just coming back in,” he said, indicating the small boats bobbing up and down on the waves. “You’ve probably got time for a cup of tea before they get in.” I certainly had got time for a cup of tea and ordered orange squash for our three boys. We were in the middle of supping these when Kori arrived with his face outshining the Summer sun. “I guess you didn’t enjoy that then,” observed Jake. Kori threw a punch which Jake dodged easily, though I suspect Kori meant him to, because the boy then pitched forward into Jake’s arms and the resulting hug was something which neither of them seemed in any hurry to terminate. Beverages supped, we all walked back to the National Rail station for the 1047 train to Norwich. As soon as the train was underway a cry of “Tickets!” arose immediately behind us. “Tickets…. thank you very much….thank you very much …. Mr. President …. Mr. Battleship …. a pleasure to have you aboard. Where can I sell you gentlemen a ticket to?” Kori was ready for him. “Well I’d like to go to Paris, but since this train doesn’t go there, I suppose it’ll have to be Norwich.” “Two grown-ups, and four ankle-biters to Norwich,” repeated the conductor, in retaliation. “Coming back today?” “Please,” I replied. “That’ll cost you �48 exactly,” he said. “You know it’d only cost you �32 if you’d had a family railcard. You live in London don’t you?” “Some of us do,” I replied. “Well a railcard cost you �30 for a year and if you get a third off all your train fares you’ll get that back in no time. I should think about it. They’ll give you a form at the travel centre in Norwich if you want one.” It was twenty to twelve when we arrived in Norwich (Thorpe) station, and we promptly left the building and headed over the river bridge to Prince of Wales Road. With mid-day fast approaching, lunch was on the cards, so it was a question of what we could find. There was a Subway on Prince of Wales Road that satisfied our immediate needs then it was up the Prince of Wales Road and round to the Cathedral Quarter. Exploring a cathedral is not something that takes a long time – unless you have Kori with you. Kori has to absorb the guide book, then he has to tell everybody in sight all about the building. He becomes fascinated himself, then he has to captivate everybody else. That’s Kori. Eventually we managed to get him out of the place. Jake then gave Kori and Liam their pocket money. I decided to do the same for my boys. Jake told Kori and Liam that they might want to buy presents for back home. I was sure we should take something back for Joe, Miriam and Monica, and perhaps for Ben and Rob. I was equally sure that Jake would be in trouble if he took nothing back for his Godson. We went shopping. We were fairly well laden by the time we retraced our steps to Thorpe Station for the 1645 train to Sheringham. I did take the time to obtain a form for a family railcard, since our friendly conductor was right. The young lady who conducted the 1645 was nice, but didn’t have the boys in hysterics as her colleague had. Jake and I had to do that. With or without on-board entertainment the train still got us back for quarter to six. Then we had to walk all the way down the High Street to the Crown Car Park, where Jake had left the Kia. It was ten past six and we were back at the cottage. Kori and Luke had taken charge of dinner so I wandered down to the station. In the Shed yard the 9F and the 4MT stood side by side. Beside the class 4 was Simon, with his cap on backwards and his neckerchief tied over his face, shovelling ash into a barrow. “Second time I’ve shovelled this lot today,” he told me. “Out of the tender into the firebox, and now I’ve got to get it out of the firebox and ashpan.” “Good job you love shovelling then,” I told him. ” ‘Bout another ten minutes,” said Bob, climbing down from the cab. “There’s no rush,” I said. “The rest of us have only just got back.” “Good day?” Simon asked. “Very,” I replied. “There’s no need to ask if you did. See you in a little while. See you later Bob.” I wandered back to the cottage where Kori was creating lots of stir-fry. I had purchased a huge Bakewell tart, so Luke was making custard. “Simon’ll be another quarter of an hour yet,” I told Kori. “That’ll be about right.” He said. “C’n we swim in the sea when we’ve had dinner?” “You’ll get stomach cramps if you have a lot of dinner. ” I said. “Pity you didn’t ask earlier, I’d have told you to go right away and we’ll eat when you get back.” “Can we?” “You wouldn’t be able to reheat the stir-fry,” I replied. “No reason why Luke can’t finish the custard and we’ll have that cold, if you really want to go.” That was recieved with great acclaim. “Before anybody rushes off, you’ll have to have your stir-fry, and nobody is going in the sea without swimming trunks. tunceli escort This isn’t Ashfield, and there’ll be no skinny-dipping here.” “Yes SIR!” said Kori, saluting. “And you’re staying behind for being cheeky,” I added. His face fell. I took hold of him and pulled him into a close embrace, thereby burning the back of my hand on the hot spatula that he was holding. “Jake does things like that,” he muttered ruefully. “I know,” I said. “He loves you too.” He pulled away. “Dinner in five, and you need to stick your hand under the cold tap,” he told me. “I know that as well, but thanks for telling me,” I replied. “Dinner in five folks. Except for me, ‘cos I’ll be running my hand under the tap.” It was eight o’clock on a warm Summer evening. Kori had made a good stir-fry (and he doesn’t give away his recipes),and I had settled down with a good book while Jake drove the boys down to the beach. On their return I discovered that my stricture against skinny-dipping had been religiously observed, but in no way would it be taken as an obligaton to wear clothing when they got back. Five naked boys, and a naked adult consumed cold Bakewell tart and custard, the adult making it impossible for me to issue orders to the boys on the subject. I’m convinced that was his intention. Defeated, I ate my pudding, then settled down with my book again. Kori and Simon joined me on the sofa. Simon had found a book to read and Kori had found himself an adult to provoke. Jake was playing cards with the younger boys, but I didn’t expect any help from him anyway. There was only one thing for it. I stood up. “I think I’ll go and lie down for a bit” I said. “I’ll come too,” said Kori, also rising. I shrugged. “As you wish,” I said, watching carefully for any sign of a reaction from Jake. There was none. I went upstairs to the bedroom, slipped out of my shorts and underpants and lay on the bed. The naked American boy lay down beside me. When I said nothing he turned and cuddled up to me. “Kori, ” I said. “There’s nobody else here in front of whom you can embarrass me.” “So let’s just do it,” he suggested. “You’re just an old romantic, arent you?” “You know what I mean. Stop playing hard-to-get.” “Kori, I’m an adult. I’m supposed to be more than hard-to-get.” I could feel his erection lying alongside mine. “No-one will know.” “That’s not true.” It took a second for him to realise what I meant. “But they don’t care,” he finally said. “Kori, I would hate you to make the mistake of thinking someone doesn’t care about you when they really do.” That one went home much more quickly. A look of anger flashed momentarily across his face. “That was a cheap shot,” he said. “No Kori,” I said. “It wasn’t. Don’t make the same mistake twice.” He rolled onto his back. There were tears in his eyes but he wasn’t crying. The tears were the remnant of some reaction. His glare, through the tears, was in imminent danger of setting fire to the ceiling. “Why is it always so complicated?” he demanded. “It’s complicated for you Kori,” I told him, “because you’re a good boy. You’ve been asking me to do something that you don’t want me to do. If I’d done it, you’d never have forgiven either of us.” I could have told him much more, but he could tell himself better. I lay gazing up at the ceiling. Suddenly there was an arm flung across my chest and a face buried in my shoulder. The tears were real now as his whole body shook. I put my arms around him and let him cry. Eventually the heaving ceased and I thought he had fallen asleep. I was wrong. After a few moments he stood up. “I’d better go,” he mumbled. “Kori,” I said. “before you go – you haven’t done anything wrong you know.” “You wouldn’t let me,” he replied. “Kori, I told you, you’re a good boy. I meant it. God loves you, and you haven’t done anything to stop that. You can’t – He loves you too much for that, and I love you and Jake loves you. In fact we all love you, not because of anything you’ve done, or not done, but because of who you are. Now you can choose to be better, or you can choose to be worse, but don’t stop being you, because that’s who we all love.” He smiled briefly before he left the room. I lay in thought for a few moments before I reached for the book. It fell to the floor. I’d never find my place again. I lay back and closed my eyes. Ten minutes later I woke to find another naked American laying beside me. “You know, if you’d touched him I’d have socked you?” “No you wouldn’t,” I replied. “For a moment I almost did.” “Butcha din’t,” he said, and left it at that. “He was fairly sure you didn’t care.” I said at length. “Nope, he knows I do,” he said. “Sometimes he doesn’t know what he knows, but he knows it still – like most of us.” It was too difficult. I gave it up and fell asleep. TO BE CONTINUED If you’ve enjoyed this story, you’ll probably enjoy other stories in this series by the same author. This is the latest in a series that includes “A letter from America”, “Stranger on a train,” “Marooned”, “the Boston Tea Party”, “Immigrant,” and “A Cantabrian Operetta”, all the foregoing are on Nifty’s Adult/Youth site. “The Pen Pals” is on Young Friends. You might also like “A Neglected Boy”, by Jacob Lion, also on Adult/Youth. You can find links to all these stories, as well as some illustrations on Jacob Lion’s website bly/jonah-stories.html My thanks go to Jacob for providing this facility as well as for his kind and generous support without which I would never have written any of them.
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