Page 97 of Rhymes with Metaphor
Joel nodded.
Reg found the evidence of last night’s verse dried on the vestibule tile.He managed to transcribe part of it, holding his breath all the while.Afterward, Reg went to the kitchen to mix a concoction of water and electrolyte powder he’d bought on a trip to India.He made Joel sit up in bed, put his arm around him, and held the bottle to Joel’s mouth while he took tiny sips.He noticed Joel’s shirt was open and stained with vomit, so he helped Joel take it off and got him a clean one.Later, he made Joel tea and toast, but Joel declared himself full after only a few bites.So Reg mixed him another bottle of “magic water,” as Joel called it, and set it on the nightstand.
“Reg?Did I say anything last night?”
“Nothing coherent.You mentioned your father.”
“Oh,” said Joel quietly.
“Are you going to be sick again?”
“No.”
But Joel was spark out for the rest of the day, only getting up for the bathroom.
As evening came on, Joel said sadly, “I wasted a day.”
“Not wasted.You’ve discovered your limits with respect to alcohol,” said Reg.“And we still have a few days left.”
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During their finaldays in England, a heatwave hit, and the bushes turned silver in the haze.Because he’d been underslept, underfed, and touch-starved for so long, Joel was desperate to make up for lost time, spending his days sleeping in and eating rich food, and swanning about the house and grounds naked.And because it was so oppressively hot, and because Joel begged him to, Reg stripped too, and they sunbathed naked on the lawn in the shade of the trees, swam naked, and played naked croquet and naked badminton.They ate lunch naked and dinner al fresco, also naked.On one particularly hot afternoon when Joel was sprawled languorously in the grass, Reg put the cat bell on his stomach, where it remained unmoving for two hours.The tension stringing his body taut for so long had been cut, leaving him loose and supple.
The words on Joel’s skin remained visible for days and Reg, watching Joel walk, would catch sight of part of the wordcreamorslipwayand remember that night.
They surrendered themselves to hedonism.Like Reg, Joel swanned around in a near-constant state of arousal, completely at ease in his body, graceful, confident, and relaxed.He posed for Reg with phlegmatic composure, while Reg sketched and photographed him and hand-fed him pieces of fruit or had him nip pickled walnuts dipped in honey from a toasting fork, while Reg touched him and kissed him and teased him.
They entertained no visitors, so they enjoyed their encounters uninterrupted, whenever and wherever the mood took them, which was often, and everywhere, in the cobwebbed corner of the tennis hut, inside the house, in the hallway, on the stairs, in every room of the house, except Reg’s father’s bedroom.Once only, Joel asked Reg, “Are you ready now?”But when Reg said, “Not yet.”Joel didn’t press the issue, though the unspoken questionWhen?was always there.
Joel filled his Argyle notebook, and Reg bought him another with a plaid cover.
All around them was the scent of summer ending, and, naked as they were, they felt the sharp touch of approaching autumn.
“Do you own a proper winter coat?”said Reg.
“I have a winter jacket.Why?”
“Come along.”Reg took Joel up to the attic where his boyhood clothes were stored in trunks, and he found the fine navy blue wool coat he used to wear when he was thirteen.He held it open for Joel.“Your clothes are so ordinary, and you’re so not ordinary.Put it on.”
It fit like a glove.
“You shall have it,” said Reg.“It’ll keep you warm in the winter when we’re back in Canada.”
“I don’t want to go back,” said Joel.“Can’t we just stay here?”
“We can’t hide away indefinitely, cariad,” said Reg.“I have a thesis to defend.”
Reg slid the coat off and folded it carefully.
Joel looked at the words fading on his skin and remarked sadly, “It’s over, isn’t it?”
“Nearly,” said Reg, and, seeing Joel’s look of misery and feeling partly responsible, he added, “but if we must return to civilization, let’s be as uncivilized as possible beforehand.”
That afternoon, they pilfered the choicest items they could find from the larder, then they lay on the lawn, feeding each other sugared almonds and Turkish delight dipped in Belgian chocolate, and they tipped champagne between each other’s lips until they both got pleasantly giddy.
“Read me a story,” said Joel.
Reg went upstairs and found a dark and unassuming book of erotica he’d been given by an admirer years ago, when he’d been young and entirely innocent.He brought it outside and sat by a tree on the edge of the lawn, beckoning Joel to join him.The grass was cool and soft and smelled of the baking earth and the sweet scent of vanilla from the flowers in the garden.Reg leaned back against the trunk and Joel lay with his head in Reg’s lap, and Reg read to him from the book, stroking Joel’s hair.
