Chapter 5

I threw a big party the next year, in my newly completed home. Caterers scurried about, serving the guests. Carl Shingle, his son Charlie and Paul, Charlie's lover and mate, and the crew; wandered about the house, thinking of what their work had born. Other tradesmen, that helped in the construction, were present as well. They were with their wives, girlfriends, and family. Most had passed up other more lucrative jobs, to come into the sticks. They had forgone their friends and family, for sometimes weeks on end. This was no accident, they all wanted to work alongside me. This made it even more important to work with them. After a while, we were all almost 'family'.

From across the parking lot, I admired the curved stone ramp, with a thick high stone railing, protecting it. It reminded me of pictures I had seen of the Great Wall of China. I was grateful I would not have to repel the Mongol hordes. The house proper, was surrounded by a wide cedar deck, and had an even wider overhang of roof. I still wondered at the reasons I'd put over two million dollars into a house that would probably never hear the voices of children. Though it had many furnished bedrooms, I was still single, and planned to stay that way for a while yet.

Rob Farley, the thin grey haired man, took particular pride in his skills as a mason. Under his direction, thirteen masons from as far away as Montréal and Toronto worked long hours. They made the walls and the long ramp leading to the front deck, all of local stone. A one metre wide barrier ran alongside the wide ramp. It ascended more than three metres in places. The walls of the house proper were clad with almost a metre of rock, even to the third story. He was incredulous at first, when he tried to make a quote for all this work. The massive steel girders, and equally large foundation, told him that the stone would be adequately supported. Well over three hundred tonnes of stone were used on the actual house and ramp.

Workmen guided their ladies throughout the house, pointing out all the points of interest. Especially the parts they had a hand in fabricating. The ladies marvelled at the large modern kitchen, with its double door commercial refrigerator, the six burner restaurant stove and hood.

Plants of various kinds sprouted in profusion, in most of the unused spots. Off of the kitchen, was a large pantry, stocked with some non-perishables. The large airy bedrooms looking ready for immediate occupancy. Some even took advantage of the situation, and 'broke in' the beds.

The party seemed to be going well, but I suddenly felt the need to be by myself, away from the babble. Stealthily, I went upstairs, into one of the small bedrooms. I was prepared to eject any interlopers, but the room was empty. I locked the door, and turned off the light. I lay on the bed, looking out of the open window at the bright stars in the moonless, and cloudless sky.

I didn't plan to be away from the party for long. Just a half-hour or so, to recharge my batteries. I'd lived alone for a long time now. Somehow, I sensed that this phase of my life was about to end. This big house was a statement about my future plans. I'd made it big, and I'd wanted it filled with people. But now, I wanted just a few more minutes of peace and quiet. I didn't get it. From below, outside the bedroom window, I heard voices. Carl, I thought, with a couple of the other guys who had helped me build the place.

"Hey, Carl? What is it with Henry? You know him better than most."

"Not sure what you mean, Rob."

"I've spent a year out in the middle of nowhere, building this place. Sure, I got paid for it, but I could've earned as much working somewhere comfortable. My family's really pissed with me. But somehow, I had to take the job. And once I took it, I had to keep going. And when it was finally done, something went out of my life. It's weird!"

"No, Rob," said Carl. "It's Henry Buchanan."

"Yeah, I'd sort'a figured that much out. But what is it about him?"

"I'll tell you a story. You know Henry and I were in Vietnam together? Well, that's when we first saw it. Henry could go into a village full of frightened people. Half an hour later, he had a hundred new friends. He had a few words of the language, but that's not it. He puts out some sort of signal. 'Charisma' comes close, but that's not all of it. A sort of 'psychic likability'. You see him, and you just know you can trust him."

"Yes, that's what I've been getting," said Rob. "He's sort of caring, gentle..."

"Caring, yes. Gentle, not necessarily! I've seen him turn into something primeval, a killing machine. Blind and deaf to reason, wanting blood, and more blood."

"No! I can't believe that. He might be the best man I've ever met. He'd never do anything evil!"

"You're right, he wouldn't. But he reacts to evil when he sees it. Some very bad men tortured and killed a friend of his. He got mad, then he got even. Over fifty of them. But to this day, I don't think he reckons the scales are balanced. He'd rather have taken out five hundred, a thousand. He keeps it hidden, but the anger is still there.

"The bad men were Gooks, I take it. He wouldn't have got all those medals if he'd done it to his own side."

"They were Vietnamese, yes. But so was his friend. Henry doesn't see 'sides' the way most of us do. He just sees Right and Wrong. A couple of times I saw him stand up to the top brass, when they wanted us to 'pacify' a village, with flamethrowers. He drew his gun on a Colonel once. And he was right. He went into that village, made friends, and came out with information about the enemy. And some damned good beer. The information saved a lot of good men. But I'll have to say that we were more grateful for the beer!"

What right did they have to talk about me that way? I kept my thoughts and words to myself, and wished others would do the same. I was not too angry at Carl, for he meant well. But I didn't like my life laid bare before others, even if they were friends. I was not relaxed. But I felt I had to get back to the party now, or end up brooding here, by myself. Perhaps it was for the best because I would hear more that I did not want to remember.

Coming down the steps, I looked over the banister, and saw some of my friends that had helped to build my home. I had to get used to them wearing suits. It was quite a change from coveralls, or jeans.

Walking by an open door, I spied Paul and Charlie holding hands, and admiring the craftsmanship that went into the structure. Looking at Paul, I thought back to when I first met the lad.

Six years ago, I had been in Barrie, on business. I planned to drop in at my friend Carl's home, the next day. That day though, I stopped at a neighbourhood pub, close to my motel. It was around six o'clock. I stepped up to the bar, and ordered a beer. I made some idle chatter with the bartender, a short heavyset man of my own age. The other patrons comprised solitary drinkers, and older men, talking quietly. Off in a dark corner, two young men talked. Across the room, the slightly older men argued around a pool table. A muted television was showing some sports event.

About an hour, and four bottles of beer later, I heard a commotion in the washroom. Turning, I was just in time to see the two young men being thrown through the doorway, and falling to the floor.

Both had blood all over their faces, and one had his shirt almost torn off of his thin frame. Seven men, from the rowdy group, came out of the bathroom. They started to kick the fallen young men. The ones on the floor curled into a foetal position, to protect what they could.

Getting up, I wandered over to the obvious leader. "Why are you kicking the boys?"

"They are a pair of fags, and were sucking cock in there. What the fuck is it to you, anyway?"

"Just looks like you boys have punished them enough. Why don't you let them go? I'll even buy a round, to refresh you from your workout."

"Fuck you! I like beating fag boys," he said, as pulled his foot back to deliver another kick. My high kick came from out of nowhere, and pulped the attacker's nose, spraying blood on those near him.

The rest jumped in to avenge their leader. I diverted a punch with my left arm. I delivered a punch to an attacker's rib cage, then another to his throat. I danced around the mob. They couldn't seem to touch me, in any way. I mostly used my feet, and worried that my hands would be damaged, if I struck bone. Their movements told me that they were very drunk, and this helped me, immensely.

Two were down with blows to the throat, and another two with sore nuts. The leader, mad with rage, stepped in. He got another foot to the face, that drove him back, and into unconsciousness. I even managed to snag one attacker, and use him as a shield, as the last tried to punch me. I just substituted his face for mine, then let the man fall to the floor.

"Well," I said to the last pugilist. "It looks like it's just you and me. All seven of you have never even hit me. Six are on the floor. Do you think you can take me? Or do you want to call it a draw, and take your friends home?"

The man about thirty or so, he slowly lowered his fists. Keeping an eye on me, he dragged his friends out the front door.

Looking down at the two boys, I turned them over. I was treating them like battlefield casualties. The one without a shirt, had long lacerations that ran the entire length of his arm. Blood flowed from his wounds, and puddled beside him. Both had blood shot eyes and bleeding faces. The other youth looked familiar, though I had not seen him for over a year.

The bartender came close and I said, "Will you get some damp clean cloths, to clean these boys up?"

"Why do you want to help these fags?" I visibly controlled my temper at his uncaring words.

"If you were being beaten by those thugs, would you want my help?" I questioned.

"Yes."

"Well then; consider me a good Samaritan, and get me the cloths, please." The barkeep shook his head, and went behind the bar for the requested items.

Looking at the familiar boy, I whispered, "Charles, what have you got yourself into? It is not healthy to flaunt your lifestyle in a place as small as this town." The boy looked uncomprehendingly into my eyes.

The boys were cleaned and assessed. Both had no life threatening injuries, just the mangled faces that would not require medical attention. The barkeep came over with a first aid kit, and I put gauze plugs into their nostrils, and deemed them fit to travel.

Chapter 6 »