Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.
This is a very long tale. It unfolds over a good number of years. What is true, is true: what is not is otherwise.
ALADDIN'S AWAKENING
By
Joel
Chapter 56
Part Two
Vignettes from my Life
- The Holiday in Italy
The journey to Rome was uneventful. Safar and Stephen shared a sleeper with Anne and me while the four older lads were in the next door one. The noise from that sleeper was indescribable just before they were supposed to get settled for the night. Luckily theirs was the end one in the carriage. I think James had exercised their patience a bit too much at one stage and he was screaming out with laughter as the three of them must have been holding him down and tickling him as he was being undressed. Then there was silence. I guessed something had happened and I was right as after a few seconds the other three were roaring with laughter. Without doubt James had shot a load and I wondered who had tickled that prominent part of him? I think the lads in with us would much rather have been next door but they soon settled and were well asleep as we rattled down through France.
The next morning Stephen and Safar were staring out of the window as we crossed into Italy and the scenery changed. Safar was especially excited as he wanted to see his father. I reminded him we wouldn't be seeing him until lunchtime tomorrow as he was in conference all day today.
As there was no sound from next door I opened the door and looked in. Four sleepers in a sleeping compartment and a definite odour of 'boy'. A discarded towel was on the floor and from a quick glance I guess that after James' effort there had been a circle jerk - perhaps a better description - a 'triangular jerk'. I shut the door as quietly as I could and left them slumbering.
After dressing I took the two young-uns to the restaurant car where we had a good Continental breakfast. The lad who was serving was French and I made Stephen and Safar practice asking for things. Stephen, I noted, was quite good. My copying of Ma's example with me was seemingly paying off. Unfortunately, Italian was a different matter. I had made some effort to get to grips with the vocabulary and constructions and could just about hold my own with waiters and porters. Stephen and James on the last visit became adept, after playing basketball and football with Mike's assortment of kids, at prefacing every phrase with 'Cristo morto!' and calling their elder brother 'sega' whenever he annoyed them. I had to call a halt, though, when I heard James say to Stephen 'vaffenculo' which Mike had said was the vernacular for 'fuck off'. Actually, 'sega' did describe Francis precisely in one way. He was a wanker!
Anne came along and said she'd found a grumbling Khaled locked out of the compartment, only because he'd dripped water onto the other three to wake them and they were not pleased. As all he was wearing was a skimpy pair of undies she said he'd better make his peace with the others and breakfast was already being served. That did it. Three dressed and bleary-eyed objects appeared, plus a more awake fully clad Khaled, about five minutes later. The other eye-bashing Hawaiian shirt was much in evidence on James, and Khaled purposely sat next to me. Grunty and Francis stared pointedly at James. He had a silly grin on his face. I realised why when he rather awkwardly tried to sit up on one of the bar-type stools. To get to breakfast quickly they had put only his Scout shorts on him, which were rather short, and the head of his cock was freely on view. He could do nothing about rearranging himself as he couldn't use his hands. I got up and turned him on the stool to face the counter. "It's let it all hang out day today is it?" I whispered.
"Dad!" he whispered back, "Just let them wait until I can use my hands!"
We were staying in our usual little Pension. We'd booked three rooms, two rooms with double beds and one with two double beds. I delivered a warning to the four sharing. No noise like that in the compartment even if James was being a little difficult. James said it wasn't his fault if the others maltreated him. I said I would arrange a separate room for him if he yelled as much as the previous night and I doubted if they were really maltreating him, just responding to his demands. Francis was well aware of what I was hinting at and I'm sure Grunty was as he said I wasn't to worry as they were arranging a rota for looking after him and it was Khaled's turn first as he'd been maltreating them waking them up like that this morning and he had such nice soft hands. Poor Khaled blushed. I compounded it by saying he had to make sure he had a shower in the morning as I didn't want his father thinking he wasn't a clean-living lad and to make sure he cleaned under his fingernails.
And, if he was going to spend time in the corridor early in the mornings, to wear something more seemly than this morning.
Stephen and Safar were overjoyed they were having a room to themselves.
Their enjoyment was just being in each other's company. I don't think any experimentation went further than mutual contemplation of assets, which I was sure they had done many times before. They had brought an assortment of games to wile away any too boring evenings.
We found a very nice trattoria for our evening meal and the lads were stuffed with pasta to keep them happy until the morning. It was somewhat quieter that night. Four very clean and tidy boys presented themselves for breakfast, with two of them ostentatiously inspecting Khaled's fingernails. He did look very clean and tidy, though, and the others kept smirking at him. They would get their royal comeuppance at some time, no doubt.
As the meeting with their father was going to be rather formal we had all brought appropriate clothes. Neither Khaled nor Safar had worn Arab clothing since being in England so had been fitted with new suits for the occasion. My three and Grunty were in suits also and Anne and I had on our 'Sunday Best'. A large limousine arrived at twelve o'clock and we were whisked off to the Hotel. The boys were very impressed and carried off the rather fawning welcome by the hotel flunkeys with aplomb. Two dark-suited members of Sayed's entourage met us at the doors to his suite. I knew one, who was at their Embassy in London usually, as I had visited there several times to deal with legal matters over the boys residency. Although they lived with Ludo and Marion I was Safar and Khaled's surrogate parent as far as the British and their authorities were concerned.
Sayed was waiting for us, also in a suit, and, after his sons had been given hugs we were all given a huge welcome. My boys knew him from visits he'd made but Grunty had only seen him at a distance. Five feet five met five feet six and Grunty was given a real bear hug.
"Khaled tells me you have taught him to tackle fearlessly," Sayed said, "And that I would know when I see you that your looks show you practice what you preach."
Grunty grinned. "I can assure you, Sir, Khaled will be tackled fearlessly when I next get him on the field, if not before!"
Sayed laughed and nodded. He'd heard about James' predicament so inspected the two bandaged paws.
"So you have been in the wars, my friend. Still you are slightly better off than thieves in countries like mine who tend to lose a hand when caught. Now Khaled tells me he owes you a pair of rugger boots he borrowed from you and forgot to return."
I winced slightly. When it came to family murders, or kidnappings, then losses were more drastic, if not fatal. Justice was swift when such things happened. Let's see how James would deal with his much more minor matter.
"I wondered where they'd gone," said James. He looked at Sayed with such a serious face. "Do you think it should be his left foot or his right for starters? He's got such big feet so he shouldn't miss one."
Sayed grinned back at him. "You must deal with him as you wish. That is my command."
"Father!" came an anguished throaty squeal from Khaled.
"It's alright, Khaled," said James, turning to him, "You were honest enough to say you'd forgotten. You're forgiven but I do need help and you're commanded to help me. I may have other commands as well."
It was Francis's turn next. As Sayed shook him heartily by the hand Francis, not to be outdone, asked, "And what has Khaled been saying about me recently?"
Sayed grinned up at him, five feet five to six feet one. "Only that you're the best big brother he could ever hope to have. But you know that and you mustn't be embarrassed about it."
"No I couldn't be embarrassed because your son is one of my best friends and I am proud he thinks of me as a brother. He probably hasn't told you I haven't been a very grateful son and not a very good friend to him for a while."
Sayed raised a hand. "He said you had grown your hair but he rather liked it. He said it made you look rather mysterious. I see nothing mysterious about you. You are just the same as I have always known you since you were that high."
"I think your son will find out how mysterious I can be when I get him alone."
Sayed was enjoying himself and laughed when Francis said this, much to Khaled's horror. But, it was Stephen's turn. While he had been waiting he and Safar had opened the two small cases they had insisted they brought with them.
Sayed eyed him. The real son of his very best friend and the adopted son of the friend he'd accepted as the surrogate father to his own two boys.
"And what's this Stephen?" he asked as Stephen solemnly shook his hand.
"Safar and I will play you a duet. Our friend Lucius has been teaching us and has lent Safar his flute. Even though Khaled says we sound like two twittering little birds we would like to play this for you."
Two twittering little birds played quite exquisitely. Stephen played the upper, more elaborate part, but Safar was so in tune with him the whole effect was delightful. Lucius had done a good job. I looked at Francis. Two tears ran unheeded down his cheeks. He would never again make unworthy suggestions about flutes to Stephen. He led the applause as the final note came to an end and I think Khaled would have something else to answer for later, too.
We were then ushered down for lunch. As we sat I noticed Sayed saying something to one of his young assistants who disappeared off but came back later and nodded at Sayed. Something was being arranged. Over a lunch which seemed to go on for hours, as course after delicious course was brought in, we had plenty to chat about. Francis and Grunty told of their plans to go to medical school and both had applied to Pembroke College for places. James was going into the Sixth Form and was waiting anxiously for his O Level results and Khaled would be taking his exams at the end of next year. Safar was bemoaning the fact that Stephen was off to school in London but he had made a couple of good friends. Anne's second book on women in medieval society was coming out and I said I had ideas for another one. Francis looked at me and I nodded. Maybe I could squeeze more into it. I would have to wait and see.
I said that as soon as we got back we would be visiting Ulvescott Manor. Safar piped up and said he hoped the boy would be there. We all knew what he meant. Sayed said he thought of it as a very happy place and perhaps, one day, he could visit the place again. We adjourned to a very ornate lounge for coffee after lunch and a messenger arrived with three boxes. Two were given to Safar and Stephen. I was told to look after the third. Two very intrigued lads opened the boxes and drew out identical small black cases. Inside were new flutes.
"That's for playing to me today," Sayed said. He turned to me. "And that one is for Lucius. He is a good teacher."
What three first-class flutes from Ricordi's cost I shuddered to think.
But Sayed had always been more than generous. My boys little knew how many of the things they had, or had done, were due to Sayed. I tried to dissuade him at times but all I ever got was that smile or a short note saying I had done more for him than anyone or anything could repay.
At the end Sayed apologised for being so busy. He'd said to me privately that there were some delicate negotiations going on and he would be grateful if I would pass on messages to Lachs if necessary. He had two more days in Italy before flying to London as an observer at further talks on Arab unity. Naturally, Lachs had kept him informed about where we were staying in Tuscany and had made arrangements for an eye to be kept on us. Not to be surprised if Major Bastable turned up as a tourist. These were difficult days. He said the less his boys knew, the better..... But..... If anything happened to him he knew I would cope. We hugged each other, never knowing if we would ever see each other again. He said all was in the hands of Allah. I said I felt all would be well.
We declined the offer of the limousine for the return journey. In fact, we left by a side door, five of the boys equipped with small black cases. Francis strode along in front and said he was leading the junior branch of the Mafia equipped with miniature machine-guns in flute cases rather than full-size guns in violin cases. We told him to shut up as he was in Italy, home of the Mafia. He scuttled behind all of us and walked sedately with his Mum.
It was definitely Khaled's turn to squawk that night. He'd said to me, half-jokingly, would I come and rescue him if the others were bent on retaliation. I said his father had said he should be a fearless tackler whatever might happen even if deprived of one or more hands or feet. He grinned and said he'd cope. Grunty and Francis must have started by tickling him into a quivering jelly. His yells were muted most of the time as I guessed James was employing his mouth to silence him. I did stand guard for a few moments and heard the unmistakable throes of a boy orgasm as his muffled, 'Oh, oh ohohohohohoh!' came with a counterpoint of other boys' giggles. I went to the bathroom and on return heard him being dealt with for the second time. Just suppressed moans this time. I went to bed and wondered how many times Khaled would be tackled about his comments that night.
As the next morning was scheduled to visit Mike's parish the boys had been told breakfast at eight. Safar and Stephen were already down scoffing hot croissants and Danish pastries as if they'd never been fed before when Anne and I got to the breakfast room. Two minutes before eight a grinning, genuinely bandaged James pushed the door open and, much to the amusement of the other breakfasting tourists, Francis and Grunty carried in a mildly protesting Khaled equipped with hands bandaged in white football shorts with both legs swathed with a colourful football jersey tied firmly by the sleeves.
"We had a trial this morning after he confessed to telling tales so he's out of action," announced Francis.
"If that's so," I said, "You two will have to look after him completely."
They dropped him and undid his 'bandages' with alacrity as James whispered in my ear "They have done".
Khaled sat next to me and Anne and ate his breakfast. I asked him if he'd had a quiet night. He was trying hard not to laugh. "I was tickled, I mean, tackled most unfairly. I'll get my own back."
I poked him in the side. "Like father, like son," I said.
Mike's parish kids were raring to go when we arrived just after nine o'clock before it got too hot to play football or basketball. It was Grunty's first meeting with them or with Mike and he looked from Mike to Anne realising the great likeness between brother and sister. Three bags of clobber were taken into the church for distribution later and Grunty was introduced to soccer, Italian-style. Fast as he was, the ball was whisked away from him as soon as he got near it. Khaled insisted on playing with the kids and he, personally, without malice aforethought, harried Grunty with the help of three of the wirier parish kids, teasing him with near passes and making him rush for the ball as they stood back until the last moment then deftly one of them would sidestep and the ball was out of his range. "Come on Granddad" was a phrase the Italian kids picked up easily as Grunty was out-manoeuvred at every opportunity. I credited him with the fact he never gave up. He was a red-faced sweating mass when the final whistle went. James was referee and had the whistle permanently clamped between his lips. Odd that every penalty seemed to be against Grunty's motley crew who joined in the fun. Basketball was next and here his lack of inches didn't matter too much - most of the Italian kids were his size or shorter. Khaled might have been only the same height as him but he made sure each move by Grunty was covered. Of course, with lanky Francis, taller than anyone on the pitch, against him, Grunty was shattered at the end. The sun was now pretty high and bottles of cold Cola and Orangina were produced and guzzled by all the participants.
Khaled passed him a cold bottle. "Better get this down. You look a bit hot. It must be your age."
If Khaled had been dealt with at least twice the night before he wasn't showing any signs of loss of stamina. Grunty was panting with the exertion expended. "That's been worse than a game against The Leys," he moaned, "But at least I haven't got any bruises!"
The boys were led off to a hut Mike had got someone to donate where there were cold showers. Khaled hadn't finished. There was an agonised shout from Grunty. "Khaled, bring me back my clothes!"
"Say please!"
"You wait! I'll have you!"
"With no clothes on?"
One of the Italian lads took pity on him and picked up the bundle and took it in to him.
So, one down, at least one to go!
Safar and Stephen were involved in their own kick-about with the younger kids and this was a much more gentlemanly affair. Stephen had bought a load of sweets at a small shop and, at the end, handed them out to all and sundry. "Would you like one, Grunty?" he asked, "You do look rather exhausted."
Mike insisted he took us all to a small trattoria. I asked him who was paying. Rather grandly he said his boss, Monsignore Archbishop Vicente. The old boy was retiring in two years and who knows. I thought of Aunt Della and 'Lady Lady'. Mike could be truly 'Dr Dr' now as he had added the second in Canon Law to his first in Sacred Theology.
Where was he headed?
We promised we'd be back the next day for the annual trip to Ostia. Mike said he had arranged for forty of his lads to go with him and two of the student priests and we were invited. Of course, nothing would have kept our lot away. I said Anne and I would stay and see a few sights in Rome but we would see them off.
After stuffing themselves at the Archbishop's expense the boys said they wanted to show Grunty the Colosseum. I said I wondered if he was Christian enough to throw to the lions and he said he would chuck Khaled in first for a taster. Khaled pointed out he was less Christian than Grunty. Then said if the lions ate him they would enjoy finding more meat on Grunty. As it was, there were no lions, but all those old stones which could tell a tale. The guide explained how the place could be flooded and mock sea-battles were enacted and then there were gladiatorial contests a well. This was history brought home.
We crossed the road and explored the Forum. Grunty excelled himself with his rendition of the whole of 'Friends, Romans, Countrymen' to the delight of a group of American tourists who, 'If it is Tuesday, this is Rome', were being hurried round by their own guide.
We saw the party off the next morning. The Italian lads, ranging from about eight to fifteen or so, all excited, with older brothers followed closely by younger brothers or kids with no brothers at all. The two student priests were German and Irish and both were fluent in Italian. The German, a lad in his early twenties spoke good English too, so our lot wouldn't be too lost for help. Laden down with bottles of Cola and packets of sandwiches we waved them goodbye and spent the day looking at the Vatican treasures again and had a quiet lunch with a priest friend of Mike's we'd met on a previous trip. In the afternoon, he took us to the Vatican Library where a librarian showed us many things not on normal show. There was so much to see.
Six happy, totally exhausted, lads turned up at the Pension right on time at half past six. They were plied with cold drinks and related what a marvellous day they'd had. Naturally, there were four rather sunburnt bodies and requests for lotion to reduce the sting. Khaled and Safar, being darker, didn't complain though I realised Khaled was suffering but not admitting to it. A bit later I passed him the bottle and said he'd better put some on before the others twigged. He smiled, said "Thanks" and took the bottle - no way was he going to let the others outdo him.
Whether the two days of exercise had worn them out I didn't know but bedtimes were much quieter. During the rest of the week we spent in Rome they insisted on having each morning with the parish kids. The numbers seemed to swell each time. The English were proving very popular with lanky Francis being a favourite for basketball and James, with still bandaged hands, as the referee-in-chief and Grunty for everything else, he was indefatigable. The others just joined in with anything going while Anne and I drank copious amounts of coffee at a nearby open-air caf‚.
I think the boys all realised what a wonderful place Rome was and, after lunch and a slight siesta in a shady place, each day we saw all manner of things from church interiors to cool courtyards to palaces to wedding-cake memorials to ancient ruins and I couldn't see any sign of boredom. One afternoon, as the boys and Anne sat on the Spanish Steps listening to the buskers and watching the various side-shows, I went into Ricordi's nearby and browsed amongst the flute music and found several pieces for flute duet. On our last night Safar and Stephen insisted on playing to the guests in the lounge and it was a perfect end to that hectic but most enjoyable week.
We still had just over three weeks to go and next day, Tuesday the third of August, we were at the main station ready for the journey to Prato, not far north of Florence. The boys were transfixed, as usual, with the changing scenery, the old villages, the hillsides dotted with small hamlets, the huge churches and monasteries. All bathed in seemingly never- ending sunshine. It was hot, but we bore it like any set of intrepid English with fortitude, good humour and plenty of sandwiches and cold drinks.
Our destination was just incredible. A very old villa, surrounded by green trees, also ancient and an incredible quietness after the rush and bustle of a busy city like Rome. The Contessa met us in her sitting-room. She was over eighty and had three equally elderly ladies as maids and helpers. She was like her brother, the now elderly Padre Domenico, cheerful and most welcoming. I knew from what Mike had told me she had five daughters, all married and living away with their own families which also seemed to consist of mainly girls. I wondered how she would get on having six lusty young men cavorting around. In faultless, slow English she said she had four other brothers than Domenico as well as three older sisters now sadly dead. Nine kids in a family! She said she was use to many children - Oh God! - the boys as children! - I hoped she realised the mayhem healthy teenagers could cause if let loose! - and that her grand-daughter Sylvie did have six sons and she thought some might be visiting at the week-end. She also said she had heard good things from her brother about the work with the parish boys and perhaps if the boys came they could entertain each other. She smiled, with a most enigmatic smile rather like the Mona Lisa, as she was introduced to the six lads who were politeness personified
As soon as they had unpacked, with all six in one huge room with three massive double beds in it, they had stuffed themselves with plates of thinly cut meats and thick slices of still warm bread served on the terrace by two more elderly ladies in black, and while Anne, I, Francis and Grunty had downed two bottles of cool white wine between us, the others had jugs of cordial of some kind. It was now late afternoon so an evening meal was promised at seven thirty. Eyes lit up though bellies were full! A slight rest and then the lads found the swimming-pool and that was that.
I had a quiet word with Francis before the evening meal. I suggested that any 'cavorting' in the bedroom should be kept to a minimum with Stephen and Safar also present. Francis smiled and said there wouldn't be anything unseemly even with Khaled frolicking in his underpants.
The place was idyllic. As well as the swimming pool there were gardens, an immense rockery, paths through shrubbery and then tall pines. The view from our bedroom window covered a range of countryside and we were determined to explore some of it.
The boys were ravenous again by the evening meal and downed huge bowls of succulent pasta and meat in a tangy tomato sauce and poor Safar had a bout of the burps as his eyes were bigger than his belly. I felt all would sleep soundly and quietly that night.
Next morning all six were in the pool by seven a.m. Khaled was James's main helper and saw he had his latex gloves on before jumping into the water. There were several impromptu chases and I noted a tendency for the four older ones to go off in pairs at various times. Perhaps I was imagining things but it was a bit like the 'Ark' visits at the birthday party so long ago. Later in the morning when the sun was getting quite high I went for a stroll along one of the shady paths edged on one side by thick shrubbery. I was looking at a very fine, glossy leaved, sweetly smelling shrub when an anxious, quiet voice came from the middle of the shrubs.
"Dad, I need some help."
It was Francis.
"I'm busy," I said, equally quietly, "There are some rather nice plants here and I want to find out what they are and see if they would grow in the garden at Cambridge."
"Dad" The voice was still as quiet but had a distinct edge to it. "Stop playing about. I need your help."
"Is that you, Francis?" I asked, acting the fool, "Come on out. I hope you aren't standing on any valuable plants in there."
"Dad, please," he said, "I haven't got any trunks on. They've been taken."
"Sorry, old lad," I said, "I've only got my shorts on and I haven't got any spare trunks with me."
"Dad, I can't come out. The Contessa might see me."
"Or one of the old ladies? They're all widows with plenty of sons so they've seen it all before."
"Dad, please!"
I saw there was a small gap between some of the shrubs and squeezed through. There was Francis, just with his sandals on. I held out my handkerchief.
"I don't think this will cover your embarrassment. Not quite big enough."
True. My six foot one son had real Thomson equipment, I doubted if it was smaller than James's, but then it was a warm day and everything tends to hang lower in the heat.
"And who were you pursuing in the shrubbery and then had your trunks stolen. My guess, Khaled. Getting his own back, eh? I hope you remember his position in society before you lay hands on him."
"He'll be in a position he'll remember when I get hold of him!" My son's mouth was twitching.
"And who was seducing whom?"
"Dad! You get worse!" He couldn't help it, he laughed, then put on a little boy look. "Dad, get my trunks back for me...., please."
"I'll see what I can do. But anyway while you're there you can get an all over tan. Watch out you don't get burnt, you won't want to rub camomile lotion on that."
I turned as another "Dad!" emerged from his lips. As I gained the path through the gap he called out again. "Dad, that smelly plant you were looking at. It's called Myrtus Communis."
I looked back. "Thank you. I didn't know you had such horticultural knowledge."
"Dad! I've been looking at the blasted label for about twenty minutes....... ...Please ....get ....my ....trunks.....!"
I walked off, fairly slowly, laughing inwardly. I guessed the pair had arranged to meet up and as soon as dear Francis's swim-trunks were off so was Khaled! I sauntered round to the pool and found James being encased in a new pair of gloves by an attentive Khaled. They were laughing quietly together. Grunty was in the pool and Safar and Stephen were playing five stones on the other side in the shade.
"When you have time, Khaled," I said, "There's a nude creature sunning itself in the shrubbery. It's desirous of your company and I should take its trunks and the bottle as it may need more lotion rubbed in." I looked at him straight in the eyes. "Twenty minutes to lunch- time, so that should give time enough."
He dropped his eyes. James gave him a prod in the side. "Go on, he's been waiting long enough. He should be hot enough now! Pity I can't help you with the lotion."
Khaled's shoulders were heaving as he went off. I sat beside James. "You said cut the cavorting in the bedroom," he said quietly, "But boys will be boys."
We looked at each other and smiled. Not one to mince words. I got up and fetched the pair of us a glass of cold lemonade each from the small table. We sat side by side in silence still smiling and holding back laughter watching Grunty doing laps with such ease.
Twenty minutes later a scuttling, laughing Khaled appeared, pursued by a laughing Francis, only just decent in a spare pair of Khaled's own much smaller trunks.
"Took him long enough to put them on. But it would be a tight fit anyway," was James's laconic comment. I just wondered which position both had assumed beforehand.
The next day was scheduled for a trip to Florence. I wondered if the boys would want to leave the pool but having seen Rome there was a general consensus that Florence could be OK.
It was more than OK. They all wanted to go up and explore the Brunelleschi dome of the Duomo and as soon as they were down from that they were up the Giotto Tower beside it. They marvelled at the doors of the Baptistry and the vast interior of the Duomo with the paintings and the statues. Grunty surprised us by pointing out that Uccello was one of the first to show perspective correctly and they all listened as Anne pointed out the symbolism in the Dante fresco. She was in her element - a medieval historian on home ground. We wandered through the busy streets, rubbing the Boar's Nose to bring us back again and found a shady trattoria near the Loggia della Signoria. Before we went in for lunch I saw Stephen and Safar exchanging knowing grins as they looked at the giant nude statue of Hercules and then the equally nude Bellini Perseus and thought of Dodo in the Louvre. "He's not a Thomson," I whispered as I came up behind James, Francis and Khaled as they contemplated a side view of the copy of Michelangelo's David. "Dad!" was Francis's response. James prodded Khaled and giggled. "He's not an Al-Hamed either," said James, "He's not circumcised!" He looked at me and grinned. "Whoops," he said, "Stand in the corner, James!" A reference to the many times a loquacious James had been reproved by a certain teacher while at Junior School when he'd made some pertinent point not to the teacher's liking. From the look on Khaled's face I thought that perhaps James might be dealt with by means of summary justice at some point.
Grunty and Anne were contemplating the bronze plate in the centre of the square where Savonarola was burnt. They were deep in conversation and she was pointing then at the various statues while he listened most attentively. "It's amazing," I heard him say, "You couldn't have any ideas which challenged anything." "Still like that in the Catholic Church," Anne said, "I don't know how Mike stands for it sometimes! But he's made his choice and he'll stick by it."
After a lunch of pizza and salad we made our way down to the river and looked at the Ponte Vecchio, then sat and rested. Not for long, however - mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun - we decided to join the queue for the Uffizi Gallery.
It wasn't long and I think all were overwhelmed by the sight of all the treasures there, especially the Birth of Spring and the da Vinci Annunciation. Two hours later we stumbled out, replete with seeing so much and wandered across to the Piazza Santa Croce where we had the most delicious ice-creams. Our last port of call for the day was the church in that square. We saw the tombs of Dante, Michelangelo and Machiavelli and then Galileo. Real on the spot history.
On the train back to Prato Stephen asked "Can we go back again, I didn't see enough?". They all nodded, none more than Grunty and Francis. Sporty, hunky, teenage boys all wanted more. Places like Florence do that for you.
Anne and I dined with the Contessa that evening. She wanted to hear about our day. Anne practised her better than average Italian and the Contessa was enchanted. I said the boys wanted to go back to Florence and she smiled and said she missed being able to see the city again. She also said her six great-grandsons would be arriving the next afternoon from Milan where they lived and she hoped they would not be a nuisance but her grand-daughter had been promised they could come for a week. We found they ranged, from sixteen to nine and had a very strict father who worked for one of the big motor manufacturers. He had a high-up post and spent little time at home. The way she spoke about them made them sound puzzling.
Our lot were intrigued when I told them later they would have company. Khaled said that explained why the maids were getting the room next to theirs ready. He'd peeped in and it had three double beds in just like their room. I said there were six of them and watch how you behave.
"James," I said with mock sternness, "I saw you wagging your finger as I said that. Any malarkey with you involved and there will be sanctions..."
"Stand in the corner, James," said Khaled sotto voce... "I'll deal with him, Dad! He was rude about me this afternoon." he said more loudly. Both Khaled and Safar had got into the habit of calling me Dad soon after our first encounter.
"I'll deal with him," said Grunty, "He deliberately dripped ice-cream on my shorts this afternoon." I'd noticed that and the titter when James pointed to what could have been mistaken for something else. "He'll make a good Saint Sebastian with his thumbs tied together behind him and we could make some bows and arrows....."
Safar looked up at him. Gentle Safar. "I'll look after you, James, don't worry."
After a morning round the pool and an early lunch we walked the mile or so down to Prato. All the boys were again overawed by the history and the treasures in the Cathedral and the Piazza. Anne told them the history of the naughty monk and the nun, Fra Lippi and Lucrezia, and they marvelled at the wonderful paintings done by the father and the son. We sauntered back about four o'clock and found a real English tea had been prepared. The boys were scoffing sandwiches when the sound of a car drawing up in the drive at the front of the villa was heard. I left Anne eating and followed the inquisitive six as they walked rapidly up the side of the villa.
By the time we reached the drive the large, black limousine had disgorged its passengers and the driver had the boot open and was placing suitcases and packages on the driveway. Six boys, in exact order of diminishing height were standing in a row by the car watching the unloading. Six boys all dressed identically in dark blue shirts, dark blue shorts, knee-length dark blue socks and polished black shoes. Our six ranged themselves also in a line. The other six hearing their approach turned almost simultaneously and stood almost at attention. The two rows contemplated each other in silence.
Stephen was the first to make a move. He went up to the tallest and, presumably, eldest. He stuck out a hand. "Hullo, I'm Stephen and these are my brothers and friends."
The boy, about five feet eight, dark-haired and thin-faced, looked down at Stephen for a moment. "What did you say, small boy?" The voice was rather deep and the precise, correct English had a somewhat Germanic tinge to it.
"I'm Stephen and in England we usually shake hands when we meet someone," he said.
The boy grudgingly, it seemed, put out a hand and gave Stephen's a perfunctory shake. "I'm Silvio," he announced. The others in the row stared fixedly at Stephen.
"Let me introduce my brothers and friends, Sylvia," the toad said, emphasising the wrong name.
"My name is Silvio," said the boy, "That other is a girl's name."
"I'm sorry," said Stephen pointedly looking the boy up and down, "I wondered if I had made a mistake."
Mistake! Even from the distance I was at I could see Silvio had phenomenally hairy legs. Stephen was pulling an extremely hairy leg.
Stephen turned to the five. He pointed at Francis. "This is my eldest brother, Francis and that is his friend Gregory, we call him Grunty, though. Then there is my other brother James, he's hurt his hands. And these are like brothers to me, Khaled and Safar."
The boy stared stonily at Stephen and I could see his line of brothers were getting a bit anxious.
"Well," said Stephen, with a sign of asperity unusual for him, "Shake hands with them like an Englishman and then introduce your brothers."
The boy had met his match. Each of our five went up to him in turn and shook hands. Safar, not to be outdone also gave him a sweet smile. The next brother down smiled slightly, too.
"What's your name?" asked Safar of the second boy, several inches taller than him and also sporting over-abundant hairiness on his thighs.
"That is Bruno," interjected Silvio. Safar and Bruno shook hands. It then became like the receiving line at a wedding. As Safar, then the others, moved down the line the names were barked out by Silvio. Giovanni, Antonio, Julio and, lastly, Domenico, a small boy, unhairy, of about eight or nine. He and Safar smiled at each other.
"Come and have some tea," said Safar to him. The youngster looked warily at his eldest brother who had just been clapped on the back by an exuberant Grunty.
Without looking back at Silvio, still planted by the car, the five younger ones marched, just about in step, behind Safar and Domenico as they led the way to food with James, Stephen and Khaled following.
I went up to Silvio. He looked as if the world had come to an end. Francis and Grunty stood either side of him.
"Silvio, this is my father," said Francis grasping his right arm and lifting his hand.
"I'm sure you and your brothers will get on well with my little tribe," I said, shaking the really not-offered hand. I repeated the sentence in German and his face fell. "My father makes me speak German and I do not it like," he said in German with a marked Berlin accent. "Come on," I said in English, "Or they will eat all the food."
Flanked by Francis and Grunty he walked in front of me to the terrace. The Contessa was there with the five other brothers all talking at once to her. On seeing Silvio they fell silent. With elegant, old-fashioned courtesy he bowed and kissed her and said something in rapid Italian. The gist was that his father sent greetings and his mother her love.
With the help of the three old ladies and our lot the brothers were plied with food and drink. It was odd because all the time the five younger ones watched their eldest brother with half an eye. They were certainly not relaxed. My lot twigged this immediately and it was a contest to see who would break the iron curtain first. The Contessa also watched and had that enigmatic smile on her face. I guessed she wanted her great-grandsons to be as free as our lot. Safar and Stephen had cornered the two youngest and led them to the pool. There was much gesturing and then backward glances before the four hurried off. Silvio's spell had been broken. He could hardly call them back but, in musical terms, he was molto agitato.
It wasn't long before they were back. The four now in swimming trunks and then in the water. The Contessa looked at me and smiled. I then realised the two young ones were wearing slightly too big trunks. They were Safar's spare ones.
I nodded at Khaled who took the hint. He corralled the next two and within minutes those three were back and in the water. Good job Khaled had spare trunks as well. That left Bruno and hairy-legs himself. Grunty turned to Bruno. "Swim?" Bruno nodded enthusiastically and without a glance at his brother followed Grunty. That left Silvio. Francis looked down at him. "Care for a swim?" Any dubious authority he had over his brothers had gone. He did smile and nodded. He and Francis also hurried off.
The Contessa's smile was no longer enigmatic. She beckoned me over.
"My grand-daughter's husband rules that home with a rod of iron. Silvio is not a bad boy. He thinks he has to obey his father all the time. It will do him good to be here with your boys."
She smiled at James who had come across and stood by my side.
"He will help you I am sure. Just ask him."
She turned to me. "Tomorrow morning please take them for the swimming things in Prato." She laughed. "Their father said not to allow them to swim here, but I do. Your boys, new things, too. I will pay."
Twelve very relaxed boys sat round the large table on the terrace that evening. They might not all have a common language but the giggles and friendliness was sufficient. Silvio sat between Francis and Grunty and it was noticeable it was if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Francis ostentatiously poured him a glass of wine and winked at me as he did so.
I found out in the morning that sleeping arrangements had been re-organised. Silvio and Bruno had been moved in with our four eldest while Stephen and Safar were in the other room with the four younger brothers. I had no doubt that Silvio and Bruno's hairiness had been explored and from the faraway look on Silvio's face at breakfast the next morning I didn't think it was the result of one glass of wine.
After breakfast I walked with Silvio and James down to Prato. The Contessa had telephoned ahead and we were welcomed at the sports equipment shop. I had the list of waist measurements from Anne's hasty measurements as each boy appeared for breakfast. Silvio was our translator and the man in the shop was quite bemused at having twelve pairs of the best and the scantiest swimming trunks he had being purchased. On a previous visit I noted that the larger and fatter an Italian man was, the smaller the trunks he wore on the beach at Ostia. The twelve were certainly not fat but the coverage would be minimal. I looked at James as he picked out the pair he wanted. Bright orange and about enough fabric to cover bits as minimal as Perseus. He pursed his lips and whispered "They'll stretch!" Silvio chose the same colour and as his waist was less there was even less material. Grunty's stocky body would be inserted into bright red trunks and a tasteful dark red was James's choice for Francis. James chose shades of green for Khaled and Safar and Silvio an assortment of colours for his brothers. That left Stephen. Silvio smiled and picked out white. "This for him." The golden-haired, bronzed boy would look stunning.
A perfect choice.
I took the pair and our parcels to an open-air caf‚ and we had coffee and pastries. Silvio was quite different today. He was much more relaxed and James explained to him about his hands. In fact we were going to remove all the dressings at lunch-time and as long as he was careful his hands could be used. Silvio looked at him. "You need. Ask."
I sat and wrote a couple of postcards while the two boys talked. Silvio's English was quite good and he spoke French as well as German and his native Italian. I heard him say he and his brothers all went to a private school and the teachers were good. James asked why were they all dressed the same and was told that was the father's orders.
They strolled back together in front of me and I couldn't catch what they were discussing but James did look back a couple of times and smile. As we approached the villa we heard shouts of laughter coming from the pool area. There was some sort of contest going on it seemed. All was revealed as we went along the path and through the shrubs. Six nude, small boys were being chased up and down the pool by four suited older lads who, on catching an eel-like creature, pulled it out of the water and threw it bodily to one of others who then dropped the child smacking its bare arse causing more squeals. Poor Silvio was shocked. He was supposed to be in charge of an orderly pack and here they were with his twelve-years-and-two-months-old brother, prick-hair and all, leading the three younger hairless of his tribe. With them equally nude, were Safar and Stephen. I noted that black pubic hair was beginning to be very apparent on Safar. All in all, a seeming Bacchanal. In fact, young Giovanni's three and a half inch, hair-fringed cock, was at full stretch as Grunty gathered him up, passed him to Francis who slapped him to renewed shrieks from the others, who then tried to get away from Bruno and Khaled who were pursuing them.
Sitting on the shady terrace by the pool were the Contessa and Anne, a bottle and glasses close at hand, intently studying a large pictorial book. They were taking no notice of the mayhem in the pool, just quietly drinking, looking at the book and talking.
Silvio spotted them. One word escaped his lips. "Merda!" He turned to James. "My father......" he waved his arms, almost in despair.
"........he'd go mad, eh?" said James. As I strolled off, carrying the packages, towards Anne and the Contessa I heard James. ".....Your young brother's big for his age, isn't he? Like you. And just look at Safar!"
It took some minutes for the nude ballet to realise there were presents on hand. With a bit of decorum the older lads had the younger ones sitting on the edge of the pool looking just like a row of putti on a Della Robbia ceramic. James and Silvio went along the row handing out the swim-trunks. The four older lads disappeared into the shrubbery and came out wearing their new close-fitting garments with Bruno strutting proudly, displaying a not inconsiderable bulge in his gold-coloured almost posing pouch.
It took over ten minutes for Silvio and James to reappear from the bedroom in their matching trunks. Lanky James had a grin on his face and Silvio, showing off even more of his abundant hair, had the Mona Lisa look himself. James came up to me where I was sitting at the table with Anne and the Contessa sampling another of her superb home-grown wines.
He bowed to the Contessa who had been watching the body parade with a smile on her lips. "Dad," he said, "Would you take the dressings off my hands now."
I followed him up to the bedroom. Silvio followed us.
James sat on a chair while I unwrapped his hands. Silvio gave a little gasp when the still red palms were displayed. But, they looked so much better. I inspected them very carefully to see if there was any broken skin as the doctor had told me to do. All was well.
"You'd better put some of that lotion on them and make sure you don't let them dry out," I said, reiterating the doctor's advice. "And, you'd better keep out of the pool for the next couple of days just to make sure."
"I will look after him and see he is not naughty," said Silvio carefully. He looked at me. "I think my father will be very angry with me. He said make the boys behave and now they swim with nothing." He shook his head. "And grandmama laughs."
"Your father will not know. Your brothers are very happy and no one worries. They won't tell him anything. Your grandmama wants you to be happy, too."
"Silvio would like to go to Florence," said James. "He's never been. His father told him he couldn't go as he has to look after his brothers."
Silvio had such an imploring look on his face I said I would discuss it with the Contessa. No problem. It was arranged I would take him and his brother Bruno with James on Tuesday as most museums were closed on Mondays. The other boys would be under the watchful eyes of Francis, Grunty and Khaled with the Contessa and Anne there as well. Then Anne would take the three older ones and Stephen on Wednesday and I and Silvio would be in charge. Safar was much more interested in horsing around in and out of the pool with the younger ones than going visiting.
All went swimmingly. No more than the pool. It was agreed all the younger ones could swim naked but they had to appear at mealtimes and in the villa clad in their swim- trunks. The visits were a great success and from the particular camaraderie of the six older ones I think bedtimes gave them opportunities to cement friendships. Silvio and James were especially close. I guessed there was much rubbing in of lotion and one particular remark I heard on our visit to Florence confirmed that mutual inspections and comparisons had been made. I heard James whisper to Silvio, "Italian boys are bigger now!" as they contemplated the umpteenth nude representation of youthful bodies with the standard miniature equipment. There was also much nudging between the three of them in front of the statue of the two nude wrestlers where one was holding on to the other's foreskinned meaty cock for dear life. I guessed there might be a demonstration of that particular hold for the benefit of the others in the privacy of their bedroom that night.
The Contessa remarked several times on the good effect our lot were having on her great-grandsons. There was a reciprocal effect by them on ours as well, at least everyone helped each other even though there were language problems. Whether all the interactions were good in the Contessa's interpretation was another matter. For example, I overheard Stephen telling James that Giovanni was even worse than he was as he never stopped doing it. As Giovanni seemed to have a permanent erection in the pool I guessed from Stephen's comment what his permanent bedtime occupation was and James was no match for him. At twelve-and-a-bit Giovanni was well ahead of Safar who would be thirteen in a few month's time. Also, he was a real harum-scarum and teased and tickled Safar all the time. I did see Safar get his own back once as he swam past Giovanni, putting his hand between his legs from behind and gripping his young nuts. Giovanni squawked and gave chase but Safar was too speedy for him and their friendly rivalry soon recommenced.
The six great-grandsons didn't want to go home at the end of their week. The Contessa announced they could stay until the next Wednesday and she would tell their father to send the car then. By that time Silvio couldn't have cared less what his father might say. He'd grown a lot in just ten days. Not only had he chosen those seductive white trunks for Stephen but had apologised for being rude to him on the first meeting and gave him and the rest of my lot very nice souvenir pens of Florence. He and Francis were now also on the best of terms and spent increasing amounts of time together when lazing round the pool where Bruno and Khaled harried poor James at every opportunity over not damaging his hands. So the time came for their departure. Our lot had carried all the brothers' bags down and were helping them put a mountain of luggage into the boot of the car. All were neatly attired again in their dark blue ensembles which hadn't seen the light of day for the rest of the time except for their obligatory excursions to early Mass on the two Sundays. I looked around. Five of the brothers were there but no Silvio and no Francis. I went into the villa to see if any parcels had been left in the hall. I peered into the dining-room and there were Francis and Silvio in a real clinch, kissing passionately lip on lip. I withdrew discreetly backwards and bumped into James who had followed me, no doubt knowing where they were and not wanting me to discover them and cause a scene.
"It's OK, Dad," he whispered as we retreated down the steps, "They're only practising!"
When the pair emerged the bulges in their shorts told all. I went up to Francis and said he and Silvio had better check the bedrooms and the bathroom, especially, to see nothing was left behind and they had five minutes. Two boys disappeared speedily and appeared about seven minutes later with Silvio brandishing a toothbrush and both with well- satisfied grins on their faces. Francis, was then hugged by all five others in turn and Bruno's hug was also more than brotherly. Grunty, as the universal big brother, was besieged by all wanting to shake his hand or hug him as he'd been particularly popular. Safar and Giovanni were in tears and I saw Safar give Giovanni a small model of the Florence Boar. Stephen, as usual, practical, was handing out packets of sweets for the journey to go with the packets prepared by the elderly cook and got kissed on both cheeks by little Domenico who chattered away incomprehensibly and looked both happy at getting sweets and sad at going home.
After they went it all seemed rather quiet. Francis said that Silvio was going to tell his father what a good time they all had had and that he didn't want to have to rule the others so, Bruno was going to back him up, and could they come to stay? I said of course they could and looked at James, who assumed an air of innocence which he couldn't hold as his face creased up in a grin. I wondered if Silvio shared Francis's orientation or whether that passionate kiss and whatever happened in the bathroom in those last few minutes were just thank-yous for helping him to shed himself of the domination of an over strict father. Later, Francis told me that Silvio envied the easy way in which all my boys got on with me. He said his father would have ranted and raved and would have seen signs of disobedience or misbehaviour in almost anything his sons might have done but even when the boys got very noisy I just had to raise a finger and there was quiet. He also said he liked Silvio a lot now but had been very wary and apprehensive at the first meeting.
The Contessa was so pleased at the way her great-grandsons' holiday had gone and she must have sensed the quiet, almost sadness, on their departure. To cheer everyone up she arranged a really sumptuous dinner that night which certainly did something to cheer them all up. Grunty and Francis had several glasses of wine and Khaled and James were told to see they got to bed OK.
Things must have been OK as all six were down raring to go before eight o'clock the next morning and even Francis, looking slightly hungover, was in the pool with the younger ones. I said I was walking down to Prato to post some cards and letters and Grunty, hangover free, said he would come with me as he had to buy and send cards to elderly relatives. As we walked down he said how much he had enjoyed himself and he was so lucky to have such good friends. I guessed there was more to posting cards and after dealing with the post office and sticking the addressed cards in the post box I suggested we sat and have some coffee.
"Dr Thomson," he began, rather formally, as we were sitting there contemplating the populace going about their business, "I know Francis has told you about his feelings. He's my best friend and I want you to now he will always be my best friend and I'll try to see he doesn't get into any trouble." He smiled his lop-side smile. "He won't come to any harm with me and this holiday has taught us a lot about each other. I'm glad I know your family. My life wouldn't be the same without them."
I said I was very grateful that he could accept Francis who was my so much loved son. Whatever Francis wanted to do, or what he was, made no difference to that love. I said he would need support as people had very odd ideas about men who liked other men but I knew a number and they seemed no different to anyone else.
Grunty said there was a boy in James' class below them who was teased and he and Francis were going to take him under their wing. He was a quiet lad but very good at maths so they thought with James there as well he'd be all right. He said James had asked him about the boy and he knew James was concerned about him. I said James was very kind and considerate and I was also glad they'd also made it clear they didn't want to hear any comments about Stephen. Grunty laughed and said he thought Stephen could give as much as he got and was very self-confident.
As we walked across the square to start to make our way back I saw a figure sitting alone at a table at another open-air caf‚. He was reading a copy of La Stampa. I recognised Titty Temple-Tempest. He made no effort to indicate he'd seen us and I, ever aware, thought it best not to acknowledge his presence. I was wary because I had been told before we came by Lachs and again by Sayed that we might be visited by Miles Bastable. OK, Titty was still in the Army, but! A big but in my mind. If he was our minder, or whatever, I would and should have been told. I said nothing to Grunty but manoeuvred him down a side-street to a small furniture retailers. I said to Grunty I wanted to look at a stool for the Contessa which Anne had mentioned. The owner, Signor Tommaso, greeted me and took me into his office where he left me and went out and, ostentatiously, picked out stools from his assembled merchandise. I used his telephone and called the operator and asked for a London number, 636 4728. Immediately, a voice answered, I said 'Tuscany' and within moments Lachs answered. I said I'd spotted Titty instead of Miles, was it OK? He then said I should have received a message. Miles had been sent on an urgent trip elsewhere and Titty was assigned instead. There would be hell to pay if the message had gone astray and not been delivered. I assured him all was well. He wanted to know how our lot had got on with the Amati boys. I said very well. Puzzled, I said he was well-informed. He laughed and said Signor Amati was OK. It was just coincidence he was related by marriage to the Contessa. 'See you in Cambridge' were his last words as the line clicked off.
I arranged with my contact, Signor Tommaso, for a rather nice footstool to be delivered. It was expensive but, at least, I was relieved that Titty was on the right side. I'd had no doubts, but!! I think Grunty eyed me rather suspiciously as I emerged from the office but he said nothing. I didn't, and couldn't, enlighten him. Perhaps one day.
The day before our holiday finished I was sitting on the terrace in the heat of the afternoon when Khaled came up and sat beside me. He said how happy he'd been here on holiday, then he fell silent.
"It's OK about Francis," he blurted out after a moment's hesitation. "He's told me and he's my brother as far as I'm concerned." He smiled. "My father said he trusted you because you and Uncle Lachs and Uncle Flea were his very close friends. So am I with Francis and James. There's nothing we wouldn't do for each other. You know that, don't you. You mustn't worry about us. Father told me two years ago why we might be in danger so I know Safar and I could be in trouble any time but we feel safe with you and Uncle Ludo." He smiled. "I haven't told you before but when you carried me that day to speak to my father on the telephone I knew I was safe even before he told me you were my father when he wasn't there to be with us. Thank you."
I put a hand out and we clasped hands. "You've been a fine son to me as well, Khaled, and my sons think of you as their brother. I'm sorry that Stephen and Safar won't be seeing much of each other except in the holidays but they are such friends, too."
He nodded. "James said we should make sure he wasn't left out and we promise you he won't be. He'll be OK. Don't worry." He laughed. "Grunty has promised to give him some extra coaching on tackling and kicking the ball so I hope he'll be able to defend me against the others...." He laughed. "I'm so happy your family have accepted me and Safar."
I thought I'd better ask the obvious question having observed Safar's recent development.
"And talking about Safar. I assume...." I started and he smiled, he knew what was coming next, "....you and James have acquainted him with certain facts." He nodded and squeezed my hand. "Do you think I'd better talk to him as well?"
He smiled again. "If you didn't talk to him he'd think he'd been missed out. We told him you would ask him if there was anything he wanted to know.," He giggled.
"He's been fascinated by that Giovanni who's younger than him. We got Grunty to tell him boys grow up differently but I think he's not quite certain. He's very fond of Francis but we haven't told him much. So there's those things he might ask."
I looked at Khaled. This most level-headed, forthright adolescent. I squeezed his hand back. "I'll talk to him a bit now."
There was little more to say. We sat and contemplated the scene. As usual, Stephen and Safar were playing some game at the poolside, Grunty was doing his leisurely lengths in the pool and James and Francis were lying side by side soaking up the last remaining Italian day's sunshine, with their minuscule swimsuits pushed down and covering the minimum amount of dark tanned middle. The Contessa and Anne were contemplating another large book. The obligatory tea trolley was then pushed out near them by two attendant ladies. The signal for tea-time was upon us.
"Come on, Khaled," I said, standing, "We'll get some food and you prod Safar in my direction and keep Stephen occupied."
"Yes, Sir," he said, laughing and giving me a mock-military salute. I slapped his dark-green clad backside and he jumped away still laughing.
I grabbed his arm and whispered. "I smacked your father's backside like that several times when I first knew him and we were playing around and we're still friends. I threatened to put him in the dustbin one day when he was tormenting me, too."
Khaled giggled. "Funny, Francis does the same to me - and he did put me in the dustbin!"
"Come on then, food!"
An orderly queue assembled. A dripping Grunty was told by Khaled to go off and towel himself and not shake himself dry like a dog. Grunty turned, barked 'woof woof', picked up Khaled bodily and hurried to the pool side and threatened the squirming, tightly held boy with being dropped into the water to cool him down a bit.
"I'm all wet now," Khaled complained, wriggling, to try to get out of Grunty's powerful grip. "Come on, Grunty, I'll do anything if you let me go!"
Wrong thing to say, especially when suspended over water. Grunty didn't let go but jumped in the deep end still holding a squawking Khaled. An almighty splash ensued with hoots of laughter from all the watchers. Grunty gave an almighty bellow. I assumed a hand had clutched a rather vital part of his anatomy. Khaled was free but was pursued at a great rate up the pool by a seemingly disgruntled Grunty. Actually, Grunty was laughing as he reached the end of the pool and grabbed a writhing Khaled once more. Khaled just flung his arms round Grunty's neck and his legs round his waist.
"You'll have to carry me out of the pool now, doggy!" He put his head on Grunty's shoulder.
Grunty might have been small, but he was compact and strong as an ox. He swam on his back over to the pool steps and just clambered up out of the pool still with Khaled clinging to him. He then stood well away from the queue and the tea trolley and whirled around - just like a dog - with Khaled fastened to him like a limpet. He finished up by dropping onto his knees and then rolling onto a towel on the ground, squashing Khaled, by now breathless with yelling and laughing. Grunty bent his head over Khaled's face and his long pink tongue licked him just as dear old Bran had done to us boys so long ago. Grunty let go of Khaled, raised his head, leaned back and did a pretty good imitation of a dog's howl. They staggered up, a bit dizzy from the exertion and the rapid turning and clutched each other.
"Come on, Khaled," Grunty said, as if nothing had happened, "It's tea-time!"
As it happened Safar and I were at the head of the queue so I took the silver tray for the Contessa and Anne with their cups and saucers and other accoutrements and Safar carried their cakestand with its layers of finely cut sandwiches and small home-made cakes. This meant we had to get back to the trolley for our own sustenance. More robust sandwiches and larger home-made delicacies. So we were last to be served and I led Safar over to where I had been sitting with Khaled earlier.
We munched through our helpings and watched as James went back for a second helping.
"Growing boy," I murmured and Safar laughed. "You've enjoyed this holiday, haven't you?" I went on. He looked so pleased and nodded vigorously. "You liked being with the brothers didn't you?"
"Yes," he said enthusiastically, "Only thing we couldn't say much as they knew little English and I don't know any Italian."
"You got on well with Giovanni, though. You were always together."
"Oh yes, he could speak a little English, and he was great fun."
"Well you are the same age and you looked very alike especially when you were in the pool." I paused. "Well, he did make himself rather conspicuous most of the time. You could tie a Jolly Roger to that masthead when you were playing pirates." Safar giggled. "Not so bad yourself."
"He's younger than me. Grunty said boys aren't all the same. Is that true?" He looked at me closely.
"Yes, quite true. Your brother was ahead of James and I expect Grunty will show you some of his and Tiger's charts."
He nodded. "And James said I was ahead for my age, too. But that Giovanni doesn't stop doing things...." He looked at me. ".....James said you'd tell me 'cause I haven't yet."
"You mean he makes sperm?"
He nodded. "But only the first time he does it in the morning. And it's not much. His brothers just laugh at him and says he's not like Bruno. When will I make it?"
"I would guess very soon," I said, not adding 'you'd better practice every day to see'. I was forestalled.
"I try it nearly every day," he went on, quite nonchalantly, "It's nice, but nothing happens. Khaled told me to stop and leave it alone for a while but I don't want to miss the first time."
"But whenever it happens that'll be the first time."
He smiled up at me. "That's right. I'll see what happens in a fortnight's time."
Oh, my God! A pragmatic young wanker.
"Is there anything else you want to know?"
He was on the same track. "Um," he said, "When I can do it, should I do it every day?"
"Safar," I said, trying to suppress a laugh, ending up with a smile. "When you start you'll know when you want to do it."
He nodded. "That's what James and Khaled said." He continued almost ruminatively, "Khaled must want it a lot and so does James. Poor James with his hands. They've all been kind to him when he wanted it."
I thought I'd better move the topic on before he divulged any more of the helping hands regime. "Do you want to ask anything else?"
"Um!" he was cogitating, lots of questions I expected. "Will I be as big as Khaled?"
"You mean as tall as, or the other?"
"Both. Grunty said he thought I'd be as tall as Khaled but we wouldn't be very tall 'cause our father isn't. Is that true?"
"Look at me and Francis," I said, "I'm tall and he's almost my size and he'll soon stop growing. James is a bit shorter but I guess he's still growing. And I expect you'll be as big as Khaled elsewhere."
"I asked Grunty if I could be measured like the others and he said later. I want to know so Stephen measures me and I know I'm growing." He changed track. "I'll miss Stephen, he's my best friend, but James says I'm one of the family so he and Francis will be my best friends as well as Khaled."
So measurements were things just accepted by all. Curiosity runs deep.
"They don't tell me everything, though," he continued. "Last night Khaled and Grunty were in bed after Stephen went to sleep and the light was out and they were giggling and laughing and Grunty said 'Gosh, Cally, you're hung like the proverbial Arab!' and they all started laughing. I said they weren't to make so much noise or they would wake Stephen and what did Grunty mean, and James was in the bed next to ours and he said 'You'll learn, Midge, go to sleep' and they all started laughing again. Khaled is an Arab like me so what did he mean?"
I knew they called Safar Midge, short for Midget and I'd told James to see he didn't get upset. Very little upset Safar and, although being rather quiet and thoughtful, he was tough and resilient as I'd seen him several times launch forthright tackles on Grunty or James when they were practising on the field behind the house. Now I had to explain an allusion now knowing Grunty and Khaled were at the time indulging in a bit of foreplay.
"You know how boys always look to see if others have got more or less than they have down there," I began and Safar nodded. It starts younger in the showers at school I thought! "Well, boys say 'he's hung like a horse' if someone is particularly big..."
"...Oh, I see," said Safar, interrupting and grinning, "I forgot, an arab is a horse as well. So it's a joke." He looked at me and grinned even more. "Yes, Khaled is rather big, that's why I wanted to know about me! James says its a good job it's not bosoms or he'd be top-heavy and fall flat on his face!"
He looked at me his smile disappearing. He'd said a word, perhaps not always used in polite company. Would I be shocked? Would I say anything? Experience had taught me to ignore those slips of the tongue. Like the time in the garden when James, aged about twelve, had received a low slung shot from a tennis ball and clutched himself and shouted out, "Ouch, my bollocks!" to Francis's consternation as Professor Gibson and I were at the time discussing the best cure for rose mildew. James's aches which would soon go, whereas rose mildew was a perennial problem, so neither of us took any notice. This time I just ignored 'bosoms' as a slip equated with that earlier 'bollocks'.
"So Grunty and James are keeping you informed, eh? And Khaled is the big brother to keep you in line...."
He nodded. "I always do as Khaled says. Father said I had to obey him...." He looked at me and smiled, "...and you."
"Are you contented?" I asked. "It must be difficult not seeing your father very often and not going home to your country." I didn't mention his mother who, to all of us, was a shadowy person and never alluded to.
That smile again. "I'm happy here. I've got you and Mummy Anne and Uncle Ludo and Mummy Marion and Uncle Giles, and Uncle Lachs.....- he paused, ."....And Lucius and Jem and Sam.... There's lots more....and I've forgotten that place I came from. Khaled doesn't want to go back." He shook his head. "I don't, either."
There was still a memory of the kidnap and the beatings. I remembered two frightened small boys and now saw the two, growing, fine young lads who wanted to put all that behind them. I knew there was still danger. They still had to be protected.
We sat silently side by side, I realised he was crying.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I can't believe I'm so happy?" he sniffed, "I'm feeling a bit sad because Stephen is going away to ballet school but I've promised to write to him every week and to keep playing the flute. We're going to play again tonight and then we're going back home tomorrow and Uncle Ludo and Mummy Marion are going to take us down to uncle Giles' farm before school starts again and I'm doing all the things I like doing and I'm growing up......"
I put an arm round his shoulder. It was all a bit much for a young lad.
"And don't forget, if you want anything, or want to know anything come and ask," I said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "And I think it would be a good idea to drop Grunty in the water, eh? I'll lift him up and you hold his legs." A now-grinning Safar looked up at me and nodded.
I stood up and took off my tee-shirt, dropped my shorts and kicked off my flip-flops. I had my swimming-trunks on underneath as usual. We rushed along the terrace where Grunty was sprawled looking half asleep. I grabbed him under the arm-pits and lifted him before he could squirm away. Safar caught hold of his legs and the three of us landed in the water making an even bigger splash. There was a cheer from the bank and four others leapt into the water and joined in. There was much splashing and dunking and diving. At one point I had Francis in a head-lock and Khaled trying to pull my legs from under me. Stephen was holding onto Grunty and fending off James who had Safar on his shoulders urging all on. The Contessa and Anne had resumed their perusal of thick tomes and the ladies had wheeled away the tea-trolley and seven males just cavorted. Allegiances changed rapidly until in a final melee a laughing Grunty held up two pairs of skimpy trunks, dark green and bright orange, as Khaled and James howled revenge and bobbed up and down showing off goodly lengths of adolescent boy prick each. Truly, both my son and his friend were hung....... Ouch! I was dunked by a concerted trio of Francis, Safar and Stephen. ....just like Arab Thomsons!
That evening we had a farewell dinner. The Contessa entered, escorted by two flute players, on the arm of my eldest son. I smiled as the strains of 'Here the conquering hero comes' accompanied her very stately entrance. What a meal! Antipasto, soup, a fish dish, a sorbet, a meat and pasta dish, cheese and an aromatic fresh fruit salad. There were several wines and I saw appreciative looks on Stephen and Safar's faces as they sipped on their glasses. I knew that Khaled and Safar were not supposed to touch alcohol but... when in Rome..., or Tuscany... Between two of the courses Safar and Stephen played again, a slow Pavane and then a Gavotte, their silver flutes glinting in the candle-light and moonlight on this perfect summer's evening.
At the end of the meal James proposed a toast, to the Contessa, to the memory of a happy holiday and to all present.
In the morning a telegram arrived, courtesy of the Italian postal service about ten days late, "Distance reorganised. TT race in place. L." As the taxi I was in trundled through the square in Prato on the way to the station that afternoon I spotted Titty who, nonchalantly, drew a large spotted handkerchief from the top pocket of the linen jacket he was wearing and flapped it in our direction before applying it to his nose.
To be Continued:......................