CHAPTER 45
He was shaking as he spoke, and Drew picked up on that immediately, impressing me with his depth of character. I wondered what his own history had been like, before pulling myself back to the there and then, and Jordan.
Drew’s eyes flicked between the young man and my girl, before he smiled, reaching across to shake the boy’s hand.
“Coming out, love? Not the first, won’t be the last, but just remember who we are. Big safety net, aren’t we? Right. A few basics…”
He ran through a clearly well-practised list of meetings and diary dates, pubs to avoid and places to feel safe in, then smiled again, directly at Jordan
“We do a sort of mentoring scheme, if you like. Looking after new friends, those just coming out of their closet. Stevie was the one who started it up, and as he was a fan, he named it his way”
When Jordan asked “Fan of what?”, Alys sniffed so loudly that heads turned across the aisle.
“Danes! Fan, young man, of SF, not Sci-Fi, not anything else with stupid ideas. A man of sensible tastes, evidently. That name, Drew?”
“Chrysalids”
“Perfection! John Lucas Beynon Wyndham Parkes Harris, Enfys, or whatever order all those names were in. John Wyndham: Day of the Triffids? Midwich Cuckoos? Kraken Wakes?”
I was shaking my head, so she sighed, back of her hand to her forehead.
“As I said, Danes! Sigh, such lack of education. Note to self: see if there is an SF Society”
She was chuckling by then, still as incapable of maintaining a pose as ever.
“Jordan, love? If they have a group with such a sensible name, you will be fine. Do you want to stay with us after you sign up? We will be looking at a few more groups; anything you want to see, in particular? Please say it isn’t anything like a Barbara Cartland or Star Wars society!”
I looked across at her, so atypically confident, and she returned a wink. We worked our way through the rest of the stands as a trio, Alys signing on for both of her predicted groups, ornithology and SF, Jordan engaging with the sailing and rowing clubs, while I stayed with my initial choices of music and mountains and people like us. We emerged, finally, into the remaining sunlight, bundles of leaflets in hand, grins feeling fixed in place. Jordan was amazingly upbeat, I assume because he had finally put his head up in public.
“You two out tonight? Pub?”
I shook my head.
“Living at home, we are. Mam gives us a lift each day. Not tonight, aye?”
Alys chipped in.
“Here’s a thought, ah? If we get a few people together, and Enfys and her parents have room, why not come out our way? Folk night in the pub, crash in the bunkhouse? We even know someone who has a chip shop!”
She waited a few seconds before adding “And we may even have the red-haired fiddler on hand”
Jordan winced, then smiled.
“Please don’t think I’m gushing, but, well, this is more than I ever expected. Getting to be… Being open about myself, first time ever. Your pub: are they OK with people… people like us? Gay folk?”
Alys nodded once, in her usual way.
“Yes. Both of us understand that, but we have been very, very lucky”
“Well, that idea of a night out at your pub sounds a good’un. I’d leave it a little bit, though, until we’ve actually met a few more people, ones who’d enjoy it”
I looked at Alys, and she grinned back at me.
“I think the boy has his head screwed on, love! And it would be a really good idea to check with your Dad, just to be sure there’s room. That and sort transport”
I gave her my own grin.
“I might have a plan available!”
We left Jordan to make his own way back to Hall after spending the last bit of the afternoon talking about random rubbish while eating an impromptu picnic sat at one of the tables near the Housing Office, and then two of us walked slowly towards the car park to meet Mam. She was as direct as ever.
“Which clubs have you joined, then, apart from LGBT, climbing and birding?”
My other girl sniffed.
“And SF, even if this one has no taste!”
I was struck by a memory just then.
“Alys?”
“That’s my name”
“Danes? What’s that about?”
“Ah, Fen and Danes. Fen is the plural of Fan, and Dane is short for Mundane. People who prefer Barbara Cartland to Alice Sheldon”
She gave my hand a squeeze, so it was all right, but I was left with memories of a conversation years before, about that same Alice Sheldon, and another Alice, something Norton, and once again I found an insight, a window, into the awful depth of despair my beloved had faced. In an echo of childhood complaints, all I could think was ‘It’s not FAIR!’
I did my best to cover the shudder that came with the memory. Change the subject, Hiatt.
“Alys?”
“That’s still my name”
“What you said you’d tell me… What they hinted at in the running group?”
“Ah”
I looked at her, and she simply turned her eyes toward the roof of the car.
“Lots of history here, love. There was once a man who tried to make a boy into a girl. He was called John Money, and two boys died, because…”
She was shaking, so I hugged her, but she was absolutely rigid. Her voice was faint as she continued.
“There was a British doctor who followed Money’s idea. He took a boy, and tried to make him into a girl. By way of a children’s home that… Enfys?”
“Yes, love?”
“That was where we were talking about at the cross-country stand. A place that… Sorry. We are talking real hell on Earth stuff. Lots of dead children. Stevie Elliott was the one that stayed alive. He wrote a book, and…”
She took a couple of deep breaths, before turning her face to mine.
“I spoke to you about that not-just-me thing, love. When I was lost, when.. Before I managed to get through to Mam and Dad, I was looking for…”
I caught Mam’s eyes in the mirror, flicking towards us, but I simply reached forward to squeeze her shoulder before cuddling up to Alys.
“Always here for you, love, all of us”
She drew in a long sigh, then let her breath out in a humph.
“Yes, you are. I know that now, but back then, well, you think you’re mad, you think you’re being punished for something very naughty. Kid logic. Worst thing…worst of all is thinking you are alone, that there couldn’t possibly be anyone else as warped. Then you start finding out there are others, and you have never been alone. That was Stevie’s thing, but he realised he wasn’t like that, he was just a smaller than average boy with bully problems. I still found his book, though, and oh god, I sometimes wish I hadn’t. What Ifor did, that was nothing. Change the subject, please”
Mam called back to us.
“Just to let you know, Stevie Elliott is still a hot topic at work. Every time we get a stupid comment about trans people, we bring him up. Helps shut up the bigots”
I thought back to that Sussex lecturer, and shook my head. Clearly, intelligence didn’t always arrive in company with common sense. Subject change, as Alys had asked.
“Mam?”
“Yes, love?”
“One of our new friends… We had an idea, and he filtered it. Once we have settled down a bit, what do you think about us using the bunkhouse and having a group stay for the folk night?”
Mam started laughing, her head shaking slightly from side to side.
“And did anyone suggest you wait a little bit to see how many of your new chums will actually turn out to be friends?”
Alys was clear in her reply.
“Yes. One of them we are pretty sure will turn out to be a good friend said that we should let things settle first”
“Sensible, that one. Boy or girl?”
“Young man, Mam”
“Then he might be a keeper.. Now, tonight is a pizza night for us. You staying, or going back home, Alys?”
That casual acceptance warmed my heart, and rather than let myself drift into the tears I felt waiting, I changed the subject properly.
“Mam?”
“Yes, love?”
“Promise you won’t crash the car?”
“I can’t promise, but I’ll try not to”
“This friend, he’s called Jordan. He goes to the Shrewsbury festival as well”
“And what am I waiting to hear?”
Alys had buried her face in my shoulder, giggles taking over her whole body. I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Jordan was talking about the Monday night session at Shrewsbury. He said there was this nutter fiddler..”
Mam steered the car quickly into a lay-by, switching the engine off just before she broke into guffaws. When she calmed down, or at least stopped snorting, she asked, “And did you enlighten him?”
“Um, yes”
“Pity. Anyway, if you have this trip, and Steph’n’Geoff are there, do not tell them”
“Why not?”
“Because she’ll only use it as an excuse to go even more over the top, No shame, that woman”
Comments
Stevie Elliott
his book continues to effect people, as it should - even if I would get problems if I tried to read his story again . . .
Nice
To see a new chapter, I look every day!
for many years I only read SF but a lot of the new writers try too hard and fail to engage with me. These days my reading has a much wider base but I still revisit some of the old stuff from time to time.
Madeline Anafrid Bell
SF/SciFi?
No difference as far as I'm concerned. It's just a slightly different label. Star Wars, though, is a fantasy, with no real scientific basis.
For example, Lois McMaster Bujold writes fantasy, beautiful stuff and I love it, but SF/SciFi it is not. Larry Niven writes SF/SciFi, equally enthralling and I love that too. The difference is that one is extrapolation of things we know and the other is pure imagination.
Of course you can meld the two, a la John Varley.
Feel free to propose your own favourites.
SF V Sci Fi
At 64, I consider that Sci-Fi's mother was a hamster and its father smelt of elderberries.. From my earliest days, the yellow Gollancz cover, or the Ace 'doubles', came with those magic letters 'SF'. That Skiffy term only came along decades later. I am an old-school Fan, fond of filk songs and in-jokes.
I adore Varley's writing, and have a wonderful French translation of his collection' In the Halls of the Martian Kings'. One of the most beautiful stories I have ever read is 'The Persistence of Vision'. I adored Niven from the start; the problem with some of his work, as with any author, is the visits of the Suck and Sexism fairies, who turn your old favourites into dross. Niven's 'A Gift From Earth' is horrendously sexist on rereading. Keith Laumer is another whose work I loved as a kid, but now comes across as "Oh, what a surprise! Another two-fisted hero who solves everything with a right hook"
I still love Heinlein, but I now realise exactly how creepy his writing frequently is about intergenerational relationships. 'Time for the Stars', for example, or 'Farnham's Freehold', Time Enough for Love' and 'The Door into Summer'.
I have stopped reading Peter Hamilton as I really don't need another pages-long description of fee-fall sex.
In my 'Sweat and Tears', I introduced Sid, a shattered man working as a librarian. I based him on a real librarian, another Fan. I would make my way to his library through building sites and back streets to avoid being attacked by pupils from my school, and he would keep books back for me, particularly Niven. It is only with hindsight that I realise how clearly he must have seen me; one day, he held out a book and simply said "You should read this". It was 'Conundrum', the autobiography of Jan Morris.
Ah! You Youngsters
Your reference comes from one of S.F.Stirling's " Islands In The Sea Of Time" books, which are wonderful fantasies posing as SF/SciFi. I started reading SF (I won't quibble about nomenclatures) in the mid-nineteen-fifties so I cut my teeth on John Wyndham and A.E.Van Vogt amongst others. Asimov was already writing, as were Poul Anderson, Clarke, Ballard, Sturgeon and others of the earlier waves. This was an era when SF was almost exclusively male. The exception was James Tiptree Jr, who had to pretend to be male in order to get published.
I agree that if you read some of that contemporary stuff these days it can seem horribly dated and sexist. While those writers envisaged the technological advances they mostly did not foresee the sociological changes that accompanied them.
You have to cast your mind back to that era to revisit the societies that those authors were forecasting. There were a few who foresaw the rise of feminism and transsexualism. Varley was one, although he was a little later and Bujold does it extremely well.
Tiptree
Alice Sheldon (whose demise was tragic in the extreme) has had a mention in 'Rainbows...', along with that other Alice, Andre Norton.
I can't tell you how much her 'Janus' books caught my imagination. It was only when I reread them that I realised how awfully bleak is the hero's early life. For those unaware, his mother is dying of a dreadful illness, with no cure. He sells himself into slavery, and uses the money to buy a large quantity of a powerful analgesic, and, out of absolute love for her, kills his mother with an overdose.
That was in my library as a children's book...