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The Angel of Pie Jesu.

By John T. S. Teller.

Book one – Star in the Hood.

Part 17.

Gareth.

The only light in the room when I'm wakened by Gretel making the fire is the light filtering through from the kitchen. I check my watch: 6 am. She puts some newspaper, some thin sticks and two logs onto the fire, lights it, puts the mesh fireguard around it, and wraps newspaper over the guard to make the fire draw up. In no time, the flames are roaring; a wonderful sound when you're cold. And I am cold. I wouldn't have been had I been able to sleep all night with my naked boy as a hot water bottle. But maybe I wouldn't have got any sleep at all if he'd been with me - the randy sod. The thought of him makes me warm inside, as well as making me chuckle inwardly.

Gretel seems to sense I'm awake, and she turns and smiles at me. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry, but I like to have the house warm for when the boys come tumbling down."

I smile at her. "That's OK. I can imagine them being not too pleased if Mum doesn't keep them warm."

I detect the hint of a grin on her face, and then she says, "I'll make us a coffee. Sugar?"

"Yes please. Two. Black, please."

She leaves the room, and I take the opportunity to get out of the divan bed and dress in jeans and a thick, check woollen shirt from my holdall, and then fold the bedclothes and make the divan back into a sofa. I walk to the curtains and draw them partly back. It's still dark outside, but the five centimetres of virgin snow covering everywhere provides its own illumination. I'm still admiring the beauty of the scene when Gretel comes beside me with two mugs of coffee. I take one from her, smile, and say, "It's a beautiful Weihnachtstag. You're lucky to have a home in such a beautiful place. How long have you lived here?"

Gretel is staring out of the window with me, and I can tell her mind is in the past when she answers. "Fifteen years. It was my grandfather's place. He moved in with my brother in Greifswald after he had pneumonia."

"Is your grandfather still alive?"

"Yes. He's ninety-three next year. We pay rent to him. He's an old meanie. I've been asking him to upgrade the central heating for five years now, but he always makes the excuse that he can't afford. I think he's waiting for us to do it, but we can't afford it either. That's why I get up early every day to make sure the place is warm for my men." Gretel is quiet for a while, and then she adds, "Besides, we don't get on very well these days."

The idea that anybody wouldn't get on well with Gretel, shocks me, and I ask, "Can I ask why?"

Gretel stares out of the window. "It was when Ralf had the accident. My brother and grandfather loaned us some money to buy the boat, and for their investment, they had part of the profit of the catch. We made a loss on the boat when we sold it, but they told Ralf that he shouldn't have sold it for the price he did, even though times had changed for the worse from when we bought it, and they insisted we pay them exactly what they loaned us. They made a lot of money out of that loan because of how hard Ralf worked. I won't speak to them now; that's why we don't have a family get together at this time of year. Ralf says I'm silly, but I was disgusted at what they did. Things were bad enough without them making things financially worse at the time. We even had to sell the car to pay them off, and it took every bit of our savings."

I'm sickened inside by what Gretel has told me, but it confirms some things that have been in my mind. Despite Ralf's injury and the financial plight of the Hahn family, there's a bond between them that is born of adversity; a pulling together in one cause: family; and it firms my resolve to help them. But all I can do for the moment is say, "I'm sorry about that, Gretel. Are your parents still alive? What about Ralf's family? Couldn't they help you out?"

Gretel takes an absent-minded sip of her coffee before replying. "Both my parents died just after I married Ralf. Carbon monoxide poisoning. That's why I have the chimney swept four times a year. Ralf originally came from Wilhelmshaven. His family are still there, but they're not wealthy. They're just working class folk, and we couldn't ask them to help us. Ralf left home when he was young and came to work on the boats here. That's how we met. We keep in touch with his family, but because they live so far away, we don't see them very often."

I'm having difficulty finding words to reply to what she's told me, so I just nod and say, "I understand. I'm sorry about your parents."

Gretel shrugs her shoulders, and then says, "Gareth, I need to ask you something, and I think you might be offended if I do."

I look into her eyes, which are still part sleepy. "Fire away, Gretel. I don't think you could ever offend me."

She looks puzzled. "Why is that?"

"I have too much respect for you."

She seems satisfied with my comment, and doesn't question it further. "I'm worried that we're a whim to you."

I don't look at her when I answer. Instead, I stare out at the snow scene before us, and consider my reply very carefully. I decide to tell her an anecdote. "Gretel, I have a very good friend who lives in England. He's a Jew. His parents escaped from Germany before the war and went to Rhodesia. When all the troubles were over, the family returned to Germany. He took up electronics and then went to England to try and further his career, but it was difficult living in a small apartment, scraping a living. Every holiday, he went to visit his parents, who he loved dearly, and every time he went, because he was always struggling to make ends meet, his mother asked him if he would accept money from her. He refused. He couldn't take money from his mother, because he thought she might need it as she got older. One time when he visited her, just after his father had died, she burst into tears. It was completely unexpected, and he asked her why she was crying. She told him it was because the son she loved very dearly was making her unhappy. He was puzzled, and he asked why. She told him that his happiness was all she cared about, and that it was making her unhappy to see him struggling when she had the finances to make his life so much easier. So, the next day, off they went to the bank. When he returned to England, he had a money belt stuffed with English Fifty Pound Notes; he bought a house; his life was so much better, and his mother died a very happy lady knowing her son was secure in the world."

Gretel smiles, but she's still puzzled, and asks, "That's a nice story, but what has it got to do with me thinking we might be a whim to you?"

I'm serious as I look into her eyes. "You think I'm doing all this for Aleric, don't you, and that if he decided he doesn't like me anymore, I'll call it a day and leave you in the lurch."

"Well... aren't you doing it for Aleric?"

I smile at her. "At first I was, but not now. As a matter of fact, I'm doing it just for you."

"Just for me?"

"Yes. Like in the story I just told you, if a mum is happy, all her family are happy too. It follows as sure as night follows day. So, although I want to make Aleric happy, I know he never will be unless his mum is. Anyway, I'm glad you asked, because I'll need an ally very soon."

"An ally?"

"Yes. I have great plans for the Hahn family, and I haven't got a cat in Hell's chance of carrying them out without someone on the inside helping me. The fishing boat is just the beginning. How disabled is Ralf? Is he completely paralysed from the waist down? The reason I ask is because I know two people who are paraplegics, but they're different. Let me put that another way. One was a paraplegic. Now he's not. In fact, he gets about pretty well these days. So, that's why I asked the question." I see a shyness come across Gretel's face, and it reminds me of Aleric, and I smile. I need to help her out. "Forgive me for asking, but could Ralf still make babies if he wanted to?"

Gretel giggles, and when she looks at me, there's a twinkle in her eyes. "Yes."

At this point, I feel a tremendous relief, and I can't stop myself putting a hand on her arm. "Good! Then there's hope. The friend who was a paraplegic, could still make babies, but the one who still is, couldn't. So, how will Ralf react if I arrange for the best specialist in the world to have a look at him? Will he throw a stein full of beer at me?"

I've touched a nerve deep inside Gretel, and she begins to cry. I take her coffee, and put it with mine on the windowsill, and then put an arm around her and hug her. She puts her head on my shoulder, and sinks into me. I put my other arm around her, draw her even closer and wait until the deep hurt subsides. I've no doubt she's had that hurt for a very long time, but she's had to put on a brave face and pretend she isn't hurt by the unfortunate events that have befallen her family. Eventually, I speak. "No, you're not a whim to me. If you accept my well intended generosity, I will make you better; all of you, I promise. And if Aleric decides he doesn't like me after a few weeks, it won't make any difference."

Gretel's words are mumbled, but I can just make out what she's saying. "Aleric doesn't just like you, he loves you. Don't hurt him, please."

I tighten my hug. "I would rather die than hurt him. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

Gretel nods, and then she reverts to the mum of the family. "I'll get us another coffee. This one is cold."

I grin. "OK. I'm dying for a pee. Will I flush the toilet or not?"

She scowls at me. "No! I don't want to see any of them any time before eight!"

And it's almost half past eight when we hear the first stirrings from upstairs. But the almost two hours Gretel and I spend together in front of the blazing log fire are amongst the most productive in my life, and I suspect, Gretel's too. During that time, we lay firm foundations for the Hahn family of the future.

Aleric.

When I wake, I can hear the water flowing through the radiators, and I know mum is up and about. That means Gareth will be too, and when I stumble, weary eyed, downstairs and into the living room, they're both sitting in the two rocking chairs in front of the fire. I go to mum and give her a hug.

She kisses me. "I think Gareth needs one of those."

I grin at her, and then look at Gareth, who is giving me a naughty smile. I lick my tongue out at him. "He can whistle for one."

Gareth laughs, and whistles, and holds his arms out. I ignore him, and go and sit on the rug in front of the fire. Well, that is until mum gets up and says she's going upstairs to wake the rest of the family. As soon as I hear her walking up the stairs, I'm off the rug in a flash, and sitting on Gareth's lap and kissing him.

He breaks the kiss, hugs me to him, and fondles my bum. Then he whispers, "Did you sleep well?"

I nod. "Did you?"

He shakes his head. "I was cold and lonely without you."

Gareth's fingers fondling my bum crevice is making me hard, so I get his hand and put it on my swollen pinkler. He rubs it for a few moments through my pyjamas, and then pushes me off him back onto the rug. "Naughty boy! Yours is small enough to hide. Mine isn't!"

I look at the bulge in his jeans, and giggle, and then I ask, "Are you staying tonight?"

Gareth's face is serious. "I don't know. I haven't been invited yet. Let's see, shall we."

I smile at him, and nod. "When do we get our presents?"

"What presents?"

"My Lego. You didn't forget, did you?"

Gareth puts his hands to his face in mock horror. And then he laughs. "Wait and see." He picks up his empty mug. "Go and make me a coffee. Two sugars; no milk. Make it like your mum makes it!"

Gareth.

I watch Aleric walking away from me. He's not tall for a boy his age, and his body is slim and supple as he walks. The blue pyjamas he's wearing are hanging loosely from him, and they hide the contours of the delightful body I've grown to love and worship. But after last night, I will never again have to wonder what he looks like naked under any clothes he's wearing. He hasn't brushed his hair yet, and it's ruffled and boyishly untidy. I love his gorgeous eyes, but this morning I've seen them in their waking mode. If anything, they're more elongated, and the slight squint he has is more pronounced, and I remember when I asked Raul to do the painting of Aleric, he said that he wouldn't change them for anything. Neither would I. Nor would I change his smell. After I broke the kiss, he snuggled his head in my shoulder and I kissed his soft hair, and the boyish, sleepy aroma of him without his Lynx was intoxicating to my soul. Without doubt, I love this small boy more than anything on this earth, and the real beauty of this deep love is that, despite what we did last night, it has very little to do with sex.

Aleric.

No matter how many hints I give to Gareth, he steadfastly refuses to give us our presents. Always, it's `I'll get them out of the car later when I've warmed up'. I even throw three logs on the fire so the heat from it makes as all sit back, but he just giggles and rolls up his sleeves on the check woollen shirt that hangs loosely outside the blue jeans he's wearing today. Mum and dad are enjoying our torment, and dad's pipe is double-puffing when he's laughing, and when I'm helping mum make the mid-day meal, she can't stop giggling.

After the meal, Gareth demands Gottwin and I get two beers for him and dad, and when I give him a dirty look and tell him I'm not his servant, he just grins, and says that it's almost `present time'.

When the table is cleared, he gets up and goes out to his car. I watch him through the window as he deliberately takes his time to clear the snow from it before he takes out a large bag from the boot. And then he comes into the house, takes off his shoes, and comes into the living room.

Gareth.

When I sit at the dining table, all three boys are watching me as I take three presents out of the bag and put them on the table. I study them to keep them waiting. Ralf and Gretel are almost in stitches, laughing at the boys' eagerness, and Aleric is kicking me under the table in mock temper. I decide I've teased them enough, and I give each of them their presents, but I tell them that they are to be opened in the order of their ages: oldest first.

Gunther opens his, and his face is one of amazement that he has a brand new cell phone, and when I tell him that it has unlimited calls, texts, and internet use, he shakes his head in a sign that he can't believe it. When he looks at me and thanks me profusely, I can see that he's genuinely moved by the gift. I nod to him to tell him I understand.

Before I give the next present out, I ask Gretel which of the twins was born first. She tells me Gottwin was born twenty minutes before Aleric, so I hand his present to him. He opens it, and his face is an absolute delight. He has the latest model hi-tech cell phone I could buy. I explain that he has the same package Gunther has, and he, too, is delighted. I'm very moved when I see the misty eyes he has when he's thanking me, and for the very first time, I give Aleric's twin brother a proper hug. He doesn't reject my presence, and melts into me as I hold him. I get a very strange feeling when I'm holding him, because Aleric and Gottwin share the same everything, and knowing this small boy is also part of the boy I love is very moving to me, and I can't help myself when I kiss his soft hair. When I lift my head, my own eyes are slightly misted, and I don't miss the looks of affection the rest of the family are giving me.

I need to pull myself together, and I do that by grinning at Aleric when I offer my cheek to him. I point to it. "Not until I get a kiss."

Aleric is giggling like a lunatic as he bends over and plants the quickest contact of his lips on my cheek he possibly can before he snatches his present from me and undoes the gift wrapping. I watch his gorgeous eyes open wide when he sees the Lego set is Blackbeard's ship - Queen Anne's Revenge. Now he can't help himself as he hugs my head and kisses me properly on the cheek, and says, "Brilliant! Thank you Gareth!" His excited eyes look into mine, and he's about to say something, when he deliberately stops himself. He picks up the box, walks around the table, plonks it in front of his father, and asks, "Will you help me with this dad?"

Ralf is laughing. "Get me and Gareth a couple more beers, and I'll think about it."

At that moment, the love I have for Aleric becomes deeper. I know he was about to ask me to help him, but he checked himself, because he knew if he had, his father might have felt left out. So, he deliberately sacrificed my feelings for his father's, and I'm delighted he did, because at that moment I discovered that even though he loves me, he loves his father more. Which is how it should be, and I'm not the slightest bit jealous.

The afternoon is fun. After Aleric and Ralf have built up the Queen Anne's Revenge (with some help from me, because I couldn't keep my nose out), the three boys compare phones, and text and phone each other and save each other's numbers, and my office phone number is added to them. (The phone I keep just for Aleric to contact me is still my secret.) They each select different ring tones, and then spend ages laughing as they ring each other and don't answer them just to hear the various tunes. Ralf and I enjoy a couple of beers while they're doing it, and he asks me many questions about my business, and how I manage to fit everything into my life. We chat about the new venture, and when we do, I can see the enthusiasm as he explains many things that I'm ignorant about. This morning, when Gretel and I were talking before anybody got up, we decided the best way to approach Ralf's disability problem was to say nothing until I'd sorted out a specialist after I'd spoken to the friend who'd been operated on and almost cured of his paralysis. We decided not to build up Ralf's hopes until we knew something concrete.

After about an hour of the phones ringing, Gretel, although she's amused, scolds them because of the constant noise, and then she looks at me, and says, "I'll never forgive you! My peace and quiet has gone now you've given them these infernal things!" 

Gretel.

Aleric is in a wonderful mood as he helps me prepare dinner, and I reflect on how happy he's been since Gareth was invited into our family. They certainly share a rapport: trading insults; smiles; touches. I can't remember a happier festive time than this one. Everyone seems to be happier since Gareth came amongst us. Our talk before the others got up was one of the most honest appraisals of what my family is about, and Gareth had an answer for everything. He really is a very intelligent and clever person. His brutal honesty was difficult to argue against, and he more than emphasised that he wouldn't do anything until the whole family were in complete agreement that they would accept his offer to help, and there was no time limit on our deliberations. Just for starters, he said he would put €100,000 in our bank account. As he pointed out, if Ralf was going to go back into business, he needs to be completely mobile, and that means he should have, along with a wheelchair that gives him more mobility than the one he has now, a car adapted for his use, and modern communications, and the ability to sit in any business meeting on more than an even keel with those he will be dealing with. Ralf holding all the key cards of wealth would actually save money; he said. That's how it works; he said.

And then we spoke about the house, and he was right when he said our home was too small for our family. It is. I know it, and all the family know it, and many is the time when we've been talking as a family that we've all said we'd like a bigger place. Gareth suggested we look for a house that was big enough for us, and also suitable to adapt for a disabled person. When I said it would be difficult for us to accept his generosity, he said he would buy the place and we could rent it from him if that made us feel better. But he also pointed out that what he was offering could also be acquired by winning the lottery. One way was via gambling, and the other was by accepting a generous offer from someone who cares, and who has so much money that it's obscene compared to the reality of most folk's lives. The brutal truth he spoke showed a degree of honesty that I found difficult to argue with. By the time we'd finished talking, he had me believing we were doing him a favour, and I suppose in a way, we are. Although he's successful, deep down, I suspect Gareth doesn't like what he is, and I fully accept the things he said about hearing Aleric sing was an epiphany. Although rarely, these things do happen, and because I believe in God, I see it as divine intervention. Now, all I have to do is persuade Ralf and the boys to accept everything Gareth is offering. That won't be easy, but there is a pragmatic side to all my men that I can work on.

Aleric is struggling to carve the goose. I go to him, and push him away. "You men! You're hopeless at some things!"

He grins. "I'll lay the table, mum."

While he's going backwards and forwards, singing Pie Jesu, I study him. He's growing into a beautiful young man, as is Gottwin. When they were conceived and we knew we were having identical twins, everybody kept saying how hard work it would be bringing them up. They couldn't have been more wrong. They were much easier to bring up than Gunther. My two boys kept themselves amused; they played for hours together; cuddled each other when a normal child would have required a parent to do the cuddling; and they learned things from each other. It's still like that now. Even at this age, they've brought hidden tears to my eyes as I've watched them on the rug in front of the fire, touching each other to assure themselves that their brother is near. They do say that identical twins share the same spirit. I wouldn't ague with that theory. In their case, I think its Norbert's spirit.

Aleric.

I think it's Herr Biermaier's drinking and the things he does when he doesn't have full control of himself that makes me dislike men drinking, but when dad opens the bottle of schnapps after dinner and invites Gareth to join him, and he accepts, and because I know both of them become soppy when they've been drinking, I'm looking forward to spending the evening with the two men I love most in the world. Gunther is invited to join them, and he pulls up a chair by the side of dad and becomes the waiter, as well as a member of the drinking gang. Mum is doing some embroidery. Gottwin is with me on the rug, messing with our phones, and downloading stuff from the internet.

Gottwin, although he loves singing, because his voice hasn't been trained like mine, doesn't quite have my quality of voice, but he is good. We search Youtube and play some choir music, and join in with them. We often sing together, and tonight, on my phone, I play some of the songs by the Vienna Boys, and also by Libera Boys Choir. Because the screen is small, Gottwin moves closer to me to see it, and puts his arm over me. Our heads are together, and I can feel the warmth of my brother, and it relaxes me, as it does Gottwin. When Libera have finished singing Sanctus, I search for Pie Jesu. The one that comes up is Andrew Lloyd-Webber's version by Sarah Brightman and Paul Miles-Kingston. We listen to it, and because it's the same version we sang at the Schiller Theatre, memories come flooding back of the time I met Gareth. I look into Gottwin's eyes, and whisper to him that this one is for Gareth, because it's the same song which made him go funny about me. He giggles, and whispers back that it will make the drunken sod cry. When we've stopped giggling; lying on our bellies, leaning on one elbow, with our heads together and an arm over each other's backs, we sing it together.

Gareth.

Never have I enjoyed an evening more than this one. The television is left off, and watching the Hahn family transports me back in time to the occasional weekends when I used to stay with my grandparents in their small cottage in Builth Wells. Gramps didn't drink schnapps, but he enjoyed a couple of brandies, and Nana was not averse to a few G&T's. Lowered inhibitions; stories; laughter; hugs; love; all stemmed from the few drinks they had. And so it is with the Hahn family. Gretel has a small glass of peach brandy by her side as she sits patiently weaving her magic, and every now and again she takes a sip from it and peers over her glasses to run an experienced eye over her brood... and me. When our eyes meet, there's a friendliness in hers that I find almost as intoxicating as the peach schnapps we're drinking.

Ralf's pipe is ever on the go. He smokes a type of tobacco that's aromatic, and the smoke from it is almost genie-like as it wisps upwards, and then is drawn downwards and up the chimney. He and Gunther and I talk men's stuff; about my work; cod fishing; car mechanics; marine mechanics; cars; boats. The twins are belly down on the hearth rug, playing with their phones and singing and giggling and whispering. Their closeness is beautiful to watch, and I do plenty of watching and listening as they sing along with the tunes they're downloading on the internet.

And then I hear them singing Pie Jesu. The familiar strains and the two boy voices in harmony touch the part inside me that was disturbed when Aleric sang it in the Schiller Theatre. The beer and schnapps I've drunk don't help, and I can't stop tears forming in my eyes. I can't stay and listen to this, because I'm making a blithering idiot of myself again, so I make an excuse that I need some fresh air, get up, go into the hall and put on my shoes and coat and scarf, and go out of the house. I don't want to be rude, but neither do I want to display my deep emotions in front of all the family.

Slowly, I walk along the street, and the sounds of my footsteps on the frozen snow seem almost as melancholy as my feelings. I look up at the stars that are so clear in the night sky; at the Christmas scene of tranquillity around me, and when I reach the harbour and watch the small boats bobbing about, and the sea beyond; and when I think about the beautiful family that I've just left behind, I realise how much I've missed in my life. In fact, I feel completely out of my depth by the Cause Majeure of meeting Aleric. I'm at a crossroads in my life. The past has had meaning to me. It's made me into what I am now, and I've coped with that. But can I cope with the emotions and the unreality of what can be my future if I leave behind the security of my pragmatic life? I'm not sure I can if every time I hear Aleric sing Pie Jesu, it reduces me to a blubbering kid.

To be continued...

You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to john.thestoryteller@gmail.com Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.