David and the
Forlorn Familiar

by Joe

graflz825@gmail.com

An ancient oak tree stood in regnant dignity on a far corner of the monastery. It was adjacent to a country road that meandered by the monastery’s extensive grounds. Of course, it wasn’t really a ‘monastery’ in the religious sense of the word. There were no monks: but it was a quiet place where one went for tranquility. Where one might garden or tend a flock of hens; where one put one’s problems in perspective; or perhaps build a model clipper ship. Where one sang great old songs, or wrote poetry and prose for the benefit of the soul. In the Elven world one lived longer, so the need for a time of peace and pleasant distraction was better understood and hence this monastery existed to soothe the soul.

The road was something of an afterthought insofar as the monastery and the oak tree were concerned. The oak was first, then the monastery. Finally the road meandered slowly by, quite the afterthought. It was in the shade of this great tree that Milord lay. It seemed he might be watching the road, or considering the distant mountains, but he was far away; his soul, well that was further away, well beyond the mountains, well beyond the soothing monastery. Milord had fled to this distant tranquil monastery when he had failed. But tranquility had escaped him. It had not come. His failure weighed heavily on his soul. One moment of inattention and his Emperor was murdered. Anarchists managed to close with the Emperor’s party and throw bombs. It was the one time he was not there to protect his friend, his Emperor.

But there was so much more to it than that. His friend and Emperor was Tsar Alexander II, known as ‘The Liberator’. This emperor had long been the focus of the Great Council of the Ancient and Honourable Co-Fraternity of Ensemble Provocateurs et Bon Chevaliers, as the governing body of the familiars was formally known.

Indeed, the Great Council had been working on Alexander Nikolayevich, Tsesarevitch of Russia, almost from the moment of his birth. There was always a familiar close by to encourage an interest, or hint at a solution that might be well beyond the political despotism his formal tutors were required to espouse. He developed the notion that the horses, dogs, cats and other lives with whom he shared his world had souls just as he did. He did not bother to confide this awareness to the priests attendant on him; they would never have understood. Nevertheless he was unfailingly cordial to people of lower stations and always kind to animals. It was no accident that Milord, whose name was actually Andrey, had been offered to the Tsar when he was visiting Poland, and there was no surprise when Alexander was immediately taken by the puppy. As fine a setter as ever galumphed happily with children; or anyone else in the mood for play. They quickly became inseparable. They were definitely loved, one by the other. Alexander, in fact, grew closer to Milord as he became increasingly aware that many of the people in his immediate circle did not care for him at all, but sought only influence. This had inspired his nick-name for Andrey. He delighted in calling him “Milord” in the presence of aristocratic courtiers. There was a great deal of irony in the name. In private, his endearments for his companion were more intimate and much fonder.

Quietly, without dramatic effect, Milord made gentle suggestions or nourished the germ of an idea already planted with Alexander. Over time Alexander investigated these suggestions and read books that had not previously inspired much autocratic interest. He came to the conclusion that the existence of ‘serfdom’ within his Empire was an affront. It was an affront to the dignity of that Empire; an embarrassment, indeed a positive hindrance if that Empire was to take its rightful place among progressive and industrial nations in the world.

In March of 1861, Alexander II, Tsar of all the Russias, became “Alexander the Liberator” when he issued a Manifesto of Emancipation that freed the serfs of Russia and accorded them basic rights as human beings. Alexander was no fool. He did not just dictate this document one day and rely on his position as Emperor and “Autocrat of all the Russias” to implement this dramatic change. He knew that this was a complex issue concerning an ancient and established institution of Russian life. He knew well that it would take additional work; he had, in fact, started working on this in 1856 and this was only one of the many liberalisations that he had undertaken. He had donated money to the relief of the Irish during the famine; he had ended corporal punishment in the judicial system; he had encouraged Finnish nationalism; he had relaxed martial law in Poland – to mention just a few. He was looking forward to further reforms of the Russian judicial system.

Then Milord missed his cue. A bomb was thrown, the Liberator was mortally wounded. Milord was emotionally crushed and withdrew into a shell of his own creation. He retired to the monastery. He paid little attention as conservatives in St Petersburg took charge and looked backward, as conservatives are so wont to do.

So a crisis came. It was a complex crisis so it was well beyond solution by the autocratic mind. The world dissolved into war. Millions died. Then there was famine and contagion. More millions died. There was a sincere effort to resolve the world’s problems. But it failed. The temptation to use a hammer proved irresistible again. The world was plunged into another world war and millions more died.

Milord blamed himself for all of this. Milord believed that if he had been present to prevent the bomb from detonating, then well, Alexander would have survived, and peaceful progress would have been assured for all the world. Millions would not have died. They would have lived; they would have done great things. There would have been steady progress; instead the world was mired in death and destruction. Plus, now there were nuclear weapons. Milord felt this keenly and his soul wept.

Of course, Milord was not being fair to himself. He was doing Alexander’s bidding when he was away. Certainly, too, there was no guarantee that they would have been completely successful in their efforts. There was still plenty of potential for disaster. But guilt doesn’t work that way. So for one hundred and forty years Milord had grieved and raged and blamed himself at the monastery.

So there lay a grieving and forlorn Milord, in the shade of a great oak tree, on the edge of an elven monastery. Idly, he saw some slight motion down the road; he vacantly began to watch.

Slowly a figure became the source of the motion. Milord assumed it was a man because the casual saunter of the figure somehow suggested that. Milord did not bother to extend any of his gifts to verify this; he really wasn’t all that interested in the figure.

+++++

It was with a casual saunter, that was only a tiny bit short of a confident swagger, that David Wilson Battersby, Gunnery Petty Officer, Royal Space Corps, came down the old road. He was on leave. He was considering his future, should he re-enlist in the Space Corps, or try something different and, if so, what should that something different be? Then too: he had a problem that he could not mention.

David had been born on Earth; he was the victim of deeply fundamentalist parents, who, upon discovering that David was gay, had exiled him to a camp that promised to convert him with the application of intense religious discipline. The camp was, in fact, a center of sexual abuse, physical abuse, and routinely failed to achieve conversion. Interestingly, it was also expensive.

As it happened, another one of the inmates had previously been tagged for rescue by the commandos from the Elven King’s army, so help was already moving toward the camp when David was exiled. David was lucky, he was only beaten and starved by camp counselors; they had not the time to move on to sexual molestation when the commandos arrived.

No one in the camp noted the arrival of the commandos; the commandos were in reconnaissance mode and they were very good at that. There were familiars with the commandos and some interesting things began to happen. Orderlies began to feed prisoners, including David, that had previously been in starvation mode; suddenly, guards were too busy with other duties to beat anyone; senior administrators had no sexual appetite so no prisoner was forced to submit to the desires that the camp existed to extinguish.

The commandos realized that they were in the presence of crimes against humanity. This was a capital offense in the realm of King Justin 3. Sir Hyacinth des Rivières, Permanent Under Secretary of State for North American Affairs was notified and a military operation to rescue the inmates was quickly put in motion. The operators of the camp, including a televangelist, were arrested and brought before the magistrate in Ellendale. Others were warned, some came to believe an interesting and implausible story about these disappearances .

David had been rescued in this operation, had moved to Earth Prime where he had attended school and had learned about life in this new dimension. From school it had been an easy step to join the Royal Space Corps with all the potential for adventure and excitement on offer there.

There had been adventure. His ship was in the forefront of the attack on the Riffian fleet. He had used his gunnery expertise to destroy an enemy ship and had also used his expertise to ensure that his ship was capable of protecting herself. He wore a small ‘V’ on his Riffian War Medal to indicate a commendation while in combat.

Still. something seemed to be missing. David had never known love, or real affection. He felt the need of it as do most people. He also began to experience a nameless fear, that came at night, that he knew not how to answer.

For the moment, however, he was on leave; he was learning about his new home on his own; he had plenty of time and plenty of money as there was precious little opportunity to spend his pay in space.

David stopped and admired the dog that appeared to be resting beneath a tree at the side of the road. Andrey glanced up and saw a handsome young man standing in the road admiring him. Almost in spite of himself, Andrey found himself admiring the young man right back; he was surprised when his tail started wagging, all on its own.

David was pleased, very pleased. He returned to boyhood days when he had romped with the neighbor's puppy. He had asked for a puppy, but his parents were a united front against a puppy. His mother thought dogs were dirty and would bring dirt and fleas into the house, not to mention shedding hair. His father was against it just because. Just because he was one of those people who liked to say ‘no’. That was his stock response to everything. “Can I go swimming?”

“Nope.”

“Can we go for ice cream?”

“Naw. Busy just now.”

What that busyness might be was unclear. He was just sitting in his chair. Not even reading. Yep. He just liked to say no.

And here was a dog looking at him and wagging its tail. David was enchanted. David was no longer a boy. He was a young man and a combat veteran but it only took him a second to find his boyhood again in the presence of this fine dog. Andrey felt it too; he romped-up and flung himself onto the young man in a style that he had not enjoyed in years. He had not romped since his Tsar. He had done no romping at the monastery. One did not go there to chase sticks, or squirrels, or romp with someone.

Similarly, David had not romped since those times with his neighbor’s dog.

By silent accord, they approached each other, Milord wagging his tail cheerfully and David with his arms outstretched to welcome a leap into his arms. That leap occurred and they seemed to hug each other as they roughhoused easily for several moments before coming to rest. David on his knees, arms on Milord’s shoulders while Milord was on all fours, tail going a mile a minute with mouth open and tongue lolling. It was a completely happy moment. This was exactly the right thing to do.

+++++

“I’ll call you ‘Jaunty’”, David decided, nuzzling Jaunty’s neck.

“Here, let’s eat,” David rummaged in his pack looking for the large ham sandwich he had purchased earlier.

It was a large sandwich, almost heroic. When he bought it, David had planned on it lasting for lunch and dinner. But the two of them made short work of the sandwich and could easily have eaten another.

“Let’s go check out the river,” David suggested.

Jaunty jumped up, barked quietly, and wagged his tail with energy.

The river was not far. A short quarter mile or so along the meandering road brought them to the river bank. This was apparently a ford. The road sloped gently down to the water on their side of the river, then went underwater for a hundred feet or so, and then sloped up out of the water and continued on into the woods on the other side.

Jaunty rustled about at the side of the road for a moment and then deposited a small stick at David’s feet.

David didn’t have to be told. He tossed the stick into the river. Jaunty roared down the short stretch of road and flung himself into the river without a second thought. He retrieved the stick and brought it back, dropping it at David’s feet and shaking the water out of his coat vigorously.

David laughed and threw the stick again. And then again. This game continued for quite some time until Jaunty watched David throw the stick and just sat there beside David and watched the gentle current carry their toy away.

This had been a great afternoon, but the sun was westering seriously; David was saddened by the thought that he’d soon have to return Jaunty to his owner.

“So. Do you want to go home now?” Jaunty gave a little jump as he started back up the road, tail waving with joy. David followed.

David felt he should return Jaunty to his home, his owners. So he resolved to follow Jaunty along while occasionally urging him “Home, Jaunty, home”. This seemed to be working. Jaunty would move back along the road. Jaunty would stop every once in a while and let David catch up, then he’d carry on until he finally left the road near the oak tree where they had first met. He would give a gentle bark, as if urging David to “come on, Davy, come on”. His tail wagged constantly and he appeared to be having a good time.

They quickly came to the actual monastery building and Jaunty went straight to the dining hall. Urging David on and clearly enjoying himself.

The dining hall was large. There were several large tables that could comfortably seat ten persons as well as a number of smaller tables for more intimate parties. A large steam table sat promisingly at one end of the hall with two smaller buffet tables close by. A portly elve seemed to be presiding. He welcomed Jaunty cheerfully.

“Here, you no account hound. Just you wait right here while I get a treat for you.” He disappeared through swinging doors behind the steam table and reappeared mere seconds later. “Here old timer, I’ve a nice bowl of Swedish meatballs and a lovely bone for dessert.” He positively beamed at Jaunty who wagged his thank yous as he bobbed around the elve.

“Excuse me,” David hazarded as he sought attention politely. “Does he live here? Are you his owner? I’m just trying to get him home. We’ve been hanging around all day. Throwing sticks and such, you know?”

“Well, now as you mention it, I’m not sure where he lives at all. He comes around here once or twice a week an we feeds him a course. But he’s always alone.

“Course I’m on a sabbatical myself. Only been here a year or so myself. Love to cook, don’t you know?

“But here. Here’s a tray, help yourself to some dinner. Roast beef, halibut, and lemon chicken are tonight’s entrees. Have all three if you want.”

David was hungry and he hastened to comply. He had all three.

They spent the night there. The cheerful elve explained how they could have a “cell” for the night. It wasn’t very like a “cell”, there was a window without bars; there was neither bar nor lock on the door, and there were two cots with nice mattresses. The lavatory was just down the hall. David had a nice bath. Then he combed and brushed Jaunty using his own comb and brush.

Then he pulled the mattresses off the cots and laid them together on the floor.

“We can sleep together now”, he smiled.

+++++

David made a nest out of some of the blankets for Jaunty and rolled himself in another. They lay quietly together. It had been a long and active day. Sleep came quickly.

The night terror came too.

David was jerked awake as Jaunty thrashed about. He worked his paws as if he was trying to run while lying on his side. He yelped with what had to be pain. If he wasn’t trying to run, he seemed to be stretching as if he had cramps or a seizure. He was breathing heavily.

David had no idea what to do. So he made soothing noises, crooned Jaunty’s name, told him what a “fine friend” he was; he whispered endearments as he stroked him trying to soothe, calm, and wake.

Jaunty came awake and lay panting heavily.

It’s all my fault. David seemed to hear.

“No it ain’t,” he replied without giving it a thought.

David shifted around in their nest so that he lay alongside Jaunty, hugging him gently with his right arm.

“There, there,” he soothed. “There, there.”

Their breathing slowed and, finally, sleep came again. Sleep uninterrupted by the terror.

In the morning they behaved as if nothing had happened. But David knew that something had happened. Something serious. “Well,” he decided. “‘Jaunty’ just won’t do for your name. Something happened. I think I’ll call you ‘Andrew’. Yes. That’s a proper saint’s name, plus you can also be ‘Andy’, or even ‘Drew’.”

Andy watched quietly as David did his regular calisthenics. They had a lovely breakfast in the dining hall. Then there was a nice run together down to the Inn where they each had a ham sandwich.

They were men together. So there was no mention of the terror in the night.

That night, the terror came for David.

The battle had seemed pretty straightforward. Captain Cyffylog had maneuvered their ship, the Kasumi, into a killing position above the enemy frigate. They were fighting to defend their home: it was a time of war.

On command, David opened fire. He shot accurately and his guns smashed into the ship killing faultlessly. The enemy frigate was wrecked and her crew was abandoning her. David did not fire on any of the lifeboats. That would not have been proper.

That was pretty much that. The war was basically over and the enemy, known as the Riffak or Riffians, were defeated. Many of them surrendered. David saw a number of them when he had a short assignment on Hawai’i. They had tails, too, and somehow this had the effect of normalizing, almost humanizing, them. Cats and dogs and horses all had tails. Tails were normal. Tails were familiar.

The Riffians even had a pipe band. David saw it several times in Hawai’i. They performed very credibly; David recognized the tune when they played ‘The Campbells are Coming’.

Later, Andy and David settled into their nest after the day's business. They were well fed and tired. Sleep came quickly.

Then David woke screaming.

Andy was sitting beside him with both front paws on David’s chest, attempting to gently awaken him. It was the usual dream. There were none of the usual qualifiers for murder in the dream. Just scores of Riffians to gun down savagely. He had been killing Riffian pipers when Andy managed to shake him awake. Andy had been yipping gently while he tried to shake David awake; he tried to wash the tears away with his gentle tongue.

“Sweet Jesus,” David muttered when he stopped panting. “It wasn’t like that at all, Andy. They were attacking us. They were invading. They wanted our worlds. The bastards!

“So why, now, do they haunt me?”

He continued to explain the battle to Andy as his heart resumed its normal cadence.

“I never even saw a real Riffian until the island. But in my dream, I’m gunning down real Riffians. Blowing them to pieces. Shit.”

When did it start?

“Well, ya know, not so long ago. Well, a little while after the battle anyway.”

What happened?

“Whadaya mean, ‘what happened?’ Are we talkin’? You can’t be a familiar! What the fuck?”

Well, I was a familiar. A long time ago. Years and years ago. So yes, we’re talking.

“What happened to you?”

First I cried for Alexander. He was my Tsar and my principal. Well he was way more than just my principal. He became my best friend. We worked so hard. We had such hopes and dreams. But those all died with Alex. Then the angels came — War, Famine, Death and Pestilence ran rampant across the earth. I cried for the sons of man. I cried. I despaired. I was lost. It was all my fault.

They sometimes come at night to blame me. The poets that could never write. The doctors that could never heal. The lost.

“Yeah. I know. Somehow, they became people. Once they were people, once they were real, then they could come for me in the darkest of the morning. Then there was pain. They wore the kilt and played bagpipes. That made them real.”

David and Andy talked through the night about the dreams that stalked them. They finally slept as the sun rose; they slept until after noon. Deep and restful sleep.

+++++

Their favorite elve gave special orders to the kitchen and provided them with a lovely brunch. Then they repaired to the river where they swam together before resuming the stick toss for Andy.

Andy then relaxed while David did his usual exercises. He ran in place rather than actually covering ground. It was Andy’s turn to relax.

I think it’s because you care.

“Care?”

Yeah. You really care about people. You’re naturally concerned about all the stuff around you. That makes it easy for guilt to come in the night.

David was rapt.

You never cared about those aliens until they came to life. They never really existed until you met some of them, saw them alive. Wearing the kilt. Playing all your tunes of glory on those bagpipes. Then they became real.

That’s when guilt came.

“Is that how it was for you? I know you told me you were all broken-hearted when Alexander was killed. But you had no nightmares? Didn’t you say that Alexander had sent you on an errand. That’s why you were away?”

Yes, Alexander had given me a tiny little errand to run. But no. Not really. I mean I cried at night, and stuff. But no terror. No nightmares. Not until World War I began.

Guilt is sneakier than that.

“You’re right. Guilt takes some tiny little thing and turns it into a nightmare. It’s not fair.”

So they shared their pasts and talked about their secret fears for the rest of the afternoon. Back at the monastery, they enjoyed a lovely dinner. That night their sleep was restful and undisturbed by terror.

Over the next few weeks they continued to heal each other. They brought their guilt into the sunshine, exposed it for the sham that it was, and they slept at night with all the normal sort of dreams.

“You know, we should be goin’ back to Kingstown. We can’t be the only veterans with nightmares. Maybe we can help some other folks.”

You’re right. And I’m really glad you thought of this. I’m so thankful that I can remember Alexander as he was when first we met. We can check in at the hospital and report our new peace. Maybe we can really help. Maybe we can soothe some souls.

“Yeah. An I gotta check in with the Space Corps and tell them whether I’m gonna ship-over, or what.

“Plus I wanna go to that great new Library and get a library card. And I need to look for a boyfriend, too.”