Rhythm

by

John Terry Moore
 

CHAPTER 20

“Michael,” said Adam, ‘I’ve got a delicate question to ask you.” 

“No secrets, fire away, mate,” replied Michael, busy with paperwork. 

“Umm, aah,” said Adam, clearly embarrassed.  Suddenly Michael understood.  “Look Adam, if you guys want to have sex, then do so!  It’s your life and a very important part of it.” 

“But the Olympics are so important and the other athletes don’t have this sort of outlet, they’re all too busy training.  And it does sap your energy, doesn’t it?”  Michael smiled generously at his young charge. 

“Adam, darling boy,” he said, “as far as you having some sort of special treatment over your sporting colleagues, forget it.  In fact if you and Pat are having a nice bit of nooky every night, you’re probably much better prepared race - wise than they are.” 

“That’s what Patrick says,” Adam grinned. 

“And the energy thing is most likely an old wives’ tale,” Michael said.  “Look, if you were banging away twenty times a day, then naturally you’d be fucked, literally!  But I don’t think once or twice a night is going to hurt you!” 

“Oh I don’t know Michael,” Adam said with that entrenched look on his face that said.  ‘I’ve made up my mind.’ 

“Go and talk it over with the most important person in your life, Adam, but remember, just use commonsense.” 

*****

There was a smaller field than expected in the double sculls event at these Games; probably because most of the big rowing nations were concentrating on the sweep events and swapping crews from one event to another.  That was a major difference in the case of Australia; with Adam and Patrick; as dedicated double scullers, the first such crew for some years.  Only the first two crews in each heat went into the final.  The ‘fastest of the losers’ went into a repechage, leaving the six finalists to compete in three days time. 

They drew the first heat on the Thursday afternoon, and arrived at the starting line in good time. 

“Ads,” said Patrick, “I’ve got a problem.”

“What sort of a problem?” asked Adam, a little tetchily. 

“I’ve got a humungous fat.” 

“That’s easy, just think of the Dean.  Just imagine the Dean naked.” 

“Enough, that’s it, problem neutralised.”  They laughed, and some of the tension abated. 

Each crew was assigned a ‘handler’.  This was all new to Adam and Patrick.  The handler’s responsibility was to hold the stern of the boat against the hard surface representing the start until the starting siren sounded.  No watching for the smoke from the gun as at home in Australia, so you could literally ‘jump the gun’!  And if you had a handler who hung on to your boat too long, he could seriously detract from your chances!  This time, at least at the start of the race, they were fortunate.  A nineteen-year-old dressed in the most amazing, bright clothes with piercings everywhere; a beautiful smile to match his personality and a, ‘I know who you are’ attitude was their handler! 

“I’ll just rest my hand lightly on top,” he said as they backed into position.  “You keep her straightened up,” he said to Patrick.  “I can watch the starter from here,” he whispered to Adam.  “When I lift my hand, you go!” 

Adam nodded gratefully and whispered the drill to Patrick through their radio earpieces.  They had a good start, but there was little between the six crews at the 500 metre mark.  Patrick noticed, for the first time ever, that Adam was rattled.  Not badly, but he knew instinctively that after such a good start, Adam expected to be in a better position.  They sprinted at the 750 metre mark, with a higher rating and even greater reach, but the field, sensing the challenge, kept with them!  Adam backed off a little; there was no benefit in burning themselves out and they stayed within reach of the leaders, Germany in the far lane.  Adam was allowing himself to be intimidated by the competition, he decided.  There was no finesse anywhere at the 1500 metre mark; dragging the air into their lungs, it became a sheer test of strength; Germany and the United States running first and second with Australia a lacklustre third.  Michael was clearly worried; they were nowhere near their best for some reason and their motivation seemed lacking.  He knew they weren’t even sleeping properly; highly unusual for them.  He pushed them stubbornly that afternoon on their running ‘hill’ to top up their endurance and their lung capacity. 

That evening he surrounded them with the Eight and they watched movies and chilled.  The following day they had a lay day; Michael ran them mindlessly, they did some weights, but he wisely kept them out of the boat.  The repechage was at 11.00am on the Saturday and he had them on the water early, riding his bicycle along the old tow path next to the course and talking to them through their radio earpieces.  He made sure they were really warmed up and then left them near the start.  He had an answer for Adam’s fear of burn out.  Adam nodded, and Patrick smiled his agreement.  They had drawn lane two, with their old rivals, Great Britain in lane one and the French in lane three.  Adam was in his element; and he loved having them beside them to pace him and Patrick.  They had their brightly dressed and handsome young handler again, who smiled at Adam; same starting procedure as before.  There was some noise as the Frenchmen got themselves side on and the start was delayed until they straightened up. 

He smiled at the Australian boys and said simply, “My name is Philippe.  You will win this race; I know you will, you must do it for us all!  You get that, darlin?” he said to Patrick. 

“Message received,” replied Patrick, “we girls have to stick together!” 

Adam grinned and relaxed for a moment.  The young guy had given him a much needed boost in confidence.  Philippe’s hand lifted; the hooter sounded and they tore off the line like a rocket.  They threw everything at the start, then sprinted as if the race was only 500 metres, not 2000 metres in length.  They did settle down after the first 500 but kept up a cracking pace.  By the 1000 metre mark, Britain and France had dropped well back, but the new challenger was Poland, a very good crew but probably the smallest in the event.  Conditions were favourable for the Poles because of a following breeze. 

“You OK?” growled Adam at the 1400 metre mark. 

“Yep, let’s go,” said Patrick as they brought their rating up, maintained their reach and length through the water and sang their little craft along.  They charged over the line, clearly comfortable winners of the repechage, earning themselves a place in the final.  A relieved Australian contingent was clearly overjoyed, and some even wanted to start celebrating!  But Michael continued to be worried about his charges; they had come so far and yet he thought there was still something missing.  He knew they could do better, and he worried.  It was Patrick who understood their ‘problem’ better than anyone, and he sidled quietly up to Michael. 

“Don’t worry, coach baby,” he smiled, kissing Michael on his bald spot.  “I know what our problem is and you’ll see us at our best tomorrow, just leave it to me.” 

*****

Adam was surprised to find almost all the Australian contingent had gone clubbing, leaving him and Patrick by themselves in their quarters.  He walked into the shower and was just soaping himself up when he felt an almost forgotten sensation around the head of his penis. 

“What are you doing?” he nearly shouted.  “Patty, we can’t do that, we’ll drive all our strength out the eye of our dicks!” 

“If you believe that, you’re not the man I know and love,” said Patrick slowly and deliberately, taking his mouth off Adam’s huge member for a minute.  “We’re sculling like cranky, crotchety old women, aren’t we?” 

“Well we did win today,” he grumped.  “And we should have blitzed that field because we can do better, can’t we?”  Adam nodded his head.  “And if you think back, Adam, our performance slipped back when you insisted we become celibate whilst we’re racing, right?”  Adam looked shocked and was about to object when the commonsense of his partner’s reasoning caught up with him.  He grinned; suddenly realising Patrick had once again proven who was really the leader in their partnership. 

“And so you got rid of everyone tonight so we could have a night of total depravity?”  Patrick nodded his head happily and Adam knew the fight was lost but the war was won, as Patrick continued sending him out of his mind with pleasure.  They had a beautiful meal at the Games’ restaurant, piling on second helpings for once and then walked around the Village, holding hands, with their minders for company.  They made love a second time that night; slowly and languorously, enjoying every moment of their coupling, gently acknowledging their special bond with each other.  It was like their first time together; only better, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms like babies.  Along the hall, their favourite minder, Matthew had just finished talking to his wife in Sydney on his cell phone.  He smiled to himself and put the ear plugs back in.  Patrick had discreetly told him what was happening tonight and just to ignore the noises.  ‘God, I could go gay for those guys,’ he grinned to himself.  ‘Trouble is I couldn’t make up my mind which one I’d want!  Maybe both of ’em!’ 

*****

They woke the next morning, feeling absolutely on top of the world.  The feeling that really fit athletes get when you walk outside, breathe in the fresh air and feel you could grab hold of the nearest telephone pole, tear it out of the ground and beat some bastard over the head with it! 

The first thing Adam and Patrick noticed was the enormous crowd at the finish line which, for a rowing event, final or not, was amazing.  Every square centimetre of seating seemed to be occupied; the timber battens along the concrete banks were al covered with bums, young and old, and from all walks of life, all over the world.  The Prime Minister was there, with Praveen of course, their kids, the Leader of the Opposition and his family, and jammed in the middle of them was Craig Williamson, his wife and their children.  Simon Williamson sat in between his parents.  Three weeks ago he had come out as a same-sex attracted person and his mum and dad just loved him even more.  Adam and Patrick were his heroes but so was Praveen who had spent hours with him, talking him through the discovery of his emotional and sexual being.  The next row back was filled with Adam and Patrick’s families; and the Eight and their families, and the Dean and Viktor.  Lance and Angelo had made good on their promise, and every available cent had gone into airfares and accommodation.  Various parents of the members of the Eight had contributed and were also attending.  In the end, even with the university contributing as much as the Dean had dared, there was a shortfall of nearly $8,000.00.  Jack Sullivan and Max Kaplan ‘hit their kick’ in equal amounts and were heroes with the Eight.  So Max, Iris, Jack and Leticia sat directly behind ‘their’ boys and enjoyed the participation of everyone around them.  Gerry Hansen was there of course, with Wayne and Bronwyn, who had flown in later and were just so much part of the action.  Tim O’Brien and Chris Chen were fascinated, but not surprised, because Praveen knew everyone’s name in the Australian group.  Praveen had moved freely around the group, introducing himself and using his photographic memory to file the names away for future use. 

There was a smattering of applause as Adam and Patrick placed their craft on the water, Michael helping them to get underway.  Michael grinned broadly as they paddled away.  There was no doubt about it; they were back to their old selves in a big way!  Both smiling like Cheshire cats, and he guessed the reason!  ‘Thank heavens for Patrick and commonsense,’ he thought to himself.  They paddled up towards the start where the crews from the United States and Germany were already waiting.  Italy, Slovenia and China were on their way, paddling behind them.  They were warmed up and both agreed they had never felt stronger and calmer at the start of any race.  Perfect preparation.  They backed in to the starting line where the US crew was already in place; Germany also backing up.  They had drawn lane two again; which was a plus because the strongest crews were on either side to pace them.  The starting time was some ten minutes away and they were resting, not concentrating on anything at all when they looked up together in the direction of the US crew. 

“I don’t want him touching our boat,” shouted the bow man of the US crew.  “He’s a fuckin’ faggot, look at him!” 

There was their wonderful handler, Philippe, copping homophobic shit from the Americans! 

“Hey!” roared Adam.  “Leave him alone you scumbags, what’s he done to you?”  “Well,” spoke up the US stroke; “if it’s not the faggots from Down Under!” 

“You,” said the US bow man, pointing at Philippe, “go and look after the nancy boys from Australia and we’ll have that other guy; he looks a bit more normal.”  “That suits us fine,” snapped Adam, “but don’t think you can get away with that disgusting performance.  You’re going to be reported to the umpire for unsportsmanlike behaviour, and I hope he rubs you guys out!” 

“Calm down now girls, don’t get your knickers in a knot,” said the bow man, “you obviously need a real man to sort you out!” 

It was Patrick, naturally, who found his voice first.  The quick wit and the acid tongue were never far away when a friend, ally, or his partner were threatened.  In this case, the Americans had done all of that and included all same-sex attracted people around the world in their outburst!  Adam grinned and put his head down.  Slowly and deliberately the words emerged from Patrick’s mouth like a machine gun. 

“I wouldn’t fuck you for practise,” said Patrick.  “Because I need nourishment, not punishment!  When you get to the finish line, and you’ll probably be last because you’re carrying so much shit around, meet us in front of the rowing sheds and we’ll resume this conversation in front of as many Olympic officials as we can find.  In the meantime, why don’t you go and fuck yourselves, because you’re so fuckin’ ugly you deserve each other!” 

Philippe laughed and upset the Americans even more.  Adam turned around as far as the architecture of the boat permitted and looked at Patrick who was, by now, composed and calm.  As he was.  Both of them infused with a cold, deliberate mindset that was focussed only on winning. 

*****

They roared off the line, shooting out in front of the Americans and the Germans within a few metres, savagely digging their blades into the water with a passion and motivation neither of them had ever experienced before.  Instinctively they both realised their anger had been channelled into something positive, the ‘missing link’ Michael had called it; suddenly his two lovely gentle blokes had a gigantic dose of the ‘killer instinct’!  Michael had talked long and hard about how they had a chance to be role models for less fortunate kids, trying to motivate them.  But two red-necked Americans, totally out of character with the social mores of their own nation, had done in five minutes what Michael had failed to do in two years of coaching!  In the analysis afterwards, they would recall the hurt look on Philippe’s face, frightened at the bullying and homophobia of the American crew.  And that was enough.  They led the field down to the 500 metre mark and the Chinese boys, too heavy for the lightweight class but still fast, suddenly took the lead.  And then, another miracle happened.  The weather had been perfect for the rowing events.  Bright, warm cloudless days, not even a hint of a breeze.  Yet just before the 1000 metre mark, the wind started to blow at their backs, so they were rowing into it.  And it increased. 

Adam and Patrick were the heaviest crew by far; and once again they had been blessed with their favourite conditions.  They lengthened their stroke without increasing their rating and applied maximum weight through the water.  Their blades left huge creamy holes in the water as they took charge.  A clear two lengths in front at the 1750 metre mark, Adam growled into the earphones, “now let’s really show the cunts,” and they took off, raising their rating a little but still powering through the water.  They could hear the commentary, but not a word registered.  It was all a dull roar like the water cascading along the sides of the boat as they stormed over the finish, three-and-a-half lengths in front of China with Germany in third place.  Adam sat up, trying to draw his breath into his lungs without restriction as Michael had taught them. 

“Hey champ,” he said to Patrick.  Strangely there was no answer.  Tucking his paddles under his rib cage he was about to turn around when Patrick slowly fell forward on him. 

“Patty,” he screamed, “what’s wrong, are you all right?  Patty, Jesus ... ”  He turned, and to his horror, Patrick appeared lifeless.  His face had an ashen colour and he realised he would have to stabilise their little craft or fall out.  Before he could do anything more, a launch was alongside and he heard the voice of Gavin Brown, the rowing doctor.  And Michael.  Strong arms slid around Patrick, his feet pulled out of the stretcher, an oxygen mask was slapped over his mouth and nose, and the launch was backing off with him aboard, in an amazingly quick rescue. 

“Adam,” said Michael, “get the boat into the ways and come upstairs at the club house.  He’ll be all right, I think, just do it, OK?”  Adam nodded numbly; they had taught the homophobes a lesson, but at what cost?  All he could think about was the love of his life and how impossible life would be without him.  He would give his bloody gold medal back if only he could have Patrick!  He started crying; strong arms helped him out of the boat as the stretcher carrying Patrick disappeared into the club house. 

*****

It was mayhem down at the finish line. 

The resounding Australian victory was the stuff of legend and history. 

But no sooner had the spoils been celebrated, it appeared they had been snatched away by illness or even death.  It all happened so fast that even those closest involved to Adam and Patrick had no inkling that anything was wrong.  Michael knew something was seriously wrong at the 1900 metre mark, and Gavin Brown just a few strokes earlier.  He could see Patrick swaying from side to side as they rocketed towards the finish.  They jumped into the emergency launch, already on hand as a FISA requirement, and equipped with oxygen.  As Patrick collapsed forward, they were there almost instantly, dragging him into the launch and throwing the oxygen mask on him, clearing his airway first. 

The Australian rowing commentator, Joe Bates, put it succinctly to a shocked capacity crowd. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you have most probably realised, after winning gold for Australia in the double sculls event, with an all-time record margin of three-and-a-half lengths, the bow man, Patrick Benson has appeared to have collapsed in the boat and has been taken immediately to the club house for urgent medical attention.  The Olympic Rowing Committee has decided to temporarily postpone racing until the extent of Mr Benson’s condition is known. 

I ask you all for your patience and your kind thoughts for Mr Benson’s partner in rowing and in life, Adam Church.” 

And the world waited.  And waited. 

Around the world, nearly two billion people had watched arguably the most publicised couple since Romeo and Juliet made their mark on the world stage, only to have the horror of a potential tragedy hanging over their victory. 

The families and the Eight gathered around the door to the clubhouse.  Praveen and the Prime Minister were there, comforting everyone in the Australian contingent, and being as upbeat as possible.  Praveen spied a lone figure up against the building, crying.  It was Maurie.  Praveen gently placed his arms around him as Will Church came over, also distraught. 

“Come on, guys,” he said.  “We all have to be strong for Adam.” 

Maurie looked at Praveen and started sobbing again. 

“The last conversation I had with him was this morning,” said Maurie.  “I told her she’d find some way to be a drama queen today!  You know, Praveen, this is the first time in my life I’ve ever wished I had a faith; someone I could call on to just fix all of this and get that bitch well again.  Don’t you have any Hindu deity you could call on?” 

“Sorry Maurie,” smiled Praveen.  “I prefer to rely on my mates and positive thinking.  So come on, let’s stay positive and focussed.” 

Praveen and the Prime Minister worked their way around the Australian crowd with quiet words of support.  Their children, no strangers to public duty, also assisting.  As did Chris Chen and his family, an amazing exercise in cooperative humanity. 

Adam sprinted like a madman, up the bank and up the wooden stairs where Matthew, their security guy, let him inside.  Patrick was ‘still unconscious’ Gavin told Adam,

“I need you to be very calm Adam,” he said, “just sit over there and relax until I finish here, OK?” 

“He’ll be OK, I’m sure,” said Michael surrounding Adam with his arms and leading him to a settee in the corner.  Adam felt a little better.  Their lovely coach, a straight man who really cared about them.  He started to cry again. 

“It’s OK darling boy,” said Michael, “let it out if you want to.” 

On the other side of the room, Gavin had just finished his diagnosis.  He turned around and smiled. 

“Your partner fainted, Adam.  Inadequate cerebral oxygen delivery brought on by severe fatigue.  Patrick rowed himself unconscious.  Was there anything else before the race, aahmm,” he cleared his throat, “that we don’t know about?”  Adam and Michael looked puzzled. 

“Anything really emotional, I mean you guys didn’t have a fight, or something, did you?  That can be the initial trigger for this type of thing.” 

“No, of course not,” said Adam slowly; “hang on; the Americans!”  He told the story of how their little handler and themselves had been verbally abused, and their reaction to it all.  Just then, there was a noise behind Gavin, and Adam rushed over, tears streaming down his cheeks, as Patrick slowly opened his eyes.  Gavin joined Michael on the settee.  ‘Some things just don’t require my medical supervision,’ he thought to himself. 

He grinned at Michael and said out loud; “I think Dr Church is doing a much better job than I could at the moment, particularly with that mouth to mouth resuscitation.  It’s all right Adam,” he called out, “you can take the oxygen mask off, now.” 

Adam actually laughed and Patrick looked at him in astonishment. 

“Have I been out to it?”  he said as Adam stroked his face. 

“Have you bloody ever,” he said as Gavin and Michael joined them.  Gavin explained gently to Patrick what he thought had happened.  How the emotional shock of the American’s outburst had triggered such a reaction that it had literally driven him to row himself into a state where his body shut itself down for his own protection. 

“I must say, however, that whilst this set of events is unlikely to ever happen again, my professional opinion is that you shouldn’t race at this level again.”  “You have no problem there,” said Adam, “we had already decided that this was a once-off.” 

“Yeah,” whispered a still groggy Patrick.  “We’ve got so much to do; ----- wedding, study, degrees, farming, children.”  Just then there was shouting.  A lot of shouting.  And most of it obviously emanating from one person; who was, in the most dedicated fashion, trying to kick the door down, whilst Matthew tried to restrain her.  The Dean!  Gavin opened the door and she burst into the room.  She was a sight.  Her makeup had run in rivulets down her face where she had been crying and her eyes were bloodshot from ‘several’ shots of whisky. 

“Don’t you dare die on me Patrick,” she roared, you’re not allowed to!” 

She stopped in the middle of the room.  Spying the stretcher, she rushed over, staring down at Patrick, who lazily opened one eye. 

“I wouldn’t dare pass away, on you, madam,” he said. 

The Dean, for once, was speechless. 

“It’s all right Margaret,” said Michael.  “Gavin says he fainted.  Rowed himself unconscious, trying to preserve the dignity and the morality of gay people after some very nasty homophobic comments up at the start.” 

Whipping the hip flask out, the Dean responded in true fashion. 

“Then he needs a bloody good drink,” she said, looking for Gavin Brown’s permission. 

“Just a little would actually help him, Margaret,” he smiled, as the Dean pressed the threaded end to Patrick’s lips.  He swallowed a little, the Dean’s hands surprisingly gentle.  He grabbed the flask again. 

“Oh that was nice, madam,” and took another, bigger draught.  Suddenly his strength flowed back into him and he sat up. 

“There you are Margaret,” said Gavin, “you’ve cured him!” 

He took his blood pressure again and this time it was normal.  Michael’s phone went off and he answered. 

“It’s the Committee,” he said.  “They want to talk to you,” and handed the phone over. 

“Yes,” said Gavin, to the duty official for the day.  “He’s recovered to about ninety-five per cent.  He’ll need rest for a day or two, but there will be no lasting health problems.  I’d appreciate very much if you could make an announcement to that effect, because the families must be quite upset.  We’ll be out in about five minutes.” 

*****

The public address system crackled into life; it seemed some things never embraced the latest technology, even in the Olympics.  But the message obviously brought universal joy, as Joe Bates’ voice rang out. 

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Patrick Benson has recovered; he and Adam Church will be with us shortly.  The Committee are pleased to advise that the program will now continue, with the next event, the men’s lightweight fours final, now due to start in 15 minutes.  But that should leave us just enough time to do justice to the medal presentation for the Double Sculls.  So if all place getters in that event would now assemble at the rostrum, the President of the International Olympic Committee will be officiating.” 

The Prime Minister looked at the smiling faces of his family.  All of them, including himself, had felt an outpouring of emotion for Patrick, but now it was time to celebrate.  He noted that the Olympic President never did medal presentations, and he knew Praveen also understood that even the Olympic organisation recognised the importance of the Australian victory in the Double Sculls.  He noted grimly that a gathering of Olympic officials were speaking to a small group of US rowing administrators, who were trying to pretend they were somewhere else.  Praveen had confirmed that the young starting handler had lodged an official complaint, as had Michael Mitchell on behalf of Australia.  They looked across at the door to the club house where Adam and Patrick had appeared and were being mobbed by well wishers.  They made their way down to the presentation rostrum where they stood quietly. 

The Olympic President was speaking.  “Sometimes when the nations of the world come together to test each other in a sporting environment, in a peaceful and harmonious manner, they bring out the best in each other.  Today in this event,” he said “we have seen great beauty as well as great sportsmanship.  As is human nature, we also saw great ugliness.  I am pleased to confirm that beauty has triumphed over ugliness.  The winner of the Double Sculls event is Australia!” 

Advance Australia Fair rang out as Adam and Patrick stepped on to the winners’ place on the rostrum, and their matching medals were placed around their necks.  Television viewers back home, sat back expecting the little dolly birds to present them with their flowers, one of the lovely traditions of the Olympics; symbolic of the olive wreath.  Instead, it was their Prime Minister and Praveen Nayar shaking their hands and looking very much involved in the flower presentation, a bunch of roses each!  Then it was China’s turn, and they shyly received their medals, and their roses, followed by Germany.  One of the Chinese boys seemed quite animated and was pointing to his flowers.  Stephen Wu, the stroke of the Eight was in the front row and addressed him in Mandarin.  Stephen’s broad grin was priceless. 

“What did he say?” said Andrew Price, the four man from the Eight. 

“They want to give their flowers to Australia because they love Adam and Patrick!” he chortled.  In Mandarin he told them to go ahead.  The two Chinese boys bowed deeply to Adam and Patrick and presented their roses to them.  And the Germans did likewise, six of them standing in a group hug on the top of the rostrum.  The President of the Olympic Federation waved his hand in their direction speaking to Tim O’Brien and Praveen. 

“This is what we strive for,” he said.  “Thank you for your part in today’s ceremony and the lead up to it.  There has been much healing today; yes, and some bleeding too, but your boys have done more for international relations in one event than ten Olympic Games.  A gay couple, and they have brought the world together, never more than when your boy became ill.  Everyone wanted them to succeed and they did.  Then your man recovered and everyone is sharing the pleasure.  How wonderful!”