Choirboy, The - Part 3

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A story of music, friendship and courage

Part Three

Jimmy recovered quickly - at least physically. But psychologically he was in a mess. At school he talked hardly to anyone, at choir practice he was absent-minded, and Peter just couldn't penetrate the wall of defense the little boy had set up. Everyone wanted to help him, cheer him up, and of course also know what had moved him to do what he did.

Two weeks after poor Jimmy was back at school, without any improvement, Peter decided that something had to be done. He remembered the offer Mrs. Brown, the psychiatrist, had still open for him. So, he picked up all his courage and gave her a call. The telephone was answered by her secretary. Peter asked to talk to Mrs. Brown directly, but the secretary tried to have him leave a message. So, Peter decided to boast a little: "Could you please tell Sarah that her friend Peter needs to talk to her, on an urgent matter?" He smiled when the secretary changed tone, asked him to wait a moment, and then put him through. Using people's first names was a powerful tool!

After exchanging greetings, Peter went straight to the core of the issue: "Mrs. Brown, you told me that if I had a problem, I could ask you for help, right?" "Sure", she answered simply. That had been short. Peter collected his ideas again. "Do you happen to know a certain Jimmy Jansson?" After a short pause, she answered: "No. I've never heard that name." Peter actually had expected her to know of Jimmy's case. After all, she seemed to be involved every time someone decided to hack some body parts off... "In that case, do you mind if I come over"? There was another pause, and then she asked how urgent it was. "Pretty urgent, I think", Peter said. "Jimmy is a 12-year old boy from my school. Without telling anyone, he cut his very own balls off a few weeks ago, almost died, and now he is in such a state that we fear the next thing he will cut will be his veins." This time the pause was much shorter. "Come here right now. Can you bring the boy? And what do his parents say?" Peter didn't think he could pick up and bring Jimmy to a shrink so easily... and he had no idea what Jimmy's parents were up to. But he biked down to Mrs. Brown's office right away.

Once there, he had to wait very little. The secretary had been instructed to let him in before a patient who was waiting. Peter told the doctor the entire story of Jimmy's deed, as he knew it. Mrs. Brown took notes all the time. When Peter was ready, he closed the report remarking that he felt at least in part responsible for what Jimmy did, "and the least I can do is trying to help him out of all this!"

The doctor's advice at this point was just one: "Don't let Jimmy alone. Try to set up a circle of friends around him. He probably won't like it, as he will want to be alone. Don't let him! Being alone is dangerous in his present condition. Don't force him to talk, to take part in anything, but keep him in company. And bring him here as soon as you can! Don't bother to call me before, just bring him here!" She also asked for contact details for Jimmy's parents.

Peter did what he could. He involved Jimmy's classmates in the campaign, and of course the entire choir. He had his parents contact Jimmy's parents, but not much good seemed to come out of it. After another week with Jimmy staying in his almost autistic attitude, on Bertrand's urging they decided to press things. One afternoon, after a despairing choir rehearsal which Jimmy attended, but never opening his mouth, they went into action. After the rehearsal, they hooked into Jimmy's arms, one on each side, and simply dragged him away. The boy let it happen, like a limp doll. They walked him out of the school, down the street, aiming at downtown. After several blocks, suddenly Jimmy tried to wiggle loose. But they held him. And kept dragging him along. Until Jimmy at last spoke, in a low and dangerous voice: "Let me go, or I will scream for help!"

Peter pulled him around briskly, and sat him on the edge of the pillar holding up the stony figure of some unrecognizable national hero. He knelt down in front of him. "That's exactly what you have been doing for weeks now! Jimmy, don't you know that you have lots of friends here? Friends who are desperate for helping you? Believe me, I know that you feel like shit, but now you have to leave that behind and face the future! You can make it a bright future, or a drab one. It's your choice. Or you can kill yourself" - a shudder went through the poor boy, confirming Peter's suspicions - "so there is no future for you. But that would really be a dumb decision." He paused, got closer to Jimmy's face, and then whispered in his ear: "Because you are very brave, have a good voice, and the future is just waiting for you!"

Peter grabbed Jimmy's left arm again. Bertrand had held to his right one all the time. They pulled the boy up, and the trio went walking again. Jimmy just let them drag him along.

"Where are you taking me?" "Downtown, to see a good friend". They walked silently another half block. "Who is that friend?" Peter decided that it was best to gain time. So he didn't answer immediately, and just kept walking. Bertrand followed his game, and stayed silent too. Only when Peter sensed imminent rebellion in Jimmy, he answered: "It's Sarah Brown. She helped us two a lot, and she asked to meet you."

That somehow triggered Jimmy's brakes! He stiffened all up, his feet froze, and the trio stopped. "NO WAY am I going there! That's your shrink! LET ME GO!" he screamed. Peter gave Bertrand an encouraging look. They were now only half a block away from their destination. They lifted the smaller boy up, and as Jimmy lost the ground under his feet, he started screaming and kicking madly! People turned around to see what's up, but seeing two boys carry along a younger one, and smiling, they didn't care much. It was kid's play to them. So, Peter and Bertrand carried the kicking, screaming Jimmy right into the elevator, and then into Mrs. Brown's waiting room. Before the secretary could even ask what the hell was happening, the door to the doctor's office opened, and Mrs. Brown appeared. She understood at once! "Come right in, boys!" As they carried Jimmy in, Peter heard the doctor quickly dismissing the patient she had in there. She told him that this was an emergency, and the man certainly seemed to notice it!

Peter and Bertrand pulled Jimmy to the couch, and sat down, holding him firmly. But the doctor nonchalantly sat on her desk, watched them for a moment, then smiled and said "you can now release him. He won't run away." Peter didn't really agree with that. "How do you know? We had to force him to get him here!" But the doctor was sure. She said, still to Peter and Bertrand rather than Jimmy: "He knows that you are helping him, and that I will help him. He is intelligent enough not to throw this help in the gutter." Peter loosened his grip on Jimmy's arm. Bertrand did the same. Jimmy stayed there, motionless. "And now, if you two could please wait outside..." Peter almost had to laugh, it remembered him of that day when she had thrown out his mother with the same words! He quickly got up, and with Bertrand left the room, taking up seats in the waiting hall. They were alone in there, only the secretary remained. She was, like many women, unable to hold still for long. "What happens to this boy? He put up a mighty fight!" Peter filled her in on the most basic things: That he was a friend who needed help and didn't want to admit it. He reasoned that the secretary didn't need to know anything else.

It was a long wait. So long, that Peter asked the bored secretary for permission to use the phone, and called home. Bertrand did the same. But they didn't call Jimmy's parents. Perhaps it was a good idea to give them a little scare, perhaps that brought Jimmy's problem to their attention!

It was dark already, when the office door finally opened and a very tired Mrs. Brown asked them back in. Jimmy was standing at the window, staring out. The doctor closed the door. Not much happened for about a minute. Then Jimmy slowly turned around. He had a very tired look in his face too, and glassy eyes. He came over, and stretched out his hand to Peter. Peter shook it. And then Jimmy broke down, tears flowing down his cheeks, unable to hold back. Peter felt a big lump in his throat. He understood at once that they had Jimmy back with them! His eyes became wet too, as he held the smaller boy, patted his back, while Bertrand grabbed Jimmy's hand and shook it. Over Jimmy's back, Mrs. Brown made signs to the boys, that they should take Jimmy away. They understood, and the teary trio slowly walked out.

They talked a lot during the long walk back to Jimmy's house. They made plans for the future. They even touched the past. Bertrand went as far as asking Jimmy why and how he had done the deed. The police had gotten it right, Jimmy had simply taken a kitchen knife, dropped his pants, and cut his entire bag off, out of a moment's inspiration! He knew that it was crazy, very dangerous, and he couldn't really explain why he reached such a drastic decision, so suddenly. But of course the basic motivation had been the same for him as for all the other castrati in the choir: The desperation about the prospect of loosing his treble voice.

Peter still couldn't understand how Jimmy had been able to cut himself in such a way. "That must have been horribly painful!", he said. Jimmy slowed down the walking at that point. "It's strange. I was like in a trance. I didn't feel it at all while cutting. It was like cutting a piece of rubber. The pain came only when it was all over. But then... it REALLY came!"

The only thing Peter and Bertrand never learned, was how Dr. Brown had turned Jimmy around. Both Jimmy and the doctor kept their secret, forever.

-----ooooo-----

The year was nearing its end, and for a boy choir this invariably means lots of work. Christmas season, after all, was when everyone remembered boy choirs and the sound they could produce. This year, in late November, they had a week-long choir camp, to rehearse intensively for these Christmas concerts. Only the boys went, the tenors and basses were expected not to need the special training. Also, they might get bored in such a camp, while the younger boys loved it!

"Camp" was perhaps not the best word. The school owned a big house on the slope of a mountain, that had once been a ski lodge. But the fashions change, and nowadays most people preferred the funky sparky new ski resorts, complete with lifts, 5-star hotels, heli-ski, sauna, a-la-carte food, gambling, and all sorts of other luxury. The Ski Club had sold the old mountain refuge to the school, and every year it was used a few times for "camps" such as this one.

Peter loved the place. It was a dark old wooden building, with two large bedrooms, each containing 20 double decker beds. Which meant that for their group, this year, one bedroom was enough, and they all bunked together. That was always great fun! The place was creepy, as there was no electric light, and so it was a tradition that the older boys would tell stories about ghosts and zombies, scaring the shit out of the youngest ones! Peter remembered his first time here, and the bad first night he had after some of those tales! He knew they were untrue, of course, but anyway they made for a night filled with nightmares! He was looking forward to this year's trip, as he was now the oldest boy in this group, and thus the one in charge of telling stories!

The landscape around was gorgeous. The house stood just at the tree limit. It was still surrounded by forest, but just hundred meters further up the trees ended, and low shrubs quickly gave way to open snowscapes. Now, in November, it had already snowed some, so the first thing the boys did after arriving was starting a big snowball fight! Not even Mr. Holtmann could stay out. Either he defended himself throwing his own snowballs, or his singers would cover him in theirs! He fought valiantly, and when they all were tired and truly wet, he ordered them inside and had them change into dry clothes.

There was one lady who lived at the place. She kept it tidy while no one was there, and cooked the meals, on an old wood-burning stove, when the refuge was in use. She worked alone there, which meant that the boys had to help setting the tables, washing dishes, and so. They did it with pleasure, for the change it brought! Most of them got so pampered at home that it was a little adventure for them to actually wash dishes with their own hands!

On the arrival day they had only a short rehearsal. They were all a bit tired from the trip, which took several hours in the bus. And they were even more tired from the snowball fight. So, soon after dinner, Mr. Holtmann sent them upstairs, to sleep. In candlelight, they unpacked their sleeping bags. Most boys had no trouble with that, but two of the fifth-graders had brought their older sibling's sleeping bags and didn't know how to get them open, so they took much flak from the rest of the gang. Finally they were tucked in too, the candles were blown out, and the jokes started. A worried alto voice asked the guy above him "I hope you are no bedwetter?", followed by general laughter. "It will soak through and start dripping fast, with these thin mattresses!" a young soprano piped in. More laughter.

"Have you seen the rats?" asked Peter, to no one in particular. Marc picked up the idea at once: "Yeah, man, they are HUGE! I saw several, just a while ago!" A small voice came up: "Where?" "Right in here, in this room! They hid when I came in!" Marc landed that brilliantly, since he actually had been the first boy to enter the bedroom today. After a while, another boy said: "I don't think there can be any rats in here. They have nothing to eat! They would starve!" To which Bertrand had an answer: "They eat each other. Rats do that." "But they can't survive just by eating each other! They would die out soon!" protested the same small voice from before. Peter barely held back his laughter, as he explained: "Indeed they eat each other most of the time, but once in a while they get some food delivered right to this room. Like today. That's when they stock up." He heard suppressed giggling from above him. That was Bertrand, who couldn't hold tight. So Peter spoke up before anyone else heard it: " They prefer tender food, of course. Ten-year-olds are their favorites!" That was the age of the youngest boys in the room. Peter heard someone hissing. "Do you hear that?" he whispered. "They are coming out already!"

There was silence, as all the boys listened. Marc interrupted the silence: "Peter, what do they eat first? Fingers? Toes? The nose?" Peter saw another great opportunity here. "But Marc, you must pay more attention! I told you they prefer the most tender food they can find! So, you can guess where they start nibbling! You and me are safe!" This time the laughter roared. Bertrand added: "So I'm safe too! Thanks, Peter!", and even Jimmy risked a timid "me too!".

The alto spoke up again. Peter was not sure who it was, but one of the trio from the seventh grade, for sure. Not Marc, which left two. He would have to find out, as this voice was good for some opera roles! The guy said, in a husky, mysterious tone: "You shall not worry about the hungry rats, dear children. For a more powerful hunter haunts these olden rooms!" And with an even more hollow voice: "The Mighty Snowplowing Owl reigns here!" Then he changed his voice again, producing a robot-like sound: "She loves to eat rats - she eats them all - and then she looks what else is available." Peter was surprised at this boy, who continued, again in his hollow, dark voice: "And what she shalt like most, when no rats can be provided, is offers of tender meat. She will pluck all our eyes out - " and here he switched to the sticky voice again - "unless we offer here some other tender stuff left over by the rats!" The laughter again filled the room.

Bertrand made his comment: "I can see Mr. Holtmann chasing off the Mighty Snowplowing Owl with a rusty shotgun! Or else, he will have to throw all of her victims out of the choir!" Laughter again. And so it went, for more than an hour. By that time, more and more of the boys fell asleep, the remaining voices sounded tired, and finally Peter too sailed off into dreamland.

But his dreams didn't last long. He woke up to someone shaking him. He grasped the hand that was rattling his shoulder. It was a small hand. "What the heck..." He was interrupted by the boy whispering: "Peter, I'm scared by those silly tales. I can't sleep." Peter laughed heartily. "But you know they are not true, don't you?" "Yeah, I know, of course - but it scares me anyway!" What could Peter do? He opened the zip of his sleeping bag. "Hop in!", he commanded. "I will keep those hungry rats and the Mighty Snowplowing Owl at bay!" Thankfully, the little boy threaded himself into Peter's sleeping bad. It was a bit small for the two of them, but somehow they just fit. Peter didn't even know who he was. A fifth-grader, of course, but he didn't yet tell them apart by their voices. And it was pitch black dark. Once tugged in, the boy sighed, and then he giggled. "But good they were, those stories!" Then he became quiet, and soon his regular breathing told Peter that the boy was sleeping. And that was the last thing he noticed that evening.

Peter had strange dreams that night. No, not about rats or anything like that, but about many confusing things happening at school. He was suddenly in a lower grade, among much smaller boys, then again he was in the locker room, desperately hiding his secret from masses of unknown people walking through, and then again there was the school doctor fingering at him, checking him for phimosis. At that point he noticed that the dreams were too crazy to enjoy, and decided to wake up - he had learned that trick years before. But he found that there was indeed someone fingering him between the legs, and it was a small hand! Only then did he remember, still half asleep, the little guy who had sought refuge with him. Peter very slowly moved his own hand to a strategic position near his leg, but he decided to wait and see what the boy would do. The boy was motionless, as he probably sensed Peter stirring. But after a while, he resumed his probing. He felt around Peter's penis, below it, found the scar, let his fingers glide over it, then pressed slightly as if feeling for something, which of course wasn't there. At this point Peter grabbed the little wrist. "Gotcha!" he whispered. The boy stiffened so suddenly that the bed screeched. He tried to pull his hand away, but Peter held it firmly, pulling it up onto his belly. "It's trapped now, because it misbehaved", he whispered. The boy giggled. That gave Peter an idea. Slowly he brought his other hand close to the small guy's side, and very softly started to tickle him. All small boys are ticklish, he knew that well, and this one was certainly no exception! He giggled more, tried to keep Peter's hand at bay, but Peter was more than strong enough to overcome the defense. He kept tickling the boy, pausing when he thought him close to the limit - after all, he didn't want a wet sleeping bag! When the boy started pleading for mercy, he stopped it, and there they lay, each one holding the other's hand on his belly.

Suddenly Peter had the idea that here he could do a bit of science work. He remembered very well how tightly pulled up Bertrand's balls had been, when he did the surgery. He didn't remember his own ones ever having been that tight, and now he saw his chance to test, on a third subject, how things are. He started moving his hand around on the boy's belly, making it walk on the fingertips. The boy seemed to enjoy it, even as it tickled him and he giggled. Peter made the circles wider, then stopped a bit south of the belly button, and stepped his hand closer to the area of interest. The boy let him, but reacted by moving his own left hand in the same direction on Peter's body. That was honest bargaining! Peter grinned, and let his right hand make the last part of the trip. The other boy did the same. Now Peter very carefully felt around. His bedmate had a very tiny penis, with a wide, loose foreskin. Certainly he would never have trouble with the school doctor. Peter kept exploring. He felt the boy's scrotum, very soft and silky smooth. With extreme caution, he felt for the balls. They were pretty high up, small, rather softish, and certainly didn't move out of there place easily. He concluded that this condition was probably the normal one for young boys, and that he had been less normal. But then, he really didn't remember for sure how he had been when 10 years old. His memories of that part of him were mostly of the time shortly before his castration. He simply had never had any interest down there in the years before!

Peter noticed that the boy had stopped exploring him, and was just sighing slightly. "Does it hurt?", Peter whispered in how ear. The boy whispered back: "Only a little bit, but it feels cool!" Peter was puzzled by this. How could it feel great if it hurt, even if it was just a little bit? He pulled his hand back, but the boy held it, and pulled it back to the same place! Peter got the idea, and carefully massaged the area. The boy moaned and sighed. Peter got hold of the little penis, and pulled the foreskin back. It slipped easily, so much more easy than his own! "Does this hurt?", he whispered. "Not at all, it feels great!" Peter rolled the little balls as far as they would go, which wasn't much. He couldn't do anything like that to himself, and feeling how the boy enjoyed it, he was starting to get the idea that he was missing something.

Peter made the small guy enjoy for perhaps half an hour, until he felt his hand gently pulled away. He had gained a pretty good tactile idea of the anatomy of a 10-year-old boy in that area... They were still holding each other's wrists, and the boy was starting again advancing towards Peter's penis. Peter let him. He tried to pay back Peter in the same money, but without much success - Peter's foreskin was too tight to slip back easily, and there wasn't much else to play with... So the boy again explored Peter's scar.

"It's enough", Peter whispered, while he pulled the boy's hand out of his pajama, and also pulled back his other hand from the guy's belly. "Did it hurt too much"? asked the other boy. "Not at all", Peter laughed softly. "You know, there isn't much that could hurt!" "You got me all wrong, silly! I meant if it hurt much when you had them cut off!" Now that was a first for Peter, being told "silly" by a boy three years younger then him, and inside his very own sleeping bag! But he couldn't be mad at this lovely guy, and laughed about the mistake. And he decided to work with Mr. Holtmann, not against him. "Yes, THAT did hurt a lot! I wouldn't recommend it to you." The little boy stiffened again. "No way would I do that, I'm not crazy!" "Thanks!", answered Peter dryly. The boy giggled. "You're welcome!"

They lay silent for another while, but then Peter encouraged him to go back to his own bed. "Imagine what they will say of us if they find you here in with me!" So the boy slipped out of the bag, whispered a "good bye!", and Peter could hear him colliding with something, patting his way along the wall, and finally settling into his bed. It was still pitch dark.

The most funny thing was that Peter still didn't have the faintest idea which of the fifth-graders it had been! He had never raised his voice above a whisper, and there had been not a single photon available to see him. Peter grinned. The only way to identify him the next morning would be to stand them all in a row, and feel them between their legs! After all, that was the only area he got to know pretty well of that boy!

-----oooo-----

The week at the camp went by in a flash. The choir rehearsed six hours a day, while the rest of the time was spent trekking, or simply playing in the snow. They built snowmen, iglus, all sorts of stuff. The only bad thing was that the snow was not yet enough for skiing. Too many rocky tips and small shrubs still poked out of it.

They rehearsed all the common Christmas songs. In "Hark, the Angels Sing", Peter got his favorite work: Throwing in a solo countersoprano line, at impossible heights, on top of the last stanza. "The twelve days of Christmas", as was the tradition, were assigned to twelve individual boys. This song always gave some newcomers their first chance at a solo. Johnny was displaying quite a good voice now, but who really stole the show was Martin, a shy, quiet guy from the seventh grade. He was the kind of person who never calls anyone's attention upon him, is always at the right place, always does a good job, and slips away quietly when the job is done. But he had been developing his voice, and lately was dominating the treble section. When he sang his solo in the first try of the "Twelve Days", Peter got a punch in the ribs from Bertrand. He returned it. They understood each other. After the short solo, still in midst of the song, Peter stepped aside, grasped Martin's hand and shook it firmly. Martin blushed, smiled, and they kept singing the choir part.

After the rehearsal, Peter waited for everyone else to leave the room, and helped Mr. Holtmann pick up the music. This was his long standing code that he needed to talk. The teacher took a seat, signed Peter to do the same, and just asked "So, what is it this time?" Peter smiled. This man knew him! "Mr. Holtmann, it's about Martin." "What's up between you? Are you getting jealous?" Peter laughed. It was relieving to see that the teacher had noticed that wonderful voice too. "No, no way! I just wanted to make sure that you had heard him! He's just fabulous! You should give him some big, good, serious solos!" The teacher smiled. "I thought you wanted all of them for yourself?" Peter looked down. He was a bit ashamed. Indeed he had always tried to grab as many solos as he could, and probably pushed more than a few boys out of their chance.

Slowly he said: "Mr. Holtmann, I will have an entire life to sing them. He has left a year, at most. Don't care for me, and give him any solo you can!" The teacher raised his eyebrows. "And what about Bertrand, and the others? Do they share your idea?" That was a hard question. "Well, I think... Bertrand is just like me, he will get lots of opportunities in his life. And the others, well... " He hesitated. "They just aren't nearly as good as Martin!"

The teacher thought for a while. Peter waited eagerly. Finally the man said: "I will see what I can give him. His voice is blooming, and indeed it would be a shame if it fades before he put it to good use. But you keep your countersoprano solos, right?" "Of course, Mr. Holtmann! That's something none of them can do!" Peter was mighty proud of his high G, that was a fact. After all, very, very few boys could sing it, and no professional female soprano has ever made it.

-----ooooo-----

All in all, the choir prepared the repertoire for three different Christmas concerts. One was composed just of well-known Christmas songs of English, German, Austrian and French origin. The second consisted of larger Christmas related works by the old Bach, by some of his sons, and by the rather modern Cornelius. And the third one was a product of the sudden availability of their new star soloist: A complete program of solos and duos, by several Baroque and Classical composers! That was Mr. Holtmann's way of putting Martin's voice to good use, without having to push back his other soloists! Martin at first felt a bit overwhelmed with all this, but he coped admirably with the suddenly increased workload, and was soon a sworn member of the C Club, even if the main meaning of the C didn't really apply to him!

Only some days later it dawned to Peter that his idea to get Martin in had not been the relevant factor. After all, why had the teacher brought along all this solo music, if he hadn't planned on a solo concert from the start? One evening he directly asked the teacher. Mr. Holtmann smiled. "You are a bit slow to notice, Peter! Martin's voice started its bloom two months ago. That, and the fact that you, Bertrand and Marc are still with us, made me dream about the solo concert. I wasn't too sure it would work, as Martin is so introverted, but now I'm pretty confident that it was a good idea!"

"What about Jimmy?" asked Peter. Slowly the teacher asked back: "What do you think of him?" Peter bit on his lip. It would have been nasty to say it, but Jimmy's voice had not improved much, and what was worse, Jimmy didn't seem to show much pleasure in singing. He did his job, oh yes, but it seemed to be a chore for him. "Very decent of you not to say it", remarked the teacher.

There was something more that unsettled Peter. "Mr. Holtmann...", he started. "Yes?" "How is that thing with the blooming of a voice?" There he had touched one of the teacher's dearest matter. Peter got an hour-long explanation, complete with drawings, about the anatomy of the larynge, the vocal folds, the resonant cavities in the body, a sound's contents of harmonics, how they were formed, in what way harmonics influenced the perceived quality of a voice, and the changes that happen during puberty. The bottom line was that the particularly bright and beautiful phase of a boy's voice, which was called the bloom, was nothing else than the first stage of voice change!

"So, this means that Martin has just some months to go?" Peter asked. He was really sorry for Martin. "Maybe. If we are lucky, he may last another year, but I'm not counting on that. His voice has developed very quickly, so it's well possible that next year he will already be a tenor!" Peter was ridden by the devil: "Unless..." The face of the teacher suddenly darkened. "Peter! Don't even mention it! NO WAY! If anything like that happens, he, AND YOU TOO, are out of the choir!"

-----ooooo-----

The Christmas concerts were, as always, exhausting but very successful. They sang the one with the Christmas songs more than twenty times, at different places. The most applauded piece in it was "Once in Royal David's City", which they had brought in a pretty impressive arrangement: Martin's solo voice opened it, very slowly, with its almost shockingly clean and beautiful sound. Then, one after another, Bertrand and Marc entered, then part of the choir, then the full choir including tenors and basses and the organ, and for the last stanza the organist pulled out all stops, and Peter sang, or rather screamed, one of his famed countersoprano lines on top of it! It was really a massive thing! Peter felt a bit guilty for screaming, but really, with the full choir and that organ, he had no choice! Five of the concerts were in the Cathedral, the last of them on Christmas eve. Fortunately, the remaining ones were in all sorts of other places, without organ accompaniment. That allowed Peter's voice to survive...

The big choral concert was planned only for one time, in the Cathedral, but an invitation followed to another city. It was on short notice, but the organizers were efficient, and the only thing Holtmann and his troupe had to do was boarding the bus, singing the concert, getting pampered in a good hotel, and let the bus bring them back the next morning.

The real revelation however was the solo concert. It had been planned for only two performances: One at school, mostly for the students and their parents, and one at the City Hall. But some reporter attended the school concert, and the next day the newspaper carried a big story about the "schoolboy with the golden voice". It was all about Martin! As a result, the Saturday evening concert in the City Hall was sold out to the last seat. Peter enjoyed that concert more by listening to Martin than by singing! Despite his shyness, the full house stimulated Martin to surpass himself that evening! Peter actually felt little and ugly, even if he did some outstanding solos too and got appropriate applause. Marc glowed with enthusiasm, clearly the environment and Martin's performance was stimulating him, and Bertrand did his best to keep up with them. The chamber orchestra was taken along by the boys and performed accordingly. It was, simply said, world class!

The next day, the newspaper was using words such as "never before", "heavenly performance", "angels' voices", and the like. Even if the other singers and the players did get some mention, Martin got most of the praise. So much so, that Peter's father joked: "Aren't you now considering a career change?" No way, thought Peter. Even if his singing only served to be close to others that sung so much better, it was worth being a singer! And anyway, Martin's voice had its days counted...

The good press spread out of the city borders, and a few days later Mr. Holtmann rounded up his soloists, and smilingly told them that they had invitations, all expenses including airfares paid, to six different places all across the country! After all, this concert was pretty "portable", involving only four boys, five players and the teacher! In the two weeks around New Year they went to all six places, earning standing ovations wherever they went. The local press always prepared the audiences to receive them as Gods, or at least as their direct descendants! The boys found it funny, and a bit scary too, but they coped with it.

January 1 found them more than a thousand kilometers from home, and there they celebrated Bertrand's thirteenth birthday, with a large cake, courtesy of an anonymous fan. And even that found its way into the newspapers...

Despite all efforts to keep the boys out of the reach of the press, in one city a TV team managed to get hold of Martin. Peter and his friends had a royal laugh when they got a chance to watch the interview a few days later. It went something like this:

"Martin, when did you start singing?"

"At four."

"When you were four years old?"

"No. At four o'clock, April 4, 1994."

Reporter makes a baffled face, Martin looks bored.

"What do you like to sing most?"

"Music."

Reporter takes a deep breath. "What kind of music? Surely you have certain preferences?"

"Of course. I prefer music that has at least one treble part. I can't sing bass very well, and singing instrumental music is not so nice."

This time the reporter chooses to smile. A bit helplessly. She then switches subject.

"Martin, do you have a hobby?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us what it is?"

Martin displays his most innocent smile. "Singing. Didn't you notice?"

So it went for 15 minutes, until the reporter gave up, and the camera closed in at a grinning Martin, making a victory sign! Peter couldn't help the feeling that Martin had been a bit immature in that interview, but on the other hand it was just too good! When he asked Martin why he had done that, he quickly got the explanation. Still pissed off, Martin told him and the others how she had greeted him, emulating her, in a sticky Mickey-mouse like voice: "Hi there, cutie!" Switching back to his normal voice, he added: "And she patted me on the cheek, like I was a baby! Now that's something I just can't stand!"

-----ooooo-----

During the winter vacations Peter's parents had the fifteenth anniversary of their wedding. They had decided to celebrate it as a sort of second honeymoon, entrusting Peter not only with taking care of himself, but of his little sister too, for three days. Of course, Peter liked being the master of the house, but what he liked less was that he had been told never to leave his sister alone. And she had no bike yet, so there was no choice but to stay home, invite Bertrand over, and work on model ships. For Christmas Peter had gotten a remote control system, and the boys were intensely devoted to the construction of a pretty big ship, with sidewheels, driven by Peter's electric motor through a Meccano gearset, and controlled by the remote control system! Mrs. Kerrington would have been proud of Bertrand, if she had seen him doing the paintings of sea monsters on the sides of the ship! In the meantime, little Martha played the housewife, and baked a pie that actually was almost edible. The fact that she forgot some of the ingredients only made it more interesting.

Anyway, the weather wasn't like going outside. It was windy, and in the afternoon it started snowing so much that Bertrand became worried about getting stuck in the snow. He called home, asking for permission to stay overnight at Peter's place, but it didn't work out. Instead his father came to pick him up, in his 4WD truck. Really, it wasn't an evening to bike back!

In the night a mighty storm developed. The noise was pretty impressive, the windows rattled, the ceiling ticked, and Peter couldn't sleep. By about 11 in the night, suddenly the light went on, and there was his little sister, in her thin night gown, shivering. "Peter, I'm so scared!" Peter got out of the bed, hung one of his pullovers over her, and then the two toured the entire house, with Peter making sure that all windows and outside doors were firmly closed, that there were no ghosts nor wild beasts hidden in Martha's room, and so on. Then he put her to bed, returned to his own, and tried to sleep.

But then the lightning started, and soon the thundering came close and closer. It was so creepy that even he switched on his lamp. He counted the time between the lightning and the thunder. 6 seconds. That was close. Booom! That was 4 seconds. Flash! Crash! Lights out! "And that was RIGHT HERE", Peter thought. He got up, and looked out of the window. The entire street was dark, but the next one had electricity. It must have been REAL close! But he couldn't see any hint of smoke, fire, or so. Then his sister appeared again, tapping through the darkness and crying. "Please don't leave me alone, Peter!", she sobbed. Peter hugged her. She was really cold. He walked her over to his bed, from pure memory since it was pitch dark. He ushered her in, and got in too, putting his arm around her and pulling her close to warm her. Then he grinned. It had just been two months since he had such a similar situation, with a totally scared small boy from the fifth grade! It had been pitch black dark too! Only that now at least he knew who was in bed with him...

After a while, Martha rolled on her belly. Peter understood. He slipped his hand under her gown, and gently started scratching her back. He knew that she enjoyed that. In fact, he enjoyed it too, when his mother sometimes did it for him. It produced this indescribably good feeling in the forehead.

After the lightning show, the storm started calming down. Martha had gotten enough of the back scratching, and rolled onto her back. Peter rolled to the other side, and tried to sleep. He was almost there, when suddenly the light came back, and the bedside lamp made him jump with the sudden glare. Cursing it, he switched it off and went back to sleep. His sister hadn't even stirred, she was fast asleep.

Peter woke up early, feeling very cold. No wonder: His sister had pulled the entire bedding around her, and there was nothing left for Peter. Girls will be girls, he thought. They want everything for themselves! He re-conquered half of the bedding, and tucked himself in. Martha was sleeping like a marmot and didn't notice anything. That gave him an idea: He had never in his life had an opportunity to intimately explore a girl! Now was his chance! He started at once, slowly sliding his hand into his sister's night gown. She had underpants on, but they were pretty loose, so his hand fit inside. Gently he felt around. He had seen her piss slit many times, but this was the first time he could feel it. What surprised him most, was how soft the sides felt, silken smooth and fleshy, strangely similar to the feeling of the fifth-grader's scrotum! He even thought he could feel some harder lumps inside the soft tissue. It deeply stirred his established ideas about the differences between boys and girls. Sure, she had no penis, but the rest felt very much like a small boy's ball bag!

He wondered if she would enjoy his probing as much as that boy did. But Martha was sleeping soundly and couldn't tell. And Peter certainly preferred it that way. After all, she was a girl, as such he could not expect her to keep a secret, and he didn't even dare to think what his parents would do to him if they learned that he had fingered his little sister! With guilty feelings, he pulled back his hand and behaved like a gentleman for the rest of the night.

-----ooooo-----

When the school restarted, the first choir rehearsal brought an unexpected surprise: Martin was missing. Mr. Holtmann asked his classmates about him, only to learn that Martin had decided to quit the choir! It was a shock for all of them. The reason? "His voice is breaking, and badly!", one of his classmates informed. That had been faster than anyone expected.

The next day Peter, Bertrand and Marc located Martin in the schoolyard. They quickly noticed that Martin had a good reason not to show up - the change had been enormous! His voice was scratchy, squeaky, totally out of control. He actually had trouble keeping a constant tone when speaking! There was no hint of any remains of the golden treble sound that had enraptured the audiences only some weeks before!

Martin was taking it with a wisdom beyond his years. "So what! I had a good time in the choir. And believe me, I truly enjoyed those concerts in December! But now it's over, and there is no use in crying over it!" Marc asked what he would do now. "Play soccer, I guess..." And music-wise, Peter asked. Martin laughed dryly: "Listening to the radio! Man, I can't do anything else now!" They laughed, but indeed Martin had never learned an instrument, and now he wasn't in the mood to try that. "But when your voice has settled, you must return to the choir, as our star tenor!" Peter said. But Martin was strangely resigned. "I don't think so. Comebacks are never good. I had my time as a singer, and now I have to look elsewhere."

-----ooooo-----

Sometimes in March Peter got a phone call from Dr. Brown, the shrink. "Peter, once again I need your help!" Peter laughed into the phone. "Who got cut this time?" he asked. After all, every time he had anything to do with Mrs. Brown, it was about some freshly castrated boy! "Don't laugh! This is serious. His name is Claus, he is your age, and he has cancer." "Oh shit!" escaped from Peter's mouth. "Exactly", the doctor said, "and he needs someone to show him that there is a life even after castration. Can you do that? Or perhaps one of your colleagues?" Peter thought a moment. A boy, his balls cut off because of cancer, and most likely they didn't even tell him before. Doctors generally don't tell such things to patients, much less if they are kids. How shitty that poor guy must be feeling! "I can try it", he said softly. "Great! Can I pick you up then?" Wow, this was fast! "Right now?" Peter asked. "Yes. We shouldn't make this boy wait too much. He is alone in the hospital and downright desperate".

Ten minutes later Mrs. Brown showed up, in a Jaguar sports car! Peter was mighty impressed. Not only that she had to earn a lot of money to own such a car, but also that she, as a woman, was at all interested in sports cars! Dr. Brown climbed several steps at once in Peter's scale of coolness. During the trip to the hospital, the doctor told Peter all she knew about the case. Claus had a Polish father and a German mother, but had been born here. He had developed a bilateral testicular cancer that had developed very quickly, and he had been surgically castrated the day before. He had a good chance of being free from the cancer now, as there were no signs of any spreading yet, but when finding out this morning what they had done to him, the reaction had been such that the hospital had called in Dr. Brown in emergency mode.

In the hospital, the doctor asked quickly about the present condition of Claus Shkrdnszky, or something like that, in any case it was impossible to pronounce. She was told that he was stable but deeply depressed. Telling the receptionist that she was going to see him now, she lay her hand on Peter's shoulder and steered him into one of the lifts. "Dr. Brown, who's that boy?" the receptionist shouted behind her. "He's my assistant!" she shouted back, and smiled at Peter while the elevator door closed.

On the twelfth floor they walked to one of the last doors. "This is the room. Good luck!" she said, while sitting down on a wooden bench in the corridor. "You want me to go in alone?" Peter asked. Now he was scared! But the doctor smiled. "Indeed! Claus isn't accepting me yet. I think he may accept you much more easily. Talk to him, and just try to get him to behave normally! Then I can do the rest."

There was no way out for Peter. Resolutely, he opened the door, walked in, and closed it. What he found inside was a white-blond boy with ocean-colored eyes, lying in a bed, the covers pulled up to his ears, staring at a TV that hung from the wall facing the bed. The boy looked at Peter, but didn't react in any other way. Peter walked to the bed. Claus' expression changed to fear, rejection. Peter smiled at him. He sat down on the bed. He slid his hand under the covers, trying to fish for Claus' right hand, but the boy pulled away from him. In that, Peter got hold of his hand anyway, and pressed it firmly. "Hi, Claus. I'm Peter". "And so what?!" Claus gave back. An alto, it shot through Peter. Or perhaps he was hoarse... "And I came to yank you out of this stupid bed, attach a parachute to your ass, throw you out of that window, jump after you, and take you away from this hospital, from the doctors, and make you get a life!" With that, he managed to get a smile back from Claus. But the smile was short-lived. "Do you have any idea what these shits did to me? If you knew, you would be running away from me!" Peter reached up, and switched off the TV, whose noise was a real nuisance. "I know that they cut off your balls, but only to save your life. It was the only thing that could be done, so don't complain. I also know that they didn't have the decency to tell you before, and for that I would like to kick them!" Claus lost control, and started weeping. At the same time he pressed Peter's hand. Contact was established. Now Peter advanced to phase two.

"Do you know that castrated boys aren't that uncommon?" he asked. Claus looked up. "Perhaps one in a hundred thousand get that cancer at my age!" he complained. "I read that somewhere. Why me?!" "You just had bad luck, mate. Shit happens. But now you no longer have cancer, so look at the good side of it. You will heal up, and I promise you, there are a lot of things we can do together! Like swimming, biking..." At this moment he noticed the sudden change in Carl's expression. "Do you like biking?" "I did, but lately it was hurting too much."

The next thing was that Carl spilled out his entire story. How his balls had started aching some months ago. How he had tried to keep on with his life. How biking, his most beloved activity, had become a torture. How his balls had begun swelling. How he had tried to hide it, from his parents, from his classmates. Until he had started with fever, vomiting from pain, and finally he had been taken to the doctors. "And just three days later they told me that I had cancer, which I was suspecting for weeks. And that it was perfectly curable. And the next thing was that I woke up this morning with no balls! I went mad at them, and guess what they did? They sent me a shrink! Do they think I'm crazy??!!!"

Despite the weight of the situation, Peter had to laugh. "They sent me to a shrink too" - he paused for effect - "after I cut my own balls off". "You WHAT?" Claus jumped up in his bed. "Ouch! Shit, that hurts!" and he lay back again, paling, his hands under the covers, pressing down on his dressed wounds. "Don't move now," Peter said. Yes, I got rid of my balls. Something like my namesake, Peter Pan" - he smiled - "I don't want to grow up! Or rather, I don't want my voice to break! I sing in a choir, treble, high treble, and it would be a tragedy for me to loose my voice!"

"I don't believe that", Claus said. Time for the strip-tease, Peter thought. He got up, listened a moment at the door. Silence. Then he returned to the bed, undid his flier, and lowered his pants, then his underpants. He spread his legs a little and lifted up his penis. Claus stared, speechless. "When I say something, you can trust me!" Peter said with authority, while he re-dressed.

They chatted for well over an hour. Peter had to tell his whole story, he even had to give a quick demo of his voice. He told Claus about the other castrati, about the C Club, and overall slowly made him see that there was a life even for someone who had lost his balls. But he also noticed that Claus was in a lot of pain. Whenever he tried to move, his face changed into a grimace. After a while, Peter offered: "Should I call someone to give you a painkiller or something?" "Aw no, forget it. The last thing I want is that old fat nurse going over my groin again!" Claus even grinned a little. "I know it's silly, but I just don't like women handling me down there!"

Peter knew what he had to do. "Wait a bit, I will fix that." And out he went. Dr. Brown was still sitting on the bench, reading a little book. "How did it go, Peter? Does he talk to you?" Peter beamed. "Sure he does, he's talking like a book, and I would say he is very normal. I told him about my friends, and we already made arrangements to go swimming, biking, all the stuff! But for the moment, he is hurting a lot around his wound, and needs something to help him. Do you think you can get a male doctor, or a male nurse, to do that?" Dr. Brown smiled, she understood that so well! "I will try!" she said. "But you, keep talking to him, cheer him up all you can, he needs it!"

Peter went back in, and kept Claus busy. He asked him about his life, his hobbies, everything. Until someone knocked at the door. He opened, and ran into a nurse - a female nurse. He quickly closed the door behind him, locking them both out. "Excuse me, but wouldn't it be possible to have a male nurse do this?" he asked politely. "No way, young man, this is MY floor and I'm in charge here." She tried to push him aside, but Dr. Brown came to his rescue. "I think the boy is right. Peter, can YOU play the nurse for Claus? I know you know a thing or two about medicine!" She winked an eye, and Peter turned bright red. This doctor knew everything about him, he was sure! He had never told her the extent to which he had been involved in Bertrand's case, but obviously she knew exactly what had happened. "I guess I can", he said. And to the nurse: "So, what do I have to do?" The nurse looked at Peter, at Dr. Brown, and didn't seem to be very convinced. "Really, Mary, you can trust him. If anyone raises hell, I take the responsibility for it". Wow! Mrs. Brown just climbed another step on Peter's coolness scale! The nurse had no way out, and explained to Peter what he had to do. "No problemo, like Alf said!" He grinned, and took the board with medical stuff from the nurse. She opened the door for him, and he smiled at Claus. "Here is your new nurse!" Claus made big eyes, but he smiled too. "That's much better!" he said.

Peter first helped Claus into a sitting position, very slowly, and telling him to use only his arms if possible. Then he gave him the pain-killer pill with a glass of water. After the boy had swallowed the pill, and drunk out the entire glass, Peter helped him to lie back down. "And now comes the more complicate part", he said, and pulled the bed covers back. Claus tried to hold them, but Peter uncovered him anyway. "What are you doing?" Claus asked, obviously worried. "I will apply some local anesthetic to the place that hurts!" he explained. "That's much faster than the pill!" "And YOU will do that?" Peter grinned. "I can call in the nurse if you prefer, she is waiting outside!" Claus violently shook his head. "No way! Better if you do it!" Resigned to his fate, he closed his eyes, as if to hide from Peter. Clearly he was ashamed.

Peter lifted back Claus' hospital gown. And then he looked twice. This was not what he had expected! Claus' groin was free of any dressings or wounds. But there were two moderately sized wound dressings on the sides of his lower belly! Also Peter noticed that Claus had a pretty large, thick penis, with nothing like the little hose the foreskin forms on young boys. Rather, his foreskin just covered the tip. And his empty scrotum was large, impressively large indeed! Peter had never seen a ballbag that big! There was enough leather to make a pair of shoes, and then some! In hung all around between his legs, loose and wrinkly.

"Holy shit, they butchered you from the inside!" he declared. Claus opened his eyes. "They always do it that way when there is cancer. It's supposed to be safer. They get more of the stuff out, can cut farther from the tumors, so there is less risk to spread the bad cells. The doctor told me all that this morning, after I found out what he had done to me."

"And where does it hurt most?" Peter asked. "Around the wounds. I have some pain deep in my guts too, but the wounds are worst. They burn all the time." Peter went to work. He carefully removed the wound dressings. Then he admired the doctor's handiwork. This guy should have been a tailor! The rows of stitches were neat and evenly spaced. The sides of the cuts had been joined precisely in their original positions. And the two cuts were perfectly symmetrical on both sides.

Peter put on the latex gloves, and soaked a wad of cotton in the anesthetic solution the nurse had given him. Very carefully he tipped it on the wounds, then around them, soaking the reddened skin in it. "That feels cold!" "That's the idea!" Peter countered. "It will numb you down a bit." But the main active ingredient of that juice kicked in a few minutes later, while Peter was still soaking the area in the stuff, and Claus relaxed noticeably, telling that the pain was going down. Finally, Peter applied new wound dressings. They were not as professional as those done by the nurse earlier, but they did the job.

Peter couldn't really control his curiosity. "Don't be mad at me, Claus, but tell me one thing. How big were your balls, with tumors and all?" Claus' face darkened a few grades. "Something like this", he said, rounding his index finger and thumb into a circle roughly the size of a modest apple. "The left one. The other was a tad smaller, but catching up quickly." He tried to smile. Peter wondered how the doctors could have pushed them up to take them out via the holes in the belly. Anything was possible, he guessed.

-----ooooo-----

The winter went away, spring came. Peter and Bertrand resumed their accustomed bike tours. They tried to take the other boys along; Marc often went with them, and Robert joined them a few times, but felt a bit odd with his friends who, even if they were about his age, looked so much more childish. Peter really wanted to finally take out Claus into the green wide world, but that boy had been subjected to a pretty brutal course of chemotherapy. He was finally through it, after much throwing up and loosing almost all his hair, and was pronounced free of cancer. Peter often spent time with him, at Claus' home, and became friends with the entire family. Only once spring was well underway, was Claus back in suitable condition to go on short bike trips. They took him to the lake, but he escaped being baptized in the C Club's traditional way, partly out of respect for his still weak condition, and partly because it was still pretty cold. But then Claus was forced to start private lessons to recover what he had lost at school during his illness, and that kept him away from the gang for most of the time.

-----ooooo-----

It was one of those Saturday afternoons when no one was available, and Peter was alone with his best friend. Bertrand never left him... They decided to go biking, to the hills. Peter felt like he needed a workout. They biked pretty fast, and when it went uphill, they got wet in sweat despite the rather cool weather. Halfway up, they stopped for a much needed respite, and lay back in the grass. A nice cool breeze came up from the valley. Peter had his eyes closed, enjoying the sun in his face and the spicy smell of grass and wild flowers.

Suddenly something blocked the sun from his face. Peter opened his eyes, while Bertrand already was shouting: "Peter! Look!" A big, brilliant yellow and blue paraglider was hanging in the sky! It could not be higher than perhaps a hundred meters over the ground. It glided forth and back along the slope, sometimes standing almost still, then again picking up a considerable speed. "How would you feel hanging from such a thing?" Bertrand asked. Peter thought for a while. "I think I would love it", he finally said with conviction. "Imagine what a view that guy must have!"

They picked up their bikes and pedaled up the steep road. Perhaps they could reach in time and see something from close! Surely the guy had taken off from the hill. The tiredness was forgotten, and they pedaled as only boys sensing an adventure can!

They didn't have to go very far. A good bit below the summit, the road made a turn, and there the paraglider fliers had found a nice place to take off. A pickup truck was parked just outside the road, and a guy was busy opening a kind of large backpack. Peter got close, seeing that inside was a roll that looked like a sleeping bag, and a big mess of straps and carabiners. The seat, he thought. The guy had watched them come close. He looked friendly, but Peter suddenly felt a bit shy of talking to him. A pilot! A flier! That was about the highest class of human beings he could imagine! Only astronauts were above that!

But the superman was pretty accessible, they soon found. He did the start with a friendly "Hi, lads, I guess you come to watch a crazy guy strapping himself to a bedsheet and jumping off the hill?" This had them laughing in no time. "Well, yes, something like that", Peter smiled. "How does it feel to fly? It looks so free, so light..." he added dreamily. The guy smiled. "That's pretty much how it feels. Free, light, silent, relaxing, and more comfortable than you may think! It's called 'free flying' for a good reason, after all!" The guy went back to his backbag, taking out the seat, and the sleeping-bag-like pack that obviously contained the wing. Suddenly he stopped, and looked at the boys. "Would one of you like to take a flight with me?"

For a split second Peter thought he had misunderstood, but then he jumped at the chance! "Oh yes, sure I would like!" Almost at the same time, Bertrand had shouted "Yes, me!" The flier laughed. "Sorry guys, but I can take only one passenger." And to Peter: "You were faster, but not by much!" Seeing Bertrand's long face, he added: "Maybe we can return in time for a top landing, so I can take you up too!" Bertrand's face brightened a little. Just a little.

Peter's heart raced, and quickly his guts started revolting. Not again, he thought! This was no concert, just a little adventure! His guts didn't understand, and he wondered whether he would have to run into the bushes if he couldn't hold it back... Then he noticed the guy packing up his stuff into the backbag. His heart sank almost to the floor level. Was it all a joke? The guy noticed Peter's expression of disillusion, and grinned. "This is a single seater. It's too small for us two. We will use the tandem!" With that he shouldered the bag, put it in the back of the truck, and lifted out another, slightly larger one. Peter hadn't even noticed it. "Come, help me with this thing. It's pretty heavy." Peter did so, and they carried the bag to the takeoff site. Bertrand came by too. "By the way, what's your names, boys? You can call me Rick. They say it's short for Richthofen, but that's bullshit." The boys laughed, and introduced themselves.

Shortly later, the wing was spread out, belly-side up, with a terrible tangle of thin ropes on it. "This one has ninety-six lines", Rick explained. "But some have many more!" Peter watched Rick undo the tangle with surprisingly few pulls. Just a minute later, the ninety-six long ropes were tidily lying side by side, running from many attachment points on the wing, to two packs of wide black fabric straps ending in loops. Peter knew at once that this was where the seat was hung from. The wing was really large! Peter had never thought that a paraglider was so big! It looked much smaller in the air!

Rick picked up the seat. "This is called the harness, not the seat, if you had that word in mind!" Peter swallowed. Could this guy read minds? "Sorry", he mumbled. Rick laughed loud. "I knew it! Everyone thinks of it as 'the seat'! No offense taken, in any case. Sometimes we say 'seat' too!" Rick grinned and pulled the seat, sorry, harness, around his back. He bent over, and threaded two wide straps between his legs, fastening the locks. Then he pulled a third strap over his upper body, and locked it too. He looked funny with all that tangle around him! "Now it's your turn, Peter. Get into the front harness!" Peter's legs became wobbly, and his heart raced worse than ever. But with Bertrand watching, he could hardly pull back! He got in position, found the upper strap, and closed it around his body. The 'click' of the lock sounded powerful. "First mistake", Rick said behind him. "You must first engage the leg straps. Both for safety, and because you can't reach them with the breast strap closed!" The guy was right, Peter couldn't bend over. He found the release button on the lock, pressed it, pulled, but couldn't get the lock to open. "You must press both buttons. It's a safety device." Peter noticed the second button under the lock. He pressed both at the same time, and now the strap slid out of the lock by itself. Peter bent down, and fished for the leg straps between his legs. He found one, brought it forward, pulled it over his leg and clicked it into the lock. "Be careful not to trap your balls, I can tell you that it hurts!", Rick commented. Peter couldn't suppress a laughter salve. "Don't worry, there is no risk for that!", he said lightheartedly. An instant later he regretted it, and Bertrand's face looked shocked too. But Rick didn't seem to notice the deep meaning of it. "If you fasten the straps correctly, there will be no problem, but be careful not to get them too high up on your legs. It does hurt if you do!" He put the emphasis on 'does'. This time Peter didn't answer. He fished for the second strap, closed it around his other leg, then redid the third strap around his upper body. "That's it?" he asked. "Not yet", Rick said. He reached forward, and adjusted the length of Peter's straps. He made them a good bit shorter. "Man, are you thin! These things are almost too long for you!" He set them so that they were just taut, but not so much as to compress the legs. The one in front he left pretty loose. "Is that enough?", Peter asked, a bit worried. He didn't like the idea of falling out of the sky. "Yes, that's fine! It pulls tight as soon as we take off!"

It was awkward to be strapped in. Being much lighter than Rick, Peter was pulled around by him as Rick moved. Rick asked Bertrand to bring him the hook-in loops of the wing. Peter did a contortion in his harness, so he could see Rick snapping the carabiners closed. Then the flier gave the instructions for takeoff. "The only thing you have to do is to run like crazy, when I tell you. Don't stop running until I tell!" Peter could feel his heart pounding. He didn't get his wits together even to give a short answer. "There, there it comes!", Rick said, and Peter felt the breeze in his face picking up. Rick gave a pull to the wing attachments, and suddenly Peter felt himself strongly pulled back. Instinctively he leaned forward, felt Rick doing the same, and a moment later the wing was standing still above them, flying in the breeze!

"So, now we run!" said Rick, and Peter started, feeling Rick also running behind him. But running was not really a good description for it! They pulled as much as they could, but only advanced pretty slowly at first. They started getting close to the precipice, and Peter hesitated. "Run, run, RUN", Rick shouted. So Peter ran, over the edge and straight down into the precipice! The wing was pulling up and back so strongly that there was no way of falling over! Rick stepped on Peter's left foot, he almost tripped, but somehow the wing lifted them over that incident. Two steps further down, Peter suddenly found himself running in thin air! He was hanging from the leg straps, and the precipice under him fell off and back. "Now you can quit running", Rick said from behind. Of course, Peter thought, and smiled. Then we felt a mighty jerk and swing, and grabbed the straps at his sides for all he could. "Don't worry, I just got into the seat!", Rick said behind him. "You can do the same now", and he showed Peter how to lift his behind into his seat. Peter carefully lifted his lithe body in place. Wow, that was nice! All straps hung loosely now, and he was sitting in a nest that was more comfortable than any sofa! He let go of the straps, he didn't feel the need to hold to anything now. He looked at the landscape below him. The trees were small, and the white speck down there was the truck! He could barely make out Bertrand. He noticed that they had climbed some, and gotten pretty far from the launch site. Then he looked up, at the wing. It stood there in the sky above them, mighty and stable, looking as solid as anything, its bright colors shining in the sun. "This is cooooooooooool!" he said with conviction.

They flew along the ridge, turned, flew back, turned again, and slowly gained altitude until they were quite a bit above the hill's summit. Rick started explaining how a paraglider flies, how ridge soaring works, and so on. Peter soaked it all up. A few sudden bumps, which caused a weird feeling in his stomach, were explained as 'thermals' to him. They met the other flier in the air, and sometimes passed pretty close to him, both wings trying to use the same rising wind. "Aren't you scared? At least a little bit?" Rick teased. "Not at all", Peter gave back, "I guess you know what you do, and as long as you don't crash, I won't either!" Rick laughed. Then, a bit pointedly, he asked: "What would your mother say if she knew you are free flying high up in the sky, in a paraglider, with a perfect stranger as you pilot?" Peter laughed. "I prefer not telling her. But she has found me doing even weirder things."

Peter spread out his arms, feeling the wind, sensing the air carrying them. Suddenly he remembered that glorious song, that made Aled Jones so infinitely famous, despite his having 'stolen' it from another treble who never got his deserved credit for singing it in a movie. He couldn't help it, he just had to sing it! He started softly, but with conviction:

We're walking in the air,

we're floating in the moonlit sky;

the people far below

are sleeping as we fly.

Other than the moonlight and the sleeping people, it was just this!

I'm holding very tight,

I'm riding in the midnight blue,

I'm finding I can fly

so high above with you.

Again, the only misfit was the midnight!

On across the world

the villages go by like dreams

The rivers and the hills,

the forests and the streams.

By this time Peter was singing in full voice. Rivers and hills, forest and streams! How true! He could see them all, little like toys down there!

Children gaze open mouthed, taken by surprise;

Nobody down below believes their eyes.

That was for Bertrand, surely! Peter was a bit sorry for his mate, but he didn't even consider asking Rick to get down soon so Bertrand could get a flight too...

We're surfing in the air,

we're swimming in the frozen sky,

we're drifting over icy

mountains floating by.

It was really cold up here. But what the heck! It was great!

Suddenly swooping low on an ocean deep,

rousing up a mighty monster from his sleep;

Hey, that would be fun! That's the only thing that's missing, really!

We're walking in the air,

we're dancing in the midnight sky

and everyone who sees us

greets us as we fly.

He repeated the last stanza, more slowly, putting all into it. Very small, down there, he saw Bertrand, shaking his hanky, greeting them as they flew...

"Aled Jones, rest in peace", Rick said, rather hoarsely. "Man, Peter, you have some voice!" Peter smiled. "You know the song?" "Of course! It's pretty much the official hymn of the free flyers!" They did a turn, reversing direction. The air was smooth up here, cold but smooth. "Do you sing in a choir, or something?" Peter told him about his school, and proudly he added that he was not only a member of the choir, but one of the main soloists. "Guess what", Rick said, "we are schoolmates! Only that I graduated nine years ago. I was in the choir too, as a treble, but never got any solos. I was just average, I guess... I quit when my voice broke. Those were the times..." Peter threaded his right hand through the straps. Rick shifted the right brake handle into his left hand, then shook hands with Peter.

After a while of flying silently, hearing just the wind rushing through the lines, Rick asked: "How old are you, Peter? Thirteen?" "Yep, but close to fourteen. Just four months to go." "You are fortunate that your voice has lasted so long. It sounds like you still have some time as a treble! Mine broke when I was not even thirteen." Peter wondered whether he should tell Rick his secret. After all, he had given enough hints already. But then he decided to give just another hint: "I don't think my voice will break anytime soon." Rick gave back: "Don't count on that. One day you are singing, and suddenly a note just doesn't come. Soon after that, you can't sing a thing. It's pretty depressing." Then he added, in a comforting tone: "But I'm sure you will get a great tenor voice. Keep singing, Peter! I now know that I should have done that, but I quit and now sometimes I regret it." Peter didn't answer. He wasn't really ready to openly tell his secret to Rick. But soon he would. perhaps. Somehow he felt a tremendous trust in this guy.

Peter was feeling really comfortable now. This was the place where one could forget all earthly worries! He immensely enjoyed the sensation of sitting there in a cozy nest hanging from the air, cruising over the hill. Sometimes the wind slowed down, and they lost altitude, but then it picked up with a vengeance, and up they went again! In some cases they had to go a bit below the launch site, but never for very long. "The conditions are great", Rick said. "This time of the year is ideal for flying!"

Suddenly Rick turned around the glider so they faced the hill. They were looking straight on the road winding up. There was a red truck crawling up the road. In its back were two dark bulks. The glider was racing straight into the hill at high speed, being pushed by the wind, and Peter got scared, but Rick had everything under control, elegantly turned around and left the hill on their backs, while saying: "Seems that your friend is lucky today." "Why?" Peter asked, even if he suspected it. "That truck down there is Edward's. We call him Eddie, after Eddie Riesenberger, if that tells you anything! He is a fellow flier, and he does tandem too. And there are two wings in his truck, and the only two he owns are a single and a tandem one. And there is no passenger in sight other than your mate!"

They watched as the truck reached the launch site. A little figure got out. The even smaller speck that was Bertrand approached. A short while later, the two unloaded one of the gliders from the truck. Then Peter lost sight of the place, as it slid into their backs.

"I'm tired", Rick said suddenly. It's your turn being the pilot." Peter got scared. "But I have never done this before!" Rick laughed. "There is a first time for everything! Hands up! Yes, that's right! Grab these handles. Yeeees, good." He grabbed Peter's fists, which were closed firmly around the handles, and gently showed the boy how to pull the glider into a turn, very softly, how to hold it straight. It was easy, really. Then he let go Peter's hands, and said: "Now you are in control. Just do every motion slowly, and there will be no problem. He put his frozen hands into his pockets.

Peter was almost electrified. He got the hang quickly, and steered the big bird along the ridge. "Where should I turn?" "There over the overhanging rock is a good place. It has strong lift." Peter aimed at that place. "You must turn to the outside, away from the hill, of course." Peter didn't answer. He bit on his lip, fully absorbed in flying this machine. When they were above the rock, he pulled the left brake. The glider started going into the turn. "You may pull a lot harder", the calm instruction came from behind him. Peter pulled. The glider banked more, and the turn became pretty closed. "That's right! Now get us back to the ridge, or we will loose too much altitude." Peter did so. The launch site was again in sight, and he made a point of flying vertically over it. Could Bertrand see that HE was flying this wing? Hardly. Bertrand was all strapped in with Eddie, a big white and red wing behind them. "Don't get too close to the launch site now", Rick instructed. "Leave them room to take off and hook to the ridge."

A while later, Bertrand and Eddie were in the air too! Slowly they worked their way up, and soon they were close to the altitude where the other two gliders were cruising. Rick taught Peter about air rules, who had to yield to whom, and Peter put great care in flying correctly. When he crossed close to Bertrand's craft, he saw him waving. Peter couldn't wave back, as he had his hands busy on the brake handles. Could Bertrand see that? Peter was mighty proud of his feat!

They flew for close to another half hour. But then Peter noticed that with every pass in front of the ridge, they ended up a little lower. After a while, Rick took the handles back. "That's it for today. The conditions are getting poor. That happens when the sun goes down like now. But we still have enough for a top landing." What's that?" Peter asked. "It's landing at the launch site. So we don't have to wait for someone picking us up down in the valley, or beware, walk back up to the car! We free fliers are lazy folks, you know!" Peter laughed. Indeed he felt lazy, sitting there and watching the world float by!

"What must I do for the landing?" "Nothing much. Just stand up in the harness when I tell you, and try not to trip when we land."

They were flying low along the road now. "Now, get out of the seat!" Peter carefully straightened his body. It was a weird feeling, sinking out of the seat, until the leg straps

came tight and held him. They were right up in his groins now. He could imagine what would happen if he had balls, and if they were in the wrong place...

They were rushing over the road now, getting close to the turn where the trucks were parked. Peter got tense. This was fast! Crashing at this speed would certainly hurt! When they were almost at the trucks, Rick pulled the glider into a steep bank. Peter suddenly saw the world all tilted, turning madly around him, swinging back into the horizontal, and before even knowing what was happening, he was standing on the ground, the wing slowly falling out of the sky, and Rick behind him, asking: "Did this scare you? It goes a bit fast when there is no wind left!"

A bit shaky, Peter loosened the straps, pressing both buttons on each one. He stepped out of the harness, while Rick did the same. He felt an indescribable sensation of elation! His first flight, and HE had actually flown the glider for a good while! And it was easy! But then he quickly helped Rick pack away the wing, because Bertrand and Eddie were coming in fast. The single pilot was only slightly higher up in the sky, and would have to land soon too.

Bertrand arrived in a swoop, and looked a bit surprised when suddenly finding himself on his feet. Peter laughed. "How was it?" "Coooool! Super cool!" Meanwhile, Eddie stepped to Rick. "Hi, Richthofen! No kills today?" "No, Mr. Riesenberger, just a fledgling swallow. He took to flying like a true bird." Eddie grinned. "Mine was more like a nightingale. I couldn't make him shut up! He just kept singing!" Rick looked at Bertrand, then at Peter, and countered: "And my swallow made Aled Jones fade. They are big fish in Old Holtmann's choir!" The boys looked over. Rick explained: "Eddie here was a big gun too! 'Hear my prayer', half a dozen assorted 'Ave Maria's and 'Pie Jesu's, all that stuff. And Bastien in 'Bastien and Bastienne'! Right, Eddie? Am I missing something?" "Yeah, Richthofen, three counts of 'Amahl', and two of Zephyrus in 'Apollo et Hyacinthus'! Holtmann was really into opera back then!"

Peter and Bertrand came many more times to the hill in the following months. They became really good friends with Eddie and Rick, and hitched many more flights. But the pilots never learned why these boys had no trouble at all with the leg straps.

-----ooooo-----

One afternoon Peter and Bertrand biked out to the lake again. It had gotten warm enough to officially start their summer and go swimming. They had tried to make a big event of it, inviting all their friends. Peter imagined a bunch of six or seven boys coming, but Marc and his classmates had classes that afternoon, Robert had choir rehearsal of the men's section, Claus had classes too at his school, and so finally only Peter and Bertrand could go. Boys usually have tight schedules.

They did their usual sequence - arriving all hot from the bike ride, undressing, jumping from the tree branch into the lake (ouch, that was cold!), having their waterfight, then swimming far out. After they were back at the beach, breathless and shivering, they lay on their bellies and soaked up the sun's still weak rays. Only that they were so white after the long winter, that their bodies reflected most of the warmth.

The two had gotten into reading. Anything and everything. They devoured books and magazines. So much so, that they had brought some reading material along on this trip. When Peter was dry, he grabbed his copy of 'Harry Potter and the Knife of Klingsor', which he had discovered only the day before in the new books' section of the school library. Certainly the librarian had not yet read the book, or it surely won't have ended up within reach of the schoolboys! Being Harry Potter, it just slipped in, and Peter had great fun reading it. He lay down on his back, the sun behind him, his head on a little grassy dirt mound that made a great pillow. Soon after, Bertrand came up. He looked for another pillow, and found only a single suitable one; so he lay down on Peter's right side, and betted his head on Peter's stomach. Then he immersed himself in the latest issue of 'Niklas and friends'.

Peter royally enjoyed his book. He couldn't help making comparisons between Harry Potter's Nimbus 2000, and the paraglider he had flown more than ten times already. What would Harry have done with a paraglider? Bewitch it and transmute it into a broomstick, probably! After all, everyone was most comfortable with what he knew. Peter giggled at the idea of Rick riding a broomstick with him! In any case, it would be faster than the glider! But the paraglider harness was a lot more comfortable than a broomstick, even for a castrato.

Bertrand had his fun too. Whenever he laughed over Niklas' adventures, Peter got a light massage to his liver, courtesy of Bertrand's head. At some point, he put down his book and looked over the edge into Bertrand's magazine. On that page was one of those tickling scenes that Niklas liked so much! Peter was tempted to run a tickling attack on his friend. He knew that if he started suddenly, Bertrand went so out of control that he couldn't tickle back, and so Peter could bring him just to the limit of loosing bladder control. That was always fun, more for Peter of course than for Bertrand. But at this moment the friend put the magazine down, having reached the end. He had a meditative look on his face.

"Peter, what would you say...err... do you think that we are gay?"

That stabbed Peter. He had always displaced the idea, considering it pretty irrelevant for them. But now, he felt forced to find an answer. To gain time, he said: "You are reading too much Niklas, it seems!"

"Maybe", said Bertrand. "But just think: We hang around with each other all the time, we don't like girls very much, we have tickling fights, and we even enjoy being naked together!" That gave Peter the clue. He added in the same tone, with deadly serious face: "And we stuck our dicks into each other's assholes, suck and lick them all over, and kiss on the mouth pushing our tongues into each other! Sure!" Bertrand had bolted up. "Eeks! NO! Never!"

Peter laughed, relieved. "You see? What we do is what friends do. Gay couples do quite a bit more, I would say! They don't say 'eeks' when it comes to ass fucking, they say 'ahh' instead!" Bertrand fell into laughter, and Peter joined in.

"But the thing with the girls? I don't really feel like trying to get a girl to be my friend! They are so... so..." "So what?" asked Peter gently. "So... so girlish!" Peter exploded in laughter, and Bertrand, not knowing any way to fix up what he said, plainly joined in. Now Peter took advantage and started tickling Bertrand, crazily, until the friend almost burst.

After recovering his breath, Bertrand made a last try: "What do YOU think about girls? Honestly?" Peter went pensive again. "Well, I don't know many. We are in a boys' school, after all, and thinking of it, there are really no girls my age in our street!" "Same for me", added Bertrand. "But you have a sister! How about that?" "Oh, Martha!" Peter meditated the case. It was hard to reach a firm conclusion. "You know what? She is actually not that bad. She is just small, with everything that comes from it. And if I think it over, small girls like she are actually very similar to small boys!"

Bertrand didn't even suspect how Peter had learned that.

-----ooooo-----

The next day the boys had choir rehearsal in the afternoon, so swimming was out, despite the nice weather. But the day after that, a Friday, Peter managed to assemble almost the entire gang: Johnny, Marc and Claus were coming with him to the lake, and of course Bertrand. Peter had tried to get Jimmy to join too, but this boy was again in one of his blues, and simply didn't want to go. It was difficult with Jimmy.

It was a pretty loud and boisterous party of boys biking down the forest trail. For Johnny and Claus it was the first time at the lake. Both got a little shock when just after arriving, the other three slipped out of their clothes, all of them, and naked like the day they were born, ran down the beach, straight up an old tree, out on an overhanging branch, and disappeared into the water. Johnny had suspected something, but Claus didn't even know that the bike tour included skinny dipping!

Johnny was still a young boy, free of complexes. He didn't give it any long thought, but followed the other's example. Moments later the only one left clothed was Claus, who still couldn't fully believe his eyes. Johnny ran to the tree, but being a bit plump and not particularly strong, he failed the first attempt and slid down the trunk. Not one to give up, he methodically climbed it, step by step, but moving out on the swinging branch was beyond his skills. He clung to it with arms and legs, tried his best, but then gave up. Spreading his extremities, and hollering like Tarzan, he fell into the lake. Once in, he swam quite well, and joined the other three. But Peter did not swim straight out into the lake this time. Just looking at Johnny's physical constitution told him that it might not be really safe for him.

After half an hour frolicking in the water, the four tired boys waded out. There they met Claus, who was sitting on a clean spot of grass. He had taken off his shirt, folded it tidily and placed it on a rock, and was tanning in the sun, but that was about all he seemed willing to do. Peter made an inviting gesture, Claus shook his head. "I'm well here, the sun is nice!" "But your legs need tanning too! Don't be so shy!" Peter laughed. But Claus only smiled and lay back in the sun.

Peter winked his eye at his three naked mates. He made signs that were pretty obvious to them. They understood. Silently they got up, surrounded Claus, and suddenly grabbed his hands and legs, one boy to each. Claus struggled, shouted, tried new vocabulary, but nothing helped. Mercilessly he was carried to the lake, and tossed into the frigid wetness. He ran out as soon as he could. "Fucking shit, you are some sort of friends!" Angry, he looked from face to face. But seeing them, smiling so friendly at him, he couldn't keep up the masquerade and started laughing. " I really didn't need this. I got a shower this morning." "But don't tell me you don't like swimming! That would be strange!" Peter said. Claus looked down. Quietly he said: "But not in the nude."

Bertrand ceremoniously stood up. "In the name of the honorable C Club, I propose that, in due consideration of Claus' charming shyness, he be allowed to keep his undies on - but only for today!" They all laughed, except Bertrand, who stood there straight-faced and true and very serious. "The general hilariousness approves my motion! So be it!" Then he sat down. Everyone looked at Claus. He made some faces, but seeing that he had no choice, he removed his soaked sneakers and socks, his dripping pants - and out came pink and yellow undies printed with Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck! Daisy smiled from his left ass-cheek, and Pluto from the right! Helplessly Claus stood there, while the others were rolling around laughing tears!

When Bertrand regained control of himself, he stood up, and patted Claus on the back. "Sorry, pal, but we had no idea about that. Better take 'em off real quick!" But Claus shook his head. "You said I could keep them on. I like them." Then he mumbled: "And the patch is gone too", and removed a little flesh-colored pad from his leg.

At least, now he got into the water voluntarily. The others joined him, and they had another half hour swimming and throwing water at each other. Peter spend a lot of time diving. Even if the water was turbid when so many people were there, he always found it interesting to watch things underwater, with the distortion that resulted from the water at the eyes. Bertrand could not really share his pleasure; he had very sensitive eyes, and whenever he had tried opening his eyes under water, it hurt him, and later he got them very red and itchy. But Peter didn't have this problem, and this day he took advantage to enjoy the beauty of his friends, gliding through the water like fish, jumping in slow motion thanks to the near weightlessness of a mostly submerged body. He knew Bertrand better than himself, but he checked out Marc. There were no remains of the boy's balls to be seen. Obviously the Burdizzo had worked. His penis was as small as his own or Bertrand's. Peter also had a quick look at Johnny, but that wasn't very interesting. Johnny was just a normal boy, and being a bit thick, he wasn't particularly handsome to watch. So Peter spent more time around the others. And of course, more than a few times he silently swam up under water behind one of them, and suddenly grabbed his feet. And Claus' Disney underpants added a nice touch of color! They didn't afford much privacy in any case - Peter could see the shape of the contents clearly enough. Claus' dick was still as big as in the hospital, but at least that overly large sack seemed to have shrunk some.

When the boys were lazing in the sun, Peter rolled over to Claus. "What sort of patch was that there on your leg?" "Testosterone", answered Claus. Testosterone? That sounded like pure poison to Peter! The other boys also made big eyes, except for Johnny, who didn't seem to react. Claus smiled. "I know that you three WANTED to loose your balls. But I didn't. So I got these patches. They are supposed to make me become a big, hairy, smelly man." General laughter. "But your voice is still a perfect alto", said Peter. Claus laughed loud. "Peter, it's not that fast! It's supposed to take a year at least! But there is one effect already!" "I can't see which", answered Peter. "You look just like in the hospital, only that now you have more color." "Specially on your undies", added Bertrand. General laughter again.

"So, what's that effect you have noticed?" Peter insisted. Claus looked at him. "No, I won't tell." That was sure recipe to catch any boy's attention! They worked him, until he gave up. He held his right hand forward, letting it hang limply. Then, slowly, he straightened his index finger, then slowly moved it up until it was pointing skywards. Peter swallowed. "Oh", was the only thing he could say. "Does it hurt?" asked Bertrand. "Not at all", Claus reassured him. "Actually it feels quite nice! Except when it happens in sports class!"

-----ooooo-----

Peter had gotten the bad idea of telling Mr. Holtmann that he had met a certain Edward, who claimed having sung lots of solos about twelve years back. "Oh, Eddie? How is he? He was a marvelous singer! Just like - well, you know whom I mean!" The teacher smiled. "Like Martin, before his voice broke", Peter volunteered. Mr. Holtmann's expression saddened a little. "Yes, maybe. But I didn't mean him." "Like Bertrand, then!" Peter said. The teacher smiled. "Don't be more modest than necessary, Peter."

But the idea of bringing such memories back to the old teacher was a real bad one, Peter later liked to say. Because the day after, Mr. Holtmann assembled his star singers, and threw the 'Apollo et Hyacinthus' at them! They had the rest of the school year to learn it. "Mozart wrote it when he was eleven, and his schoolmates performed it. So you can do it too!" The boys just loved such challenges, and went busy at once. Only that there was a little problem: The opera was entirely in Latin, and had lots and lots of long texts! In Mozart's time Latin had been the standard language at school, and all schoolboys spoke it. But nowadays that just wasn't the case! Peter knew the typical Latin texts of religious music. After all, all masses have the same text, just a few lines, and there isn't so much more. But this was a book full of Latin conversation, that sounded like tonguebreakers to him!

Anyway, the boys went at it with full enthusiasm. Bertrand had to sing Hyacinthus, Marc was no less than the God Apollo. As Zephyrus they got one of Marc's alto classmates, Michael. He was just thirteen, taller even than Peter, thin as a plank, and had a sonorous alto voice in full bloom. Mr. Holtmann just hoped he would hold up long enough, and was training the third of the altos too, just in case. Robert got the bass role of Apollo's father, but Oebalus, a tenor, was a problem. "If we could only get Martin to do it! He has the voice already!" Holtmann dreamed. But Martin was convinced that his new voice was crappy, and it was just impossible to get him around. So, a certain Derek from the 11th grade joined the team. He was OK, but not brilliant. Martin would have been better!

The only really bad thing was in store for Peter. He had to sing Melia! A girl's role! What a scam! After fighting a bit with the teacher, and loosing of course, he decided to live up to his statement to Bertrand that he didn't have anything against girls, and put his best efforts into being a first-class Melia! Later on, as he started learning and actually understanding the text, it became big-time fun. This opera was an eclectic story of Greek Gods loving mortals, mortals loving Gods, very human Gods and just as divine humans! Some change from the boring Christian religious music!

-----ooooo-----

One Saturday morning Peter got a phone call. "It's a certain Rick", his mother told him while handing him the phone. Rick was very brief: "Will you guys be at the hill today?" Peter intended just that, and if he didn't, he would have changed his plans, of course. "Sure!" "Fine. Be there at four! I have a surprise for you!" "A surprise? Can you tell me what it is?" Rick laughed. "Nope. Just be there!" After hanging up, Peter spied for his mother. She was back in the kitchen. How good! He would have a hard time explaining who Rick was, and what they were doing together!

When Peter met Bertrand after lunch, they discussed the situation. "I saw him with a camera the other day. Maybe he has shot some air-to-air photos of us!" Bertrand said. Peter knew that lately his friend was obsessed with photography, so he didn't believe that theory. But he had no better one. So they grabbed their bikes and went up the hill. They arrived much before four, and no truck was in sight. So they lay down in the grass until they could hear Rick's truck coming up the road.

Rick got out, greeted, and then asked: "Peter, how much do you weigh?" That caught Peter off guard. He had never cared the slightest bit for his weight, he really had no need to. He shrugged. "No idea", he said. Rick looked at him, like a farmer would look at a calf on the market. "45 kilos perhaps... should be just enough!" "Minus 30 grams!" shouted Bertrand. If looks could kill, the one Peter gave his friend would have fulminated him. Rick just looked over between the boys, not understanding the joke. "Go grab the orange bag!" he ordered. Peter went to the truck. There were three gliders in the back. He took the orange bag, noticing that it was a lot lighter and smaller than the one containing the tandem. He brought it to the launch pad. "Open it", Rick commanded. Peter did so. He took out the harness, then the glider bag. "Spread it out!" Silently, Bertrand went to help him, and they spread out a beautiful, colorful wing. It was much smaller than the tandem, indeed. "Look at the placard!" a smiling Rick ordered. Peter found it, and studied it. 'APCO Prima S', it read. 'Pilot weight range: 45 to 60kg". Peter's guts went into highest alert mode. That could mean only one thing! His voice failed him, his heart raced, but he took a deep breath and tried again. "Solo?" he asked. "Uh-huh! You are more than ready for it!"

Peter glowed with pride, but also he had so many questions! He knew that he could fly, he thought he could master the launch too, as long as Rick helped him get the wing up. But landing? Rick wasn't worried. "You'll get a radio. I will tell you when to flare." "And if the radio doesn't work?" "It works, and if you drop it or switch it off, or I become bored and drive away, I'm sure you can land on your own! This is a school wing, and almost flies itself!" Peter was not so sure, but if Rick said it...

The boy strapped into the harness. He knew perfectly well now how to adjust the straps. "Caution with your balls", Rick said, out of custom. He had heard often enough Peter's answer, and knew that the boy was not yet worried about such things. Peter left him in his belief. He knew better, but why tell Rick?

When he was all strapped in and ready, Rick produced a radio transceiver and hooked it to Peter's chest strap. "You don't need to transmit. Just listen, and swing your legs when you understood." Peter assented. Then Rick went to the truck, and returned with a helmet. "It should be about the right size for you", he said, and pushed it on Peter's head, almost breaking his neck. The helmet sat tightly. Then he sorted out the line tangle for Peter and engaged the glider to the harness. Peter's legs went very shaky!

He was shown how to grab the brake handles from below the lines, and then grasp the frontal risers. Then came the biggest mess: Rick made him turn around so that he ended up facing the wing, with crossed arms. From that position he had to pull the wing up, while leaning back, downslope. "It always goes wrong the first few times, so don't worry!" Rick laughed. Bertrand watched, fascinated.

The breeze picked up a little. "Pull it up now!" Peter pulled from the front risers. The wing nicked up from the ground, caught the breeze, quickly started filling, and pulled like mad! It pulled Peter a bit towards it, but then Rick hold him by the harness, steadied him, and Peter could concentrate on getting the wing up evenly. The right side was lower. The right side, seen when facing back, is the left side, left hand, but which is on the right due to his arms being crossed... Peter pulled a bit more on the riser in his left hand, and the wing straightened. "Good, very good!" Rick said. "Most students get this wrong at first!" Peter pulled a bit more, and suddenly the wing decided to fly and climbed straight over his head! "Add a little brakes!" said Rick. "Now, turn around." Peter did that, and the tangle dissolved nicely into a bunch of straight-running lines. The right side was more at the front. Peter pulled the right brake, and obediently the wing came straight again. "Good, you have it!" said Rick. Then Peter noticed that Rick had stepped back! He was on his own! The wing pulled him upwards, but not yet enough to lift him off. "Whenever you want", said Rick. Peter tried a step forward. Immediately he felt the wing lifting him more strongly. Then he decided to go for it, and run down into the abyss. But that didn't work! As soon as he reached the edge, the wing simply lifted him off the ground, and he left the launch pad upwards rather than downwards! He was flying!

He first flew straight away from the hill. "Now get into the seat", Rick's voice came over the radio. Peter tried to swing his legs. He couldn't swing them much, hanging from the straps. He bent his body, but the seat was too far up! He let it go again, and looked up. The brake handles had loops holding them within his reach. Carefully, slowly, he let them loose. The wing flew straight and true. Then he quickly took his hands down, lifted himself into the seat, and grabbed the brakes again. Now he was comfortable!

But he was far from the ridge, and had lost quite some altitude. He pulled the glider into a turn. It turned much more easily than the large tandem! A light pull, and it came over like a charm! Soon Peter was soaring the ridge, and after just minutes he was above the summit of the hill. "Peter, can you hear me?" Peter swung his legs. "OK. Don't go farther behind the hill. Stay always in front of it." Peter swung his legs. He knew that, Rick had told him often enough how dangerous the turbulence behind a ridge could be. He flew, he felt totally in control, and enjoyed it royally!

After watching him for 15 minutes, Rick brought out the tandem, set it up with Bertrand, and soon the two joined Peter in the sky. Many times they crossed in the air, and at all times Bertrand was steering the tandem, with Rick being the passenger! That gave Rick time to give some good advice to Peter over the radio. He even lead him into his first solo thermals!

After more than an hour, the conditions started weakening, and soon couldn't sustain the tandem. So Rick did his accustomed top landing, and packed up the wing. But Peter still hung in the sky! His much lighter loaded wing just kept flying! He experimented at what amount of brake pull he got the best ability to remain up, and he searched like mad for the day's last thermals. But fifteen minutes after Rick and Bertrand had landed, the lift became too weak for him too, and he started going down. Of course, he could not do a top landing - Rick had been very clear about that! So he decided to get as far as he could from the ground, and flew straight out over the open land, away from the hill. He sank rapidly, but the terrain dropped even faster, and soon he had a respectable altitude over the flat land. Straight down was the landing field. He would circle in on it, when he was lower.

"Peter, can you hear me?" Instead of moving his legs, Peter let go the left brake, and pressed the radio's talk button. "Yes, I hear you fine! This is GREAT!" "Keep your hands at the brakes, dammit!" Peter swallowed, and swung his legs. "OK. Do you see the landing field?" Peter answered with his legs. "Do you know how you will approach?" Peter again swung his legs, very widely. "Good. I will watch you, and only correct you if you mess up!"

Peter was now loosing altitude very quickly! He turned around, flew towards the ridge, went past the landing field, then slowly turned again and started heading straight at the field. It looked like he was aiming right, but he wasn't very sure. He was becoming nervous!

He floated over the grassy ground, trees, bushes, fences. And now he was over open field. From here on, touchdown was safe. But the ground seemed to move faster and faster! Peter's heart raced! He stood up and slipped out of the seat, until the straps supported him. Now the ground was coming at him in full speed! "Pull a little brakes!" Peter did it. "More, more.... Full flare, NOW!" Peter pulled the brakes all the way down, right to his ass - and found himself suddenly standing in the middle of the field, the wing slowly and lifelessly sinking down behind him! "Perfect landing! Congratulations!"

Peter soaked it in. He had done it! His first solo in the air! He mused what Mr. Holtmann would say, if he told him that today he had his first solo... He got out of the harness, packed up the wing, and had everything ready when the truck arrived. Rick swapped the glider for Peter's bike, and they talked a little. Peter learned that he had done well, but that it was definitely not well seen if student pilots let the brakes go to chat on the radio. "Tomorrow you two will come again?" Rick asked. "You bet!" Peter said, beaming. "But tomorrow it's Bertrand's day. Don't tell him, or he won't sleep this night!" Grinning, he boarded his truck and drove off. Peter waited for his friend, who arrived shortly later, and slowly they biked home, chatting. Peter didn't tell Bertrand what was in store for him tomorrow, but Bertrand suspected it and slept badly anyway!

-----ooooo-----

Bertrand had his first solo flight, and from then on the schedule was pretty clear: Saturdays Peter got the APCO wing, Sundays it was Bertrand. The other one would fly with Rick. Sometimes Eddie showed up too, and one or two other fliers, but the boys had taken such a liking to Rick that Eddie mostly flew alone. Still, he brought his tandem wing along every time, and sometimes he found other passengers. Specially when some pretty young lady showed up, there was no way Eddie would fly alone!

On weekdays the two had little time, between afternoon classes, choir rehearsals, and the additional work for Apollo et Hyacinthus. But when they could, they biked to the lake. It was getting into June, and the sun was generous. The boys were tanned deep brown, with no swimsuit marks of course.

One afternoon at the lake they got an unexpected visitor. Bertrand was first to hear it: A motorcycle puttering along the forest trail. When it came close, the boys picked up their clothes and retreated into the forest, playing Indians stalking their enemy. They saw a man coming on an old Honda. There was a brown sack tied to the back of the bike. The guy drove close to the beach, and shut down the engine. He got off the bike, stretched his legs, and untied the sack. This was intriguing!

And suddenly, Peter heard a yelping sound, like a small dog would produce. At the same time, Bertrand grasped his arm, painfully. In a flash, he understood what was going on. He felt paralyzed by the shock, rage, and desperation! Meanwhile, the man picked up the sack, walked to the beach while whistling a pop song that was in the radio all the time, swung the sack around and threw it far into the lake!

Peter went into automatic mode. He didn't know how, but he dashed out of their hiding, and ran, jumped, flew towards the beach, screaming "Murderer! You bloody assassin!" He ran madly, hearing Bertrand echoing him from very close behind, seeing the murderer jump on his bike, kick-start it and drive off in a cloud of dust! Peter ran, desperately. He reached the beach, ran into the water, jumped forward when he was knee-deep, and swam to the center of the wavelet ring that still marked the landing site of the sack. Close to the place, he took a deep breath and dived straight down. The water was muddy, strands of silt floating everywhere. He dived to the ground, into the thickest soup. There he bumped with his face straight into the mud bed. He pulled out of the sticky, soft stuff, trying to find the sack. He got it, and pulled it up, but it was much too heavy to swim up with it! There had to be something heavy inside to make sure the poor dogs would drown! Peter had to get his eyes extremely close to the sack to see anything at all through the silt, but he found the knot and with trembling, desperate hands untied it. He had no breath left, but the dogs must have even less by now! He grabbed into the sack, found one warm soft thing, pulled it out, felt with his other hand, grabbed two more that were close together! Then Bertrand bounced into him, and Peter could see his wide open eyes! His friend didn't care about an eye inflammation in an emergency like this! He saw Bertrand getting at the sack, and left the ground, breaking through the water surface gasping for air! There he went belly-up, and pushed the little puppies together on his chest. They were very much alive, sneezed and started inching up on his ribs, away from the water!

And there was Bertrand showing up, two more dogs in his hand! He put them on Peter's belly, just out of the water, took a deep breath and went down again. And up he came! No more dogs. "Are you positive?" asked Peter. The idea of a little dog drowning down there was terrible! Between heavy breathing, Bertrand said "Wait a bit!" and down he went again. Seconds later he returned, swinging the empty sack to the water surface. "I left just the rock down there!"

Peter swam ashore, on his back, the five little puppies wriggling on his body. He carefully avoided the wave washing over him. Bertrand laughed. "Do you know how you look? Like an aircraft carrier!" Peter grinned. "Do these dogs have wings? I don't think so. And my radio mast is a bit smallish too!" They laughed, half because of the joke, and half because of the happy end of what had started so terribly.

A while later they were sitting in the grass, the five puppies between them. They climbed over each other, rolled down, and tried to suckle at everything they found. "Those who have TWO belly buttons are the boys", Bertrand commented. Peter laughed. Really, that was a way to put it. The puppies were smoother down there than he was. "Their balls will pop out when they get older", he said. "I know, dummy", Bertrand gave back a bit offended. "It was just a joke."

Then Bertrand mused: "What might this idiot have thought, when suddenly two stark naked guys broke out of the forest, running straight at him and screaming like madmen?" Peter lay back and laughed. "He deserves it, that heap of shit! How CAN anyone be so cruel!"

"And what now?" That was the big question. He sat up, picked up two of the puppies, sat them in the grass between his knees, and caressed them. "They are so cute!" Bertrand saw little hope with his parents. "It's not that they would hate animals, but they don't want them too close. They never let me have a dog." Peter knew that his parents too wouldn't be very fond of the idea of raising five dogs of unknown, perhaps undefinable race. But there may be more hope, at least for some time.

"Hey, what do you think you are doing there?!" One of the puppies had found the tip of Peter's foreskin, and was devotedly trying to suckle! "Hey, hey, there is no milk in there!" Bertrand laughed until he fell flat. "Yours really looks like a bitch nipple, Peter! I can't blame that little guy!" Peter laughed too, while he kept the puppies at bay. The other one had sensed his brother's doings, and was trying to fight him over the supposed food source! They had to be very hungry!

The boys dressed. "How do we take them home?" Peter asked. The only way was that nasty sack. "Sorry, guys!" he said, as he packed them neatly into the wet sack.

It was quite a feat to bring the dogs home safely on the bike. But it worked. Peter opened the door, and silently the boys brought their cargo in. They extended the sack on the floor, taking the dogs out and arranging them on top. They wriggled around. Bertrand watched over them, while Peter went on his difficult diplomacy assignment. He found his mother in the living room, knitting.

"Hi mom!" "Hi Peter, you scared me! Why so quiet?" "Mom, I have a problem. A big one. I need your help." She put her knitwork down. "Peter, now you are really scaring me! What happened?" "Come", Peter said, and took her hand. "Please don't be mad at me." He walked his mother to the entrance hall. "Hi Bertrand!", she said to the kneeling boy. "What's the matter with you?" "He is fine, mom, but look here!" Then she saw the core of the problem. "Where do these dogs come from?" "They come from the bottom of the lake, mom, a guy was trying to drown them! In the sack, with a big rock inside! We got them out when they were almost dying!" Peter couldn't help sobbing. The emotion overcame him. He just couldn't understand how that man could have done that! And there was the fear that mom would throw them out without any discussions!

But they were interrupted by Martha running down the stairs. She had good aim, and went straight to the dogs. "How cute!" she exclaimed, lay belly down on the floor and started playing with them, caressing them, tipping their little noses. It was a charming scene.

Peter had to tell the entire story. He didn't mind now telling mom that he had been swimming with Bertrand, without permission. That was so insignificant compared to what was at stake here! While he told how it happened, Martha's eyes became round, then teary, then excited. At some point she couldn't hold back, jumped up, hugged her brother and planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek! "You are a hero, Peter! Thanks!" The boy smiled at the unexpected demonstration of love. But Martha went to hug Bertrand, and give him a kiss just as big and wet. "And you too!"

Now Mrs. Andrews had little room to move... After some bargaining, the agreement was that the dogs would be tolerated until they were big enough to find them good homes, and that all of the work involved would be Peter's, and Bertrand would come over to help him. But Peter ended up needing little help from Bertrand, and actually found little to do himself! Little Martha literally adopted the puppies, bottle-fed them with immense dedication and love, kept their bedding clean, and some weeks later found three of the five loving homes required. Peter and Bertrand found the other two among their schoolmates, specially those from the lower grades. The farewell was difficult, with many tears on the part of Martha, but she fought them valiantly. And Peter didn't want to confess it, but he too got into several episodes of wet eyes when the cute, lively, grateful little dogs were taken away.

-----ooooo-----

The "Apollo et Hyacinthus" in June was, in Peter's view, a total flop. Not one of the boys could remember the full text, and all kinds of accidents happened: Skipped verses, wrong recitatives, and so on. Acting while singing was definitely a problem for Peter, and for most of the boys too, except Bertrand, who took to it like a fish to the water, putting on a show on his face that enraptured the people, specially those who sat close enough to see the details. He obviously enjoyed playing the lovely Hyacinthus! But that couldn't keep him from forgetting half of the text... The players, who had the scores in front of them, had a hard time skipping forth and back, trying to find out where the boys had jumped. But the audiences loved it anyway, and didn't seem to notice the mess! Obviously nobody understood Latin, nor was familiar with this opera...

And then the school year was over! On one of the last school days, they had their annual choir concert. This was a long standing tradition in the school, and was less of a concert than of a show, in which some singers got prizes and trophies, and in some way renewed their vows to stay with the choir for another year. The entire choir, boys and young men, were assembled on the stage, with almost the entire rest of the school, including many parents, crowding the Aula.

Peter, Bertrand and Marc all got awards 'to outstanding extended services as soloist' . Robert was crowned 'the bass of the year'. Then Mr. Holtmann gave small awards of recognition to several boys who had started voice change over the year, and had moved over to the men's section, usually with a mute period of about half a year. These were jokingly called the 'octave awards', for the drop in the holder's voice range. And then came the inevitable process of presenting awards to those boys that had chosen to leave the choir when their voices broke. The teacher thanked each of them for their services, wished them luck and reminded them to never let music fade out of their hearts. He spared Martin for the last among them. When he called Martin on stage to present him his award, the old man started telling the audience a little story:

"Four years ago a little fifth-grader joined our choir. He had a little, but clean and nice treble voice. This little boy worked like a beaver, was well liked by everyone, and soon became one of the pillars of the treble section. Over the years, his voice matured, the little boy became a big boy, and he also became one of the best trebles this school has ever had in the thirty years that I have been here!"

He paused for effect, then continued: "I don't need to tell you how he sang during last Christmas season. Most of you heard him, and also you all know what the media thought of him. Suffice to say that he won us invitations from all over the country." Martin's face was red. Uneasily he stepped from one foot to the other.

"Well, things took their usual course, and over the winter vacations the biological time bomb hit this boy." Some people in the audience laughed. "His voice dropped at a rate of about one note a week," - more laughter - "and the poor lad ran away from our choir." Total silence. Martin now was very obviously uneasy.

"But I have to tell you something else: Over the last months, this young man has been developing a mighty fine tenor voice! I have tried to get him back where he belongs, here in this choir" - he gestured towards his assembled singers - "but I have failed miserably."

He picked up Martin's award, which read 'to the best treble soloist in 30 years', and gestured Martin to step close. He took Martin's hand, shook it, while handing him the award. He said to the boy, but close enough to the microphone so that everyone could hear: "Martin, many thanks for all the good you brought to us. And if you ever make up your mind and feel like returning, be aware that our doors will always be wide open for you." Martin's face trembled, his eyelids tried desperately to keep his vision clear, as he shook his teacher's hand. Then he walked, almost ran to the stairs that would let him escape this stage.

Peter had an idea. He turned over facing his choirmates, and started chanting "Mar-tin-come-back! Mar-tin-come-back!" In a matter of seconds, the entire choir was chanting "Mar-tin-come-back! Mar-tin-come-back!" Martin had reached the stairs, and there he hesitated. He waved at his friends, took two more steps down. The public started picking up the chant. Martin finished the steps, but then the people in the front row got up and closed his path! Martin looked fleetingly from side to side, like a rabbit encircled by dogs, while a wall of smiling people closed his only possible escape route. The "Mar-tin-come-back! Mar-tin-come-back!" became deafening. Martin looked at the stage, at the people in front of him, at Mr. Holtmann, desperate. The teacher was standing there, looking friendly, encouraging. Martin was overwhelmed. He retreated from the human wall in front of him, climbed the stairs backwards, found himself on the stage again. Here he had the full view of the many people in the room, chanting at him. Suddenly he gave up, turned over and walked, then ran into the midst of the choir, HIS choir, where he landed in the open arms of one of his friends, was surrounded by them, many hands patting his back, sliding through his hair, seeking his hand to shake it! The public cheered, and Mr. Holtmann stood there, two large tears rolling down his old face...

When the noise had quieted down a bit, he took the microphone, cleared his throat, one, two, three times, then said solemnly: "It seems that we will have to print another octave award!"

-----ooooo-----

It was early in the summer vacations, when one evening Peter's dad commented over the dinner table: "Uncle August called me today at the office. He's feeling lonely in his castle. He asked if he could borrow Peter for two weeks." Dad smiled. "Peter, would you like?"

Uncle August was dad's brother. Peter knew only little about him - that he was a number of years older than dad, lived alone in a strange house in the middle of a jungle-like forest, reachable only by boating up a river, and some obscure issue about him loosing his entire family many years ago. Peter had been at the place only one time, many years ago, when he had been very small. He remembered a big dark river, and an endless staircase, but not much else. Of his uncle, the thing he remembered most vividly was his long, wild beard. Back than, he had always wanted to grab it and pull it.

"Well, Peter, what do you say?" mom asked. "I think you would enjoy it!" Peter thought so too, but he had a big problem. "Mom, Pa, I would really like to go, but... being with Uncle August for two weeks, and leaving Bertrand alone to bore himself silly, is just not right!"

Dad laughed loud, looking friendly at his beloved son. "I knew it! I knew it! Peter, the invitation is for two. Ask Bertrand if he wants to go. And make sure his parents agree." "And me? Why not me?" cried little Martha. "You are too small, my dear. Next year, perhaps!" Mom tried to console her.

Of course Bertrand was eager to go, and it was easy to get his parent's permission, once Peter's dad had called Bertrand's. In fact, Bertrand's parents saw their chance for a small vacation on their own, something they hadn't enjoyed for quite some time. So it was all set up, and a few days later Peter's father drove the boys to the marina near the mouth of the Blackwater River, where Uncle August would pick them up.

The rather long trip was troublesome. Halfway on the route, a tire ripped. The car almost ran out of the road! Not only the tire was wrecked, but also the wheel, as it had run pretty squarely against a concrete block at the side of the road. They had to put on the spare wheel, which wasn't suitable for full highway speed, then loose lots of time - and money - in the next mayor town, locating a new wheel and tire. The tire was easy, of course, but getting a new wheel was not that easy. And there was no way to contact Uncle August. He was a much too solitary soul to use anything such as a cellular phone.

When they finally arrived at the marina, they found Uncle August very worried, but relieved now that they were there. Peter studied his uncle. Sure, the beard was there, white as snow and really large! The uncle had a trustworthy face, with little, witty eyes. He looked a bit like Santa Claus, Peter decided. But he was also worried about the time. "Let's go right now, boys, or it will get too dark on the river!"

So they quickly loaded their backbags into the boat, the uncle started the diesel, producing a big black cloud of smoke. Then he stepped out of the boat, undid the ties, threw one roll of rope at Bertrand, who almost went overboard catching it, the other at Peter, who was better prepared and caught it more elegantly. Then the old man jumped back into the boat, to the cockpit, and throttled up the diesel. Peter admired the nimbleness of this old guy!

The engine put out another black cloud, but then the exhaust cleared up and they could see again. "It always stinks when it is cold", the uncle explained. The boat picked up speed, and threaded its way through the marina and out into the open river. There Uncle August gave full throttle, and the diesel went into a roar that made any further communication attempts pretty hopeless.

Peter examined the boat. It was an old wooden vessel, with a two-cylinder marine diesel and a rather large auxiliary outboard engine. He guessed that was for safety and backup, but it was pretty large for that. Most backup outboards he had seen on the other boats in the marina were much smaller. The boat had a small bed under the front deck, while the cockpit was open to the aft. The controls looked pretty handmade, and the rudder wheel was beautifully crafted from burly wood with rich reddish color. Uncle August stood there, his eyes fixed on the river, making small corrections at the wheel.

Peter looked into the water. It streamed by them very fast, even if the boat seemed to move more slowly. There had to be quite a current in this river. He tried to estimate their speed, but it was hard to tell without any good reference. About as fast as his bike, he guessed.

Bertrand came over, and screamed something in his ear. He couldn't understand a word. Man, that engine was noisy! Bertrand made a disregarding sign, and sat back at his place.

The sun was setting now. At the same time, the river was becoming much narrower, and the farms at the sides were interrupted by patches of forest. Soon later, the farms disappeared altogether, and dense forest lined both sides.

The current became ever stronger, and now that the river was so narrow, Peter could see that the boat was going ever slower. Suddenly, his uncle signed him to come close. Peter stood up. The uncle took him by the shoulders, walked him to the wheel, put Peter's hands on it, and pointed out a certain line along the river. He watched as Peter kept the boat on the line, then went aft and lowered the outboard engine into the water. He came back, started the engine, and took back the wheel from Peter. The unsteady blubbering of the large idling two-stroke could be heard through the roar of the diesel. Then the uncle throttled up the outboard, a little at first, then more. The boat picked up speed on the almost dark river, and soon they were going with both engines at full throttle. Peter felt the chilly wind in his face, while the boat flew over the ever more turbulent water. Around a bend of the river they went, and there, in front of them, lay a stretch of wild whitewater! The boat crashed into the first rotating water hole, flew over it, the uncle made the wheel spin, threading the boat between two other such holes, and straight over the fourth. Peter held on to the seat, as the boat bounced around. This was fun! Now he knew what the large engine was for! Without it, the water would win! A while later, the whitewater lay behind them, defeated, and the uncle gave the outboard a relax. The diesel kept roaring its uniform song.

They followed the river, now peaceful and slow-flowing, around several more bends. It was getting really dark now, and the uncle switched on a searchlight on the cockpit roof. It could be aimed by a handle that went through the roof, and Peter took up the task of keeping the beam of light aligned with the river in front of them. After another while, the river gave way into a wide, tranquil lake. Peter could faintly see tall rises of forest around, but it was almost fully dark now.

The uncle throttled down the outboard, after a while shut it off. Then he also started throttling down the diesel. Finally, with the diesel idling, the boat glided into a little bay in the lake, a small natural port. The bow went onto the beach, and uncle August jumped ashore with a roll of rope, and proceeded to tie the boat to a tree trunk.

In the beam of the searchlight they unloaded the backbags and some bags of groceries the uncle had bought. Then the uncle went aboard again, switched off the light and shut down the diesel. It was pitch dark, Peter could see absolutely nothing! But the uncle came back with a tiny flashlight, and with that they went walking along a narrow path of hardened soil that penetrated the forest and soon went steep uphill. Before long, they found themselves on a long row of stairs, made from coarse rocks and blocks of timber. Peter started sweating, carrying his backbag and several bags of groceries.

They reached a wooden staircase, climbed it to a terrace, and the uncle opened the door and switched on the light inside. "You have electricity here?" Peter said in awe. "The uncle laughed. "Of course! I may be an anachorete, but I'm not against the good sides of technology. I have a little turbine down in the river."

"What is an anachorete?" Bertrand dared to ask. "A hermit." "A what?" "Someone who lives alone, dummy!" Peter said.

The house was entirely wooden, and pretty rustical but very homely. Peter was impressed by the enormous amount of photographs hanging from all walls. The uncle made something to eat, and after that they were all ready for sleeping. "I have only one guest room. So one of you can take that, and the other can sleep here on the couch." Peter looked at Bertrand, who returned the look. "Uncle August... would you mind if we two shared the guest room?" The man looked at the two friends, then he smiled. "Do as you please", he said.

Peter and Bertrand found that the single bed in the room was wide enough for the two of them. So they threw their sleeping bags on the mattress, and shortly later they were horizontal. Peter fell asleep with the nice smell of raw timber in his nose, and the warm feeling of having his best friend next to him.

The next morning Peter awoke to his friend, naked except for the underpants, shaking him. "Peter, wake up! You must see this!" Peter rolled over, taking a moment to regain his orientation. Bertrand dragged him out of the sleeping bag. Laughing, he landed on the floor. His pajama pants had preferred to stay in the bag. Bertrand laughed too. Then Peter stood up, and Bertrand ceremoniously guided him to the window. "Look at this!" he said, proudly as if it was his own creation.

Peter looked, and looked, and looked. "WOW!" he said after a while. What he saw, really could not be well described in any other single word! The window overlooked a deep gorge, with shiny black rocky outcrops, and all the rest covered in dense forest. The gorge opened onto the lake, with a view of both the river feeding the lake, and the one draining it. A single thick white cloud hung low over the water, at the far side of the lake, as if someone had forgotten it there. The sky was completely cloud-free, and as deeply blue as Peter had rarely seen. Waterfowl were on the lake, and the trees close-by were stirring with birds pursuing their morning activities. Far in the distance, snowcapped mountains shone over the wooded hills.

"Morning has broken, blackbird has spoken", Bertrand said. "Your uncle has quite a good taste. What a pity that I still have no camera! It's views like this that just have to be put on film! Look at that cloud there! Priceless!"

The boys got dressed. It was pretty chilly at this time. Then they went to the kitchen, where they found the uncle making breakfast. As the trio ate and chatted, Peter mentioned that his friend was itching for a camera when he saw the incredible landscape. He had noticed that his uncle was a photo buff. "Bertrand, are you truly interested in photography?" "Oh yes, but I've been pestering my old man for years about a camera, and so far I've got nothing." He let his head hang down. "Maybe for Christmas, or your birthday", Peter tried to cheer him up. But the uncle got up, left the kitchen, and soon came back, walking up behind Bertrand and hanging a camera over his neck. "Try and see if you can get anything good out of this old thing", he said. Bertrand was half shocked, and barely able to contain himself! He fingered the leather cover off. "Wow! A Canon AE-1!"

"It was a pretty good camera in its day", the uncle commented. "It's pretty obsolete now, but it still works well. And it's a pretty ideal beginner's camera. You can shoot through a few rolls of Sensia I have in the fridge, I don't use that old stuff anymore, since the new Provia 100F came out. Then we can develop it and see if you shoot as good as you sing." Bertrand looked up. The man smiled. "I did my homework, boys."

"Sensia is slide film, right, uncle? May I call you uncle, by the way?" Bertrand was still a bit shy. "Of course! Or call me just August, however you want, I don't care. Yes, Sensia is slide film. Pretty good, better than most others, but Provia beats it. Still, for experimenting it's good." "And you process it at home? Here?" "Sure, why not? And know what, young man, YOU will process this film! So you see it's not hard!"

Bertrand got four rolls of film, and the friends went on their photo safari. Bertrand shot at everything interesting he saw. Peter found out that Bertrand knew a lot about apertures, shutter speeds, composition, contrast, and so. Bertrand climbed trees to shoot from the bird's view, lay back in the dirt to shoot a tree trunk from the roots up, spent half an hour bringing a wild flower into just the right position to shoot it at the lens' closest setting, and even tried a few birds, but without a long lens there wasn't much he could do with them. Soon he was through two films, and Peter had not yet had a chance to even touch the Canon! He let Bertrand enjoy. He couldn't be jealous with his best friend.

When the boys got down at the lake, custom got the better part of them. The clothes were put down, the camera safely bedded in them, and they splashed into the lake. Ouch, it was cold! No comparison to their shallow lake back home! This one was fed by meltwater from the high mountains! They swam as long as they could endure, then with clattering teeth got out and warmed in the sun.

Peter lay there, belly down on a flat black rock, looking over the lake. The water was emerald green, with the forest of the other side reflecting in it. There was life everywhere: Water birds swam around, fish jumped out of the water, myriads of insects frolicked in the sun above the water, swallows went after them... It was nature at work.

CLICLACK, Peter heard behind him. He looked around. There was Bertrand, kneeling behind him, taking down the camera and grinning. "I had to use exposure compensation to avoid overexposing your bright white ass against the black rock!" "Are you crazy or what?! What do you think will my uncle say if he sees that photo?" "He will say 'nice exposure, well done', what else? He is a photo buff after all!" Peter had to laugh. At least it showed only his backside. That wasn't so terrible. But with camera-armed Bertrand around, he would have to be careful while naked.

A while later, he managed to distract his friend, and then take revenge. His very first photo with the Canon was Bertrand getting ready to jump from the rock into the water. It was taken from the side, slightly back, so Bertrand's front couldn't be seen either. A safe photo. On autoexposure, it should come out right. Bertrand didn't even notice Peter shooting it. He jumped, and Peter stored the camera away and quickly jumped after him. They tried again how long they could endure, but soon they were out of the water again. It was so scary cold!

Peter looked at his friend's groin, and had to laugh. "You lost something in the water", he said, pointing at Bertrand's penis, which had shriveled almost out of existence. "You too", answered the friend dryly. Sure enough, Peter was almost smooth down there. What little he had was all inside.

That made him think. "Bertrand... we can always make Uncle August think that our balls were out of sight because of the cold!" He really wanted to have a few photos of Bertrand in his pristine state, in this environment, and why not admit it, of himself too. Before long, the two boys were immersed in an intense session of 'nature photography'. It could have been called porn, if it had not been made by two young, eager and witty boys. It was not at all offensive, only a bit childish, what they did. Bertrand started using the self-timer so that the two could appear together on the photos. They had great fun and posed for ever better photos, until running out of film.

The very same afternoon they set up the photo lab. It was just a simple rotating processor, which uncle August placed on the kitchen table. He had several processing tanks, and as there were four films to develop, he chose one that had room precisely for those four. "So we can do them all in one run", he said. Peter and Bertrand mixed the chemicals under his instructions. The substances came as thick liquids in dark bottles, and had to be diluted in warm water. Several juices had to be mixed, in precisely controlled quantities. The boys worked carefully, after all, it was their very own photos that would be messed up if there was any error. At the end, they had the three half-liter bottles filled with each of the three working solutions. One was almost clear, the next a bit brown, and the third was violet and as dense as ink! The uncle placed the three bottles in the processor, filled it with warm water, then switched on the thermostat. "It must all be kept at a precise temperature. That's the main trick in getting good slides!"

He got a wooden box fitted with two black fabric hoses out of the closet. He put it on the kitchen table, took the lid off, and put the four film canisters inside, the processing tank, scissors and pliers. Then he closed the lid, and threaded his arms through the hoses. This was all new to Peter, but Bertrand knew perfectly what it was all about. He talked on even terms to the Peter's uncle. "You don't reuse any canisters"? "No. Bulk film isn't really that much cheaper than cut one." "Do you use metal spools or plastic?" "Metal. Stainless steel. Plastic is fine for black and white, but it gets contaminated in E-6 chemistry." "What happens then?" "Your slides come out all green." "Not bad, for these landscapes!" Bertrand laughed. Peter instead thought of how their asses would look if green.

Before long, the tank was in the processor and happily going around and around. Peter manned the stopwatch, Bertrand changed baths, the uncle watched and corrected little mistakes before they would produce any effect. After half an hour the great moment came. The uncle opened the tank, took out the first spool and unrolled the film. "Oh shit!" Bertrand said. The film was dark and very milky, almost nothing was visible on it. But the uncle laughed. "Don't worry, Mr. Adams! It is perfect. The film clears up when it dries!" Bertrand looked beaten. "I guess Ansel Adams would have known that."

The films were hung up for drying, and then Uncle August made them leave the kitchen. "It's better to leave them alone. Less dust flying around." So they went into the living room, and learned about the many pictures the uncle had there.

After two hours they went back into the kitchen. Peter could see the bright colors of the slide films shining from far! The uncle grabbed the first film, sat down, and let it slide through his fingers, against the light. "Looks good", he said. It was one of the landscape films. "I will have to borrow you the macro lens for those flowers, Bertrand." He scanned more photos. "No, no, you can't do birds with a fifty millimeter lens! You will have to carry the 400 too... and that thing is heavy." With every sentence, Bertrand's face brightened by another step. Peter instead was worried what would happen with the next film, or at the latest, the one after it...

The uncle put the film aside. "You have a good eye, Bertrand. Did you shoot all these, or did Peter help?" Bertrand told him that on that film they were all his. "But we shared the last two films about evenly", he added, as to justify himself.

August got the next film. He looked at it, then he laughed loud. "Boys will be boys! You are not a bit shy of yourselves, are you? Would you have taken these pictures too if you were sending the film to a lab?" What a question... of course not! "Mmmh, I see that Peter has a good eye too." It obviously was a photo of Bertrand. The uncle made several more comments, while the boys looked through each film as the man advanced to the next. At the end, he said: "Now let's mount them!"

They made teamwork. Peter got the scissors and cut the film up, carefully between slide and slide. Uncle August checked the bits of film in a viewer, and discarded a few that were out of focus or otherwise poor. Bertrand slid them into the plastic mounts. An hour and a half later, they had well over a hundred mounted slides. "Now let's have dinner, and then we'll have a slide show!"

When it was dark, they set up the projector and the screen. Uncle August seemed to have just everything imaginable in his house. The slides looked really great, when projected on the screen at such a size, in the darkened room! They really enjoyed them, all of them. The uncle made many good comments, and also hinted at many points that could be improved. Peter got a few bad remarks for bad focusing. Bertrand's photos instead were all tack sharp. "Maybe you need glasses, Peter?" The uncle even made a lot of comments about photography of the human body, about how to express either innocence or eroticism in a nude photo, and so on. It was very interesting for both of the boys. After the show, Peter asked his uncle straight out, if he had done many nude shots in his life. "Oh yes, lots of them. I had my time when I did that a lot. But most of them were of women. I have never shot castrated boys."

Peter's mouth dropped open, and he had trouble getting it closed again, and regaining his breath. It was a sensation not unlike when his mother had discovered his condition. But experience helps, and he recovered his wits without making a major scene. Bertrand seemed to be sweating too. "We thought it wasn't so obvious on this photos, uncle..." The uncle laughed. "Peter, it wasn't obvious at all. On these photos you two look like any two boys who have been swimming in icy water. But do you think that being a brother of your father, he would never tell me? Boy, he is almost the only one I ever talk to! We need things to talk about!"

-----ooooo-----

Over the two weeks the boys burned up all the remaining stock of Sensia film, caused a severe drop in August's cache of Provia 100F, and used up all slide mounts, to such an extent that they started unmounting the less deserving slides to re-use the mounts. Only the chemistry was still plentiful. Peter got to a level with Bertrand in photographic skills. They were soon talking like pros about depth of field, hyperfocal distance, lens flare, and reciprocity error. Uncle August was a good teacher. Bertrand specialized on macro shots, and no insect or flower within reach was safe from his lens. Peter instead developed a gift for luring birds close to the blind they had built. It was close to the lake, and Peter learned to whistle like a bird call, managing to make them get close enough for frame-filling shots with the long 400 millimeter lens. They made many landscape photos, and got up at 4 AM one night to climb the forest hill and shoot some pictures of the rising sun behind a fog bed.

They developed full trust in uncle August. They asked him things they would never talk over with their own parents. The man obviously enjoyed helping the boys, teaching them photographic and other skills, even cooking. And they made music! Uncle August was a passable guitar player, and sang baritone. At other times, the boys explored his enormous CD and LP collection. It was twice as large as Peter's father's! Mozart was in it, more than any other composer. Hardly any work of Mozart was missing.

The last evening of their stay, Peter decided to go for it, and find out about the life story of this unique man. When they sat in the living room after a long day of boating in the lake, swimming, and developing the last slides, he tried: "Uncle August, how was your life before you came here? I understand you had a family..." There a was a long pause. Then, quietly, the man started to talk.

"It's a long story, and with a very sad chapter in it. I married very young, your dad was still a small boy, Peter. I had madly fallen in love with Katja, a college mate. Our son was born very soon after we married, impossibly soon, if you know what I mean." The boys giggled. "We named him Brian, our Little Bright Brian. He was a very clever kid, highly active. He went into everything. He also sang in his school choir, just like you. Our daughter was born four years later. She was different, sweet and gentle. We were a happy family. I finished my diploma while jobbing, Katja jobbed too, and somehow we survived. Then I started working as a lawyer, and made big money with some causes. And then, suddenly, it was all over. One morning Katja drove the kids to school, and they never arrived. An idiot who had spent the night drinking and then climbed at the wheel of a 30-ton truck ran over them. They were dead instantly, al three of them. The only good thing is that they didn't suffer." He took a deep breath, and cleared his throat. The boys sat frozen. What could one say to this? Certainly there was one who had suffered a lot.

"I did the only thing that was left to do. I buried my beloved ones, gave up all my current causes, and concentrated on getting the idiot jailed. You know, a deeply hurt lawyer can be very dangerous. The guy is still in prison."

"He deserves it!" said Bertrand with conviction. Peter assented. "And then you gave up on the world and came here?"

"Not yet, not yet. I spent some time trying to get my life back together. God turned good to me once again, and sent me Alex. I found him in the street, on an icy winter night. He was beaten up, terribly wounded, and had totally given up. He was waiting to die when I found him. I think it was that what gave me back my own desire to live. I had to live, to make this boy live!"

"How old was he?" asked Peter. "Twelve, just like Brian when he died. He even looked a bit like Brian, and acted a lot like him." Bertrand fell in: "You say he was wounded. What had happened to him?" "Yes. He had been castrated and had an advanced infection down there." The boys made big eyes. Fascinated, they waited for more.

"Alex had lost his parents a year before, and was living with an aunt. Some cousins made his life impossible, until he ran away. He did all sorts of things, living as a street boy. When there was nothing else left to do, he started selling his body." Peter sighed. Just the idea of it made him sick.

"One evening a guy took him to a strange club, some sort of pseudo-religious sect. There Alex was castrated. They hacked his testicles off with a straight knife, locked him up and left him bleeding. Then the group somehow vanished, and Alex managed to escape his prison. He returned to the street, sick and totally defeated. The other street kids rejected him and beat him half dead. It was then when I found him."

Peter didn't know what to say. There was so much misery in this world! Sometimes he thought that his life was hard, with the load of being a voluntary castrato. But against such a fate as Alex had... he was infinitely lucky!

"And what was of Alex later?" Bertrand wanted to know. Peter wouldn't have asked, fearing for the worst. "Well," Uncle August continued, "Alex got medical help in time. He got well, and legally became my son. I adopted him. I loved him like I loved Brian. He too went into everything. He started to sing, and picked up violin lessons. For several years it was a struggle between the singing and the violin. Finally the violin won, and he is making his career with it. He is the born traveler. Right now he's with the Munich Symphony Orchestra in Germany! When he started his international career, I sold up the place in the city and moved here. Besides playing, Alex still likes to sing. He has made a few very specialized recordings, on a private label, just for conoisseurs."

Peter asked: "Soprano?" "Yes. It was his decision. I told him all about hormone replacement and such. I fully expected him to take it, and get over the terrible incident. But he didn't really want, he always said 'perhaps next year', and ended up a true castrato. But he is a bit shy about it. He keeps that all within a small circle of friends."

Uncle August stood up, and went to one of his racks of CDs. He searched for a while, then pulled out a CD, lovingly put it in the player, pressed the play button, sat down on the couch, and closed his eyes. A viola da gamba opened the recording, in minor scale. A harpsichord came in. And then a soprano voice, floating, pure, eerily crystalline. It had many of the elements of a treble voice, with that bell-like sound, but at the same time it was powerful and intense like no boy's voice would ever be. Peter closed his eyes too, and wordlessly the three listened to the entire CD. Now Peter knew that he wasn't the first one. He only was the first voluntary one.

The next day found the boys packing up their sleeping bags and clothes. They had additional cargo, several hundred slides. When they carried their backbags out onto the terrace, uncle August asked: "Bertrand, are you sure you aren't forgetting anything?" Insecure, Bertrand went back into the house, and checked. He came back. "No, uncle, I think I have everything." "You don't!" said the man and produced a bundle from behind him. He handed it to Bertrand. It was the Canon AE-1, with two extra lenses dangling from the strap. Bertrand lost color. "Uncle August... REALLY? Are you serious?" The man smiled. "Sure! You deserve it. Anyway I don't use it nowadays, as my new gear is more versatile than this. Instead of collecting dust here, it's better if someone puts it to good use! And Peter, you will be fourteen very soon. Ask your dad for a camera for your birthday! You deserve one too, but I have only one to give away. I will make sure with him that you get something decent!"

-----ooooo-----

Two months later, Peter celebrated his fourteenth birthday. He got the camera, and it was a very decent one! He never learned if it was his dad or Uncle August who had paid for it. Perhaps it had been 50-50, who knows. The cameras went everywhere with the boys, they even took them flying! Most of their allowances got soaked up by film and processing, after all they had no film processor at home. But they did the mounting at home to save money. Peter tried shooting negatives one time, but the quality of the prints was so bad compared to the slides, that he never again repeated that mistake. Bertrand had warned him.

-----ooooo-----

Shortly after Peter's birthday, one evening his dad took him aside. "We need to have a talk now, a serious one, from man to man." Peter quickly reviewed his mental registry of misdoings, but his conscience was quiet. Dad took him into the living room, and closed the door. "Son, you are fourteen years old now. If you ever want to became a normal man, it's about high time to start hormone replacement therapy."

Peter's mouth went dry, his heart raced up! He had never expected anything like this! Squeaking, he spoke up: "But dad, I don't WANT that at all! Singing is my life, and my soprano voice is better than most! If it changes, most likely I will be out! I feel so well being like I am! Please, don't do that to me!!!" And he was overwhelmed by the desperation, getting wet cheeks despite fighting it.

"Peter, PETER, look at me. I won't force you." Peter looked up, through teary eyes. You really seem to be serious about it." "Yes, I am! I have been serious about it since well before I started this! Do you think I wasn't serious when I wrapped those rubber bands around my balls and let them die? It hurt like hell, but I didn't even feel it, so much did I want it! I'm as serious as anyone can be!"

Dad laughed. "Cheer up, lad! I was just testing you. No hormones for you, I promise." Peter felt immensely relieved. "But then there is something more." Peter tensed again. "You can't remain a member of the treble section of the school choir. Those boys are ten to twelve years old, a few are thirteen perhaps. How would you look among them, fifteen or sixteen years old, and half a meter taller? Even more, Mr. Holtmann may be a great teacher, but there are limits to what he can do. You should start lessons with a private voice teacher."

That was something Peter had sensed for a long time. "I think so too, dad. But who? Do you know anyone who knows how to train a castrato voice? I was born a few hundred years too late, and in the wrong place!"

Dad laughed. "Don't be so pessimistic. Do you know Raymond Wilson?" "The tenor, the one who teaches in the College of Music?" "Yes, him. I talked to him. He said he would be interested in trying his luck with a certain young castrato. Now I need to know your schedule at school, as soon as classes start, so that we can define when you will get your singing lessons."

Peter beamed. 'Thanks, dad! That's a huge lot better than how this conversation started!" Then his face darkened again. "Dad?" "Yes, son?" Peter hesitated. Then he asked: "Do you think that Mr. Wilson would be willing to take Bertrand too?"

Mr. Andrews exploded in laughter. "I knew it! I JUST KNEW IT! Peter, you will never change!" And then he calmed down and added: "I asked him about that too. He agreed that two castrati would be better than just one!"

-----ooooo----- THE END -----ooooo-----