The Kiva Chronicles-Volume 2

By George P Andrews and Beryl Ruth Wilder

The KIVA Chronicles continues with more of Sonny Boy's odyssey.

The overall story is a mystery that is woven and unraveled through many adventures ending with extensive art studies in Europe. The KIVA Chronicles reveal the mystery through a series of gatherings called KIVAs that provide no

• Language: English
• Publisher: GP Andrews, LLC.
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685249199

George P Andrews

GPAndrews was born In Baltimore, MD and raised in western Pennsylvania. After his art educations at Pratt in NYC and in Europe he earned two engineering degrees and an MBA. After he retired from corporate America he also retired from a federal government position. These employments gave him extensive opportunities to travel and have great adventures. The animals were his great love and the last one is only recently deceased.

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The Kiva Chronicles-Volume 2

The Kiva Chronicles-Volume 2

The Kiva Chronicles-Volume 2

George Andrews

Beryl Ruth Wilder

publisher logo

GP Andrews, LLC.

Contents

Acknowledgments

FORWARD

The KIVA Chronicles

One Context

Two Of Mouse and Man

Three Kabernet

Four Tunnel Vision

Five Fountains

Six Unholy Sea

Seven Connections

The Kiva Chronicles

Eight The Pledge

Nine Tuscany

Ten Elegant Decay

Eleven Catch the Wind

Twelve Hoodwinked

The KIVA Chronicles

The KIVA Chronicles

Thirteen Spiders

Fourteen Crazy Ass

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Fifteen Blue Door

Sixteen Slowly Melting Ice Cream

The KIVA Chronicles

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Seventeen Sandcastles

Eighteen Foggy Grog

Nineteen Thuggery

Twenty Treasure

The KIVA Chronicles

Twenty-One Homage

Twenty-Two The Magician

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Twenty-Three Encore

Twenty-Four

APPENDIX A

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The KIVA Chronicles

Copyright © November 2021 by GP Andrews

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to: Permissions GP Andrews, LLC. 1171 Ellijay Road, Franklin, NC 28734.

ISBN 978-1-68524-919-9

Acknowledgments

One for the builder that stole a father’s heart.

From time’s awakening

to its final beckoning

To Ahren, my son, this legacy I leave

One for the iconographer that rescued me,

from a folly’s deep

then escorted me

through the endless edits

to the critters keep.

To Ruth, my wife, this debt of gratitude I pay.

One for the economist who helped along the way.

When times were dark

He calculated his way

and consumed words at a book a day.

Then bicycled his fat away.

To Tommy, my friend, this debt I pay.

FORWARD

The KIVA Chronicles, written by GP Andrews and illustrated by GP Andrews and Beryl Ruth Wilder, is an epic novel, over thirty years in the making, that combines several reading genres. Much like the Lord of the Rings or The Catcher and the Rye, it is a fictional odyssey, intermittently fantasy, factual, suspenseful, and semi auto biographical, of a boy growing up during the 1950’s,60’s and 70’s, and extending through his advanced studies in Europe. It contains in several books, much of the following which can be enjoyed in whole or in part:

A travelogue of adventures through the USA and Western Europe tells an easily readable tale of intrigue and events of ancient and modern history. Extensive colorful language creates a visionary dialogue of art, architecture, history, and philosophical discussions of many varied subjects to provide a genealogical, historical, and ideological portrait of an artist growing up during the Cold War, and the Vietnam War.

The overall story is a mystery that is woven and unravelled through many adventures as a youth and ultimately ending with extensive art studies in Europe. The KIVA Chronicles reveal the mystery through a series of gatherings called KIVAs that provide not only narrative and dialogue among and between animals, but also provides portals to the realm of the living. Thus, much like the indigenous communities of North America, the KIVA is s gathering place where the physical and spiritual realms intertwine over space and time.

Each KIVA contains relevant chapters that begin with colorful Allegories that lead you into the adventures. Following the Allegories, The Story is told by animals in the KIVA which contains portals to the multi-faceted realms of reality. The animals are the pets that lived with and served the boy during his life.

The KIVA Chronicles

Book II

A Collage of Contradictions

The KIVA Chronicles

Third Kiva

Fetiderant I

One

Context

In the beginning was the Word, and the word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. (John 1:1). Darkness was on the face of the deep (Genesis 1:2). Form and structure, light and dark, are defined by a universal quintet of energy, matter, time, instance, and duration.

Of the former truth, there was no escape. Even in the KIVA, members befuddled themselves over the substance of Worldly events during this epic.

Twix then and now, between sunlight and starlight, souls danced to the enticements of Fetiderrant. As implied, Fetiderrant was an amorphous collective of the fetid, the derelict, and errant, cities of a giant Megaplex, pervasive across a continent in ideological conflict.

Theodora’s Recollections

W hen Sonny left me with Willis and Butch, Sonny promised to always keep me in his heavy heart, Tea lamented. Willis was kind to me, but he was fanatical when it came to discipline. While he always provided food and water in my dish, I had to stay in the basement or outside. He never permitted me upstairs. Each morning he led me on a leash to the doghouse in the back yard. There, he chained me until nightfall. He only permitted me in the basement when he was home. Butch passively obeyed her husband but otherwise treated me with dignity and respect. Thus, my grasp of world events was limited to what I heard from the television, Borkus, Ellwood, and the astral projection that I learned from Trixie.

Perhaps I can help with the historical perspective, said Borkus.

Borkus’s Perspective

"T he world became smaller. Global communication and transportation exposed humanity’s diversity and multiplicity. A technology revolution expanded global awareness with broad use of English as a de facto global language. Guised as progress, unification of energy, time, instance, and duration became more transactional. Matter became more representational with evolvement of better forms of communication.

The Concorde started regularly scheduled supersonic Trans-Atlantic flights. Medical advancement provided human awareness of extended life and Led Zeppelin released an album with the most requested rock song of all time Stairway to Heaven.

The American Cultural Revolution began to fracture with iconic deaths of Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison. Massive anti-war protests spread across the globe and four Kent State University National Guardsmen shot and killed students near the peaceful cornfields of Ohio. The brutal slayings of the Charles Manson family rocked the core of American society. Abroad, the Isle of Wight which hosted the largest rock festival of all time with 600,000 people, ended abruptly over safety concerns after targeted violence. Even the Beatles disbanded after the most epic musical journey in the history of mankind.

Struggles flared across continents. Moammar Qadaffi came to power in a Libyan Coup. Conflicts splayed in Ireland over religion and land ownership; in Indo-Pakistan over language and trade; the Middle East over oil and religion; and Southeast Asia over socio-political ideology.

The Troubles in Northern Ireland were caused by the disputed status of Northern Ireland within the United Kingdom and civil resistance to anti-Catholic discrimination in housing, employment, policing, and electoral procedures by the dominant Anglican Protestant majority. Under English Law, primogenitary practices favored singular masculine consanguinity for English estates while holding a double standard that required Irish Catholic estates be confiscated and divided equally among surviving sons, thus breaking up farms through multiple successions. Historic penal laws also limited representation in Parliament, on the Judicial Bench, and from entering the legal profession.

As we shall soon see, offered Theodora, these events had a significant impact on Sonny’s edification; some more directly than others.

How could he have been in all these places at the same time? asked Beaukitty.

That’s just it, retorted Theodora. He wasn’t. But the ramifications of the events were reflected in the character of his encounters.

You mean like chaos theory? challenged Koonie.

Exactly! exclaimed Theodora. No matter where you start the double pendulum, it never strikes the same point on the circle, but collectively, the random points define the whole.

Oh, I get it! cried Chippy with a sudden burst of enlightenment. An insignificant gesture in one context, sets off a chain reaction of events that escalates into significant events elsewhere!

And visa-versa, replied Borkus. "Pay close attention to both the inverse and the converse of these relationships as the story unfolds. For example, Pakistan launched a pre-emptive strike on Indian airbases after India sided with East Pakistan in their bid for independence to assuage the impact of mass migration into India from the East. Separated by over 1,000 miles, Bengali separatists favored their indigenous language over the multi-cultural Muslims in the west. Jute and tea exports from the East shored the economy of the West while the West withheld appropriations to the East.

On the other side of the world, the impact reverberated through the Embassy of Pakistan in the Netherlands. The socio-political impact reflected in the persona of a young man from Pakistan that worked at the Embassy and shared a kitchen apartment with Sonny in the Hague. The keen eye will see many instances of the phenomena.

Egypt and Israel entered into a war of attrition in the late 60’s along the Suez Canal in Egypt’s President Nassar’s futile attempt to compel a full Israeli withdrawal from the Sinai. Following Nassar’s death, Anwar Sadat officially became Egypt’s President. Meanwhile, Israeli forces captured two-thirds of the Golan Heights and Syrian armored forces crossed the Jordanian border.

Vietnamese civilians in My Lai found little consolation in the premeditated murder charges of Lt. William Calley for the massacre of 109 people. U.S. President Richard Nixon pleaded with the silent majority to support his policies regarding the Vietnam War effort; subsequently he ordered the invasion of Cambodia and saw his peace proposal rejected by a Communist delegation as a maneuver to deceive world opinion.

Eleven days after Soekarmo (Sukarno) was elected president of the Republic of Indonesia, Queen Juliana of the Netherlands granted Indonesia sovereignty and paved the way for increased immigration and the beginning of open borders. With major seaports at Amsterdam and Rotterdam, Rijs-tafle became a culinary treat at many fine Indonesian restaurants. Major canals connected the harbors to major waterways that fed the mainland of Europe. As the saying goes, if it came into Central Europe, it came through Holland.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

Two

Of Mouse and Man

Tea gracefully sauntered over to the pool for a drink. Her reflection rippled as she gently lapped the cool water with her long pink tongue. The reflection of her silver coat made sparkles atop the ripples like fireworks from below. Then she glided past the orb and delicately drew a sparkling crystal that transformed the Kiva into an airport terminal.

The brand new TWA terminal at New York’s JFK Airport buzzed with contrasting activity. Young people with rucksacks and backpacks jam-packed the sweeping white concrete and glass birdlike architecture in anxious anticipation of their flights while prim and proper airlines employees briskly went about their business. Waiting passengers fully occupied both seats and standing room. Many passengers sat on the floor, and some slept on their baggage. Invisible to all, Tea and Pokey quietly moved next to Sonny at the ticket counter.

Sonny got a great price on an Icelandic Airlines charter flight with the Rocky Mountain Climbers Association, began Theodora, bound for London’s Gatwick airport. There, the climbers had a scheduled plane change bound for Switzerland. For Sonny, Gatwick was his scheduled endpoint."

The scheduled six-hour flight took over two days, yelped Pokey, with emergency stops in Greenland, Reykjavik, Iceland, and Glasgow. Greenland was just a quick stop to service hydraulic fluids, but an unplanned forced landing in Reykjavik required an overnight delay. Fortunately, the airlines provided free alcoholic beverages. In addition, passengers were provided hotel rooms, and food and beverage vouchers.

While Iceland offered wonderful outdoor challenges, added Tea, Sonny opted for a marathon all-night bar crawl through Reykjavik’s enthusiastic nightlife. Sonny vaguely recalled chugging beer out of a glass meter-boot.

I might add, said Pokey, That the drunken mountain-climbers re-boarding the airplane the next morning refused to admit or verify anything.

It is enheartening to hear that Sonny has not abandoned his knack for partying, interjected Koonie.

In flight, continued Pokey. "it was commonplace for a rowdy mountain climber seated up front to stand and toast someone in the rear of the plane.

The plane developed engine problems after leaving Reykjavík said Tea, and made another emergency landing in Glasgow where everyone deplaned. After an overnight stay in Glasgow on the floor of the airport terminal with a brutal hangover, Sonny boarded another plane the next morning and completed the journey to London’s Gatwick Airport.

From Gatwick, added Pokey, Sonny caught a Brighton Main-Line train to London Victoria Station. On the train, Sonny struck up a conversation with a chap from Santa Monica that was escaping the draft. He learned that a lot of the hippies were camping out in St. James Park, just a few blocks from Victoria Station. Camping in the park sounded inviting. Sonny could conserve his cash, make some friends, and consult with like-minded folk regarding how to get around London."

Victoria Station was an historic relic, added Borkus. Constructed piecemeal, parts still had the original wrought iron girders, with an additional safety row that allowed the main girders to withstand a train strike. Sonny found an oversized rental locker and stashed all but his essential sleeping gear."

That’s when I slipped into Sonny’s jacket pocket, interrupted Ellwood proudly. I just scampered across the lobby of the train station, snuck behind his back while he was stuffing the locker; and slipped undetected into his left jacket pocket.

Ellwood’s Epic Adventure

Ellwood is a tiny rodent unlike any other tiny rodent. While he has short, pure white fur, a naked tail, and noticeable pink eyes, Ellwood is gifted with special genes that give him special powers of observation, perception, and targeted communication, but not of physical strength. Born and raised in Oxford, England, Ellwood is learned, well read, and has a great command for comprehending Languages. Unfortunately, when he speaks with his fluent aristocratic British accent, only small, furred mammals with superlative hearing can understand him. Ellwood had the pleasure of accompanying Sonny on his expeditions for several years.

W ell then Ellwood, stopped Tea, perhaps you would like to tell this part of the story since you were there in situ.

Yeah, we’ll chime in with supported commentary where appropriate, howled Pokey.

I’d be glad to, squeaked Ellwood.

Ah, excuse me Ellwood; but could you please speak up, interrupted T-Bone. Some of us have a little trouble hearing a mouse, T-Bone said drawing an outbreak of laughter among the other animals.

Rosco and Borkus were not amused.

Well, ah, OK, bleated Ellwood as he raised his voice an octave.

More laughter came from the dogs. This time even Rosco and Borkus chuckled at the antics.

If you all are finished, shouted Ellwood sternly, then perhaps I may continue!

Yes, yes, of course, said Rosco authoritatively with a smile creeping from the corner of his snout. of course, please continue.

Outside, commented Ellwood, looking back at the main entrance, an enlarged red-brick Renaissance-style building with ten chimneys out of a ‘Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang’ era, faced a bustling crowd headed for the Underground, the bus terminal, or elsewhere. The crowd dispersed like ants when disturbed.

Sonny made a beeline past the old Belvedere Hotel and turned up Buckingham Palace Road, continued Ellwood, past the Shakespeare Pub, then past the Buckingham Indian Cuisine Balti House Restaurant.

My God, London had a putrid smell. A strong whiff of old fish, stale lager, and every kind of curry imaginable mixed with diesel exhaust from those red double-decker buses was enough to make a mouse choke. I could tell that Sonny was getting sick because he kept putting his hand to his mouth as if to hold back a wretch. He quickened the pace. The B Bar wasn’t much better with a scent of burnt beef and pastry in a slosh of dark beer, then past a few souvenir shops and walk-in restaurants. Even the garbage smelled like old fish and grease."

Tea was befuddled. Not only did people drive on the wrong side of the road, but they also walked on the wrong side of the sidewalk, she commented. If I lived in London, I wouldn’t know where to piss. Sonny drew a lot of scowls as he walked briskly against the grain. The streets were much narrower than New York’s and painted with funny zig-zag lines that I never quite understood. The buses seemed disproportionally large for the narrow lanes and the black Porky Pig taxis peppered the slapstick humor.

Ellwood continued, Sonny hurried past the entrance to Buckingham Palace without as much as a glance at Her Majesty the Queen’s humble abode and set long strides up Birdcage Walk. After a few hundred feet he made an abrupt left turn across the grass and headed for a large tree in St. James Park where he immediately proceeded to spew out his guts in a violent upheaval of partially digested pilsner, lager, and bot.

Sonny looked relieved after puking enough to empty a cow’s stomach. We found our way over St James Lake near the Mall where many hippies gathered in the grass."

Ah, I recognized a friendly smell, Sonny said to a group of hippies sitting on a blanket passing a pipe.

Sit down and join us. You look like you could use a toke, said a kid named Charles. "Charles had long stringy blonde hair, a blonde beard like a Viking and striped bell-bottom pants. He spoke authoritatively with a perfect British accent of breeding.

I sure could, Sonny replied graciously. It has been a hell of a trip."

Well, started Ellwood, gathering his dignity. Next morning, St. James Park smelled of fresh flowers and freshly cut grass. The sleeping bag, fumed of retired cannabis, but was so warm; we could have slept the day away when a Bobbie gently tapped the cozy bundle.

Waykee-waykee, six o’clock, waykee-waykee. Time to get moving. About six policemen walked through the sleeping hippies repeating the same ritual until all were on their feet, continued Ellwood.

Sonny rolled up his sleeping bag, hoisted his rucksack over his shoulders and followed the crowd back to Victoria Station. There, he bought a newspaper, emptied his rental locker, and made a few calls from a payphone.

A bustling diversity of screeching trains and all tiers of British society created a cacophony of melded paranoid ruckus in the morning rush hour at Victoria Station. Brakes hissed and metal-on-metal screamed in the background as trains arrived and departed on the minute. In the forefront, simultaneous chattering of hordes in incomprehensible languages scurried like cockroaches beneath the myriad of iron girders backlit by the morning sun diffusing through the frosted weathered ceiling glass. Businessmen in derbies with umbrellas, and paupers alike, nudged through crowded newsstands in search of relevant magazines, books, and newspapers amongst hundreds of choices.

Sonny settled for a street map and London Times and pinched his way to a bench on one of the loading platforms. He opened the newspaper and started flipping furiously through the pages to the want-ads.

That’s when he first discovered me. I was peering at the newspaper out from his lapel pocket when I felt a sensation as if being watched. I slowly turned my head and saw Sonny staring wide-eyed directly at me. We stared at each other until he ever so slowly rotated his head and eyes back to the newspaper. Several times he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as he leafed through the newspaper. At length, he leaned back and smiled. It was at that moment that I knew everything was going to be OK between us."

Piccadilly

W here to begin with so many daunting pages of ads required a plan, continued Ellwood, "but the ambiance called for decisive action. Without a plan, any path would do, so Sonny picked an ad for a room to let with an address that he could find on the map. Burdened with an overstuffed rucksack, a black leather portfolio and two large tubes filled with rolled up paintings on canvas, Sonny walked across the street to catch a standing-room-only bus to Chelsea.

Upon arriving at the address, a kindly man apologetically informed Sonny that the room was already rented. Frustrated, Sonny walked back to the bus stop on Kings Road, the major road that sliced through the center of the trendy Chelsea business district. Surrounded by classy apparel stores and trendy SoHo-chic boutiques, a sign at the bus stop clearly read Piccadilly Circus.

The enchantment of her scent alone could have allured Adam from the Garden of Paradise, Ellwood overdramatically declared. She was exquisitely beautiful in all respects, he recalled in a more realistic tone. Her creamy white pants suit was of such delicacy that it accentuated her every characteristic and rhythm into a concatenated symphony of sexual sensuality. Sonny first noticed her by an accidental glance to his left while standing at the bus station in Chelsea. Every instance of her gait brought double takes from even the least horny of men. She was fluid. And the sunlight danced through her shoulder length auburn hair that bounced like a hair conditioning/shampoo commercial on prime time. Her breasts were entirely firm and unsupported. Her extended nipples merely jiggled in the midday glare while her face without blemish sported an all-knowing smile. She knew all she had, and she had all that she knew

What fanciful imagery, Ellwood, uttered Borkus.

Really, expressed Scruffy, That was awesome!

I could not have said it more elegantly myself, added Tea.

Are you always so vivid in your descriptions? asked Roscoe.

I try to be, Ellwood defended. What I lack in stature, I try to make up for with attention to detail."

I like details, added Koonie.

Me too, said T-Bone. I cannot wait for you to get to the erotica.

You would, Koonie jested.

Perhaps we should let Ellwood continue, suggested Rosco.

Thank you, bowed Ellwood, recognizing his authority.

Sonny could not bear to look at her, continued Ellwood. He felt he was clearly not worthy.

Sonny had been sleeping the last few days in Victoria Station and St. James Park. The train station was premier real estate because it had full-length benches and one could bathe in the lavatory sinks; but the Bobbies did not much care for that. Every couple of hours, the police would gently awaken any midnight squatters with their sticks to clear the place of homeless riffraff and war adverse hippies from the States; and there were many. Police eventually arrested repeat offenders. Foreigners faced deportation.

St. James Park was less than ten blocks from Victoria Station. The Park had become a second alternative to the train station, and one had a reasonably good guarantee of undisturbed sleep with minimal police intervention. The conscientious gathered under the trees for nightly music and a few friendly tokes of weed with anyone willing to share. It was a transient commune and sleeping bags strew the glade in the tens and forties; sometimes more. Sonny was a regular and had not bathed in days."

Can you please get back to the bus station, asked Scruffy? I don’t want to hear about a bunch of dirty hippies.

Yeah, yelled Koonie. I’d like to hear more about this Piccadilly goddess.

Well, agreed Ellwood, "Sonny turned away to face the street in denial of his passions. He could not look at her another second. He tried to breathe only slightly lest her scent captivate his logic and pervert his station. However, it was not working. Oh, thank God the bus was coming towards them at last.

Two large tubes containing his most valued canvasses from New York were strapped to the rucksack that contained all Sonny’s earthly belongings. The shortest tube was about four feet in length and nearly a foot in diameter. The longer was six but half as wide. Inside were his early parables in color come to life. They were the first true sessions of his therapy along the path of self-exploration: twelve paintings in all, each carefully executed with anguish from the depictions in the Painter’s Manual. His traveling portfolio would propel him from the unknown and forgotten to the respected and famous. So was his dream."

That’s quite a load you’re carrying, came a melodic voice behind his right shoulder."

Sonny didn’t expect her to even acknowledge his existence let alone speak to him, said Ellwood. Sonny just nodded in affirmation while stealing a humbled glance then turned away. There was a tense pause. Sonny perceived the discourse terminal.

Does this bus go to Piccadilly? she asked.

"She was more exquisite than he imagined. Sonny gazed at her in disbelief:

Well, the sign on the pole says Piccadilly. The sign on the top of the bus says Piccadilly. I think it probably goes to Piccadilly, Sonny announced as a matter of fact.

He hurriedly turned to board the bus with his awkward paraphernalia, said Ellwood. There were numerous vacancies and plenty of room for more. But she sat down, right next to him. There wasn’t room for two, but she squeezed up tight without hesitation.

You don’t mind if I sit here, do you? she sweetly asked. Before Sonny could voice any polite objections, she inquired of the contents of his tubes.

They are my paintings, he said, and now the door was open. They talked of the arts. She knew them well. They talked of life. She also knew that well. He forgot his filth, but not his hunger.

The bus stopped all too soon at Piccadilly. I have a little time to kill before my next appointment, she said. Will you have lunch with me? There’s a fabulous place on the square that serves every kind of salad you can imagine, only salads! It’s very casual and in the basement of this building. You’ll love it. Come on. It will be my treat.

It was fabulous, acknowledged Ellwood; "and although she paid, the treat was all his. She was a magazine model from Lausanne, Switzerland who found her big break in London. She coerced Sonny to show her his paintings and he unrolled them on the floor of the restaurant in front of a host of customers. It was his first exhibit in Europe, and it was a complete success.

Out of a sheltered and indignant life of abuse in the seclusion of the shadows of the Pennsylvania Appalachians, injected Borkus, emerged a naive boy with an ambitious dream in search of a reality.

Not only did he have ambition, professed Theodora, he also had talent. After studying Fine Arts in the Big Apple, he was impatient to become a truly great artist.

Sonny explained how it was time to feel the atmospheric light of Constable in the British Isles, and to paint the same iridescent light that Cezanne painted in the South of France, continued Ellwood. "It was time to become a part of the luminary blossoming of the impressionists at Montparnasse and Sacra Cur in the City of Light that is called Paree. And in Rome, and Florence, and Venice, to experience the inner light of Michelangelo, and Botticelli, and De Vinci, and the great Venetian masters. And in the Netherlands, it was time to become the golden light of Rembrandt, the reflected light of Vermeer, and experience the explosive frequencies that emanated from the soul of Vincent Van Gogh. He could feel their souls and their passions, and he understood their true artistry. He became a detached observer of the realities of light, and he understood.

Danielle offered to take Sonny on a tour of the British Museum the next day and she printed her name, address, and telephone number in Sonny’s sketchbook. She made him promise to call her. She made him promise repeatedly. Finally satisfied, Danielle was off to her photo shoot and Sonny was off to cash a traveler’s check at the American Express on the Strand. After that, he needed to find a room and then fulfill his prearranged rendezvous with Sylvia. Danielle was an incredibly special woman."

Crystal Palace

S ylvia, an acquaintance from New York with whom Sonny had shared a hump or two, was scheduled to arrive in a couple days, Theodora clarified. She spent part of the summer in Greece and had a full week layover in London, where she was staying with some friends, before heading home.

The American Express Office served as a home away from home for wayward hippies from the states, continued Ellwood. It was a place to pick up general delivery mail, post notes, and connect with friends or relatives. Sonny spotted an interesting ad on the bulletin board where two guys were looking for an additional roommate to share expenses in a flat on Carlyle Square in Chelsea. Sonny knew the area and made a call from one of those cute red phone boxes on the sidewalk. The bloke sounded nice enough on the phone, so Sonny caught a bus back to Chelsea. He could still smell Danielle.

The room was tiny but had a window and a solid curtain that divided it from the rest of the flat. Actually, it was just an alcove in a bay window just large enough to fit a single bed. Nevertheless, it was cheap, and it would do. There was no storage, but Sonny had no belongings, so it was nearly perfect. A small coat closet near the front door offered a working compromise to hang clothing: Two guys named Tad and Todd, who appeared to be pleasant enough, occupied the flat. Other building tenants shared the shower and water closet. The landlord did not permit cooking in the flat. All these terms were acceptable, and the transaction took less than five minutes to complete, the first order of business was a shower."

The rendezvous with Sylvia was to occur the same day, added Theodora. Sonny had not seen Sylvia since she left to spend the summer in Greece a couple of months ago. Her return flight connected through London, and she had a one-week layover.

If Sonny was to layover with Sylvia, he wanted to be clean, declared Ellwood.

There she was just a’walkin’ down the Strand, singin’ do-wa-ditty-ditty-dum-ditty-doo. Sylvia was San Francisco’s’ finest. Today, she brought its sunshine to London. It was a day that London was without fog. Sylvia took sunshine everywhere. She was wearing sun, silk, and satin. Her bright iridescent, green flowing slacks were empowered by the loose bright orange blouse that bounced her friendly tits in the summer breeze. Her neck stood tall, framed in a micro-thin yellow scarf of even brighter hue. Its translucence focused all attention to the flowers in her hair. Her beautifully blonde waist length hair gently blew and harnessed all reflections of nature’s harmony. Her face was the sun itself and her smile was brighter than life. All of London saw her; but Sylvia came to see her old friend Sonny.

Their affair was always sun and fun with fondness but never complication, injected Tea. Even sex was free, fun, and friendly, like rabbits in the springtime without confusing passions.

The reunited embrace of their greeting was no different, said Ellwood. "They ran to each other, and Sonny lifted her high and spun her around in the air. She threw out her arms and flew. The city was jealous. Sylvia and Sonny were just two kids having fun in the playground of life.

They laughed heartily and giggled incessantly on the tour busses’ upper deck all the way to Sonny’s flat. In seconds they were naked, but the laughter never stopped."

Suddenly, the curtain thrust open. Just what is going on here? It was Tad and Todd in their dinner bathrobes. They had obviously been having each other for dinner."

Sonny had no idea they were so totally and utterly gay, continued Ellwood. "He thought it was just the British accent. Unfortunately, they also incorrectly perceived Sonny and were quite shocked when they discovered he was not a ‘nice’ person of their kind. It was a short-lived residence. Sonny and Sylvia left with no regrets, only guffaws that made them pee their pants.

They took a taxi to a place near Crystal Palace where Sylvia was staying with an English girlfriend that she met in Greece. Her friend was pleasant enough, but Sonny and Sylvia just wanted to fuck; and they fucked all night.

The next morning, Sylvia left for the airport and Sonny took a bus to downtown London. She wished him luck on his interview at the Royal Academy of Arts and made a cute little rabbit like gesture with her nose as she got into the limo bound for the airport. Then Sylvia passed from his life.

Sudden panic gripped his gut. In the fervor of excitement, his sketchbook with its cover of pitch blended into the black leather seat of the Porky-pig cab the night before. The sketchbook contained Danielle’s address and telephone number. None of the companies could trace the taxi. Apparently, it was an independent. The Crystal Palace lost its luster. Later that day, Sonny found the Royal Academy of Arts too stuffy for his tastes. That night, St. James Park had a returning tenant."

Tombstones

T he next morning, Ellwood went on, "Sonny waited for the doors to open at the American Express Office on the Strand in fashionable downtown London. That’s where all the American ex-patriots wandering around Europe picked up their mail from the ‘states’. Usually, mail was in the form of a check from home sent to General Delivery ‘in care of’; but that was not so for Sonny. There would be no checks from the ‘States’ for him. His mission was to sell his return ticket to New York.

Roni was a student at one of those pricey liberal arts colleges in the Ivy League circuit. It really wasn’t important. It was just conversation, but she hung long beyond her business. Several passersby took interest in Sonny’s sign. The price was more than twice what he had paid for the round trip. Half the day passed when he finally found a taker at full asking price. Sonny’s determination intrigued Roni. She stayed beside him the entire day; into the night; and into the next day.

Following the transaction, Roni accompanied Sonny to the Royal British Museum to look at the magnificent collection of post-impressionistic paintings. Sonny looked at the paintings, but not nearly as much as he looked at the people. They stayed until closing but he did not see Danielle.

The sun had waned, and the London fog had reestablished its protocol. One could faintly hear the shrill whistles of the Bobby through the murk. Roni tried in vain several times to sneak Sonny past the security at the Hostel. Unfortunately, the ‘Head-mam’ was always on the vanguard. Roni thoroughly disliked the English ‘Head-mam’ and felt the feelings mutual. Each time the coast looked clear; someone would emerge just inside the door. The Head-mam was a stealth-full bitch of girth. There was no hope of penetrating her fortress.

At the end of the block, within eyeshot of the hostel, was an ancient cemetery of leaning monuments surrounded by a black iron fence of spears pointing towards the heavens. Roni got the crotch of her jeans stuck on a spear point as they climbed over the top. Sonny carefully unhooked her, and she fell on top of him with her ample breasts breaking her fall on his face. He did not mind a bit. His clumsy act of chivalry in the fog added moisture to her loins.

They had both climaxed once and were working on a second when searchlights began to scan the cemetery in random fashion. They quickly hid behind a large grave maker where she gave him head and he ever so quietly licked her bulging clitoris.

More searchlights scanned the overgrown cemetery. Now they could hear muffled voices just outside the fence. Their naked bodies froze, and the chilling dew formed on their motionless bodies for many minutes. When the crisis had finally passed and all was clear, they wisely decided to exit by a different path in search of less hostile environs. Roni could have gone back to the hostel, but the sex was good and the thrill of fear with passion, needed to continue elsewhere. Her pubic hair was full and soft as velvet. Her pussy was big and tasty, and kind of nutty flavored, with a pleasant tang. Slightly oversized labia made it even more exciting."

That was perhaps a bit more graphic than we needed Ellwood, interrupted Borkus.

Would you have relished it further if I said vagina? asked Ellwood.

An undertone of giggles and incoherent mumbles filled the Kiva.

I prefer the graphic vernacular, challenged T-Bone. It adds a superfluous dimension to an otherwise mundane narrative that you cannot find in decorous circles.

We are well aware of your respectabilities, Koonie commented.

Come on guys, interrupted Rosco, Let Ellwood give his account in his own way. We are not a Twitter or Facebook. We should not constrain anyone from providing either the description of the events or the narrator’s impressions of the events. Our mission here is to bear full witness and fully assess the progression of Sonny’s mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual growth in order to assist, guide and protect him.

Your sage advice is always appreciated, complemented Ellwood.  Might I continue? he requested.

At your pleasure, granted Rosco.

They walked for nearly an hour, continued Ellwood, "and finally landed under a huge oak tree in the center of Hyde Park. There, Sonny licked her pussy long and hard and Roni splashed him with her juices several times in a row. Then she sucked him well and they fucked sitting facing each other with their tongues buried in each other’s mouth. That is when they were caught by two of London’s finest. Fortunately, the two policemen were more interested in creating embarrassment and enjoying a private show. Roni sat spread eagle, her pussy dripping freely. Their flashlights were completely focused on her offerings. After a passport check and a lecture about the dangers of the park at night, Sonny and Roni were freed to leave with a promise not to return. They quickly dressed and headed for Victoria Station. The sun was rising, and it was time to get out of the British Isles. The embarrassment was greater for Sonny than it was for Roni.

Train tickets from London to Paris were cheap in those days, and it sounded like a good idea. But don’t expect me to stay with you once we get there, she said. Sonny didn’t believe her words until she said goodbye and wished him luck at the train station in Paris."

END OF CHAPTER TWO

Three

Kabernet

What the hell! It was Paris! The awe and wonderment of reality transcended the dream. Beneath the city of light lay the origins of romance. Paris is a fine wine consumed robustly with a baguette and a perfectly aged Camembert.

Hotel Nord-Sud

Madame LaFonte was the lonely proprietor of the Hotel Nord-Sud on the left bank of Paris. She was a crotchety old sinister bitch, declared Ellwood, "but she had a soft spot for artists, and therein laid all of her captive warmth. She took particular interest in the contents of the two large tubes tied to Sonny’s back. It would be his second expose’ of paintings in Europe and the rent for his room would be minimal. There would be several return visits.

The room was small but adequate with a nightstand and wash basin. The single shower and water closet at the end of the hall were shared with other hotel patrons.

Of particular significance are the toilettes aux Paris. The WC in the hotel consisted of a porcelain pad with foot pads, a hole to squat over, and a pull-chain for flushing. The paper of hygiene was waxed paper."