The Gay Icon Classics of the World

by Robert Joseph Greene

  Each day before sunrise, Graham, with his fellow harvesters, would make the long journey into the fields with their sickles and binding ropes. They also carried with them their day's lunch which consisted of either an apple or boiled potato. With graceful repetitions, they would reap bushels upon bushels of the lustrous grain until dusk when they returned home for their evening meal. The work was long and tiresome in the hot summer days. To pass the time during their labor, Graham acted out humorous scenes which were often based upon the real life drama of fellow servants and laborers in the farmyard. All of the scenes consisted of maidens, of whom he played to their exact likeness. His favorite tale was that of the fondled maiden: the story of how a farmhand with falsely smitten words of love got a hand or two up the maiden’s frock. Graham liked this story, for he developed a knack for a maidens voice. As he acted out the deafening shrill of the fondled maiden, it sent the other harvesters rolling to the ground in laughter. When he was through with his skit the farmhands would clap for more but Graham would only bow five times and proceed with his field work.

  One morning whilst telling his favorite tale, Graham's feminine shrill attracted the attention of the farm landlord who scowled with much displeasure, for he had noticed that the other workers were laughing rather than working. The landlord also observed that the other farm hands furthest from Graham were straining to hear his tale, thus slowing their work progress even more. Thinking to set an example for the rest, the landlord, with whip in hand, quietly approached Graham. As Graham was about to act out another scene, the landlord slowly lifted his whip and poised to strike. The other workers saw the landlord's approach and quickly went about their farm work, but not Graham. He was so fixed upon his performance that he never heard the crack of the whip which came down on him with great force. He felt its sting across his back. The blow was so hard that it sent him flying into a nearby bushel; ripped his shirt and tossed his sickle and binding rope asunder. “Damn ye, begone!” hollered the farm landlord as he raised his whip again for another blow. With tears of shame and embarrassment, Graham scuttled away in fear. When he was far enough away and out of breath he stopped. The stinging of his back caused him to rub the sore spot. When he pulled his hand back he saw that blood was drawn. Angered by this sight Graham swore never to return to that field or any other field again. Graham walked to the nearby Avon river to soothe his wound in the cool waters that flowed.

  Graham scooped up the river water with his hands cupped together and let it trickle down his spine. The water soothed his throbbing back.

  Following the curvy path of the River Avon, Graham walked until sunset, when he came upon the town of Stratford. The year was 1583 and Stratford was a bustling town of tradesmen, guilders, and merchants of all kinds. The Avon river provided Stratford with the means of easy access and transportation of goods to London—riches, business ventures and agricultural trade.

  Tired and hungry from his big fright and long journey, Graham sought shelter. Not far from where Graham stood he noticed a local inn. The inn was typical by Graham's limited knowledge. It was a plain white plaster structure with thatched roofing, two floors, and small wood shelved windows. On the side were stables and a pantry. Graham thought to search the rubbish pile which was beside the Inn's pantry door for tossed morsels or bone scraps to feed his famished body. He quietly climbed onto the waste pile in search of food. As he scurried through for scraps he heard footsteps. Graham ducked in fearful anticipation of a cast iron pan painfully crashing upon his back. When neither pain nor pan appeared, Graham slowly looked up into the funniest face he had ever seen. The face was as round as a clock with bulbous fat cheeks. The face was blanched white with a big, fat red veined nose. The face looked curiously at Graham, but the look of wonder turned into a smile. A smile that seem to stretch from ear to ear. Graham thought that this face reminded him of the moon. The face was that of the gentleman innkeeper.

  "Fraid ye tardy for th'pickens” said the innkeeper. Still tired and aching, Graham slowly raised himself and climbed out of the dirty bin. The innkeeper took pity on poor Graham and quickly went back into his pantry to fetch fresh scraps to give to this stranger. Graham was so grateful that he immediately went into one of his maiden skits. The innkeeper thought it amusing of Graham to act in such a manner. When Graham was through performing, the innkeeper started to laugh. The laugh was no ordinary laugh, but rather a bellow-like laughter, never heard before by Graham. So engulfing was the innkeepers laugh that Graham could not help but laugh too. “Give thine old man a shot of your talent, young lass, whilst I knead m'eves baking” said the innkeeper. The innkeeper calmly added that he would provide a fair meal for a fair act. Graham followed the innkeeper into the pantry, which was located at the back of the inn. As the innkeeper carefully rolled out portions of dough on the pantry flouring table, Graham went right into his fondled maiden's routine with little energy, but he regained his strength as the act progressed. Smiling all the way, the innkeeper looked on attentively while rolling dough. He became so entranced by Graham's scene that he stopped his work. When Graham let out the maiden's shrill, it sent the jolly innkeeper into another fit of bellow-like laughter. Graham stopped performing and joined in the laughter. The enjoyment by the innkeeper received from Graham's maiden performance made Graham forget about his worries and tired aching bones. Graham's acting soon drew attention from passersby stopping at the pantry door, and by others who had gathered at the inn's den. As the story unfolded and climaxed, a roar of laugher from all around gave Graham a tingle of pleasure. Graham bowed five times and thanked them. As the crowd applauded, the innkeeper served Graham with bread, a slice of ham, and ale. Graham again bowed five times, in gratitude, then greedily devoured the meal as a lion would his prey. The innkeeper asked for another performance. Time drew on and the sun had long since passed into the woods. Darkness reigned outside, but this went unnoticed between the innkeeper and the entertaining Graham. The innkeeper eventually resumed his routine of making the evening meal for his lodgers all the while watching Graham's performance.

  When the innkeeper finished his evening’s work he invited Graham to stay the night, free of charge. “Me fair maiden—Fetch'ye some straw from the stables for thy sleep and I will see to it ye rest safe by th'pantry hearth” said the innkeeper. Graham, always the character, again bowed five times, and did so obligingly. He returned to see that the innkeeper had laid out some sacks as cover. Graham fell right into a deep sleep. The next morning Graham woke to the sweet warm smells of baking breads and pastry, and again to that jolly, fat round face leaning over the hearth. Graham could only smile to such a welcoming sight. “Fancy ye a bit of bread and brew....me little maiden?” asked the innkeeper under another round of bellow-like laughter. “I have not a pence to m'name” replied Graham. The innkeeper laid two cross buns and brew before Graham without another word. It was early dawn and as he ate he watched the innkeeper walk to the front den to tend to the dirty tables before the morning lodgers awoke. He noticed that the innkeeper was an incessant worker. Graham quickly devoured the luscious meal. He presented himself before the innkeeper, bowed five times and then proceeded to help the innkeepers with the morning chores. “keep m' company in the pantry for ye stay and tend to the inn's chores for ye meals” said the innkeeper without looking at Graham, but rather fixing his eyes on what he was doing. As he said this, his face turn red—not of embarrassment but with hope. Graham, a proud lass, replied that this arraignment would only be temporary for his destiny awaited him.

  The arrangement worked well and the days passed quietly. Graham would listen to the women gossip of of “Mistress this” and “Lady That.” It was from these tales that he gleaned material for his evening pantry performance. Graham only liked to perform roles of the female gender. It seemed that Graham found it within himself the voices of several different women. As Graham became increasingly aware of the character depth, accents, and posture of women, each new skit seemed funnier than the previous one. With each
finale of his audience of one, the bellow-like laughter of the innkeeper only gave Graham more purpose in his pursuit of the theater. The two enjoyed one another's company day and night. Graham teased the innkeeper, pretending to be his wife. Each night when graham had finished his last skit, he would bow five times whilst the innkeeper applauded for more. The innkeeper knew that Graham's five bows meant that he was finished for the night and that sleep awaited them. Their private sessions were only interrupted when either the keeper or Graham served the evening meals to the inn's patrons.

  One morning, Graham awoke to find a wash bowl and fresh clothes laid beside him. Graham inquired about them to the innkeeper. “No fair maiden o'mine in old paper rags,” replied the innkeeper. With that, he let out one of his famous laughs, gaving Graham such a good, warm feeling inside that he only had to laugh himself. Graham quickly did his body with a much needed washing and off he went to the front lodge in his new clothes to tend to the morning chores. Their arrangement went on all through winter. One fine spring evening, Graham was doing another of his evening maiden pantry performances when he was overheard by a rather short stodgy old man. The man presented himself to Graham and said that he was Collins, the Trouper who worked in the Old Rose Theater of Stratford. Collins said that they needed talent like his. This offer caused Graham to beam with excitement. Collins invited Graham to come and meet their great playwright W.S. and audition. So quickly did Graham follow the old man that he didn't even say goodbye to the innkeeper. At the Theater, Graham's audition before W.S. was stunning. However, when presented with a script, Graham could not read, much less understand the stage language. W.S., not wanting to lose this natural raw talent, decided to hire Graham as a gofer apprentice to his touring theater troupe under the direction of stodgy old Collins. Graham quickly rose through the ranks and entertained audiences throughout England. Professional acting took a bit of adjustment: for Graham was not used to the make-up and dresses that went with his female roles. Graham soon mastered balancing the heaving wigs while in high heeled shoes with grace and poise. Soon, admirers, fellow thespians, and nobles from all round sought to attend Graham's performances. Great applause engulfed each of his finales. Graham always closed with five court bows. All the flair and fame of the theater appealed to Graham but something was missing. After his performance, after the applause, Graham would feel empty.

  The theater group grew and moved its home base to London. It was almost two decades before he returned, unknowingly, to the city from whence it all started. The theater troupe had stopped at the local inn for a rest before they were to perform at the Rose Theater. Upon entering, Graham felt a sense of warmth and comfort that seemed to return, but from a source unknown. They were presented by a stoic old woman in bare feet, fretted hair and a dirty old apron. The old women quickly whisked everyone up the stars to their modest lodgings. Graham in his weariness from travel looked around the walls and thought of Stratford. “Could it be??!!!” he thought. He inquired of the barmaid if this were indeed the inn at Stratford. She nodded without a word. “Mightst ye be the wife of th'innkeeper?” continued Graham. “No innkeepers wife 'ere!” she snapped. It was those words that sent a sensation all over his body and started his heart pounding. It was not the world of the theater he sought, but love from that jolly old innkeeper who gave him the confidence he needed. Graham now knew why the innkeeper called him “his fair maiden.”

  Collins, the Trouper approached the weary lodgers and said there was no time to dally. There was a show to do. As the troupers slowly emptied the inn and made their way on foot toward the theater, Graham straggled behind. Placing three six pence pieces in the barmaid's palm, Graham asked the barmaid to relay a message to the innkeeper. “Tell him to come to tonight’s performance gratis from his fair maiden. Ask him if there still be a place at the hearth for'er?” said Graham. Not quite figuring out the jest, the barmaid, repeated the exact words to the innkeeper.

  Thinking that his beloved innkeeper was somewhere in the audience, a bejeweled and bedazzled Graham gave his best maiden performance of all. The final act finished with a standing ovation. Graham presented four bows missing his last one. As he turned to exit from his fourth bow, he notice the barmaid behind one of the curtains. She said repeating with exact words the reply from the innkeeper --"He is happy to see and hear of his fair maiden’s great success but he (the innkeeper) is now an old and ugly man and it is vanity that keeps him from this beloved maiden. He gives his fondest wishes."

  Hearing these endearing words, Graham pulled his wig from his head and began to weep. He sat beside the barmaid, weeping, for quite some time. When he regained composure he realized the troupe had already made their way back to the inn. The stage was empty.

  Graham, still in glamorous costume, returned to the inn with the barmaid. The crowd of thespians were anxious and awaiting their evening meal. The barmaid quickly fetched ale for the noisy and boisterous group. “Innkeeper, Where's the grub? our grub!” they shouted. Graham did not stop to receive the congratulatory remarks from his fellow troupers but marched straight to the pantry. It was there he saw the jolly old man staring mindlessly whilst preparing the evening meal for the inn's guests. There was no smile emulating from the innkeepers face until he gazed into the eyes of Graham. The innkeeper smiled and a bit of red embarrassment showed on his face. The innkeeper, much older and now almost toothless, asked “what's doth thou wanteth from an old man like me?” He said this under bellows of laughter which sent that old tingle back into the head, heart, and loins of Graham. Graham bowed his fifth and final bow to the smiling innkeeper, and took him into his arms, and gently kissed him. The innkeeper didn't stop him nor did he hear the cries for service from the lodgers in the adjoining den. That night, the lodgers evening meals were never served.

  The Three Wishes- Mexico

  San Blas is a town with barely 1300 souls. Conceivably, it could have been any village, for its layout was a typical blueprint for dozens of other poor towns in the dusty state of Sinaloa, Mexico. Four dirt roads meet in the center of town; at its heart the massive, ornate water fountain, built long ago. The discolored and chipped marble statue of the “Ángel de Perdido Amor” is so weathered that almost no one remembers what the mournful angel with its folded wings once represented. Mysteriously cool, clear water still flows from its rusty iron pipes into the lagoon sized basin, plentiful enough for all to fetch their water. To the villagers, this water is a miracle and proves that they are blessed by God. However An old story, passed on over the years, says otherwise: Over a hundred years ago, an astute settler capped the underground spring that had bubbled to the surface on this dry and barren tract of land, and by building the fountain, he turned it into a perpetual source of clean drinking water for his homestead, which eventually became the town of San Blas. It was rumored that this settler had waited at this site for eighteen years for his fiancé to join him, but she never arrived. He commissioned the statue and had it installed while he was waiting for his lost love; but, heartbroken after so many years, he lost hope and left for South America, leaving his fountain behind to quench the dry throats of those who came after. He was never heard from again, and no one remembers his name.

  To the south of the fountain sits the village Iglesia, and the church of San Rita de Cascia (patron saint of hopeless cases), its thick adobe walls baked in the sun. The bleached wooden doors still show faint markings of the holy crosses on them. Underfed chickens, emaciated dogs and dirty goats roam about the church and the village center. To the north is the village bar, seemingly juxtaposed from the church that lay across the way. Church and bar stand far away from each other, yet are joined twice a week by the farmers’ village market. The market engulfs the entire center through linking ropes and connecting blankets, from the bar to the church, their stalls stocked with meats, vegetables, and simple household goods. To the right, or west of the fountain, is the meeting hall where local officials meet. The meeting hall doubles as a small school for the forty children who
live in the surrounding area.

  The school is where our story begins. Juan-Miguel is the top athlete in the one-room school. He is the lead soccer player for the village team, and has been for some years. “Hey, Juan-Miguel!” people would shout with pride, and he would wave to them out in the street He is their town hero, and secretly, a celebrity star to a little known, shy admirer named Santiago. Juan-Miguel and his team mates always walk together down the unpaved streets of San Blas, often drunk after a victory game. Juan-Miguel is always in a crowd of admirers when the players return from local villages. He was, and is, the tall, charmingly handsome one. The villagers are dwarfed by him in size, which adds to their adulations for this famous idol.

  Santiago’s existence is almost the opposite. He is just one in an anonymous crowd of people. He is smart, polite, and quiet. In fact, the sad young man never excels at anything in particular in school; if you ask anyone from his class, including Juan-Miguel, few would recall him, even the people who sat right next to him. Yet, year after year, as Santiago walks to his school, his one wish is to pass by Juan-Miguel, who never once notices his silent admirer. He never notices this shadow of a man who smiles with pride when someone calls out to Juan-Miguel. Santiago never dares to offer a friendly greeting to him, but he longs for Juan-Miguel’s eyes to rest upon him just once.

  Juan-Miguel, while playing in a match against a neighboring village, hits a winning goal which sends the screaming spectators stumbling onto the field. A woman throws him the brightly colored kerchief off her head so he can wipe the sweat from his brow. After rubbing it over his face and hair he tosses the sopping rag back into the teeming crowd just as they are hoisting him into the air with victorious cheers. Santiago, too, is in the crowd and witnesses this small moment, but his eyes follow the fluttering trail of the sweaty cloth. Santiago surreptitiously darts in and around the trampling feet to retrieve it. As he presses it to his face he imagines returning it someday to Juan-Miguel.