by J A Scooter
Hearing her gasp of horror, Peter turned and, white-faced, sank to his knees, his head in his hands. “Oh, please God. No. No. No. No. Noooooo,” was all he could endlessly repeat before he started weeping.
She rushed to drop beside him. “Peter, Peter, your back. Oh, your poor back. What happened?”
“Please, Jennifer, don’t ask. Please don’t ask.”
Slowly she rose and pressed his head against her thighs as she held him tightly. “Peter, if you want a future with me I will ask and you will answer with the truth. I have some questions and I demand answers - the truth, hear me.”
She stood over him her hands on his head, trying to console him as she added, “Those clothes. You said that you’ve never had a woman other than me in your apartment, yet those clothes...”
Slowly he looked up as he painfully climbed to his feet and his eyes reflected the pain in his soul. “Please, Jennifer. The clothes are yours. Please wear them with my love.”
She looked at this pitiful wreck of the Peter she knew and her heart went out. “I’ll wear them with pride, if I get truthful answers to my questions.”
“I promise, my beautiful sweetheart.” Peter’s lips trembled as he uttered those endearments for the first time in his life. They not only sounded good but they felt good and he found the strength to continue.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t drop that sarong or I’ll faint.” Jennifer tried to lighten the atmosphere.
“I’ll shower and change but there are so many clothes to select from. It may take hours.” Jennifer was astounded. Her shampoo was there, her perfume, her makeup, her lipstick. Everything! She selected a simple T-shirt and jeans. Bare-footed she walked back to Peter.
She found him prostrate before the small altar that featured his parents' picture, oblivious to her presence. Praying, he seemed to be asking their permission for something. Then, unseeing, as if a robot, he staggered into the main bedroom. Dropping to his knees once more, he began reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
‘What kind of man is this? I need answers and I need them before I leave.’ Jennifer could not believe what was happening.
Peter completed his prayers. Then, still unmindful of her presence, he moved to his music center and pushed the play button. Suddenly the sounds of the Welsh Hymn, 'Cwm Rhondda' ('Guide me Oh Thy Great Jehovah') resounded through the apartment. Peter filled his chest and sang with the music. With no restraint, his voice echoed in every room and he did not pause even when the English changed to Welsh. The music died and he dropped his head and waited. He did not have long to wait for the sounds of the 23rd Psalm, the tune Crimmond, to fill the room. Weeping, he began, “The Lord’s my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters.” The Psalm ended and Peter turned to see Jennifer watching him closely.
“Darling, I do owe you some answers. I will explain and be truthful.” He paused, wondering just how little he could reveal and yet still satisfy this woman. He knew that he would not reveal his total history. It was too horrendous.
Should he tell the complete truth with all its full gory details Jennifer would run. He would be alone again. That was a risk he was not prepared to take.
‘Darling, beautiful sweetheart - he has expressed deep feelings for me.’ Jennifer’s thoughts raced but she remained adamant. “I have some questions for you. I want answers.”
Making no comment Peter led her to the settee facing the view. He then placed the picture and altar on the coffee table. Next, he took the commemorative plaque down from the wall and positioned it on the table between them before squatting, Asian style, on the floor opposite her, his sarong about him. He seemed a new man as he looked at her, and the pain she saw before seemed to have flown.
Those deadly looking kukris were nearby and the inscription and coat of arms seemed to have a message for her.
New strength showed in his bearing and his eyes. “You ask and I’ll answer truthfully. Should I become upset bear with me, as I’ll be reliving hurtful memories. However, no matter how distressing the memories, I’ll be truthful. I owe you that. I can only hope that calling you darling will still be acceptable when the questions end.”
With his shoulders drooped, he waited for the dreaded kiss of madam la guillotine.
“Are you gay?”
Peter’s head snapped up and his face broke into a broad smile as he roared with laughter. Even his eyes were laughing. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Well, you kissed me on the hair that first night and have never tried any funny business. It’s almost as though you enjoy my company but don’t want me as a woman.”
“My God, every time I'm with you I'm on fire with my love and need for you. I have to fight my baser, animal urges, as I don’t want a simple 'roll in the hay' with you. I want you, totally and forever!”
Grinning, Peter enjoyed Jennifer’s furious blushes as he continued.
“I want you permanently. I want us to grow old together with our children around us but that will only come if I can gain your trust and love. I'm not gay. I'm one warm-blooded Australian Man and I want you and you alone. But...”
He did not elaborate.
Seeing Jennifer’s confusion Peter threw his head back and laughed. “Darling, I'm not gay.” He paused before staring hard into her eyes. “Here, with you I have everything. Without you I have nothing.”
Peter smiled. “Does that answer your question? I 'm not gay. I'm a red-blooded, hot-blooded hetero-sexual man but you're always safe with me. Next question.”
“Are you a ballet dancer?”
Peter looked puzzled until Jennifer continued. “At the bar you...”
More peals of laughter interrupted her. Chuckling he struggled to answer. “Me, a ballet dancer? Good God, no. Suffice to say I learned a few routines to amuse the children last Christmas at Westmead Children’s Hospital where I also played Santa Claus. I saw you laughing at my feeble efforts and it made all the hours of endless rehearsals priceless.”
Jennifer sat, unbelieving at the new depth of character this man had revealed. She broke the silence eventually.
“The clothes?”
“Your clothes,” Peter corrected.
“My clothes. How and why?”
“I contacted David Jones, fashion department, and had the manageress send you three tickets to their fashion parade and you accepted.”
Listening intently, Jennifer did not interrupt.
“I had the fashion buyer get your measurements and then select the clothes to match your coloring.”
“But why?”
“Because it’s you. You are the only woman in the world I...” His voice trailed off into a hoarse whisper and although Jennifer strained to hear his words, she failed.
“Are you or have you been a criminal?”
“Whatever made you ask that question?” Peter looked puzzled.
“Well, some Asian countries flog criminals - and - your back...” Jennifer couldn’t continue.
Peter stood and walked to her, then knelt, placing his head in her lap. “Feel the lash marks. Feel my torment. Feel my vengeance.”
Jennifer was shocked at the vehemence in his voice and his sorrow. Gently she traced her fingers across his shoulders, wondering at the scars that started at his hips or perhaps lower and covered his whole back.
Peter gently lowered his sarong and her hands traced even more scars across his buttocks. Someone had flogged him many times - unmercifully. There was not a single inch of flesh from his buttocks to his shoulders that was free of the lash scars.
Carefully, he refitted his sarong before standing proudly before her.
‘This is my Peter,' were Jennifer’s first thoughts. 'He is so proud and so straight.'
He turned and seemed to fiddle with the altar on the table before laying a small cigarette-like piece of bamboo before her and unsheathing one of the deadly looking Kukris.
Jennifer noted that he nicked himself so there was b
lood on the blade when he laid it beside the piece of bamboo. Shuddering she knew his story was about to be told.
“You asked me what the inscription says, and I wouldn’t tell you. Now I confess. The inscription says,” and Jennifer marveled at the change in her man - he stood taller in military pose and looking straight ahead, as his fingers traced the words, he translated.
“To Honorary Major of the 6th Gurkha Brigade, Peter O'Brien. Let no man be fooled The Little One is a man to be feared.”
Slowly Peter dropped to his knees before Jennifer. “Yes. I am The Little One, but don’t mistake its meaning. I was the youngest Honorary Major of all time. I was sixteen.”
Jennifer tried to interrupt but Peter just put his fingers to her lips to hush her.
“Wait! The story has only just started.”
He sat her down before him – simply on the floor, and began his story.
“My parents and I were living in Penang, Malaysia. I was six when I arrived home from school one day. Hearing moans and groans coming from the direction of my parents' bedroom I rushed in to see a very large, very ugly Chinese between my naked mother’s legs while she rolled her head from side to side moaning. 'Oh God, no. Please no! You mustn’t. My husband...’”
With tears in his eyes, Peter squeezed Jennifer’s hands as he took a deep breath before continuing.
“I leapt on the back of the Chinese and beat him with my fists. Laughing, the Chinese hurled me against a wall and bellowed to the cook, to take The Little One out.
“Our cook and our amah took me out into the servants' quarters to impress on me the need to say nothing to my father.”
Putting his head in Jennifer’s lap Peter paused but held her hands tightly in his as if seeking her strength to help him to continue.
Jennifer was ashen and speechless. Pandora’s Box was open and she had to accept the consequences. Slowly she studied him, unable to interrupt as the story unfolded.
“I remember that we had packed and were off for a holiday to the Cameron Highlands, the cool resort area. Mum and Dad could not stop hugging and kissing and saying it was their second honeymoon.
“But one incident of the trip is burnt into my brain. We drove around a wide sweeping bend to find the way blocked by an overloaded truck. My father got out to see what the trouble was. A burst of gunfire startled Mum and me. She looked terrified and my father was dead.
“Suddenly the doors flew open. Someone threw filthy, stinking bags over my head and tied me to a bamboo pole. Slung like a pig going to market between two men, I was carried into the jungle at a brisk trot.”
Sighing, Peter looked at Jennifer. “Do I go on?”
“You still haven’t explained your back.”
“Do you promise that my story goes no further than you?”
Jennifer nodded.
“I was taken prisoner at the age of six and, for the next six years, became a slave, flogging post and student. My masters flogged me until I learned to speak Mandarin, Cantonese and Hokkien, to read and write Mandarin, speak, read and write Malay, Indonesian, Thai, Lao and Tamil as well as learning the art of disguise. They used me as a punching bag until I learned how to protect myself.
“Because my mother was also a prisoner, they knew that I’d keep my mouth shut and, with brown contact lenses to conceal my blue Christian eyes, I was their spy. I went into neighboring kampongs, Malay villages, to steal, to gather information or to pass on orders.
“To add to my misery the leader of the thugs shot my Mother. Not many months after her shooting I had a Kukri at my throat. A platoon of Gurkhas that had been following the fleeing band had rescued me.”
Sightless, Peter stared at Jennifer. Then, groaning, he returned to the present.
“I believe that’s enough to answer your questions. I’ve said too much already.” Peter dropped his head into his hands and Jennifer could see he was weeping - the memory of his mother and father and their deaths too vivid. Through his tears, he sobbed words she could scarcely hear.
“The full story is for my future wife when she first agrees to marry me.”
Jennifer slid to the floor beside him and rocked him in her arms.
Peter lay there, wrapped in her comfort and warmth for what seemed ages.
Finally, he stood and helped her to her feet.
“Let’s dress and go to eat. You can practice using your chopsticks again.”
Jennifer remembered the Chinese restaurant very well and when the waiter approached, she grinned at Peter as she spoke. “Tell the Boss ‘The Little One’ is here.” Peter could only smile back at her.
The headwaiter had eyes only for her and smiled at Jennifer saying, “I see that you’ve tamed ‘The Little One’. Hold onto him... he’s really special.”
“I know,” was Jennifer’s reply.
He led them to a corner table where even the arrival of the meal didn’t stop their holding hands. Again, they ate well and Jennifer was amazed at how easily she could accept Peter’s Cantonese and how effortlessly she managed the chopsticks.
As they left Jennifer inquired, “Why was the Boss so interested in me?”
“He has never seen me with a woman before so he assumed…,” Peter’s voice trailed off as Jennifer hugged his arm tightly.
Back at Peter’s apartment, Jennifer attempted to return to the prior discussion of Peter’s life but he ignored her questions instead asking, “Would you please be my partner at a very special event next Saturday? You must trust me enough to ask no questions.”
For a long time Jennifer hesitated, before whispering a shy, “Yes.”
“Then the special event is - on Saturday morning at 9 am a limousine will pick you up at your apartment. The driver will take you to various places all day. You will do exactly as you're told - exactly.”
Holding up one hand, Peter stopped Jennifer’s questions
“You’ll eat a light luncheon and I’ll pick you up that evening at say 7. You will be my Cinderella and I shall try very hard to be your Prince Charming although I do believe I make a better frog. Ask no questions now. Are you sure you still want me as your Prince Charming?”
“Where...”
“I said no questions - not one.”
“Peter, you can be such a confusing bugger.”
Ignoring her comment, he stood and seemed to fiddle at the back of the altar before saying, “Close your eyes and open your hands.”
Jennifer did as bid and allowed Peter to lift her to her feet and lead her into her bedroom.
“Open your eyes.”
She gasped. In her hands were the two diamond earrings and the diamond necklace she had seen around his mother’s neck.
“These are for my wife and I hope against hope that the lady of my life will be you. The gems are yours to wear on Saturday night. They are on loan to you, shall we say, and perhaps if I can win your love, they are yours and your daughters’ forever.”
Jennifer could only stare at the jewels in her hands. Slowly she turned away from Peter and still studying the jewels, quietly walked to the mirror.
“Can I put them on now so you can see them on me?” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed him out of the room before closing the door. Delighted, she made a careful selection of underwear and a dress with a moderately plunging neckline so the diamond necklace could glitter with joy, sitting in the shadow of her cleavage.
“Oh, hell, you're so beautiful, and I'm such a frog,” were Peter’s words when she left the bedroom, but Jennifer would have none of it.
She reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips.
“If that’s the case, then you're my own special Frog.”
Saturday arrived after a week of hectic rehearsals.
Growing even closer to Jennifer, wanting her so much it hurt, Peter could not help walking around with a huge grin on his face as he wondered how Jennifer was coping. His thoughts showed his plans were falling into place.
Chapter 4 A Fairy Tale Date
In the t
axi, he began muttering to himself.
“It’s so naughty of me not to tell her but it will be so delicious to see the surprise on her face.”
Sitting in the barber’s chair, he waited for a shave and haircut. He knew that he had to look his best.
Across town, with beauticians hovering over her, Jennifer was perplexed,
‘Peter can be a real bugger,’ she said to herself in a most unlady-like manner. She had two girls giving her a manicure - including false nails - two giving her a pedicure and yet another giving her hair a rinse ‘to bring out the highlights', so they told Jennifer.
The beauticians creamed her face and her neck. They gave her shoulders even more intense treatment and didn’t allow Jennifer to touch a thing. They even applied her make-up meticulously.
By four o'clock, they were satisfied and, with hair piled high on her head in the manner of regency, she was travelling in the limousine to the next stop of the day - a very expensive-looking boutique.
The owner met Jennifer at the entrance and led her inside to displays of costly evening gowns and accessories that were even more expensive.
“Ah, Miss Blake, you look beautiful. Let me see what I have for you.”
By 6:30, after hours of dressing Jennifer in various evening gowns he seemed satisfied and moved onto the next item on his list. He asked Jennifer, “Have you done as Mr. Peter required and brought the diamonds?”
Unable to speak, Jennifer nodded, opened her purse and handed them to the owner who hung the necklace around her neck and pinned the earrings to her ears.
“Oh, before I forget. This is a gift from Mr. Peter who said it is yours as a thank you for being his escort for the night.”
He clipped a diamond tiara to Jennifer’s hair before leading her to a full-length mirror.
Unbelieving, Jennifer stared at her reflection showing the transformation that had been wrought.
The green silk, ball gown was just the right color for her and the diamonds seemed to accentuate the fire in her eyes. She knew that she would enjoy dancing in those green slippers. Smiling, she projected her thoughts into the mirror. 'What had Peter said about Cinderella? Well, bring on the Pumpkin Coach.'