Children of the Knight - Michael J. Bowler (best books to read non fiction .txt) 📗

and I don’t mean the ones we been raiding.” He smiled, hoping his joke might elicit some response, but Mark didn’t even react.

“He hardly notices me no more,” Mark stated, his voice laced with hopelessness.

Jack looked at the ground, anywhere but at Mark. Here it comes. “You mean Arthur, don’t you?”

“Course I mean Arthur,” Mark replied as though Jack had asked a really stupid question. “He never hardly talks to me no more, it’s always Lance an’ them gangbangers an’ now that teacher….”

Jack groaned. “So it’s true.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I kept hoping it weren’t.”

“What?” Mark asked, looking at him for the first time.

Jack met his gaze sadly. “You’re in love with him, aren’t ya?”

Mark quickly broke eye contact.

“I seen the way ya look at ’im, Mark. C’mon, this is Jacky here. I’m your best bud, and I know you better’n anyone.”

Mark leapt down from the balustrade and stepped away in frustration. Jack jumped down and grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him around so they could face one another. “Look, Mark—” He stopped short at the sight of Mark’s huge blue eyes brimming with tears.

“I can’t help the way I feel, can I?” the blond boy asked despairingly, tears dribbling down his soft, smooth cheeks.

Those tears felt like acid burning Jack’s heart away. “No, buddy, ya can’t.” He grabbed Mark in a tight hug, comforting the one he loved, his own heart shattering into a million pieces.

“He’s the only man I ever met who don’t want sex outta me, ya know?” Mark went on, crying against Jack’s comforting shoulder. “He jus’ likes me ’cause I’m me.” He pulled away from Jack and gazed at his friend imploringly. “Nobody ever cared ’bout me like him before.”

“I do.”

“You’re different, Jacky.” Mark lowered his eyes. “You’re my best friend.”

But I wanna be more, Jack thought. Lance’s words rang through his mind: “Why don’t you just tell him?” and the words were there on the tip of Jack’s tongue. The “L” word was there, and he wanted to confess it, he wanted Mark to know, desperately wanted Mark to love him back. But now, standing there before Mark, knowing he needed to say just three simple words, Jack melted like a snowman under a warm spring sun and dropped his gaze in shame, so Mark wouldn’t see the pain tattooed across his eyes.

But Mark hadn’t even noticed. “It’s like he don’ hafta care, but he does.” He paused, and Jack looked up. “You think, Jacky, ya think maybe it’s possible he could…?” He stopped in frustration. “Hell, Jack, I don’ know what ta do! Every time I see the guy, I wanna tell ’im how I feel.”

Despite his broken heart and the tightness in his chest, Jack wanted the best for Mark. “Maybe ya should tell him, ya know? He’s cool, Mark. Lance said he don’t care if a guy’s gay or straight. He says we’re all God’s children. He’ll understand.”

Mark’s face looked as lost as Jack felt. “But he likes that teacher—I seen it in his eyes. ’Sides, he’s got too much honor, Jacky. No way he’d ever touch a kid that way, gay or straight. He’s too good.”

Jack agreed. He knew Arthur was attracted to the teacher, and he knew Mark was right about the rest. But he still felt Mark should tell the king how he felt.

Fool! Like you’re telling how you feel?

“He can’t love you the way you want, Mark,” Jack told him, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Tell him you can. Confess it now, before it’s too late!

But all he said was, “But he’ll help you through the pain, just like he did with the smack.”

Mark merely shook his head. “That was different. Hell, Jacky, I don’ wan’ ’im to hate me!”

Trembling with sorrow, and desire, Jack gently wiped the tears from Mark’s cheeks with his thumb, caressing the soft skin, biting back the almost overwhelming urge to kiss him. “He won’t, man. He couldn’t hate anyone.”

Mark threw his arms around Jack’s protective shoulders as he’d done so often on the street when a john had beat him up or raped him. “I can’t, Jacky, I just can’t. But it hurts so much to be around him, ya know?”

Jack nodded, his breathing almost stopped, his arms encircling the most precious person in the world. “Yeah, I do know, Mark.” It was but a whisper of breath. “I know how that feels.”

And so they stood that way for a long time, together in despair, until the reddish-gold light of sunset settled into the black inkiness of night.

Eucalyptus Park swarmed with media personnel and vans, operators setting up the cameras, lighting techs putting the light stands in place and plugging lights into generators. Residents of the neighborhood, drawn by all the lights and noise, had gathered round to see what was happening.

Helen Schaeffer, the Channel 7 News reporter, stood with her cameraman, giving him last minute instructions and going over notes. Jenny had called her and set up the interview with Arthur, as per the king’s request. Other news outlets were on hand to film the proceedings, but Helen had the exclusive interview all to herself.

When Arthur made the request to Jenny, she at first wondered why he’d want so much publicity since the police were after him. But when he explained his purpose, the purpose of his entire crusade, her jaw had dropped in amazement, and respect. He may be crazy in thinking himself the King Arthur, but his goals were so ambitious, so lofty and positive that she couldn’t help but admire him. Despite her initial reservations, she realized that her first impression of the man she’d met in this very park had been correct. He was a good man who aimed to do good things.

She stood to one side with Arthur and Lance, eyeing the curious spectators and the entire media circus with uncertainty. Would the public respond positively or negatively to Arthur’s message, she wondered? She’d soon find out.

Arthur shifted nervously, eyeing the huge cameras and electric lights with uneasy anticipation. He looked resplendent in his purple tunic, knee-high boots, and burgundy-red cloak, his circlet crown rounding his brow and restraining his long hair against a gentle breeze. He wore Excalibur in its sheath from a sword belt strapped around his waist.

Beside him, Lance stood attired in similar fashion: bright green tunic, freshly scrubbed boots, clean drawstring pants, and a princely gold circlet that framed his luxurious long hair around his face. His own, slightly smaller sword, dangled from its sheath around his small waist. He looked nervous, but he’d often told Jenny that one day he’d win a gold medal in the X Games and had to learn how not to be shy in front of people.

Well, Lance, I have a feeling what you’re doing now is bigger than any gold medal could ever be.

“Ye seem very relaxed, Sir Lance,” Arthur told him, readjusting his cloak and fiddling with his crown, again.

Jenny noted how uneasy he was. Clearly, being on television was new to him, whatever his background.

Lance laughed gently. “Don’t be so nervous, Arthur, it’s only TV.”

Arthur glanced at the boy with an anxious smile. “For someone of my time, it doth be tantamount to sorcery.”

Lance grinned, and Arthur returned it.

Jenny, standing beside them, observed the exchange with wonder.

So like father and son.

Arthur noted her gaze. “Now it be thy turn to stare, Lady Jenny.”

Jenny, who was not to be on camera and had dressed casually in Dockers and a long-sleeved blouse, blushed at being caught. “Sorry. I was just thinking how much you two… oh, never mind. I do wish you’d just call me Jenny, though.”

Arthur gave a slight bow. “As you wish. Jenny. Do you still doubt me and mine intent?”

“Not your intent, no. I think what you’re trying to do is… well, incredible. But you were right about me. I love what I teach more than who I teach. It didn’t use’ to be that way. When I started teaching, I really loved those kids and wanted to get to know every single one of them.” She frowned and sighed. “But, I don’t know, the system wore me down. It’s so one-size-fits-all and so focused on narrow outcomes that I guess I lost the kids along the way. When I saw you with those boys, and how much they admired you, cared for you… especially you, Lance, how much you’ve changed, well… I’m in awe.” She looked into Arthur’s sincere brown eyes. “You’re a better teacher than I’ll ever be.”

Arthur offered a gentle smile. “Do not doubt thine own capacity to grow and learn. Nor mine.”

Uncertain how to respond, she gave Lance’s attire, especially the sword dangling from his belt, another critical appraisal. “I do worry about you, Lance. You’re a special kid. I saw that from the beginning.”

Lance smiled shyly and fought back a blush. “I’m not important, Lady Jenny. The needs of the whole company be worth more than the needs of the one. Right, Arthur?”

Lance gazed admiringly upward at Arthur, who nodded, but didn’t respond. Jenny noted the love and devotion Lance felt toward Arthur, and fought down a touch of jealousy.

Helen stepped forward, microphone in hand. “We’re ready, Arthur. I’ll introduce you and then ask the questions we discussed.”

Arthur smiled. “I be ready, Lady Helen.”

Helen tested her microphone and did a quick sound check while the cameraman framed her face against the park as a backdrop. The red lights went on, and the cameras began rolling.

Helen introduced herself and announced, “We have an exclusive interview with the mysterious King Arthur, who has raised many questions with his bizarre episode two months ago on Santa Monica Boulevard. Here to tell his story is King Arthur.”

The cameraman turned his camera on Arthur, and the other camera operators followed suit. The lights and faces staring his way clearly unnerved the king, but he kept his composure.

“King Arthur,” Helen asked in a crisp, professional voice, “why don’t we begin with the basics. Are you in fact the King Arthur of legend, and if so, how is it possible that you’re here, in this country, in this time?”

Arthur smiled shyly, shifting slightly as he looked into Helen’s expectant face. “Yes, Lady Helen, I am indeed the same King Arthur. As to how I arrived here in this place and time, I be not completely certain, though I have my suspicions. I do know that I arrived here with a purpose.”

“And what is that purpose?” Helen asked professionally.

“To rescue the lost children of this land.”

“Like the boys with you that night on Santa Monica Boulevard?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s talk about that incident we all saw on TV. What happened out there?”

“The boys I found that night are but a mere fraction of the lost and abandoned children on your city’s streets, Lady Helen. Your police officers did not arrive to assist those lost ones, but rather to punish them. And me for helping them.”

“The police insist those boys were male prostitutes and were breaking the law by being there,” Helen replied, her voice steady and without emotion.

Arthur shook his head sadly. “Those boys are children, Lady Helen, cast into the streets by their parents, forced to degrade themselves in order to survive. Do you believe they belong in jail for that?”

“That’s not for me to say, King Arthur,” Helen responded smoothly. “That’s for the authorities to decide.”

“Children are a gift, Lady Helen, and the hope of this world. Your country professes within its Constitution that all