February 01, 2013

How do you know Savile?

'How do you know Savile?'

Sometimes I didn't even hear the words when people asked me.  They would have to keep asking and sometimes still not get any sort of answer.  I heard it this time though.

'You've got a lot to learn ***, Savile's a Satanist.  He's owned me my whole life.'

I started to move away I didn't want to start weeping in front of that cunt but Mory's beefy arm encircled my shoulders from behind and pulled me back into his half squidgy half solid mass.  I had to pick my issues with Mor and I didn't have the will or any need to fight this one.  He wasn't that much taller than me, his starting not much higher than the top of mine.  I leaned back against his shirt and looked up, its was all letting it's self go.  I gave a pretty pathetic almost canine sounding whimper before the tingling  numb waves smashing through my brain meant he was no longer holding me still but holding me up.  My knees had buckled but only a few that really knew me saw it.  I felt my mouth opening and sounds came out. Somewhere between a cry and a scream that sounded like it came from a small feral child but I was in my mid twenties.  Briefly I was back with the wolves in the snow again.  There was a real deathly silence in that bar.  The ex squaddie bar man was all pale and his hand was shaking when he held out a nip of something, probably a double or triple   I'm not sure but I'm thinking whiskey, maybe brandy.  He had a bad habit of doing the exact right thing at my most desperate moments but being fucking useless or worse the rest of the time, so its was probably brandy and not the cheap stuff.  Maybe a liquor if there was some around.  Mory didn't let me go, just moved with me as I reached over for it.  Things felt better after I knocked it back, the drink exaggerated that sense of near total physical and mental calm, the after glow when something rips forth like that.  People stopped looking like demon's, or zombie's or angels, they just looked like tired, exploited, physically & socially oppressed people. So more fucked up than others and none of us had ever chosen to be there.

There was a dinner and a night in a club I think when *** was there.  He was quiet openly watching me to that point that his wife had a word in his ear telling him to ease off.  I was aware of it and because it wasn't a rapey look, more curious and cautious than that it didn't really bother me that much.  I was a bit bugged that he was making me feel a bit self conscious when I was trying to make to the best of time spent with some the boys.  Unknown to me at the time but attempting to mother my peers in the field when we were under 10 had given many of them skills in wrapping me round their fingers when we were over 10.  Sometimes we found an innocence back then that we had cherished and defended enough to find again when we had the opportunity.   We often got strange looks, all that wet eyed pawing, arm stroking, hand holding and finishing each other sentences in groups, in public.  One of them made a joke about the guy staring that was acute as ever and ignoring him was much easier.

I knew it couldn't be avoided forever.  I was going to have to sit down with the fucker with my business head on and find out where he was at.  He did not bad, in the end.  I had no other options than to tell him as much as I could, he said all the right things.  I handed over the documents and let him buy me a pint.