The Jackdaw

As I stood with the rain slowly soaking through my coat, I wondered not for the first time if coming out as gay might not have been such a good idea after all. If only I'd kept it to myself, I reasoned, then Siân would never have bullied me into going with her to the city's annual Pride festival. And then, instead of waiting outside in the rain for her to show up (late as usual) to take me to something I really didn't want to go to in the first place, I could be nestled down in my favourite armchair enjoying a good book, maybe sipping at a mug of hot chocolate if I was really pushing the boat out.

The city was as grey as the weather. From where I stood a grey street twisted steeply downhill towards a grey and uninviting sea beneath a sulking grey sky. Mouldering seagull-splattered terraces pressed tall and close either side of the road, each house rendered in its own unique shade of dirty grey. Even the people looked somehow hunched and grey, as though they'd let the city seep into their soul.

Against this backdrop there was no mistaking Siân when she finally appeared. Short and broad, she sported a vivid green tight-fitting top, an almost offensively yellow full-length plastic raincoat and her signature inhumanly wide grin.

"Come on!" she shouted before I could even open my mouth to say hello. "What are you doing just standing about in the rain like a big soggy gay frog? We're late!" And with that she was splashing rapidly away down the hill, and I was stumbling after her, trying to keep up.

"With so many gays in one place, even you might manage to hook up with someone. Go on, you'll have fun! Promise!" Those were her exact words when she'd persuaded me to come. I'd memorised them so that I could regurgitate them at her later, after the day inevitably proved to be a disaster.

Our local Pride wasn't one of the big ones, and from what little I'd heard it was a long way from being one of the best. My first sight of the place seemed to confirm my expectations. A corner of the big park by the seafront had been fenced off for the occasion, and people were milling around; there was going to be a parade, but fortunately it was running even later than we were. The small turnout, bedraggled but spirited, waved their limp sodden banners in defiance of the rain and slowly trampled the grass into a thick sticky mud while they waited for things to get going. Around the edges of the site the usual purveyors of hot unhealthy foods had set up their stalls beneath whatever shelter they could rig together, the salesmen looking damp and slightly bored.

"Well I wasn't expecting much but somehow I'm still underwhelmed." I looked to Siân for a response but she either hadn't heard me or was ignoring me, and was glancing around as eagerly as a child in a sweet shop. And I had to admit that in one important regard the festival was exactly what I was hoping it would be: if nothing else, it wasn't grey. There was colour everywhere, even if some of it was starting to streak in the rain, and there was a certain sense of irrepressible good humour about the crowd, despite the weather. It was the kind of place where you could be yourself and didn't have to be embarrassed about standing out.

And then I saw him, standing motionless in the very centre of the crowd...

"Who on Earth isthat?"

She looked where I was pointing. "Oh, him? He's a regular feature, been here every year since the beginning. Practically a one-man institution now. Never speaks a word, though. No idea who he really is, but we call him the Jackdaw."

It wasn't hard to see why: the man was dressed something like a great black bird. A feather-trimmed black mask completely covered his face, with a stylised beak curving down to hide his mouth. Below that, his whole body was shrouded under a full-length robe of jet black feathers, glistening in the rain.

"Are you certain he's a 'he'?" I asked.

"Bloody tall flat-chested lady if she isn't."

"Fair point." I couldn't help but stare. The costume was impressive, but it was something more than that. It was the way he held himself: tall, proud and unselfconscious, gazing over the raucous rabble surrounding him as fondly and protectively as a mother bird watching over her chicks. It was the way he moved: purposefully, minimally, apparently indifferent to the rain. No, more than that even. It was the way everyone else moved aroundhim. Respectfully. Almost submissively. Always giving him space, but still seeming to orbit around him like moths around a lamp. Probably they didn't even realise they were doing it. Perhaps, I thought fancifully, the crowd was only gathered in that particular spot because he was there; he was the seed around which the crowd had crystallised.

A screech of feedback interrupted my imagination and a woman's voice with a strong French accent gushed over a speaker system; "Ladies and gentlemen and, um, other good people, thank you for your patience. If you can somehow keep yourselves afloat in this mud for just a little longer, we'll be setting sail in five minutes. Five minutes!"

"Oooh," said Siân, "I like her voice. Sexy.Damnsexy. I wonder if the rest of her matches up?" She glanced about eagerly. "Where do you think she's speaking from?"

"Hmm?" I was still watching the Jackdaw in fascination, and hadn't been fully listening.

"Oh, what's this? Got your eye on someone already, have you? Well you go chase down the unlucky gentleman, why don't you? I've got a sexy-voiced lady to stalk and seduce."

We paraded over a mile down the seafront, ending up in a car park where a few people stood to deliver rousing speeches over a microphone, and then we paraded back. It didn't stop raining once but a surprising number of people were out anyway to give us support as we marched past, and only a handful of local louts braved the weather to jeer and throw abuse.

The Jackdaw walked with us, near the front, his feathered coat rippling magnificently with every step. I kept finding my eyes drawn to him irresistibly. My imagination hooked itself onto a new fancy: that he wasn't walking with the crowd at all, but rather he was pulling the crowd along with him like the tail behind a comet.

But I had other things to occupy my mind. I'd never have a better opportunity to begin introducing myself to the gay community. Siân had found her announcer - a pretty redhead named Marie - and had attached herself to her, leaving me to face the social intricacies of Pride on my own. I drummed up the courage to strike up conversations with some of the quieter men in the crowd. A few of them seemed very pleasant, and they were very polite about excusing themselves when I ran out of conversation and stuttered in awkward nervousness. Eventually I gave it up and marched in silence, on my own, hoping somebody with a warm smile and a pretty face might approach me. They didn't.

Back in the park I bought myself a burger in a bun and ate it dispiritedly. I couldn't really blame people for finding me boring; after all, even I found me a little boring. I just wished they were better at hiding it. Suddenly I felt a desperate need to be away from the crowd, and looked around for somewhere to hide.

A small stage had been erected with the intention of putting on a bit of a concert and a show after the march. The rain had flooded it completely, shorting out a variety of lamps and amps, and the put-upon technicians seemed to be packing things away, giving it up as a bad job. Behind the forlorn stage I found my sanctuary: a quiet area scattered with abandoned and muddied stage pieces.

Someone had left a mirror propped up against a couple of crates. I gazed into it critically. For the first time I noticed what I had unconsciously chosen to wear that morning: thick tatty grey coat; lifeless grey shirt; grey old-man trousers. Grey, grey and grey all over. And the worst thing was, it seemed to suit me.

A new wave of self-pity washed over me, soaking into my soul more thoroughly than the endless rain. I didn't want to be the grey nonentity I saw in the mirror. I didn't want to be the one standing miserably on his own, staring at his own reflection, tormented by the shouts of everybody else somehow managing to enjoy themselves despite everything. I didn't want to be me. I wanted to be...

In the mirror I saw a black shadow closing in. The Jackdaw. He strode towards me, feathered coat swishing around his ankles, and stopped two steps short. Turning to face him I stared stupidly, wondering what I should say, realising my heart was pounding for a reason I couldn't quite place. He stared back, the bright glint of his eyes just visible behind the big black eyes of his mask. What did he want? Why was he here? I struggled for something to say.

"I... I really like your costume." I cursed the words as soon as I'd said them. I wanted to tell him that it almost hurt to tear my eyes away from him. That when he moved he rippled and sheened like molten onyx. That wherever he stood he seemed to me the central figure in a masterpiece, with everything around him existing solely to provide him a background. But the words in my head didn't know how to form in my mouth.

He didn't reply, he just carried on staring at me, motionless, the rain shimmering down him. I glanced down, and noticed for the first time his arm stretched out towards me, holding a mud-splattered wallet in his black-gloved hand. My wallet. Of course. I must have dropped it at the burger stand, and he'd picked it up and followed me to give it back.

I took it, and mumbled an incoherent thanks. For a moment there was silence as he stared down at me impassively. A new feeling was rising irresistibly inside me. I wanted to touch him, to feel him, to run my fingers over his feathers. To lift that mask and kiss him. I dearly wanted to reach my hand inside his robe and explore him, to make love right there in the rain with this majestic man so magnificently unlike myself, whose name and face and voice I didn't even know.

The moment to make a move, if there had ever been one, passed. He nodded and turned away, striding back towards the front of the stage when...

"Can I... touch you?"

He stopped. It took me a moment to register that it was me who'd spoken. My heartbeat rose as he turned back towards me and stepped slowly closer. Whatever had I gotten myself into now?

Before I'd had time to gather my thoughts he was back in front of me, stretching out his arm to me again, and I was reaching to touch the soft feathers of his sleeve, sliding my fingers through the luxurious plumage. It seemed somehow unreal, as though I'd wandered however slightly away from the predictable script of my life and into someone else's; I kept expecting him to notice at any moment that I was a grey nobody and pull his arm away in disgust. But he didn't, and I was allowed to enjoy the stiff silky brush of his feathers between my fingers, and didn't fail to appreciate the firm, muscular feel of his arm beneath the fabric.

I knew what I wanted now - at least, as much as I ever did - and I found myself uncharacteristically willing to risk humiliation to get it. I made my touch softer, stroking up and down his sleeve slowly, sensuously, suggestively. I gave him what I hoped was my most winning smile.

"You know, it's pretty private back here. No-one watching us. I'd love to get to know the man under the costume."

My heart beat frantically from nerves. This wasn't the sort of thing I did - ever! He took a step back, and to my amazement wordlessly began unfastening his coat, one button after another. At last he pulled the feathered fabric to either side, showing me the man underneath.

What I saw surprised me. There was certainly nothing displeasing about his tall figure, slim without being skinny. But I'd been expecting... well, I don't really know what I'd been expecting. Somethingdifferent. Instead, he was dressed quite ordinarily under the all-concealing cloak, in faded jeans and a plain dark T-shirt. Ordinary, and even somewhat grey.

He took my hand in his and I let him place it flat against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat, the rhythm fast and nervous, almost as fast as my own. How could a man like the Jackdaw be nervous?

It was only a moment and then he lifted my hand in front of him, bowing forwards to meet it with his lips, kissing it softly. He turned on the spot, long coat swishing around his ankles, and he was striding away, refastening himself as he walked.

I stood numb, watching him go, thoughts swirling through my head, trying to digest what I'd seen and felt. I was glad nobody had seen that little interchange...

"Excuse me, Mr Jackdaw?" said Siân, stepping out of the shadows. "Do you mind if I...?" Without waiting for permission she wrapped an arm around his waist, held her phone out at arms length and took a selfie. "Neat! Thanks!"

She walked up to me, thumbing her phone, as he walked out of sight. "Ooh, that was a good one! Look, it's got you in the background looking all confused and sad."

"Siân! Did you... um... did you see what..."

"Did I see your attempt at an intimate moment with the man in the bird costume? Yep! I got it on video, too."

"But..."

She waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it!Someonealways tries to get it off with the Jackdaw, every year. Tries and fails. Never would have guessed it would beyou, though! Not too disappointed, I hope?"

"No, no. He showed me something... something amazing."

"What, he got his cock out? I don't rememberthat. I'll have to have a good look back through the footage."

"What? No! Something better than that."

"Better than a cock? Are you sure you're gay? Whatever. Anyway, I only came back here to find you, to tell you me and Marie are heading off to catch a drink somewhere dry."

"Hmmm?" I could barely pay attention. My mind was already thinking forwards tonextyear's Pride. I realised that I was going to be looking forward to it more than I'd thought possible.

A year passed by. In many ways, it was a very ordinary year. I won a minor promotion at work and redecorated my flat. I learned to make a really good lasagne and took a very pleasant but entirely uneventful holiday in Ireland. I went on a lot of dates which didn't go anywhere. I even got into a bit of a relationship, but it faltered and fell apart after just a couple of months.

And all the time, I made plans for Pride. Plans, and a costume. The Jackdaw had shown me that beneath his costume he was an ordinary man like me. And if he was like me, then that meant that I, at least once a year, could be like him.

I didn't know how to sew. I learned. My first attempt at a costume wasn't a great success. I tried it on, took one look at myself, laughed myself silly and threw it in the bin. The second try wasn't much better. But the third try... on the third try it wasperfect.

When Pride came around again, there was blessedly no rain. But there was wind.Lotsof wind. A primal gale howling straight in off the sea, laden with salt and spite.

This time I didn't meet up with Siân beforehand. Even she didn't know what I was planning. Instead I dressed and walked through the streets to the park, bracing myself against the wind, my costume flapping madly behind me. People stared, but I didn't care. It was strange, but Ifeltdifferent behind my mask; almost as if I'd lost all my shyness and self-consciousness. And the city even looked different. Less grey. I'd never noticed it before, but the tiered rows of tired old houses sloping down to meet the infinite sea... it was beautiful, in its way.

The organisers of Pride had learnt from last year's mistakes: they'd erected a big arching canvas canopy over the stage to keep the rain from ruining the equipment. Unfortunately the wind had caught it like a sail and blown it down, and where the stage should have been was now marked by an abstract sculpture in metal poles and madly flapping canvas. It looked like the show was cancelled again.

The crowd, a little larger than the year before, was massed in front of the collapsed stage, looking windswept but excited. One group was engaged in retrieving a large rainbow banner which had escaped and flown into a nearby tree; as they caught sight of me they stopped what they were doing to stare and whisper. I gave them a friendly nod as I marched past, heading straight for the main body of people.

More and more heads turned towards me as I approached. The news of my arrival seemed to ripple through the crowd until as I reached its edge it seemed like there wasn't a single person whodidn'thave their attention riveted squarely on me. A part of me - the shy, grey part of me - squirmed uncomfortably under the spotlight of all those pairs of eyes. But the new part of me - the part that the costume embodied - gloried in it.

My eyes swept the colourful crowd for a familiar figure. There was Siân with Marie at her side, staring like everyone else with a silly grin on her face, but I wasn't looking for her. I spotted a couple of men I'd been on dates with, and almost laughed aloud to think how completely they'd fail to recognise me now. But I hadn't come here for them either.

People were moving out of my way as I stepped forwards, giving me space so I didn't have to weave and push and apologise my way through. A clear passage seemed to be opening before me, the crowd parting to either side as though people knew exactly where I'd be going next. I followed the path and it took me to him.

The Jackdaw.

He stood casually, staring right at me through the crowd, his expression unreadable behind the black eyes of his mask, his feathered coat fluttering in the wind. For a moment the two of us just stood there, regarding one another...

I'd chosen my costume carefully. It was, very deliberately, a lot like the Jackdaw's. Beaked mask, ankle-length robe thick with feathers. In fact, it was exactly like the Jackdaw's costume except for one detail. That detail was that where his was perfect black, mine was a pure and brilliant white.

...and then we were striding towards each other, the crowd all around us, our eyes locked, the distance closing, closing...

There was no awkward introduction, no fumbling handshake. As I reached him I wrapped my arms straight around his shoulders and he around mine, clasping us together so firmly that it seemed we'd never come apart again. There was only a moment's hesitation before we both moved in for a kiss. The beaks on both our masks held us up with a minor logistical challenge but he leant his head one way, I leant mine the other and at last our lips were pressed against one another, running over one another, drinking one another in.

I've kissed a few men, but I'd never had a kiss like that one before. It was sohungry. So much yearning and frustration and pent-up passion all let out in one long, glorious moment; and his lips pushed back against mine with every bit as much ravenous need. We knew, we understood each other, and we needed each other. We were strangers, but we were soulmates, and that kiss was our bond.

So absorbed in it was I, that it was only after we pulled apart that I finally noticed the sound of the crowd around us, cheering and clapping at what to them must have been a tremendous piece of unexpected theatre. I looked around, feeling suddenly a little more exposed than I wanted to be. What happened now? My plan had worked better than I'd dared hope and now I'd wandered into the misty unknown of the dream beyond it, and wasn't sure where to take my next step.

But the Jackdaw knew what to do. He offered his black gloved hand and I gave him my white one, letting him lead me towards the collapsed canopy. There he pulled up a flap of canvas and I followed him into the place within, the crowd cheering and whistling as we disappeared from their sight.