The Dove Keeper (Frerard)

Two

The responses from the art show, even after we were not around, were overwhelmingly good. The local paper did an okay job, but they seemed to focus on and enjoy the fact that Gerard had Alzheimer's and Hunter was who he was. They revelled in those details in order to make our show seem more special and to act as a quick-grab for attention to anyone who passed by and normally did not read that section. Vivian was used to the normal publications around the area resorting to tactics like that, and told me to ignore it. She showed me the university run paper instead, where it gave us all glowing reviews and spoke with certain awareness behind the delicacy of the subjects we presented. I was pleased and slid that piece into the back of my own copy of the archive, after it had lived on our fridge for some time. When Vivian began to forward me some of her colleagues' responses, she added a careful warning to not get too ahead of myself.

"While I am very proud of all of you, pride is another matter entirely. You are all wonderful people first and foremost, and wonderful artists second. Don't forget that, especially with what's to come," she wrote and then gave me the update on how well we were doing financially. One of Hunter's mobiles had sold that day and this email had also been forwarded to him.

Hunter was home full-time now, awaiting the arrival of Paloma. He was still in correspondence with Meredith and was determined to do work after she was born, but the days leading up to her arrival were hot and took all of his energy. Lydia did not like to give exact due dates, but she confided to me that I should be prepared to leave work whenever it was time in the next week. Lydia came to our house nearly every day now. I had grown eager at first, wondering why she was taking so long each visit with him, as I barely sat on my seat. Every time she knocked on our door my heart would leap into my chest thinking that this time was that time. After a few days of this, I began to think her presence was a bit excessive, until I realized that she was treating Hunter for the other change that he was about to embark on. Everyone we knew and saw on a daily basis knew about the switch and things were going fine there. But that was the cognitive part for everyone and the revising of old narratives. There was still Hunter's body and the more material realities of what may happen next.

"Have you prepared yourself for this as well, Frank?" Lydia asked me one morning, and I was glad to say that I was able to nod back.

As soon as Alexa had finished with the books that Hunter had given her, they were passed off to me. I began to go through the pages and actually understand theory. A lot of the books were familiar to me; I had seen them in Hunter's room for a long time now, ever since our research trips back and forth to the alternative library. He owned his own copies now that were bookmarked, underlined, and dog-eared. I saw the names, Feinberg, Bergman, and Bornstein, that Alex had told me about and I began to put theories behind faces and names. Alternative histories flowed around me. It wasn't the waves of feminism, which had now reached its forth peak according to Hunter, but the alternative history of those who were in-between. I learned about sex differentiation and biological differences like the effect of hormones on the body, along with intersex people and forced surgeries performed after birth. I read about a case study of people in some villages of Greece who had been born girls, but once they hit puberty, were transformed into young men because of a genetic abnormality. I learned how these people were revered in some societies, made into shamans, healers, and storytellers, while they were chastised and killed in others.

But all throughout history and all cultures, especially within art, these people were remembered. These people existed. There were the viragos in Hellenistic philosophies, the sisters of Rebeccah, the ladyboys in Thailand, the hijras in India, and so many more. They were doctors like James Barrie, musicians like Billy Tipton, and Viking Warriors. There were always speculative cases, like Joan of Arc, and there were always crimes that centered around gender transgression. I was floored by the book that I held and read through the history and stories that had been hidden from me as I grew up. I thought there had been no representation and that this entire ordeal had sprung out of thin air. But there was nothing that didn't have its own history and story to tell. It was here, it was in art, and there was no way to deny it.