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    Gaydonia
    Gaydonia
    Gaydonia
    Ebook106 pages1 hour

    Gaydonia

    By Gary Pedler

    ()

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    About this ebook

    He’ll transform it into a gay tourist mecca. His opponent, a former fiancee, pushes a rival plan to make money from a line of deliberately mediocre, weight loss inducing foods. The two factions slug it out, with the help and interference of Davor’s gay son, his mother, wife, and daughter, and the entire population of Zablvacia.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAdelaide Books Publishers
    Release dateOct 6, 2020
    ISBN9781953510396
    Gaydonia
    Author

    Gary Pedler

    Gary Pedler has written two adult novels, a YA novel, two story collections, and, a little to his surprise, a play. A resident of San Francisco for longer than he cares to admit, Gary qualifies as a true Bay Area denizen. Yet after a recent escape from his white-collar wage slave job, he’s spent much of his time rambling around the world and, of course, writing about everything he sees. Gary’s travel memoir Couchsurfing: the Musical is published by Adelaide Books, and his MG novel Amy McDougall, Master Matchmaker will appear in spring 2021 from Regal House. Find out more about Gary at www.garypedler.com.

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      Book preview

      Gaydonia - Gary Pedler

      GAYDONIA

      GAYDONIA

      A novel

      by

      GARY PEDLER

      Adelaide Books

      New York/Lisbon

      2020

      GAYDONIA

      A novel

      By Gary Pedler

      Copyright © by Gary Pedler

      Cover design © 2020 Adelaide Books

      Published by Adelaide Books, New York / Lisbon

      adelaidebooks.org

      Editor-in-Chief

      Stevan V. Nikolic

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any

      manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except

      in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      For any information, please address Adelaide Books

      at info@adelaidebooks.org

      or write to:

      Adelaide Books

      244 Fifth Ave. Suite D27

      New York, NY, 10001

      ISBN-13: 978-1-953510-39-6

      CONTENTS

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      About the Author

      CHAPTER 1

      After the long winter of the Balkan highlands, this was the day when no one in Zablvacia could doubt that spring had arrived at last. In the country’s capital – which, with an economy typical of this thrifty people, was also called Zablvacia – the sunlight poured down the steeply pitched roof of St. Stephan’s Cathedral, gleamed on the silver domes of the Eastern Orthodox Church and the tiled minaret of the Mosque. At the west end of the valley where the city lay stood its one great eyesore, the Pluzinova Cookie Factory. Still, in this magical spring light, its smokestack might be taken for another minaret.

      The streets of the city were thronged with cyclists and a sprinkling of beaten-up cars. Pedestrians crowded the sidewalks. It might have seemed as if every single inhabitant were out of doors, rejoicing at his release from winter’s icy grip. In truth, this wasn’t the case. As the clock in the tower of the Town Hall struck three, if an observer had climbed winding Gundulićeva Street and peeked through the windows of the ground floor flat of Number 35, he would have found the entire Matošić family assembled in their cramped living room. Davor Matošić occupied the boxy ancient armchair, while his wife Marija, their daughter Nevenka, and their son Ivo were squeezed together on the sofa across from him. Davor’s widowed mother, Vuksa Ćuruvija, stood by the heavy oak sideboard.

      Not only was the family hidden away indoors, they sat in silence. Some words spoken moments before still reverberated through the room like the last chime from the clock tower. Their vibration seemed to affect Davor the most. Davor was a big, bulky, dark-haired man in his early forties. He had a broad nose, large ears, and thick eyebrows, his mouth the only small-scale thing about him. Worry was forming pouches beneath his eyes, while the large quantities of food he ate to quiet his worrying had made a good start on a second chin below his first. Bending forward, he ran the tips of his fingers up and down his temples, as if to help him think what to do about the latest care to come his way.

      It was Vuksa who spoke at last. Goodness, she said, this is turning into quite a long pause.

      Marija opened her mouth, on the point of speaking, then refrained. Nevenka shrank down into her over-sized sweater, as if wishing she could disappear. Ivo took a deep breath in, then let it out. Davor rubbed the sides of his head even harder.

      As for Vuksa, she drummed her long crimson fingernails on the sideboard. Despite a face deeply carved by an eventful life, and a hand which that morning had been even shakier than usual in applying her make-up, traces of a great lady of the stage remained in her bearing.

      Pauses can be so effective in the theater, she said. "I believe the longest pause in my operatic career occurred in the role of Mlada in The Serpent Bridegroom – that wheezing, but still ride-able warhorse by our greatest Zablvacian composer, Božidar Horvat. The pause came during the wedding scene. When the priest asked me if I took the dashing Count Granic to be my husband, you could have heard a pin drop while the audience waited for my answer. The head of a pin, even."

      Vuksa picked up the decanter of walnut brandy. Although her hand still trembled slightly, thanks to the bodily control imparted by years of theatrical training, she poured herself a glass without spilling a drop. Holding it up, Vuksa asked, Would anyone else care for one? It’s a little early to imbibe, I know. Still, under the circumstances. . .

      Suddenly, Davor whipped his brown eyes toward his wife. Did you know, Marija? he shot out.

      Marija avoided his gaze. Her skin was smooth and tawny, her black hair fell straight to her shoulders.

      Of course you did, Davor said. You’re a psychologist, after all. You see through us like panes of glass.

      I didn’t see through Ivo. Marija spoke in that calm, steady voice her patients found usually reassuring, sometimes maddening. I just saw him, saw how he was behaving. Then I asked him, and he told me.

      Ha! He told you, but you said nothing to me.

      We agreed it wasn’t the right time. Ivo was just about to leave for his year of study abroad.

      And now is the right time, today of all days?

      He’d waited so long, he had to tell you the moment he returned from the United States.

      Vuksa poured another glass of brandy and held it out to Davor. Davor, take just a few sips, to help you relax. When he ignored her, she shrugged and took a sip from the glass herself, having already finished her own.

      Davor turned his fierce gaze on Ivo. And how did it all start? With someone – older? Did someone – persuade you? A stranger?

      Oh Father, you make it sound so creepy! Tucking her feet under her, Nevenka twisted herself into a position on the couch that only a limber seventeen-year-old could achieve. Although she was more pretty than plain, her bulky clothes and clunky glasses did their best to disguise this.

      What about you, Nevenka? her father asked. Did you know?

      Nevenka made a gesture of blasé dismissal. Of course. Really, it isn’t that big a deal for people of my generation.

      I knew, too, Vuksa put in, "in case anyone cares. I’d be a fool not to notice the signs, moving in artistic circles

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