They all sat down forming a circle around the bone-fire in the middle of Shaba game reserve, the fire burning and glowing brightly bringing life to the area. A domestic tourist feast. The trees and shrubs in the area swayed in all direction on account of the wind sweeping across the gorgeous park. Guyo put hamburger in his mouth, with the food in his mouth he hadn’t chewed enough to go down his throat.
“I could go out tomorrow.”
He leaned into her.
“I could find somebody in the next few days. A friend, people seek company — to kill time with, wallow in hobbies, whatever we do, this is normal. Someone to share personal stories with. Poor Rukia can’t do it. Once you reach a certain age, you can’t argue this, ladies — of course it’s sad. Well, I find it sad.”
He poured a drink for the girl. The colour of glass beautified the drink — a splendid living.
At last he forced it down his throat; this seemed to cause pain. A sort earthquake kept flowing through him and through everything he felt with his hands. One shoulder dropped down. Donkey years on the mound. The glamour of it.
“Maybe not each and every place but certainly here,” he went on. “She has me, naturally, but when I vanish?”
Shaking, all of him. And the wind that swayed trees in all direction brought scraps of clean and fresh air.
Public holiday. Talk of new clothes — the children’s, the grandchildren’s. Someone was going as mulch, somebody else as a final sign.
“I’m going as who I used to be,” one of them said.
The girl turned back to him.
“That face,” Guyo said, “is not attractive.”
She had been shattering skin from the side of her cheek, tatters of it, to move down her throat. She was apologetic. Why was she sorry? More than ever before she was sorry she had said she was sorry.
“Please,” Guyo said, impatient.
His wife was sitting next to him, laughing. She was absolutely calm and cool when she laughed. Good breeding, she called it. Her father had brayed like a baby hoarse He had struck her once with a stick — her husband had. For something. A lost path? A broken glass? Unforgiveable. But she forgave him.
“Poor Rukia. It doesn’t matter that she used to be a stunning beauty or that she’s intelligent and easy to mingle with.Rukia is stuck with me and when I die,Rukia will be stuck alone. That’s the way life is. Who will adore her? You reach a certain age and nobody — nobody wants anybody, really.”
After dinner they gathered around a table and listened to the blowing wind. An antelope accosted and watched them, standing magestically in the darkness that has engulfed the area. The first the girl had seen. The antelopes were dying — a mystery of some kind. They are frail and stralled madly in circles.
Sound of passing wind struck the window pane,in a fringe around the house. He was talking. She was profoundly in love with him but he was married and committed. His hair fall on his shoulder, painting of hair.His hands — she couldn’t comprehend — he caught her staring as he moved. He had had them insured, he laughed, for thousands. Tens of thousands, even. They meant world to him.
They sip their drinks and he kissed her, a surprise. Not a word was uttered. He turned her to him.
Now she slipped into the hall where the heat wasnt felt and made her way to his children’s room. His girl was named after a month in a year, his boy for a land that spread on a continent far away.
Rukia, the girl reckoned. A pilot flying in the darkness that has engulfed Shaba game reserve.
She lay down with the boy above the covers. You could adore children and nobody stopped you. You were permited. And they were let to love you, back.
People were already retiring to their beds by the time she came back into the room. She had fallen asleep in the boy’s bed. The antelope had come closer and admired her, the girl dreamed, its breath covering the glass.It couldn’t aid itself. The evidence was the spots on its body.
She would name her children simple names. Guyat. Bokayo. Jamila — no. Fancy names. Just names. Not the names of events or places. Not things that symbolises mother nature.
So many trees in these hills that surround the park. She will always cherish and admire.
“I could go out tomorrow.”
He leaned into her.
“I could find somebody in the next few days. A friend, people seek company — to kill time with, wallow in hobbies, whatever we do, this is normal. Someone to share personal stories with. Poor Rukia can’t do it. Once you reach a certain age, you can’t argue this, ladies — of course it’s sad. Well, I find it sad.”
He poured a drink for the girl. The colour of glass beautified the drink — a splendid living.
At last he forced it down his throat; this seemed to cause pain. A sort earthquake kept flowing through him and through everything he felt with his hands. One shoulder dropped down. Donkey years on the mound. The glamour of it.
“Maybe not each and every place but certainly here,” he went on. “She has me, naturally, but when I vanish?”
Shaking, all of him. And the wind that swayed trees in all direction brought scraps of clean and fresh air.
Public holiday. Talk of new clothes — the children’s, the grandchildren’s. Someone was going as mulch, somebody else as a final sign.
“I’m going as who I used to be,” one of them said.
The girl turned back to him.
“That face,” Guyo said, “is not attractive.”
She had been shattering skin from the side of her cheek, tatters of it, to move down her throat. She was apologetic. Why was she sorry? More than ever before she was sorry she had said she was sorry.
“Please,” Guyo said, impatient.
His wife was sitting next to him, laughing. She was absolutely calm and cool when she laughed. Good breeding, she called it. Her father had brayed like a baby hoarse He had struck her once with a stick — her husband had. For something. A lost path? A broken glass? Unforgiveable. But she forgave him.
“Poor Rukia. It doesn’t matter that she used to be a stunning beauty or that she’s intelligent and easy to mingle with.Rukia is stuck with me and when I die,Rukia will be stuck alone. That’s the way life is. Who will adore her? You reach a certain age and nobody — nobody wants anybody, really.”
After dinner they gathered around a table and listened to the blowing wind. An antelope accosted and watched them, standing magestically in the darkness that has engulfed the area. The first the girl had seen. The antelopes were dying — a mystery of some kind. They are frail and stralled madly in circles.
Sound of passing wind struck the window pane,in a fringe around the house. He was talking. She was profoundly in love with him but he was married and committed. His hair fall on his shoulder, painting of hair.His hands — she couldn’t comprehend — he caught her staring as he moved. He had had them insured, he laughed, for thousands. Tens of thousands, even. They meant world to him.
They sip their drinks and he kissed her, a surprise. Not a word was uttered. He turned her to him.
Now she slipped into the hall where the heat wasnt felt and made her way to his children’s room. His girl was named after a month in a year, his boy for a land that spread on a continent far away.
Rukia, the girl reckoned. A pilot flying in the darkness that has engulfed Shaba game reserve.
She lay down with the boy above the covers. You could adore children and nobody stopped you. You were permited. And they were let to love you, back.
People were already retiring to their beds by the time she came back into the room. She had fallen asleep in the boy’s bed. The antelope had come closer and admired her, the girl dreamed, its breath covering the glass.It couldn’t aid itself. The evidence was the spots on its body.
She would name her children simple names. Guyat. Bokayo. Jamila — no. Fancy names. Just names. Not the names of events or places. Not things that symbolises mother nature.
So many trees in these hills that surround the park. She will always cherish and admire.
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