‘Come on, let’s have a swim.’
‘Why, what for?’
‘Because I feel like a swim, that’s why.. I’m hot, I’m excited, and I feel like a swim. You’re such a bore.’
‘Okay, okay, okay. If I’m such a bore, why do you hang out with me?’
‘It’s because you’re an interesting bore.’
‘That doesn’t make sense. It’s a contradiction in terms.
‘I know, it’s called an oxymoron.’
‘Why use it then?’
‘I’m an artist. We like contradictions.’
‘You do? Why?’
‘Because life is a contradiction, that’s why.’
‘Who said so?’
‘Me.’
I thought enough is enough. I couldn’t be bothered to argue. I wondered if all artists are always emotional. I hadn’t met many artists, in fact, only three. One of these didn’t count, in technical terms. Con had finished high school doing art, and was planning on going to Art College, but he wasn’t an artist yet. The other two were teachers. We walked on past the wooden classroom, down towards the pool. There was no one about. It was a hot day with a clear East African sky. The birds were enjoying themselves; we could hear that. In the distance, across the school boundary, thin wisps of grey-white smoke came from the smallholdings scattered over the rich brown earth. It was good farming country, with good soil, the right rain, and temperature.
‘Okay, let’s go for a swim.’
‘I knew you’d agree.’
It didn’t cross my mind until then that neither of us had swimming trunks. The pool was down the bottom end of the school, quite isolated, and above the surrounding ground, rather as if it were raised on a bed. But January in East Africa was warm. In school, February to April was always the hockey and swimming term. We got down to the pool. There was no one there, not anyone in sight, but hardly surprising.
‘I have just thought of something; swimming trunks.’
‘That’s good. You’re thinking. Well done.’
‘What I mean is …’
‘I know what you mean. We skin-dip.’
‘What? Here?’
‘No, we swim on the road. Of course I mean here, you idiot. Where else? Skin dip means in water, right? And the only water is here, in the swimming pool, n’est-ce pas? Therefore, we swim in the pool.’
The back of the pool had a bank that sloped down to the hedge at the rear, making it quite private. Con was first. He kicked off his shoes, took off his long socks, and then peeled off the rest of his clothes. He stood there briefly, completely naked, then moved to the top of the bank, across the tiles to the shower, and plunged in.
At the same time, I had been doing the same, and shortly after, joined in the swimming. I must admit, it felt good, swimming in the nude. It wasn’t the first time I’d done it, but this was the most public. I mean, a deserted East African beach at night isn’t the same as a swimming pool in a boarding school in broad daylight. It felt quite exciting. Neither was it the first time we’d seen each other naked, as communal showers had soon made one aware of others. It was just the thrill of doing something, if not illegal, at least frowned upon by some. It was a bit of a risk; let’s put it that way.
We had done a fair few laps when we decided to have a breather, at the far end of the pool, facing the non-school end, where we had left our things. We were next to each other, holding on to the side of the pool with elbows over the edge. We talked about what we hoped to do at university, if we got in, about what we would do that afternoon and evening, and what we hoped to do during our future studies.
‘Good morning, you two. How are you this morning? ’
Time stopped. So did our breathing. It was Mrs Turner, but everyone referred to her as Diana. That was hardly surprising, as it was her real name. She was one of a handful of women teachers in the school. She was also very pretty, but she had a really good manner with the boys. I think everyone liked her. She walked along the side of pool and around the corner in front of us. She squatted down, and asked us our results. It was only then that I realised that she wouldn’t know it, as our bodies were next to the side of the pool, and she could only see our upper torso. I sensed that Con had realised the same as me. We managed to keep our cool, and just chatted away for a few minutes. Then, she straightened up, and casually said
‘I think I’ll join you. It is getting rather hot, and I came down for a quick dip.’
‘Miss, it’s really freezing. We’re just about to get out. It’s not a day for swimming,’ said Con.
She looked at us, then at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen, and it was now mid-morning. No clouds, mid-morning, January, equator equals hot. She knew this very well. She probably knew Con was lying through his teeth, too.
‘It looks perfect to me.’
She reached over the edge of the pool and put her hand in the water. She looked at us, in an innocent way.
‘It seems perfect, too. I’m coming in.’
Panic set in, so to speak. Here we were, naked in the water, and now our teacher wanted to join us. She turned around, slipped off her shoes, and took off her blouse, a light cotton one with a palm tree motif on it. I saw her bikini top, a green one. Then, she slipped off her slacks, to reveal a rather petite bikini bottom, in a patterned green. She walked slowly to the shower, sprayed herself with water, putting her hands behind her head as the water gushed over her, arching backwards, as her face took to force of the shower. Then, she moved across to the steps at the side. Con and I were riveted. I mean, we were hardly in a position to move, and could certainly not get out of the water. I looked at Con, to find him staring, with some consternation, at me.
‘What are we going to do now?’ he asked me.
‘You and your f…’
Miss was swimming slowly towards us. There was an onset of terror again.
She came close by, and held on to the edge of the pool, next to me. Her bikini top was out of the water now.
‘You do nice breaststroke, Miss.’
I felt Con’s elbow in my ribs.
‘What I meant …’
She began to laugh.
‘I know what you meant. You just have an unfortunate way with words, Richard, from time to time.’
She turned around, and puffed her cheeks out.
‘Come on, you two; race me to the other end.’
The last thing I wanted to do was to go to the other end. The water there is a metre and a half deep, and it wouldn’t take Miss much effort to notice something was not quite right. She set off in a breaststroke that on reflection seemed to suit her sensuality perfectly. I glanced across at Con, nodded, and then we set off in a crawl, this being something could have cheerfully have done under a rock. We reached the end just after her, discreetly staying in her wake, and mercifully she turned, and swam back to the deep end. We followed. It had not been often in my life that I had had such an urge to get out of the shallow end. Anyway, thoughts were concentrated on the security of the 5 metre area. Any other time, we would have enjoyed admiring her going through the water. I didn’t really notice her bottom and spread out legs as she curved in the water ahead of me. Well, I suppose I must have, otherwise I wouldn’t have mentioned it. But it wasn’t uppermost in my mind. We reached the deep end, and grabbed the side, the rough concrete with slivers of stone so that one doesn’t slip so easily.
‘How often do you two swim in the nude?’ she said.
I didn’t know what to do. I glanced at Con. He somehow had found a fascination with an ant on the concrete. I looked everywhere, but at Mrs Turner.
‘Oh, we are quiet, aren’t we? Rather different in class, when it’s hard to stop you with your opinions about black rule, the role of whites, and the state of modern Africa. Richard, what are you doing in the school swimming pool, at 10 30 in the morning, completely nude, with another teenage boy?
There was an embarrassing silence.
‘Con, you are very quiet this morning, most unlike you.’
Con continued his entomological study. I felt slightly disappointed. I had always assumed artists to be open minded. They always draw naked models, don’t they? Well, that’s what I have always thought.
‘Oh, I think I have two nineteen year old young naked men who are so embarrassed, they don’t know what to do. Am I right?’
I nodded. Con grunted, like a chimpanzee ready to eat the aforementioned insect. She turned around, and swam a lazy crawl to the other end. I looked gain at Con. He merely flicked his eyes, and continued with his interest in the stone and concrete. She came back.
‘Come on, let’s talk. We can warm up in the sun.’
With that, she went over the metal steps, and got out, water streaming from her sun-tanned body. She grabbed a towel from the diving board, and gently lowered herself down on the grass bank, right next to our clothes. The towel went over her hair and face, and then she cast it away. She looked at us, then drew her legs up and put her arms around them. She was, in truth, a very attractive woman. It was just now one didn’t appreciate it.
The sun beat on down, causing the water to blink in reflected light. At any other time, it would have seemed a perfect scene. Well, assuming we were wearing our swimming trunks. Mrs Turner kept looking at us, wearing a slightly bewildered expression, as of unsure of what to do next. That was anything but the case. She screwed up her eyes slightly, and peered across the pool to the road. She stood up, and put her hands on her hips.
‘Oh, I think that’s the Headmaster. It looks like he’s coming this way.’
She resumed her position on the grass bank. A fresh wave of alarm went through me. That did it. I grabbed the side of the concrete and pulled myself up, moving low and quickly across the hard surface, and slid along the grass for a half-metre or so, Con like wise. I grabbed her towel and half wiped myself down in lightning speed, before Con grabbed it from me. We both got our clothes on in record time, now looking rather unkempt, with wet undone shirt, bare legs, and uncombed hair. Con clasped his arms around his knees. Mrs Turner, in the meantime, was laughing.
‘It’s not funny,’ I said to her.
I realised then I was the first time I had addressed her with using Miss. That didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She began to laugh again.
‘Maybe it isn’t not to you two. But the way the two of you looked when I mentioned the headmaster …’
She went off again, wiping a tear from her eye. We both looked around. There was no sign of the headmaster, or anyone else.
‘Miss, I think I hate you,’ said Con.
‘Yeah, me too,’ I added.
She laughed again. She put one hand on Con’s hair, the other on mine.
‘You really hate me? I’m so unhappy.’
She looked and sounded anything but unhappy. She gave our hair a little rub, and then put her arms away, and picked up her towel. She placed it around her, lay back onto the grass, and looked at us again.
‘It’s yes, not yeah, Richard. Talk in the correct way.’
‘Yes, Miss. I don’t hate you.’
Con was looking at the hedge, and turned around.
‘Me neither, Miss.’
Her shoulders began to shake again.
‘You two are so funny.’
‘Hilarious,’ said Con. I mumbled in agreement.
She looked at her watch. It must be about 11, or 11 30, I thought.
’It’s 11 25. Right, you two, I must be off. I have to go shopping in town. What are you going to do now?’
‘We’re going home,’ said Con. “Oh, Miss, can we get a life into town with you?’
I nodded in agreement. That would be perfect. We usually took the bus; they were regular and efficient, and, of course, cheap. They gave you a bit of a bouncing, too. The shock absorbers weren’t their strong point.
‘Of course. Where shall I drop you off? I’m going to the Central Market.’
‘That’s fine. Richard’s going to Kahawa, and I’m getting off in Muthaiga. We go on the same bus.’
‘Come, let’s go,’ she murmured, as she picked up her clothing. ‘You two nip into the changing room to shower first. I’ll use it after you. Hurry up. Oh, take this. I have another one in my bag.’
‘That was a bit disappointing,’ said Con as we walked in brisk fashion to the changing room.
‘What is?’
‘She’s going to use the shower after us.’
‘You can’t expect her to use it with us, can you?’
He sighed. ‘No, I suppose not. Nice thought, though.’
We ran down the steps. In a matter of minutes we were out. I handed the towel to Mrs Turner. She was waiting at the top of the steps. She went in. Con and I chatted away.
‘I’ll be sorry to leave this place,’ he said after a moment’s pause.
‘Me too, it’s part of our life, a big part.’ I sighed.
Around us were the playing grounds of the school. At the southern end were the hockey pitches, and next to them, the rugby pitch. Across the entrance road was a very pretty cricket arena. Many clubs wouldn’t have such an attractive place to play in. The road itself was lined with trees, with some staff quarters near the entrance. The main building was built in white colonial looking style, with circular pillars along the walkway, and a grass quadrangle. Opposite the two boarding houses here - the others were further up the school compound – was the chapel, where we went most mornings. On Friday, we used to have flag parade on the quadrangle, waiting for the bugler to make a mistake. Mrs Turner came out. Her hair was still a little wet from the shower. She looked very pretty. I looked at Con, and could see he thought the same.
‘That’s better. And I didn’t want the car to smell of chlorine, too.’
We walked out of the pool compound, and towards the car, a Volkswagen. They were a popular car in those days in the country. They had a good name for reliability and work. Pity about the noise they made. She got out the wet towels from her bag, and laid them across the top of the rear seat. Con spent the time staring at her. We got in the car.
‘You get in the back,’ he said to me. ‘I’m sitting next to teacher.’
He poked the tip of his tongue out at me. She started the engine, and off we went out of school towards the entrance. There, Con turned around. I did the same. I was probably be the last time we would see the place. He sniffed, and I was surprise to see a tear.
I felt that way, too. It wasn’t a bad old place. There were plenty of good memories. Yes, I thought, including this morning. Con must have sensed my thoughts, for he began to grin. We went into town, past rather nice housing with well-kept gardens, through Westlands, and into the City Centre, talking of this and that. We stopped at the University traffic lights. There was always a wait here. She suddenly turned around.
‘Why don’t I run you both home? I can do the shopping on the way back, and have lunch at the same time. Is that alright with both of you?’
We paused before answering.
‘That would be fine, if it’s no trouble, Miss,’ I said. Con nodded in agreement.
‘It’s not that far from here, and it’ll save you time waiting for the bus. Right, let’s go,’ she said, as the lights changed to green. We went up the road for another ten minutes or so, before getting to Muthaiga.
‘This will be fine, Miss.’ said Con.
She indicated, and pulled the car over by the kerb.
‘Where’s your house?’ she asked him. ‘It’s just across the way. You can’t see it from here, but it's only about a couple of minutes walk. You see the Indian shop? Just past there. It’s far easier than for you to do a U turn, and then have to go back to the roundabout yet again.’
He opened the door, got out and pulled the front seat forward for me to get out. The two of us stood by the car.
‘I’ll see you a few days, maybe sooner, OK?’
‘Right. We can go up to The Spread Eagle. Just don’t forget your swimming trunks next time.’
‘Ha bloody ha. Oh, wait a minute.’
He leaned into the car.
‘Miss, thanks for the lift, and thank you for teaching me, I really enjoyed it being in your class.’
I heard her mumbled something, but the noise of the traffic meant I didn’t catch the words. I bend down to get a better look. Con reached over to Mrs Turner, put his right hand round her neck, and gave a kiss on the cheek. She looked at him, and gave a little nod, as if to show her appreciation. He held her hand for, oh, a second or two, eased himself out of the car, and looked at me with an expression I hadn’t seen before, or since, for that matter. He said nothing, punched me gently on the shoulder, looked both ways, and crossed the road. I watched as he jumped over a storm drain, the turned and raised his arm in goodbye. He turned around, and walked away. I got into the car, and we resumed our journey. I looked across at Mrs Turner. She remained focussed on the road, refusing to look at anything else. I watched as she wiped a tear away. I didn’t know what to think. We went along, getting away from the suburbs, going past the brewery with its distinctive aroma.
‘Are you alright, Miss?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine. He’s a nice boy, or young man, just like you. It’s a bit upsetting when students that you have known for a number of years, whom you have taught, have seen grow up… upsetting a bit when they leave, even though at the same time, you’re happy that they’re going on to something new and interesting, a new time. There’s also the fact that we’re leaving in a few months time, too, and moving back to England isn’t something either of us are looking forward too. I wish I could remain here for years, but we have to go sometime. We’re going in April, at least that way we’ll miss one extra lousy winter.’
We talked of a number of things, before reaching the entrance to the college.
‘You can drop me off here; you can get back into town quicker then.’
The car came to a stop. She looked across at me. I leaned towards her, and kissed in the way Con had done ten minutes ago. I shook her hand for a second, and then got out of the car. I shut the door, and leaned through the window. My throat went tight.
‘Thank you for everything. It was good in class with you.’
‘Take care, and thank you,’ she whispered.
I pulled out of the car, and she waggled her fingers in farewell. I watched her as the indicator went on, and she turned around to check the traffic. It was clear, and the car went off, its engine rumble getting fainter and fainter, until it disappeared, mixing with the breeze and the long yellow grass of the plains. In the distance, to the east, I saw the reflection of an aircraft taking off, heading north, a tiny dot in the sky.
‘You are flying away too, just like Miss, and Con, and me,’ I thought.
I turned, and walked home.
4000 w. © Richard Homer 2008
