This novel was originally written in the 1980s to explore certain aspects of the human sexual drama and the question of whether there is an instinctive tendency towards monogamous relationships; as well as to emphasize the power of non-verbal analysis--the importance of not getting so bogged down in verbalized reasoning as to impede application of the vast non-verbal resources of the human mind.
While these subjects are of tremendous importance to the exponent of traditional values, and while the Author's Conservative American values will appear evident in some aspects of what follows, the novel is no exposition of Conservative principles. It is, and was intended to be, pure story. Although it will introduce the reader to the principal protagonist in the political novel Return Of The Gods, it is at an earlier stage in his life and development; a stage, where he was far more concerned with love and survival than politics and leadership.
For over a decade, we have left this effort unused and unattended. A tale of the Cold War, unfortunately set in the future to begin the year after the Cold War ended; that event, as well as the almost incredible political changes in South Africa, where it is principally venued, have rendered much of the drama anomalous in the immediate context. While Sir Walter Scott used anomalies for literary effect in historic novels, the concept does not work so well in a work with only contemporary themes.
Yet, it seemed a shame to let it wholly go to waste. Thus we offer it now, for whatever benefit there may be, as a Christmas Gift, free to anyone on the internet, who might be interested. As a Prequel to Return Of The Gods, it will make some aspects of that story more understandable.
One note of caution. While this is a tale of adventure, love and intrigue, it is very explicit in many passages. It is not for those under eighteen. And because it is not for those under eighteen, we will not advertise it to the general public, nor link it from the main menus at the Return Of The Gods Web Site.
The author never intended the presumption of a foreword to this, his first novel; not in 1980, when three and a half chapters were written out in longhand; not three years later, when he started forward in earnest. But the circumstance that almost eighty percent of the story is set in South Africa, combined with the rapid escalation of emotional interest in that land since 1984, makes some comment appear necessary. So be it!
What follows will please neither the liberals, who expect nothing less than ritualistic hatred of "Apartheid," nor the conservatives, who would hope for a sympathetic discussion. This is not a novel about race relations in South Africa. No knowledge of the philosophy of South African race relations--or relations between the various national groups which share South Africa--is essential to an understanding of the plot.
Thus, while the Americans (particularly Messrs. Stuart, Malozemoff and Professor Roper) as part of their development, may express unsupported viewpoints on South African society (as does the Secretary of State); the author has not allowed himself to be diverted from his story in order to delineate where, if anywhere among his opinionated fellow countrymen, the truth may lie.
This is a novel about lust and intrigue; about adventure pursued and romance regained in an age enraptured with its own neuroses;--and a modern Hamlet's escape from a psychological prison of verbalized inertia.
But while Mr. Stuart may "slip the verbal vise" at the opera, and suddenly see his way clearly; an author, by the nature of his craft, is stuck in the muck of words and phrases. This being the case, it is essential to avoid the tangential. So, though he may have an opinion or two on other issues, the requirements of trying to tell a tale, with all the verisimilitude he can muster, rule out burdening the reader with self-indulgence.
Still, two points of an historic interest might be made: The antagonism between Virginia and New England (Stuart vs. Roper--Cavalier vs. Roundhead) has been the eternal conflict of America. While some may confuse Jefferson with modern liberalism, because of his iconoclasm, the Jeffersonian ethos was the American mainstream up until the Civil War; the conservative dissent ever after. Imbued with such, Virginia has long been a center of toleration for the differing ways of men--dedicated to liberty as against equality.
Not feeling annointed to make men holy, it has not sought to reweave the social fabric. If paternalistic towards its dependents--both in servitude and freedom--it has never been officious in its attitude towards others. It has not seen in Government a path to human salvation--neither at home nor abroad; neither in the present nor in the future. In securing an electoral revolution in 1800, it unlocked the economic potential of America, and ushered in sixty years of westward growth and laissez faire.
New England, on the other hand, has been cradle to every social change in America since. From its theocratic Puritanism in the seventeenth century, seeking salvation in a hereafter, it gradually secularized to a point where many of its intellectuals sought Heaven on earth; and by the 1840s had already launched three of the four major reform movements of post-Jeffersonian America.
Of these, Abolition was the first to prevail--in the 1860s--a result of the great schism among the Jeffersonians over slavery. Prohibition and equality for women took two generations longer: The second gathering strength in the greater demands of the frontier--often on the widowed heads of families--the first in the consequentially expanding role of women in the West and North, and in the passage of political power from the landed gentry to the poorer whites of the South. But the conflict between those who believed in governmentally directed social change, and those who still opposed it, continued.
For instance, although politicians in most of the states that had resisted women's suffrage got on the "bandwagon," once success of the Federal Amendment was assured; Virginia and two other southern states--where the Amendment was viewed not only as an attack on state sovereignty, but as one on traditional womanhood--remained in opposition.
And though (with the rise of Baptist and Pentecostal religious expression) many areas of the South have continued legally "dry" even up to the present; alcohol, for those who really want it, has always been available, always tolerated. While students at the University of Virginia--which Jefferson founded, and considered a prouder achievement than the Presidency--have long prided themselves on a gentlemanly drinking code; developing cultivated palates (like the founder's) during generations in which New England spawned colleges were still enforcing absolute prohibition.
The other point was stated by Miss du Plessis to Chowne: "Mr. Stuart thinks that our people are so alike, the last three hundred years would have been little different, if the seventeenth century settlers of South Africa had gone to America, and an equal number of contemporary Americans had come here."
The author would concur, recalling the vivid sensation--oftentimes repeated--when looking at pioneer memorials in South Africa: How frequently the themes, nay even the bodily attitudes and expressions on the friezes and statuary, reflected a human drama which most Americans had grown up believing to be uniquely their own. One certainly does not obtain a similar impression in Canada--good neighbor though she be.
To be sure, the architecture is different; the language, bilingual; the original European settlers were Dutch rather than British (although the former settled New York at the same time that they settled the Cape). But in an appreciation of the incredible parallels between the experiences of the settlers, here and there, as they rode the wagons through the respective mountain passes into unknown interiors, armed with their rifles and their Bibles, and the extraordinary similarity of their responses; one may better understand those of the characters you are about to meet.
There was a common, rather than parallel, thread in the coming of the Huguenots in the 1680s--yet with a significant difference. While whole families tended to settle in Virginia and the Carolinas, contributing greatly to ante-bellum Southern culture; many of those who went to the Cape were bachelors who promptly married local girls. The result is the many Afrikaner names (such as du Plessis), which are French rather than Dutch. But, all things considered, it is more than possible that Stuart and "Skoelkie" are distant cousins.
Finally, although the Afrikaans word "skuilhoekie" means "little hidden corner," it is used idiomatically to mean a place of rendezvous.
So much for the past. Let us proceed to the future.
For four years, Sky Station III had been the pride of Twentieth Century space exploration. Assembled by successive teams of Soviet Cosmonauts and American Astronauts, the 2500 tons of orbiting platforms and equipment had come to symbolize more than Detente' II--inspiring as that concept was generally perceived. It was the crowning achievement of peaceful rocketry, the boldest thrust in man's endless quest for knowledge of the billions of years between Creation and his own emergence.
Since from conception, it had been recognized that eventually it must fall from orbit; the station had been designed with a two step, "fail safe" mechanism. On direction from either Russian Space Command at Bukhara, or from American Space Headquarters in Houston, Texas; it would disassemble into five relatively compact sections, each equipped with an atomic device, programmed to vaporize exactly thirty minutes later. Orbitting twelve thousand miles above the earth, it had been confidently assumed that Sky Station III would never jeopardize the habitats of Man.
Now inexplicably, years before even the most pessimistic forecast, scientific tracking equipment in Houston had recorded a slightly erratic movement in the satellite's path. Houston had called Washington, and President Rockefeller had called the Kremlin. According to N.A.S.A.'s best estimate, the Station was in no immediate danger; but within six months of further pattern deterioration, no one could be sure.
The leaders agreed that the principal consideration in selecting a course of action, had to be the anticipated effect of that course on the "spirit of international cooperation," deemed so essential. If this enormously expensive, bi-national experiment were to fail so soon, future joint projects--still dependent upon a Congressional willingness to appropriate--could be in jeopardy. Some western Senators might revive the call for a unilateral space program with military potential. Detente', itself, could prove a casualty!
"Then we are in agreement, Chairman Susalov, on the critical nature of the problem. But you want a reformulation of our scientists' proposal?"
"John," the Chairman's interpreter softly continued the unreported preceding comment, "the basic proposal, we have discussed, is satisfactory--as far as it goes. What your people refuse to face is the real problem. As long as you allow adventurist elements in your news media, merely correcting the orbit won't silence the enemies of Detente'. And the joint statement, you suggest, is all very well. It just doesn't meet the problem as we see it.
"The answer is to concentrate on appearances. You must understand that the problem is not really joint. We long ago silenced the reactionary elements in Soviet journalism--in the interests of peace. The orbit correction must be SEEN in YOUR PRESS to have been completely impossible without a primary reliance on Socialist technology."
The President squirmed a little, but was not one to be put off balance by a problem in "cooperative group dynamics."
"We could time the mission so that your crew arrived first and began work before ours came to assist," he suggested--getting no immediate response. "Or we could arrive first, and announce that we were unable to proceed without certain expert technicians from the Soviet Union. Whichever scenario you would prefer?"
"I think," the Russian answered via the interpreter, "the world must realize that Soviet technology discovered the problem, immediately responded with technicians, and invited the Americans to observe and assist--in an effort to share our knowledge, and further international goodwill."
"What if the mission fails, and the station must be destroyed?"
"In that event, we will announce a joint decision that the project has fulfilled its purpose; that being no longer of use, it will be destroyed to test the self-destruct mechanism before new projects are formulated. If anything else should go wrong, we would expect you to indict the Capitalist companies that designed and built the vehicle.
"It is important, however, than no announcement of the repair operation be made until we know if it will succeed. You must not allow our enemies in the United States or Western Europe anything to rally against."
"O.K.." Rockefeller responded, "To get the job done, this time we'll play it your way. But I also have to worry about the type of public opinion, which will assess my Administration as effective or ineffective. If we appear to be completely dependent on Soviet science, there are those who will call for my scalp.
"It is not as though," he added drily, "we're not pulling our own weight."
"Next time, you share the glory. Once you obtain the necessary appropriations for Sky Station IV, we will be happy to see American scientists achieve better recognition."
"Damn," the President muttered, after finally hanging up the red telephone, "dealing with those bastards is always so onesided.
"Susan," he called on the intercom to the pert little blonde in the adjoining room, "get me N.A.S.A. and Cape Kennedy on two and three"; though when he heard the melodious voice, he returned sufficiently to the world of men to regret not having summoned her into his office.
Mrs. Rockefeller was more pudgy than really fat, only a little more jealous and watchful than most wives, and not a bad conversationalist. But never in her life had she learned how women who like men carry their personal parts; never had she exuded that sexuality, which millions of less socially advantaged American girls demonstrate even before they leave high school to seek jobs as waitresses or typists. Susan Seymour--while quite a decent girl--had those qualities to an extent, which would have been the envy of any street-walker, seeking to escape to the more lucrative levels of her profession. And Susan also had the type of musculature that bespoke actual use of the female parts with lust and enthusiasm. Thus far, she might be only a temptress on the job; but a better trained eye than that of the Chief Executive would have understood very well that Susan was no "tease."
A brief check with Houston and Cape Kennedy, confirmed that a four man repair crew could be on their way to Sky Station III in time for a 1330 hour arrival, March 1st--the earliest (Houston time) that the Russian engineers and cameraman, promised, could meet them.
It had been decided not to inform any of the "Third" or "Fourth" World powers that anything out of the ordinary was contemplated. The announcement--planned for the Florida press only at an odd hour, after the event--was to be of the routine launching of a weather satellite.
His immediate chores completed, the relatively inexperienced President fell into a meditation on the hitherto unremarked, but firm and nubile, tits of the twenty-three year old Miss Seymour; busy typing a coded letter of confirmation for delivery to the Russian Embassy.
Nestled in the gently rolling fields, which work up to the southwestern slopes of some of the most scenic of the Drakenstein--a bit to the east of the glimmering white city of Stellenbosch, more truly the jewel of the South African wine lands than Paarl in the valley to the north--lies the old Cape Dutch Homestead of Langkloof. Some decades ago, the main residence was converted into office and dining facilities; while the large stables and wine cellars were turned into generous suites, where hotel guests might repose in spacious bed chambers, with separate dressing rooms and ample baths.
The typical entrance, in a front facing the office and dining area, is down a small stairwell of six or seven steps to a private doorway just below the surface of the U-shaped drive. In the rear, each suite opens at ground level into a private courtyard; the walled patio approximating the same dimensions as the inside quarters. A short walk to the south of each courtyard brings one to the Eersterivier, a shallow but pretty little waterway; while the nine foot outer walls--as white as every other structure in the valley--are overshadowed on two sides by beautiful mountains.
In Suite No. 5, on a warm evening of the late summer, a young man sat propped with a pillow against the headboard of a bed, perusing the afternoon paper. Whether the news was dull, or his inclinations simply overbearing, he scanned with only limited perception. In place of what appeared in print on the page before him, images of the previous night's train ride from Pretoria kept intruding into his consciousness; as he savored, despite an earlier resolve to pursue interests of a public nature, the more pubic private moments with "Skoelkie" in the moving shower.
"God, I love that girl," he mused. "Thank you, Lord, for every lustful moment we've had together."
And tossing the paper aside in a complete abandonment, he offered thanks to his Creator for what many would have considered a less than reverent relationship.
Skuilhoekie du Plessis, at nineteen, had left college at the University of Cape Town some twenty months before (after the second term of her second year) to become "private secretary" to our desultory reader. Gloriously formed, with golden-toned brown hair falling gracefully to a level between and just below the shoulder blades, and deep blue eyes sparkling under long lashes--conveying keen interest in anyone fortunate enough to have attracted their gaze--her 113 pounds were distributed over a five foot three and a half inch body in ways, which certainly indicated no deficiency in necessary hormones. From the well proportioned neck, neither too long nor too short, to her well turned ankle; she was equally suited to grace a table at the finest restaurant, or decorate a box at a turf club or opera house.
The firm, pear shaped breasts were set high enough to be the envy of most of her former classmates, without being so ponderous as to suggest a "baggy" future. Her buttocks, under a slim waist, were firm and roundish, with neither excess nor paucity--undulating just enough, when she walked, that no man impressed by her classical appropriateness for public display, could doubt the fullness of potential to one blessed with private access--and formed a nearly perfect valentine if ever she bent over. The limbs were nicely toned, displaying neither the stringiness of a female runner, nor the bulging biceps of a female wrestler; nor again the uncertain shapelessness of a sedentary woman.
It was this seeming promise of voluptuous delight, which had first riveted the attention of Charles Daniel Stuart when, as a visiting lecturer, he had watched her come into the Science Amphitheatre at the University, almost two years earlier.
Her hair had been shorter then, and she was in the company of two rather plain girls; whom he had met since, but still viewed with the same indifference.
"Pretty face and nice ass," he had observed at first glance. "Damn pretty face and damn fine ass," his aroused manhood had noted on further inspection; as he scanned from the long lashes to the soft cotton dress, which gently hugged her neatly turned out parts. And it was only with a very deliberate effort that he was able to pull himself back to the subject on which he had been invited to lecture.
"Lasers," he began, casting another laser like glance at this new distraction, "may be the key to the future. From the operating room to the factory; from the mine to the battlefield; from the home to the office; in space exploration and in private communication; the potential is virtually unlimited."
And as he traced his involvement with the subject (from his own college days in Charlottesville, where as a Virginia county squire he had attended the University of Virginia, with no plan for any career but that of raising horses and contemplating what little of grace yet remained in the waning years of the twentieth century), his eyes repeatedly traced the outlines of her figure. Again and again, conscious of a need to maintain contact with as many of the assembled students as possible, he drew his gaze away to visually tour the many tiered auditorium; yet always he returned.
When he discussed "The Present State Of The Science," it was in mellifluous tones which, to one ignorant of the English tongue, would better have suggested a lecture on the joys of seduction than an exposition of concentrated light waves.
A delineation of "Growing Commercial Prospects" was delivered with similar intonation. But whereas they had had frequent eye contact during "The Present State Of The Science," she now avoided his, and seemed slightly flushed--rather intent upon some problem with her tastefully chic footwear.
"Time--past time," he reflected, during a pause to switch subtopics, "to tour the tiers again for more general visual contact." But in his heart he knew that he was far more interested in the penetration of this delectable creature, than in the slicing, piercing thrusts of light through rock and steel, about which his mouth incongruously crooned.
When he had finished, and the Associate Professor who had arranged the presentation had concluded with the usual pleasantries; Stuart had walked over to where she was slowly gathering up her books--her two companions urging her to hurry lest they all be late.
"The main advantage to being on this pretty campus as a one time visitor, rather than a student or faculty member," he began quietly (still caressing her with words), "is that I can be forward, and introduce myself to a beautiful girl, without fear of anything but hurt feelings if she starts shouting for me to go away."
"Professor Watts has already introduced you to all of us," she raised her eyes to his, "and I hope to show better manners than to shout at a guest lecturer--particularly one who has said such nice things about my country. Thank you, sir."
"Nie te dankie nie."
"U praat die taal?"
"Ek 'n bietjie probeer, Mejuffrou."
"Your Afrikaans lacks the skill and confidence with which you handle English." She was more than a little surprised at her own confidence. "Perhaps you need a good tutor?"
"Only if they are as attractive as you!" (Corny, but to the point, he felt, with only a tinge of embarrassment at what he was saying; which seemed reminiscent of his techniques in a junior high school dancing class.) "Are you English or Afrikaner?"
"You can't tell from my accent?" And he marvelled at how she could smile with her eyes, while maintaining a poker face otherwise.
"One of the first things an American notices in this country, is the bilingual fluency of the Afrikaners. No, I can't tell; and since I don't even know your name, you really have the advantage."
"Her name is Sarina Skuilhoekie du Plessis; and if she doesn't come at once, she will be late for Modern European History."
"This is my friend Marie du Toit," Miss du Plessis had acknowledged, "and this is my friend Annetjie van Zyl" [indicating the third girl, standing by impatiently] "and I guess I am holding them up."
"I will walk with you ladies a bit, if I may," he said [and then aside to the object of this interest], "would I be out of order to invite you to lunch instead of class?"
"A fine instructor, you would make! But I really must attend my class," she answered just a trifle unsurely, in what was to prove--at least up until the present--the last time that she would decline a change of plans to accommodate his wishes.
"Maybe, then, I could meet you after class? I would really like to discuss my further lingual education over some food and wine, in a more relaxing atmosphere."
She had hesitated for less time, probably, than either would have thought fitting under more reflective circumstances; and it was readily agreed that he should be back with his automobile in about an hour.
Stuart had been long enough in South Africa to understand the subtle differences among the Afrikaners; to perceive the similarity of spirit between various regions of their country and certain States of the Union: The "Texas" mentality in the Transvaal, the Kansas-Nebraska culture of the Free State, and the refined gentility in the long-settled areas of the Western Cape--which reminded him in a myriad of ways of his native Dominion.
To a more casual observer, of course, the Cape Dutch architecture of the great rural houses was not at all like the Georgian he had grown up with; the green wine fields, flowing to the edges of rock-faced mountains, not at all like the hay fields sloping up to the well-wooded Blue Ridge. And, to be sure, the seasons were reversed, and the dominant language different. But in a sense of rustic grace; a realization of what constitutes quality in any civilization; a reflective awareness of heritage and prospect; the similarity across eight thousand miles of ocean was far greater than that to be found, by contrast, between Virginia and New York; or, closer at hand, between the Western and Eastern Cape.
While the dominant physical attraction, which had precipitated their association, never abated; that late luncheon was to reveal a broader, if not deeper, confluence of interest. The girl had humor and wit; an understanding of when to speak and when to listen; and, in general, the wiles of her sex tempered with a "finish"--the quest for which once gave name to a whole genre' of schools. But more than these, she had a genuine playfulness of spirit; a trait that can survive puberty, in the form in which he found it, only among those who would never even imagine that their real worth depended upon anything so tawdry as the judgment of an undifferentiated humanity.
"This girl is at peace with her Maker," Stuart had thought in passing. "She has character as well as looks."
During the four weeks, which followed between that introduction in May and the end of the school term in late June, they were destined to take most of their meals together.
Within five days of that first meeting, he was to know her womanhood in an incredibly moving rendezvous of the flesh.
He had intended to kiss her all over, in the continental manner, with a slow gently rising persistence, until she would be clearly ready for his penetration and the culmination, which he feared must follow in very short order. But he had become so aroused with a longing for their union; that when he had come to lap the fresh flow of female lubricants, dripping from her golden haired love parts, and tasting sweeter than any had ever tasted to him before, he had lost control of time and purpose; and thus frenzied, had come to thrust into her with a violence, which had never been his intention, nor his wont in other relationships.
Afterwards, they had lain for a long time in a quiet embrace, before he had noticed that she was crying softly.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, apologetically. "Nie, nie," she had murmured in her paternal tongue, "dit was so baie wonderlik." She had been his woman ever since.
Now thirty, our reflective subject--known to family and old friends in the Virginia Piedmont as "Charlie" but to friendly Afrikaners as "Danie"--looked little more than college age himself, as he sat propped on that bed in Stellenbosch musing on the sensuous joys of rail travel. Not quite angular, but a lean, hard, six foot one inches; with straight, medium brown hair and blue eyes; he still appeared as fit as when he had been one of only two Whites to make the boxing team at the University of Virginia--good enough, in active competition, that he had remained undefeated as a Middleweight.
Not that he had ever considered turning "pro." Virginia gentry with comfortable inheritances and high I.Q.'s, did not ordinarily become professional boxers. As one of a numerically declining breed of Virginia gentlemen--one both steeped in, and loyal to the social traditions of Harry Byrd and Thomas Jefferson--professional participation in a sport so frequently dominated by ethnic minorities, somehow offended the sensibilities.
And yet, it might have been different had he been more certain of the outcome; had he felt competent to whip everyone in his class, and go on to the top. But wise in a way, which has often blended confidence with humility within thoughtful men of the soil, he knew it was unlikely.
So that perhaps the real reasons--for he genuinely enjoyed the sport of conflict--were his legs. Lithe and cat-like for a standard three round amateur bout, he had assumed that he lacked the more considerable thigh strength, required for a fighter to remain effective during the later rounds of a professional contest. So believing, he had had no inclination to start what he felt could only end in mediocrity.
It had been somewhat the same with sex. Enjoying coital intimacy at virtually every opportunity, since that happy summer evening when--almost sixteen--he had been initiated by a neighbor's daughter in her father's barn; he had made it a point to try every conceivable heterosexual variation with every agreeable prospect.
He had no problem in serving a girl from a standing position, where he could enter her from behind; a method of trysting long popular in rural areas, ever since the first country gentleman discovered the possibility for wholesome delight with a lush cheeked and willing wench, bending over a stable railing in a posture warmly inviting the lifting of a skirt and the sheathing of desire.
But in four or five previous attempts to love face to face in a standing position--where penetration required the hoisting of the object;--the strain on legs and groin had been too much; and in each instance but one, his manhood had wilted. He had failed even to maintain connection. In the one exception, he had finished; but without noticeable pleasure or sensation.
However it had been before; it had not been on the train, the previous night.
Usually, when they took a shower together, they would move rapidly on to a mutual quest for physical completion; sometimes in the very stall, while she bent braced against whatever was handy; but more often afterward, in one of a variety of settings. On the remembered evening, as the Pretoria to Cape express had sped along, gently swaying on the track; he had been sudsing her back and bottom with one hand, and her breasts with the other, while rinsing off the suds she had earlier worked up on him.
Perhaps it was the motion of the train, which caused her soapy rear to brush so constantly against him in such varied and involuntary ways; perhaps the phase of the moon or of the planet Venus. The reason was not important. In fact, they were both completely ready, when on an impulse he had reached up to roughly "goose" her.
"Oh-- No you don't!" she had gasped with that playful anger, which seemed virtually the only type that she was capable of with this man, "I'll show you nog."
And with one continuous motion, she had wheeled about, firmly seized a steel bar welded to the wall behind him; and half leaping, half pulling with both hands, had risen off the floor to impale herself to their mutual ecstasy. By supporting much of her own weight by this exertion, while wrapping her legs around his waist, she had so eased the strain on his thighs that culmination had proved no effort.
Later back in her bed in their compartment, quickly roused again by the erotic memory of sensations so fresh in mind, he had taken her in prostration; and their very souls had seemed to intertwine in a new completion of their being.
"That was so good," he had whispered afterward, holding her very close in the dark, with only the moonlight outside their window reflecting on the vast emptiness of the Karoo; "And it worked so well in the shower--so different from that rather embarrassing time in Sun City--we will have to add it to the repertoire. You were either inspired, or you've been practicing with someone else! But I think we really are getting good together. Better every day!"
"You were just worn out in Bophuthatswana, after fighting vicariously all day for the American boxers."
A light return, for she knew that her mildly racist lover had spent the afternoon, in question, cheering for the mostly white South Africans against the decent but mostly Negro visitors. (Although his exuberance at the South African victories in five of the seven matches, had been tempered by a recognition of the courage and sportsmanship of the Americans; who had come in the face of an international boycott.)
"Listen--Daanie--I know you were only joking; but since we have been together, I haven't been able to think of any other man in that way. If we tire of one another, it will probably take me a long time to feel like being a woman for anybody else."
In her heart, she had known that this was a lie; justifiable perhaps, only because in her love for him, she had never wanted to degenerate from a joy and comfort into an obligation. But she had verily believed, as they lay there together in the darkness, that if he ever should tire of her, she would never want to be with any man again. And considering such contingency, at that moment, the advice of an erratic Hamlet to Ophelia might have found a receptive auditor.
Thus she had not been able to completely laugh off the jest. A good girl, she had been known by but three youths before Stuart--perhaps a total of eight to ten times in all--only once or twice enjoying even a minor fulfilment, far less dynamic than a typical second time for the night experience with Danie.
In an era of less freedom for the respectable, she would doubtless have remained a virgin until either her marriage or a love far greater than the kittenish affection, she had felt for any of the three. But the easy availability of pills, which could prevent conception, coupled with the urgent importunities of a boy whom she had genuinely liked, had thrice sufficed for the seduction--with very little, if any, conception of personal guilt to follow.
But with this man, she had perceived a bonding as old as the hills and mountains of her homeland. Mated in the truest, primordial sense, with an awareness of a new life-purpose early in their cohabitation; all interest in other men--concrete or abstract--had melted away. The little sorrow, she knew in her heart, that he did not seem to feel similarly bound--a perception, after all, shared by many a woman long married--was so well tempered with the joy of their association; that had he left her, she would have remained ever grateful for that, which they had already shared.
Perhaps ill-advised, she had confessed her earlier liaisons the first time they had lain together. Perhaps wise beyond her years, she had early vowed never to try to ensnare him into the marriage that was the dream of every day. Unless and until he came truly to desire family life, she would be his woman on any terms he chose. Shame for reputation, concern for family embarrassment, and real anguish as to the duration of the present, were all far better than to risk the resentment and tedium, which this bright intelligence and loving spirit saw as likely consequences of a marriage induced by other than the groom's desire for the responsibilities, as well as pleasures, of the wedded state.
She would never "tire" of him; but lest even her preoccupation verbally shame him into something not wholly of his own initiative, she would continue to speak of the terminability of her involvement as though actually conceivable.
And yet, paragon that she was, she still experienced a deep and compelling need to effectively apprise him that to her, he was no passing fancy. It remained important that he know that she was his, and his alone.
Had she really known what he thought--or perhaps because underneath she really did know what he thought, and was not so guileless as here implied--she would have perceived how any suggestion of her "tiring" of him, deeply bothered his conscience. She was, in fact, all that he had ever wanted in a mate.
Equally steeped in the ethos of a settler people, raised by a strong father and incredibly wise mother to appreciate what Stuart's own father had taught, during a happy boyhood, to be the very essence of modern living--the ability to retain the culture of the past, while savoring the luxuriant variety of pursuits available in the present; to sample the cosmopolitan, without being diverted, during pleasant interludes, from the rustic truths and psychological supremacy of the landed--she seemed to have been cast in a complementary mold by a purposeful Creator, almost ten years and half a world away, solely for the ultimate completion of his being. In his mind, she was even now well nigh as close to being his wife as in her own. (Not that any man, even after years of bonding, can ever feel as truly married as does a good woman, every day of her life.)
In the twenty months that they had been together, he had enjoyed the favors of but two other women: One, an old girl friend, serviced twice during a seventy-two hour business trip to Virginia; the other, a pretty young Witwatersrand harlot, explored on two occasions during a four day separation; when on the advent of her period, "Skoelkie" had returned home to visit her family.
While Stuart had felt no guilt at these passing indulgences, neither had he felt much excitement nor experienced a much greater order of pleasure, than one achieves from a good back-scratching. His present involvement had left him almost totally bored with other women; and the mentioned forays had been intended more to test the strength of that involvement, than to relieve any carnal appetite.
But in fact, our recumbent hero in this unromantic age was caught up in a tide that day by day drew him more surely into the vortex of a conflict, which (though not of his making) had begun to rival even the body of his love-mate as a source for preoccupation. A romantic, he would have liked to see in his dilemma an analogy to that of Lee on the eve of Virginia secession, or to that of a Highland Chief before Glenfinnan. But Lee and the Highland Chief had been at home; while Stuart, still no expatriate, was far from the land of his fathers.
The point of contention was the enterprise, which had brought him to South Africa, a joint U.S.-South African laser testing program; a commitment commended by personal philosophy, honor and historic perspective, no less than financial interest, now menaced by the awesome power of the Federal Government of the United States; its formidable capacity for covert action unleashed by a political change of direction. While such an issue remained unresolved--with clear visions of the many possible facets of contrived disaster--he could hardly ask this girl to face the humiliation, shame and danger, which might await him.
An adherent to the code, which interdicts discussion of one's intimate commerce with the gentler sex, he knew that the nature of their arrangement must affront familial norms. The sin was not in the reality, but in the ease with which that reality might be perceived. Their relationship lacked the appearance of deference to traditional values that for generations had been of great importance to both nations. For it was obvious to even the most casual observer that the "secretary's" true duties were not secretarial. Yet even had they been far more careful, the way "Skoelkie" looked at him, sometimes, would have been enough to dispel any chaste delusion.
In a more chivalrous time, there is no question what his obligation must have been. But needing the fulfilment that she offered, as much to his soul as to his body, he could not yet bear to send her from him. It would have to suffice that he continued, by vulgar banter, to downplay the reverence he felt for what they already had; to prepare her emotionally for a separation, which he prayed would never come.
These reflections were now shattered by the opening of a door, and the emergence from her bath of the ultimate object of this reverie. A towel wrapped turban style around her head, with another girding her sensual midriff; she looked every inch the picture of clean, wholesome, voluptuous delight. Any flaccidity remaining in the resuscitation of his manhood was dispelled, and he was swept with an overpowering craving for the reunification of their beings.
"Dannie, I am sorry," she said, approaching the bed as his eyes fastened in agony on the almost imperceptible string, hanging down just below the towel an inch and a half from her womanhood, "but it is my time again. I have wanted terribly to be with you all day; but I came around in the shower."
He winced. Then, on an impulse, he reached over and grabbed her, pulling her onto the bed beside him--playfully, but with an almost compulsive urgency.
"En die mond of fondament!"
"You bloody bastard!"
Laughing wryly, while yet nestled in his right arm, she pushed his left from the flap of his trousers and confidently undid the zipper; carefully disengaging the garments from his person in order to fondle the favored part, now exposed.
Stuart had not really expected to be taken so literally, but readily abandoned any thought of protest, as she lovingly cradled his "teelsak" in one hand, and commenced running her tongue up and down the phallic seam. Then drawing two deep breaths, she took as much of the rigid shaft as possible into the warm, wet mouth.
Soon utterly beside himself, he pulled her lower regions towards his face, and shoving the towel out of the way, began to kiss and nibble the left cheek. But it was not very long until his body--now totally under her control--erupted voluminously within her; and, passion spent, began to wilt from head to foot.
In her previous experiences at fellatio, and she had never so served any man but Stuart, "Skoelkie" had always run to spit forth the fluids, and gargle away any lingering flavor. But now, perhaps because the night past had been as good for her as it had been for him (indeed, much of the day she too had dreamed of their next coupling and was tremendously aroused), perhaps because of some primordial mystique, which made it seem a higher act of love, or a tribute to Divine Providence; in a surge of unrequited lust, she swallowed all his outpourings; tenderly licking away the last secretions, before curling up with her head on his abdomen, as he returned to a state of repose.
Neither spoke for some time. He fell into a peaceful doze, his head cradled against her thighs, his hands cradling her bottom. She gradually subsided, aided by a slight oral fatigue, which partially offset the roused passion; content, at least, that even during her "time," she was still able to please and gratify her man.
She hadn't really minded the playful, though rude, way he had demanded satisfaction--at a time when she knew it unlikely that he would act to give her comparable pleasure. Underneath it all, there was romantic appeal to the idea that men and women were put on this earth to complete one another--a concept only actually understood by the truly feminine woman;--and a woman in love can be almost as romantic as a practical man.
She had felt pride in conquering an original shame in taking him into her mouth; and had done so frequently, starting about three weeks after he had first taken her vaginally. Initially, it had given her a sense of better security in her ability to deal with his healthy needs. But she now felt a lusty delight in the attainment of an ever growing facility in the art of love; much as an equally generous young woman, in a less libidinous relationship, exults in mastering the celebrated recipes of her mother or grandmother; in building a palate pleasing repertoire for the benefit of those she really values.
She remembered, too, the many times he had kissed, licked amd suckled her most private places, until she had lost control of her innermost muscles in voluptuous sensation; recalling with that peculiar emotional mix of wistful sadness and inward rejoicing, which poignant physical completion not infrequently evokes, the time it had taken her over fifty minutes to culminate--but then so gloriously.
His lips had been red and swollen, as they had rested afterward. And she had guiltily inquired--knowing that her very nervousness, at putting him to such trouble, had itself prolonged the effort--why he would work so hard for her solitary pleasure?
At first, he had but hushed her. Later, holding her fast, and remarking on her sweet nature; he had explained his joy in bringing a variety of perceptions to bear for the mutually achieved fulfilment of one he deeply cared for. She had since come to better understand that feeling.
"Skoelkie's" thoughts now shifting more and more from her own loins to imagining new techniques to please his, she began instinctively to stroke the insides of his legs, while gently kissing the still exposed stomach. This had not gone on for very long, when the phone rang.
The first clanging brought them back to a painful realization that they were not completely alone; the second left each musing whether there was any satisfactory way to avoid answering. One of the innumerable tastes they shared, was a common distaste for being bothered by anybody else, once they were alone. There might be exceptions; but this was not one of them. With the third clang, Stuart sighed and the girl sat up; pulling the towel back around her privates, as though an intruder had actually entered the room.
"The damn thing has a persistent character, doesn't it," he snarled; and it clanged a fourth time, with each hoping the other would find some easy way to dispose of the annoyance.
"Darling, you had better answer it. This is a small dorp, and we are in your room." [The phone rang again.] "Everyone may not understand that we had to double-up, because of a shortage of hotel space." She smiled at him with her eyes.
They always "doubled-up," if they couldn't get adjoining rooms with a private door between. And if they could, there was always one room never slept in.
When the phone rang a sixth time, it was clear that the pest would not be denied; and the Virginian--who had a strong presentiment as to the caller's identity--reached for the nearby receiver with one hand, while squeezing a closer and higher reality with the other.
"Yes!"
"Danie. ...Piet van Schoor. I am sorry to bother you, but we need you in Pretoria tomorrow. If you can be at the airport security building by 1030 hours, we'll have you flown up in a military jet. We need to talk about the LIGHT at the end of the tunnel."
"But the auction is tomorrow. I've had reservations for six months! Can't you wait a couple of days--or at least half a day? I want to bid on the Zonnebloem '78. It will be offered early tomorrow afternoon."
"Sorry, old chap. But as you say, things are 'coming to a head.' For security reasons--yours as well as ours--tomorrow will have to be it."
"What if I refuse, I--"
"You have already gone too far. For your own sake, you have to be here. And you know how important this is for us. As for the wine, can't your secretary go to Nederburg?"
"Pretty damn sure of yourself, and of my habits," thought Stuart. "You must be tailing me." But he answered only, "All right. If it must be; it must be. When can I return?"
"You may have to meet with some of us again on Saturday, so you should be a bit flexible. One thing more: The lines are tapped beyond the hotel grounds. We have shunted this call around the tap, and those blokes know nothing about it; but be careful what you say to ANYONE after I hang up! Good night."
"Good night! ...Good God!"
"Danie, what is the matter?"
"I have to be at the airport at 10:30 tomorrow morning. I am really sorry. You can drop me, and go on to the auction. I'll leave you enough money to take care of everything here, and arrange for a Letter of Credit, right after breakfast, so you can bid for me. But the most important thing is that you must not let anyone know anything about my whereabouts or change of plans. If anyone asks, I had some work at the hotel. If all goes well, I should be back in a couple of days."
She understood from his manner that he would tell her what he wanted her to know, and no more; so she restrained the impulse to ask further questions; and kissing the now puny remnant of a faded virility, arose to dress for dinner.
The Table d'Hote fare at the Langkloof exceeds, in sumptuous goodness, many of the offerings at the finest a` la carte restaurants in that land of easy going, seldom remarked, but frequently quite remarkable dining. Stuart, although a true gourmet, appeared preoccupied through the Appetizer, Soup, Fish and Meat courses; seeming to respond to his companion's light sorties, only when the lavish dessert cart was wheeled up, and "Skoelkie" quietly suggested that unless he wanted to start a scandal by making it look as though she had been "eating for two" the next day, he had better eat for the two of them now.
Yet even then, he only half emerged, with light and far from acute repartee. And after receiving the large dinner plate, which that estimable inn provides guests, as a tableau for sweets--overflowing with his choices from the splendid selection of trifles, creams, custards, fruits, puddings and what not; he had watched dreamily as the well-starched Coloured waitress retracted the cart to another location.
Self-absorbed, he lost track of place, and instinctively sought comfort and reassurance in the female presence; carelessly slipping a hand under the table to grope slowly under his companion's skirt--a maneuver which, although unseen, considerably alarmed the intended comforter. For while they were in a corner, the room was well enough lit, that one could reasonably suspect that there might be several vantage points from which the action would be clearly visible.
"Please, Danie," she said, cupping her hand over his with the dress between, "I promised you once, that I would never stop you from touching me anywhere you desired, at any time. That promise is still sacred. But my father's friends often come here; and it could hurt him terribly, if one of them should see me being felt like this in a public establishment!"
"I am sorry," he withdrew, smiling sheepishly. "I guess my mind has been elsewhere. I always was a creature of instinct. My spiritual home these days is between your legs, and I reached for you just as in my sleep sometimes. After the nice service, she gave me before dinner, I certainly wouldn't want to embarrass my best friend."
He had started to say "secretarial pool," but had caught himself; because in a surge of genuine emotion--in what he feared might be one of their last times together--jocularity seemed even less appropriate than his conduct immediately precedent. She was far more than his best friend, and she performed many secretarial functions with a competence rarely found in career office help--nor did she ever mind being kidded about the role of a "good secretary";--but all words were suddenly awkward and inappropriate.
Twenty minutes later, as they strolled back to their room in the moonlight, he took her right hand in his left; and looking out through the white gateway onto the silvered fields, sallied into the fringes of his preoccupation.
"Nobody ever knows when his time may be up; and I would just like you to know--if the plane crashes, or anything--that you are the best thing that has ever come my way. The man whom you marry will be the luckiest man alive."
"Are you a man of the day or a man of the night?" she had once asked him. "Do you feel closer to God at the first light of morning, or under a moonlit sky?"
"I don't know," he had responded. "There is something about the effect of light on land, which always makes me feel very close to God--whether at a moist, fresh dawn, or under a bright full moon."
She put her head against his shoulder. The arm, which had held her hand, now encircled the body--the other reaching across to take its place;--while their strolling slowed almost to a standstill. And their respective consciences, in two distinct languages, separately communed with the Lord of Nature; as their eyes traced the magic contours of His landscape, basking in the lunar glow.
Stuart could not sleep well that night, but managed to draw some refreshment from the proximity of her body. They had well perfected the art, which many never attempt, for maximizing contour contact while at rest. When he tossed or changed position, she intuitively moved, even in her sleep, to that position which, though still comfortable, allowed the most points of direct physical communication. Had she been restless, he would have done no less for her. But now he reaped the harvest of the long, tender hours, he had spent in courting every nuance of the voluptuous side of her nature.
With her sprightly pubic hair tickling his flesh; her seat cushioning his sexual parts; or her thigh resting with no great weight on his, while her nipples traced the rhythm of her breathing on his arm--depending on whether he lay on one side or the other, or on his stomach or back;--he gathered a sense of the spiritual fulfillment, necessary to restore courage in the face of whatever trials or dilemma might lie ahead.
To Continue With Chapters Three & Four
For Information On Published, Hard-bound, Novel By Same Author:
Return Of The Gods