Love Patterns

by Michael B. Malone

  It was more than an hour later that she returned beaming, saw me waiting and sauntered over to me. I smiled a welcome.

  “Did you get everything?”

  She smiled back. “Yes, it was good to spend money, thank you.” She hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I do not know what to name you?”

  I laughed delightedly. “Call me Bill.”

  She repeated my name as if tasting it and pronouncing it, so it sounded like ‘Bee-al’, then repeated it again.

  “I like your name Bill.”

  I couldn’t resist giving her a huge hug, lifting her off her feet and not caring who was watching. She looked startled, and pleased at the same time.

  “I love the way you say my name Jerie.”

  I took her hand. “Let’s go for an ice cream and see what you’ve bought.” I thought for a moment. “But only if you want me to, it’s your bag, I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

  She looked thoughtful, as if the idea of privacy was new to her, then decided, “I want you to look.”

  I looked at her as she smiled up at me, and it was as if there was something new in our eyes, as if we’d agreed simultaneously that we were now friends and could trust each other. At a café we each had a bowl of ice cream. I watched as she put the first spoonful in her mouth, and her eyes go wide as she let the blob of ice cream slip out of her mouth into the bowl, giving me a hurt look as I laughed, as if I’d played a joke on her.

  “Take smaller sips.” I advised her and demonstrated.

  I watched as she tried again, and after a few tentative sips, her expression changed, and a look of bliss came over her face.

  “It is lovely,” she breathed.

  In a very short time she’d, finished and I saw her readying her fingers to clean the bowl.

  “Ladies don’t clean their plates with their fingers,” I warned.

  She snatched back her hands and gave a furtive look round, which made me laugh.

  “Do you want another one?”

  She smiled into my eyes. “Yes please.”

  “Well go and ask the man for a coffee and an ice cream.”

  Without hesitation, she approached the counter and soon came back, balancing the coffee in one hand and an ice cream cone in the other.

  “He asks me if I wanted cone, I said ‘Yes’; I did not know cone.” She bent her knees to put the cup and saucer in front of me, without spilling,

  I told her “Well you know now.”

  She sat looking at the cone, unsure of what to do. I thought of telling her but decided it might be fun to watch her find out for herself, so I bent my head and pretended to concentrate on my coffee, as I watched her through my eyebrows. I watched her pink tongue appear and take a tentative lick, then another and another. The ice cream had now been pushed to one side, so she turned the cone round and started to lick the other side. Inspiration dawned, and she began to twirl the cone and lick sideways. She caught my smile and realized I’d been watching her and again we smiled into each other’s eyes, as if we were sharing the experience and enjoying the sharing. When I saw her trying to get her tongue into the cone to extract the ice cream, I laughed.

  “You can eat the cone!” I told her, and watched as she took a first tentative bite, then proceeded to scoff the lot.

  She gave a burp and exclaimed beatifically. “That was good.”

  I finished my coffee. “Now let’s see what you’ve bought,” I suggested.

  She spread out her treasures on the table, a red plastic comb, a mirror in a white case, a nail file in a soft plastic cover, a handkerchief with a map of Kenya printed on it, a small notebook with pencil attached, a necklace of plastic beads, a gold coloured bangle and a ring with a red stone in it.

  She declared proudly. “And I have much money left.”

  I pretended incredulity. “You still have money left?”

  She appeared pleased. “Yes look,” and she showed me.

  “That’s amazing. Well you’ve got everything we mentioned except one thing. What is it?”

  She thought for a moment then brightened. “The key!”

  “I’ll ask Kabero for a spare key when we get home. Now let me have your notebook and I’ll write our address in case you ever get lost.” She slid the notebook across the table. I printed the address and slid the book back. “If you ever get lost show it to someone or take a taxi.”

  I saw her eyes look inward and then she looked at me and around me.

  “Why you worry about me?”

  I felt embarrassed.

  “Because I like you,” I replied. I saw her about to question me further, so I forestalled her. “It’s about time to get back, do you want to pay for the ice cream?”

  I handed her some coins and she went to the till and paid, then returned and gave me the change. Hand in hand, we returned to the Land Rover where we found Kabero waiting for us. We drove home.

  While Kabero was preparing dinner, I watched Jerie trying on her dresses, pants, socks and shoes in different combinations and her ecstasy as she slipped on the nightdress, running her hands over her curves, in a way that made my face grow hot. She slipped off the nightdress and completely naked, came over to sit on my knee and put her hands round my neck.

  “Thank you, Bill,” she murmured.

  My hands slipped down her back to her waist and out to the swell of her bottom. I felt my face redden and my heart beat faster.

  “You are beautiful Jerie!” I whispered huskily.

  She leaned back and smiled at me and I eyed her breasts. She saw where I was looking and as if it was an instinctive female reaction she pushed them towards my face. And as if it was an instinctive male reaction, I bent my head to kiss them. She giggled and pulled away and smiled into my eyes. I focused on the sensuousness of her lips and kissed them, again feeling no rejection, but no welcome either. I sighed.

  “You had better get your dress on, Kabero will be calling us through for dinner.”

  She stroked my face and gazed directly into my eyes. “Boys try to …” she used a Swahili word with a gesture I understood “… me, but I too strong. I want you do it to me.”

  Again, I felt my face go red. I let my hand slip from her waist over the round mound of her belly to the wiry hair below, then I remembered the previous night’s discovery.

  I sighed. “You’d better get your clothes on.”

  She gave me a puzzled look. “Why you bring me here Bill?”

  I felt embarrassed. “Because I like you.”

  “But you did not know me when you pay Baba?”

  “I bought you to be my wife for a while.”

  “When you make me your wife?”

  “I don’t think I will now.”

  “But you say you like me?”

  I sighed and was about to try to explain, when Kabero knocked and shouted it was dinner time.

  “Get your clothes on and we will talk about it at dinner.”

  During dinner however, which was a mince dish spiced with native herbs, followed by custard and pears, Jerie was too busy concentrating on filling her belly to think of anything else. We retired to the lounge where Kabero appeared with tea, and milk for Jerie, then left.

  She looked at me. “Why you not have me like wife Bill?”

  I felt uncomfortable. “Because I like you too much, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “It not hurt much, other girls tell me.”

  “But the first time should be special, with someone you really like.”

  “I really like you Bill.”

  “Why?” I remembered when I had first seen her, and she had changed her mind about going with me. “And why did you change your mind about taking your shift off in your father’s house?”

  Her eyes looked inward. “Your voice tingled me, and when I look at you I see you are the one I wait for.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  She smiled secretively. “We are …” she hesitated “… meaninged?�
�

  “Meant,” I corrected.

  “We are meant to be together. I see from your …” she used a Swahili word.

  “Pattern,” I supplied.

  “Yes, I see from your pattern.”

  “What is this pattern?” I asked, puzzled.

  “It is around people.”

  I felt out of my depth. “But what does it do?”

  “It not do, anything, it is just there.”

  “But what is it for?”

  “It is not for anything, bit like soul.”

  “You mean that you can see inside me, my thoughts, my …” I broke off, incredulously.

  “No, not like that, more like feelings.”

  I felt dazed. “What did you mean when you said, ‘I was the one you were waiting for?’”

  “I know when I little girl.” She held her hand out about waist level. “When I hear your voice and look at your pattern, I know it is right to go with you. We to be like man and wife. Why do you not give love to me, Bill?”

  My heart started hammering. I ran my hand up and down the smoothness of her thighs from her knee up to the line of her pants. She seemed to be waiting expectantly. I kissed her lips and again got no welcoming response. I drew back. She snuggled close and stroked my face. She took my hand and placed it at the top of her pants. My hand as if of its own accord wriggled inside.

  She smiled, stood up and took her dress off. “We do it now?” she asked.

  I felt my blood turn to fire and pulled her towards me. My lips found hers and my hand caressed her breasts. She giggled and pulled away, her lips as unresponsive as before. My passion died. Maybe she was too young?

  Just how old was she anyway? I asked, “What age are you Jerie?”

  “I am thirteen.”

  “You are only thirteen?” I gasped in shock.

  She bristled. “I am big enough to love, some other girls start when they are eleven.”

  I watched as she stood and let her pants fall, caught them on the end of her toe and kicked them in the air. She sat down close to me, put her face close to mine and looked intently into my eyes, at the same time drawing my hand between her thighs.

  “You do it now?”

  I snatched my hand back. “No! You should wait until you meet someone your own age to love.”

  “You think I am ugly?”

  “You are beautiful.”

  “Then why, I must be ugly!” I thought for a while.

  How could I explain it to her? “Does Baba make love to you?” Jerie looked shocked. “No! that would be …” she paused, “very horrible.”

  “But he doesn’t think you are ugly, does he?”

  “But that different, you are not my father.”

  “But I feel like your father because you are so young.”

  She gave me a calculating look. “You love me when I bigger?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief at the escape suggested. “Maybe.”

  “How much bigger?”

  I cursed to myself. She just wouldn’t be deflected. “I will know when the time is right.”

  “How will you know?”

  “By the way your lips move when I kiss you, and when your nipples …” I touched one “… are not tickly when I touch them.”

  “You promise to do it when this happen?”

  I extemporized. “I might not be with you then.”

  But she wouldn’t be deflected. “You promise to do it if I with you?”

  “No!”

  “Then I make you do it now!”

  She started nibbling my ears and neck I tried gently to push her away but every time my hands seem to find erogenous zones. Her nibbling was intensely arousing, and I knew that even if I survived today, there would be lots more days. I felt her hands at the front of my trousers and tried to push her away, but she was like an octopus. I wouldn’t survive! I knew I wouldn’t.

  I gave in and cried desperately. “All right, I promise!”

  She sat back smiling triumphantly and kissed me, and I wondered how it was that a thirteen-year old girl had taken me on in a wrong way round, sexual battle and made me surrender. When we retired, Jerie didn’t even go through the formality of going to her own bed, but jumped naked into mine.

  “Are you not going to wear your nightdress?” I asked.

  Her muffled voice came from the region of my chest. “No, it is too hot.”

  I cuddled in and my free hand as before went automatically to her bottom and stroked it and I was glad I’d remembered to keep my underpants on.

  I thought about the evening’s conversation. Thirteen years old! She was just a child. Thank God I hadn’t done anything the first night. What must she have felt. Taken from her home by a man over thirty years older than her, a stranger, and as I remembered my fondling of the first night, pawed. I felt disgusted with myself. Thirteen years old! How could it have happened? But she’d wanted me to take her away! She’d wanted me to make love to her! She seemed to think I was going to be someone special in her life. I looked down. She was already asleep. I could feel her breath against my neck and her chest rhythmically expanding and contracting. She was so close, I could feel her heartbeat. Again, I felt my chest swell and after I switched off the light I bent my head so that my cheek was resting against hers and fell asleep, still stroking her bottom.

  Chapter 5

  i opened my eyes to find Jerie smiling down at me and the sunlight already hot, streaming in the window promising a scorcher of a day.

  “You are so white!” she exclaimed, stroking my chest and arms and pulling softly at the hair.

  I smiled back. “It’s what’s inside that’s important.”

  She looked through me and around me in her strange way, then said seriously.

  “Bill, you are a good man who is thinking he is being bad.” I stroked the smoothness of her arm, wondering how a thirteen-year old could have such thoughts.

  “What else do you see?” She giggled, and I held her away. “You are just making that up,” but she smiled and hid her face against mine.

  We dressed and had breakfast, then I left her to her own devices, exploring the neighbourhood, while I got on with my novel. She came back every hour or so as if to convince herself I was still there. Each time she would come and sit on my knee and give me a hug, rubbing her cheek against mine. I would wrap my arms around her and hold her close and talk for a while. Then as if she’d topped herself up with affection for the moment, she would smile and disappear outside again.

  I loved the interruptions and if she didn’t appear when I expected her, I would stroll out to the garden and look up and down the road to see where she was. I loved her presence and could sense when she was in the house. She always gave me a huge grin, when she felt my eyes on her, raising my spirits and making me smile

  I hunted through my case, collected all the condoms I’d bought and dumped them into a paper bag then had a quick trip into town and dumped them in a wastepaper bin.

  “Stupid bugger,” I muttered.

  I helped Jerie with her reading and maths and was amazed at how memories seemed to flood back into her mind, with only a little stimulus. I encouraged her to speak about her childhood and about her ideas and talked to her about life in Scotland, about my memories of Kenya and anything that came to mind. Her English steadily improved. Her hesitations grew less, and her grammar and the use of long words improved day by day. She knew about the kings and queens of England, the British empire, and even the date of the battle of Hastings but precious little of the history and geography of her own country. I bought a book about Kenya and helped her to read it and took her on a three-day trip to the coast. She had never seen the ocean before, and as we approached the coastline, she shut her eyes, clutched my arm and gasped in horror as if thinking she was about to fall off the end of the world. When we reached the beach, I was amused by her wide-eyed wonder as she dipped her hands into the salt water, tasted it and stared at the horizon as if trying to come to terms with the vastnes
s of the ocean.

  We spent a day in Mombasa, exploring the town. First the harbour where we watched the unloading of Arab dhows with sweating natives carrying wooden chests, carpets, salt, fish and dates into the customs shed. Later in the day, we saw the same sweating natives loading the dhows, which were packed against the jetty like sardines, with sacks of coffee beans. We wandered through the ancient narrow streets, crowded with noise and spicy odours, the houses built of different colours of coral rock. We visited the old fortress on a hill, frowning down at the town, where three hundred years before, the Portuguese and Arabs had fought for possession. The earth around the town was mostly bare except for scrub, green mango trees and grey Baobab trees, with small gold and red lizards scurrying about their roots. The salty air and soil inhibited plant growth but gardens, frequently renewed with imported soil, were oases of intense colour, dominated by flaming red acacia flowers.

  There were no upraised eyebrows when I booked a double room for myself and Jerie, as attitudes to sexual morality were far more relaxed in Kenya than in Britain. I felt amusement and an almost fatherly pride in her. She had a feminine prudence that stopped her making any embarrassing gaffes, and an innate courtesy that drew smiles from her elders, even if she did haughtily stick her nose in the air when she became aware of the admiring looks from younger male staff. She handled her knife and fork with ease at meals and behaved impeccably. Any onlooker might have thought she’d spent half her life in hotels. Next day we travelled along the coast to Malindi, a quaint little town just beginning to be developed for tourism and booked into a hotel. We found a deserted stretch of beach just outside and bathed naked in the warm sea, which was an unusual light blue colour. There was a cooling breeze blowing constantly from the sea during the day and I felt comfortable despite the temperature being in the nineties. Like young children, we chased each other all over the beach and in and out of the water until we tired. We lay in the sun to dry, then dressed and motored back to Mombasa, where we stopped for dinner then headed north west in the direction of Nairobi.

  We stopped at the small town of Void, where we stayed in a dilapidated but friendly hotel then started early the next morning and explored the Tsavo National Park, where Jerie saw her first rhinos, giraffes and baboons and the first elephants and zebra’s she’d seen since she was a child. I told her about when I was little and had been taken on safari by my father to the vast plains of Usain Gisha. I had never forgotten the enchantment, and even now the memory provoked a thrill. I told her of the vast herds of grazing zebra covering the plain in huge patches, right to the horizon, interspersed with gazelle, giraffes, wildebeest, elephants and ostriches. Jackals could be seen harrying and looking for weaker members to bring down, and at dusk, prides of lions, with military precision ran down and killed their meal for the night. I still remembered vividly the thrill of terror that had travelled up my eight-year old spine at the lion’s roar after it had made its kill, and how I’d shrunk closer to my father’s side at the sound. Soon afterwards the government had issued free ammunition to the farmers, who had been complaining bitterly about the zebra’s incursions onto their farms, and the damage to fences. This, together with a process discovered for tanning zebra hides, discovered about the same time, led to the demise of the vast zebra herds. I thought sadly that I might have been among the last to see the vast herds in all their glory.