Love Patterns Read online

  “She doesn’t have anything.”

  As we pushed through the mob of shouting youngsters, I trudged as if in a daze, like an arrow piercing the armour of my middle-class upbringing. I realised for the first time what real poverty was. After settling Jerie in the middle front seat, where she sat nervously, as if afraid to touch anything, we set off with Kabero guiding me through the maze of muddy paths, until, to my relief, we came to the main road and left the horde of youngsters and the stench behind.

  As I drove, I glanced occasionally at Jerie, who was sitting hunched up looking afraid. I slowed to a more sedate speed. She was quite pretty and as I remembered her eyes when she’d smiled, I thought there was something soft and nice about her. She was sitting with her legs on either side of the bump of the gearbox and her shift had ridden up to her thighs. I glanced down surreptitiously, and as if she could sense my interest she looked up at me and grinned but made no attempt to cover herself. Again, I felt shame at the innocence of her smile and forced myself to keep my eyes on the road. As I entered the drive in the gathering gloom and braked to a stop, I reassured myself.

  ‘I’m only here for a couple of weeks to have a good time then I’ll be off home.’

  Jerie asked, “This your house?”

  I nodded, and as I helped her out, she clutched my hand nervously, looking around as she walked to the front door.

  “I to stay here?” she asked, looking overawed.

  “Yes,” I answered smiling.

  As she smiled back up at me I felt a stab of shame but pushed it below the surface, trying to concentrate on the sexual delights ahead.

  Kabero gave me a knowing look.

  “You shout when you want dinner Bwana.”

  I scowled back. “I’ll give you a shout.”

  After carefully wiping my shoes on the mat and making sure Jerie did the same with her bare feet, I opened the door and tried to usher her in. She seemed reluctant to enter, so I put my hand on her bottom to push her in, feeling the soft firmness through her thin shift and felt my desire soaring. She entered warily as if entering a lion’s den, holding onto my sleeve. When I switched on the light, she jumped and gave a cry, then looking at my face and finding my smile reassuring, she relaxed. I found a rag and gave the soles of her feet a wipe and removed my shoes, then switching the lights on in the rest of the house, I told her to look around. When she didn’t seem to understand I repeated the instructions in Swahili.

  I left her wandering around the house, touching objects carefully while I got a bath ready for her. I decided to give her a good scrub as I could see the fleas jumping in her hair and there was a definite smell of shit from her. I filled the bath, dumped in some scented bath crystals then called Jerie. She entered, her eyes round with wonder.

  “A bath for me,” she cried and threw her arms around my chest.

  “But first we must wash your hair,” I told her, trying to keep my head away from hers.

  She gave me a huge grin.

  “I be happy here,” then added as if as an afterthought. “With you.”

  I helped her take off with her filthy shift and had a quick glance at her body while her head was inside the shift, then I found that I couldn’t look again, while she was smiling into my eyes. I filled the wash basin with water then made her bend down to dunk her hair. After giving it a good scrub I rinsed the lather off, admiring the smooth curve of her neck. As the soapy water disappeared down the plughole, I shuddered at the fleas floating on the surface and decided to give her hair another scrub, so after cleaning the sink, I repeated the process. After again examining the surface of the water I searched carefully through her hair as she stood docile. Satisfied, I helped her into the bath, admiring her legs and the curve of her hips as she lowered herself into the water.

  I started to wash her face and neck, giving them a good scrub with the sponge. She grinned up at me, then in a mixture of English and Swahili she exclaimed.

  “The black goes all the way through!”

  I laughed. After rinsing the soap off, I touched her lips with my fingertips and on impulse kissed them, feeling her broad lips under my own and strangely feeling that my own were too thin and somehow inadequate. She didn’t resist the kiss, but didn’t respond, like a child getting a kiss from a parent, although she smiled into my eyes. I gave her back a scrub, eyeing numerous weal’s all the way down to the waterline. I asked about them. She looked up.

  “Baba’s woman beat me when no food.”

  “Does your Baba (father) not stop her?” I asked. She shook her head.

  “Do they not want you?”

  She looked serious.

  “No, I a girl,” she said, as if this bare statement explained everything.

  I finished her back and started on her arms, exclaiming at the thinness.

  “Do you not get food?”

  She shrugged. “Eat scraps, steal.”

  As she lifted her arms to let me wash the downy fuzz in her armpits, the movement delightfully lifted her breasts higher. I started on her front, washing her upper chest and sides, then at last soaped her breasts, feeling an exquisite thrill when as my hands slid over the smooth squashy firmness. I felt her small nipples rising slightly and she giggled.

  “It tickly.”

  Postponing further fondling till later, I rinsed the soap off and started on her feet which were calloused and hard like leather. She didn’t seem to feel a thing as I scrubbed vigorously. Remembering the state of the paths where she lived, I was extra careful as I cleaned between her toes. After scrubbing her legs as far up as I could, I made her stand and gave her bottom and middle a good scrub especially round the short pubic hair where fleas might be in residence. I rinsed the soap off with my hands savouring the young firmness of her bottom.

  Feeling my sexual excitement rise to a fever pitch, I took a few deep breaths, thinking, ‘It’s been so long, but just a few more minutes.’

  I helped her out of the bath and dried her with a large fluffy towel, which she fondled delightedly and rubbed it against her cheek. Once she was dry, I led her through to the bedroom, pulled the covers back on the double bed and signalled for her to lie down. She hesitated then smiled up at me.

  “You like me?”

  Clearing my throat, I answered hoarsely. “I like you very much.”

  As if reassured she lowered herself onto the bed, stroking the softness of the sheets. My eyes travelled down to her stomach, past the wiry pubic hair, taking in the delicious way her hips flared out and curved gently back to her thighs. As I started to dry her more intimate parts, my excitement mounted higher and higher and I dared a glance into her eyes. She looked directly into mine, then smiled as if she trusted me as an adult and as a fellow human being, not to hurt her too much. But there was something else, something that slipped past my awareness like an eel, but I caught a glimpse of it, as if what was happening was a nexus and would lead to … I couldn’t grasp what. I tore my gaze away and continued dabbing. As she opened her thighs wider, I was startled by the pale bluish pinkness against the darkness of her skin. I stopped dabbing in shock and my sexual excitement died a terminal death. Jerie was unmistakably a virgin! I looked at Jerie’s face, she was still looking at me intently. Beneath the surface I felt something deep inside myself smile. Jerie gave me a huge cheeky grin and I smiled back entranced. My frustration dissipated. Sighing, I looked around for her shift, then remembering its filth and its smell, I found one of my shirts and helped her to slip it on.

  Leaving her to explore the house I removed her shift from the bathroom and holding it at arms-length dumped it in the outside dustbin. On the way back, I stopped at Kabero’s door and shouted to him to prepare dinner. He came out grinning.

  “Was she as good as I say Bwana?”

  “No good, I will send her back tomorrow,” I replied.

  Kabero looked disappointed.

  “Boy I know! try to have her, but she too strong.”

  On seeing my puzzled frown, he explained furt
her with a gesture, and pointing to his groin. I got the message. Feeling that his familiarity was undermining my authority, I demanded in my best officer to private voice.

  “Dinner for two please Kabero. What does she like?”

  Kabero seemed suitably subdued.

  “She eats anything Bwana. It be chicken stew tonight?”

  I nodded my approval and left to find Jerie going from room to room, switching the lights off and on. She stopped when I entered and looked at my face, her body trembling. I smiled reassuringly, took her in my arms and gave her a hug, feeling the tenseness of her body relaxing.

  “You not angry?” she asked.

  I smiled again. “No, I’m not angry, you can touch what you like. I am not your father, I won’t beat you.”

  She gave me a wondering look, then as if to reassure herself asked.

  “You like me?”

  I smiled again, took her face between my hands and kissed her softly on the lips.

  “I like you very much.” I reassured her.

  As I stood back she reached up, put her arms around my neck, pulled my head down and rubbed her cheek against mine. I felt wetness on my face and held her a little away. She was crying. I was amazed, the native women couldn’t cry, they were physically incapable of it, or so I had believed.

  “What’s wrong Jerie?” I asked; but she shook her head and buried her face in my chest.

  Something deep within me stirred. I lifted her, surprised at how light she was, and sat on the settee with her on my lap. I wrapped my arms protectively around her and waited, stroking her back and wiry hair, until she recovered and rose to continue her exploration of the house. I watched her moving around, touching objects curiously as if not sure of their purpose. There was a grace in the way she moved and something childlike in the way she asked me for explanations of the various objects’ functions, looking up at me curiously and listening intently as I tried to explain. She seemed to be especially attracted to cloth, rubbing her hands over the material and touching with her fingertips. She cried in wonder when she found my silk tie, holding it to her cheek and rubbing it against her skin, with her eyes shut in apparent ecstasy. I felt strange disturbing stirrings within me as I watched, as if I was sharing her wonder and excitement, and recapturing part of my own almost forgotten childhood. There was a knock and when I shouted, Kabero entered and bobbed his head.

  “Where Jerie have dinner Bwana?”

  I thought for a moment.

  “In the dining room with me.”

  Kabero stood uncertainly then bobbed his head and left. Suddenly aware of the sound of my typewriter, I wandered through to the lounge, to find Jerie perched on one knee on a chair, with her lips moving silently, sounding the letters on the keys as she pressed each one. She looked up, startled but relaxed when she saw my smile.

  “This writing machine?” she asked incredulously.

  “It is,” I replied and standing behind her I typed ‘I like you,’ after the row of letters she’d already typed and not minding in the least that I would have to retype the half page I’d left in the typewriter.

  I turned the paper advance, so she could see what I’d written. Her lips moved silently as she followed the letters with her fingertip, then understanding the message and saying it out loud, she turned to give me a delighted smile.

  “Can you write your name?” I asked.

  She nodded. I gave her a sheet of blank paper and a pencil, then watched fascinated as she wrote with her tongue caressing her upper lip as she concentrated. The lines were a bit wobbly, perhaps because her writing was large using the whole width of the paper, but she could certainly write her name. I was astonished. Very few native Kenyans could speak English, let alone read and write. And for a young girl from a slum shanty town, I thought it was almost miraculous. I felt intensely curious about her, but just then, Kabero knocked and shouted that dinner was ready. I took her hand and led her to the bathroom, remembering with a sense of guilt, my fondling, and showed her how to use the taps and wash her hands, then again leading her by the hand I took her to the dining room where the table had been set and a steaming earthenware pot stood in the middle of the table. I patted her arm reassuringly, and ladled steaming stew onto her plate. Her eyes widened.

  “This all for me?” she asked.

  I nodded and stressing the word “is,” replied. “That is all for you.”

  I filled my own plate, noticing that she had reached her hand towards her food but then drew back, waiting to see what I would do. I very deliberately lifted my fork, then thinking I’d better not make things too complicated, I transferred it to my right hand and started to eat. Jerie copied my movements exactly as if the procedure was a ritual she felt she must follow. After the first two mouthfuls she could restrain herself no longer and started to gobble, as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. She was having trouble with the fork, so I leaned over and took it gently from her hand. She looked at me guiltily as if she’d done something wrong, but when I smiled and put the spoon in her hand, she gave me a quick grin and proceeded to demolish the plateful, using her spoon enthusiastically and pushing the stew onto it with her thumb. After using her fingers to clean the last of the gravy from the plate, she looked at me, but when I smiled approvingly, she smiled back and exclaimed hesitantly.

  “That was very good.”

  I noted the verb and wondered how good her English had been, as she was improving with every sentence she spoke. I assumed that just starting to speak English again was bringing words and grammar into her mind. I wanted to ask her about her schooling but decided to wait, as she would be too busy stuffing her stomach during dinner. On being asked if she wanted more she nodded her head as if mentally searching,

  I supplied the word. “Please.”

  She smiled gratefully. “Yes please.”

  I ladled out another plateful, and giving me a furtive look, she again demolished it while I finished my own. After again cleaning her plate with her fingers, she looked at me and the pot expectantly, but I shook my head. When she looked disappointed, I leaned over, put my hand on her stomach and said slowly and distinctly.

  “Too much food when you are hungry will make you sick.”

  She understood and smiled. I clapped my hands and saw her about to copy me, then shove her hands below the table, as Kabero appeared and she realised the reason for my action. Kabero removed the pot and plates and I complimented him on his cooking, getting a smile in return. He returned a few moments later with two plates of rice pudding and a bowl of peach slices. Jerie’s eyes went wide. I spooned peach slices onto her plate and again she waited to see what I did and copied me. After she finished I spooned more peach slices onto her plate and when these also disappeared, I shook my head at her hopeful look. She copied me when I used my napkin and stood when I stood. I led her to the settee in the lounge, shouting to Kabero that I would have tea now. She perched apprehensively on the edge of the settee as if wondering what strange ritual would come next, but when she saw me lean back and smile at her, she relaxed. I examined her face. She had slightly slanted eyes and a thinner than normal nose that denoted Masai blood in her ancestry. She had short curly hair and there was something in her eyes, something that she made me feel when she smiled at me as she was doing now. I grinned at the way she wore my shirt, noticing that it barely covered her thighs, but now felt amusement rather than sexual interest.

  I asked, “Did you like dinner?”

  She nodded vigorously, patted her stomach and carefully said, “I am very filled.”

  I corrected her.

  “You are very full.”

  She repeated the corrected statement, while I took her hand and held it, feeling her fingers curl between my own.

  “Tell me about your life, Jerie.”

  In mixed Swahili and English, and a few tribal words I had to guess the meaning of, she proceeded to relate.

  “I grew up on farm near Mount Kenya. Baba was a much better man then and worked hard and I he
lped him in the fields and chased birds away. We had plenty of food. Mama and him, were happy. We were a good family and I had three big brothers. Then coomba (European) took our farm. Baba fight but they beat him and drive us away. He complains to head coomba but they give him little money and tell him to go away.” She looked at me sadly. “Why man with great big farm take little farm that belong to someone else?” I shook my head, I had no answer. She continued. “We come to town to get work, but money is very little, and when there was no work there was no food. Mama and brother died of disease and Baba get bad. When he takes another wife, she not like me and try to send me away. Baba argue with her but then he starts to beat me, so I not sleep in their house much.” I was appalled and impulsively hugged her. Kabero came into the lounge carrying the tea tray. He looked at us and gave me a grin.

  I frowned.

  “Thank you, just put it on the table!” I said sharply. “I will pour.”

  Kabero’s grin disappeared. He bobbed his head as he took a few steps backwards, muttering, “Yes Bwana.”

  He left carefully shutting the door behind him.

  “Where did you learn English and Swahili?” I asked Jerie as I poured the tea.

  I didn’t ask if she wanted milk or sugar, but used them anyway, presuming she wouldn’t know. She watched carefully as I sipped my tea. When I saw her starting to copy me, I warned her that it was hot.

  She took a tentative sip then answered my question.

  “Mama work for coombas before she marries Baba. She works in their house as servant and learn English. When she goes to market she need to learn Swahili to buy things. She teaches me when I was little. When we come to stay here, and we have no money, she works for coombas again and she take me to their house. I play with their children and learn to read and write. Their mama very good to me and let me stay when teacher come.”

  “Did you not go to school?”

  Jerie sipped her tea then continued.

  “Yes, I go-went village school for four years when I lived on farm. Mama and Baba argue but Mama was very strong, she said girls need to have education to teach their children.”