by Temba Magorimbo
There she stood talking with three other people including Ottilia though Jessica was not far off.
She was tall to the height of looking over me and the other gentry in the pub. Her hair cascaded down like waters off Angel’s Falls. In a hug I think my hair ended around her bossom. Tendrils of hair came off her face. I wanted to smoothen them to one side. Her hair was curled naturally while here eyes were sea green. While helicopters descended down Angel’s Falls giving tourists a majestic view of waters running down the cliff, once in a while a mosquito or a fly lucky enough not to be swatted, descended down her bony face to give itself a striking view. It was not surprising to be in a sitting position perched on a bar stool to find her standing next to me and I had to look straight at her waist and stomach. A little tilt up and I was looking at the double bulge of her medium breasts or her cleft. The nipples stretched taunt through her tee shirt giving me ideas that required a confession later. Her voice was a rasp. It did not frighten us men because we knew she was a gentle giant. She did not bite. Her hoarse voice was less than her bite.
They told me she was a good swimmer. She could smoke, drink and talk holding her cigarette in her hands. Her legs would be crossed while she wore a tiny skirt. The legs looked wonderful. I ogled. Then she could wear cropped top especially in summer like she did now showing shoulder muscles and imprints of her lactation organs.
She was a short, stubby looking woman with big breasts, big hips and a round face for a woman so near to the ground. With her, maybe force of gravity had affected her height. She had wide brownish black lips one slightly bigger than the other. She was Afro-Black with light brown skin. She looked twenty-five or so. I dare say if she had a child, I had never heard of it. What had been jet black hair was now in spurts of whitish brown closely cropped and dyed accordingly? She walked with a swagger, a swishing sound of her skirts or trousers and her wide hips would squeeze through. She liked to laugh.
The laughter sound was like a cackle. Then she liked slapping her hands into the palms of other Africans like her or the top of the bar counter. I felt sorry for the tables if she was sitting there. Her breasts pushed hard against the rims of the table and her hands continually beat the tops if she was in a jovial mood. I can imagine her in a temper.
I guess I do not know who charged fastest Ottilia or a black/white rhinoceros defending its young. When she jived, her breasts swung up and down or left and right within their strains. She was beautiful to look at. She had many men mesmerised in the bar.
The question was who was taking her home tonight?
She was short, slim and looked sixteen when she was past twenty-four years of age. She stood about a metre fifty. She was a Caucasian with jet brownish hair tied in buns at her back. Her smile was lopsided. I had never seen her frowning or having a straight face. She was the type of a woman with whom a date could carry upstairs. She always had to carry proof of identity when she needed enter night clubs or pubs because of her looks.
She danced like a ballet dancer. She was quick on her small feet spreading out her hands. Her bum was small the same as her size. She had a good countenance, she liked making friends. When she drank, she took a glass or two over an hour because just three pints in quick succession and she was asking men to line up while she went into the loo. To prevent that, she drank sparingly.
Jessica normally kept the company of a tall and thin woman with whom she was in good books. They looked like an odd pair of a commissioned officer and her batman.
What a smile and the height? She looked like a performance boxer standing more than six foot tall weighing in at more than eighty-eight kilograms. She had that dazzling smile of an angel though I had never seen one, an oval face with a chin standing out like a horse guard’s inspector. She was a brunette. Standing there, she was a charmer, a woman who broke hearts without flinching. When she took her pint, she stood and competed with us, the gentry. When we staggered after a few pints she walked like a Roman gladiator going to battle, straight and smiling though her emerald green eyes were now shadowy. One could expect her to hold onto a man and never release him when she needed what she wanted. She played darts without flinching. At snooker, she did well showing off her bum. She did not hesitate to push aside anyone when she was playing snooker with her bum.
I imagined championship wrestling where one held their opponent by a vice grip of hands throwing them down. I imagine she could do that to a man, wrapping her legs and hands so tight one couldn’t escape until she had passed her prime. Then I could imagine her catching a thief within her quarters. Those high heeled shoes could be fatal.
The lion was more aggressive than the zebra or the giraffe but the two prey’s kicks were more deadly than the teeth of a lion sinking into its prey. It was a culture of opposites.
Who was taking her home tonight?
Helen was a motherly figure of about thirty-eight, tall and slender with medium breasts. She was the mother of two. She always talked about her fourteen year old son Sean and his sister Sheila who stayed with her mother so did she. She was good at darts. She normally put on cotton trousers with an overlapping blouse. Her hair was the colour of a mixture of sand blasted white jeans and brown modelling clay. She liked putting her hands in her pockets talking with other patrons when she was standing. When she concentrated on the darts, her bones stood out so did her behind. She shot straight arrows, bullseye most of the time. Her tongue forked out, running over her lower lip. I could imagine her locked in a passionate osculate. She looked good though I had never tried her. It made us men imagine what the kiss was like. I could taste it if I could request her to accompany me to the john because there was a single passage towards both areas forking out in a Y formation.
Now how the heck did I develop cold feet? Who had poured water into my elbows and knees?
Sarah was a Caucasian who said she was an operating room nurse. I can imagine her handing the surgeon all the small medical equipment he wanted. Her fingers were small and bony. She was small in body structure with grey eyes and a smile that stole many hearts. She looked like a seventeen year old with big breasts that had been hung down on her chest. In age I imagine she was about thirty or so.
I downed my sixth pint of beer in the Salmon Fries night club. Soft popular music was playing. The disco lights were going round and round. The colours flicked like a merry go round in session. There was a picture array of colours changing hands against the lit faces of the dancers. Something crazy was happening with the walls that were turning left and right, swinging. I had to hold on. The commotion was too much.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Care to buy a lady a pint?” Ottilia asked leaning close to me. “After all investment bankers have been talked about by David Cameroon. Your bonuses are derived from us tax payers who bailed you out when you were on your knees.”
“Huh?” I asked. “On my knees and we managed to pay back every cent with interest loaned to us. What type of a customer are we then? We deserve the Distinguished Cross for Financial Gallantry I tell you.”
“Buy me one and,” she whispered nearer to my ear. “I will give you a 35% discount on the going rate for taking me home. You like it?”
“Nope,” I rose and headed for the gents section. The bonuses were in. After tax the remainder of the bonus was such a huge chunk the family was still discussing on how best to use it. The vehicles were still going strong. I was reserving my pocket money for these errands to the bar. I had stopped investing back home when relatives converted my investments into their own. I had sold every asset and invested in stock market derivatives that no one could touch.
On a corner, someone was negotiating with a tall and stout woman. Their lips were glued. His hands were groping her buttocks. She had her arms wrapped around him while she held her fingers beyond his neck in a lock.
“Hey make sure he doesn’t come,” I suggested. “We are still in the night club mind you.”
They used their hands to show I should vamoose.
“Sign language, they should teach these to the Russians,” I replied. “Mind if I take a picture of you.”
“Hey!” she broke off.
“At least you talked,” I closed the door to the toilet heading for the urinary. Argh, the relief of getting rid of the excess water was great! I used the urinary. I could hear another man in a cubicle throwing out. When I came out the woman was in the ladies room and the man was adjusting his midriff.
I egressed. I used the telephone.
“Hello,” was a cute six year old voice on the line.
“Hello, this is big bear, is the other Polar bear in?” I asked.
There was a shriek. “Yes she is in. How are you big bear?”
“I am fine. Can I talk to the Polar Bear dear?” I asked.
“Please,” she replied. There was static. “Martin?”
“Cynthia, if I come home now do you promise to pay the cabbie?” I asked. She started laughing.
“It’s always this question once every three days or so and I always reply the same way darling. Drunkard, I will be waiting for you,” she replied. “It gets boring to eat dinner with the three kids. You know their noise. There is one good thing about you Big Bear, you are so responsible. You never take a second look at all those women who are both more beautiful and intelligent that plain and simple me. For that I love you so much. I and the baby-in waiting will be waiting for you.”
“Who has been rubbing that swelling tummy female Polar Bear? “ I asked after my platitudes. ‘Thank you ladies and gentlemen. Please sit down, thank you. Please take your seats’
“It’s waiting for you, bye,” she said. With that I put the phone back on its hook and retrieved my card. Off I went, out of the pub not even looking at my drinking buddies calling for one for the road.
“See you folks, Rachel is having the baby tonight,” I said. That would be in four months time. This was just a practice run like a soldier running away from a beeper he had set which guided a cruise missile within ten minutes.
“Martin!” Helen called.
“You never take me home darling,” she complained. “The flat is cosy. You can be out in three minutes time.”
“Taxi!” I called.
Copyright © Temba Magorimbo