Twisted Times: Son of Man (Twisted Times Trilogy Book 1)

by Vincent de Paul

  As though the weather was of the idea that we should really have some time alone and get to know each other, it was fine and cool. We had full-fledged picnic packs and starting our day out at the west of the park we bumped into families sitting on the green grass enjoying whatever Hayarkon Park could offer. Youngsters, joggers, lovers, and all sorts of people were there. I had worked half day and decided to have the afternoon off, and I could see my skiving job was worth. It didn’t matter I was stealing (time) from my employer.

  We walked in the park holding hands, laughing and joking through the trees with Shirli telling me the names of the birds we saw. She loved bird watching, and she knew many birds by name, appearance and chirp.

  Shirli remarked that she wanted a secluded place away from the busy park full of people and she had a place in mind. She led to what she called the Rock Garden, an enclosed ornamental garden full of cacti, what looked like an olive grove with a shallow pond straight out of a historical movie set, a single thick clump of bushes, small patches of grass, and several prominent designs using monoliths – one of which looked surprisingly like a small out-of-place Stonehenge. We were the only people inside the Rock Garden much the way I preferred it to be and there were a surprisingly large number of birds hiding out here. I loved the sweet orchestras provided by nature.

  We talked of virtually everything as we enjoyed the Bohemian ‘Puah’ delicacies as time passed by as though it was being chased by some ghoulish time phantoms to elapse so fast that we won’t have much time with each other. By evening we had covered all imaginable topics we could think of, her wanting to know more about my home and Africa – a generalized side of colloquy that I did not like – I asking more about her, her likes and dislikes, preferences, believes and inclinations towards life, what I had not yet pried off her so far.

  “What else would you like to know about me, Sweet Ken?” she asked when I seemed as though I had run dry of what to ask about her.

  “What’s the rest of you is like?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Anything else you think I should know, Shirli.”

  “I’m tired of interrogations, Ken, remember, you’ve not yet earned my approval. You’re still under scrutiny, Best Friend.”

  Now that’s not good.

  “I don’t think interrogation is the right word... it’s more of an operative word.”

  “And what’s the right word, Englishman?”

  Oh boy! She has a PhD in sarcasm.

  “Inquisitive might do... are you not actually ready for this? I mean... you always talk of ‘you Kenyans’ or ‘you Africans.’ Don’t I strike you as somebody you should know better? Come on, Shirli,” I said.

  The last traces of light were fading and dusk was approaching. We saw a number of parrots flying around as we left the park. I didn’t look too closely but while the majority seemed to be Ring-necked Parakeets, I did also see three Monk Parakeets and a couple of Lovebirds, and an old couple was leaving the park the same time with us. When they saw us they smiled. They looked perfect for each other, brother and sister, as though they were sculpted for each other.

  Over dinner I couldn’t get my eyes off Shirli, and in a strange convoluted way I thought of her sitting at my dining table at my Thika home. Wonderful but probably impossible. I shot her furtive glances and winks and she would smile at me as though she was smiling at one of Hanan’s jokes. Only us knew what was going on between us.

  I saw some pieces of bread chunks on Shifra’s chin, who was sitting next to me, and said, “You’ve got some on your chin. Do you want me to wipe it for you?”

  Although it was a whisper, Shirli gave me a glance that made me regret why I had said it. I am sure Shifra intercepted the signal because she said pronto, “I can wipe my own chin,” reaching for her serviette on the table.

  Meira and Shirli excused themselves after supper while the rest of us stayed for some more causerie drinking coffee. An hour later I scampered to my house, not to sleep, but to swim. I needed it.

  The house was dark, save for the lights that went on and off automatically, a strategy to make it appear that there was somebody even when deserted. On entering, the lights went on instantly bringing the whole place to life. I changed to swimming gear and went to the lido at the back of the house.

  Something got my eye as I walked to the pool. A modest navy blue bikini and an empty wineglass were on the low back sun bathing seat. I was sure somebody had been there, or was there. And if somebody had been there, how could she leave her bikinis behind? I regarded them and dove in to the heated pool.

  As I swam I saw a lump of something at the bottom of the pool. I wondered what it was since it was not moving and, before I could decide what to do, the thing rose up and started towards me. I was petrified and I decided to swim to the shallow end of the pool and get out and check what it was.

  Before reaching the ladder my leg was gripped by something soft, as though it was a giant star fish reaching up to me with its tentacles, and before I could fight for my life the attacking water creature surfaced. Good Heavens! It was Shirli. Thank God. I was as shocked as I was relieved?

  The bikinis were hers. She had nothing on. Completely nothing.

  “What a coincidence, Ken?”

  “Coincidence is an operative word…”

  “To hell with your operative words.”

  “I never expected to find anyone here, even you.”

  “So, you tell me that I can’t use anything in this...”

  “That’s not what I meant, Shirli. What’s wrong with your bikinis?”

  “Stop bickering and join me for a swim. For bikinis, I don’t like them.” She splashed the warm water onto my face playfully and swam to the deeper end. I joined her.

  A quarter an hour later she climbed up the ladder and got out of the pool. I followed her. She had the most beautiful body I had ever seen. I tried as much as I could not to give in to what I was feeling but the devil won.

  I took her in my arms disguising my intention to hold her in the act of drying her. I just wanted to feel that body of hers against mine. I tried to turn the drying to fondling and to my consternation she did not resist. I felt her tremble and I followed suit. I did not know whether it was from yearning or cold. I searched for her mouth and to my relieve she responded. Lord, all her fortresses tumbled down so easily, much easier than I had anticipated.

  The kiss was measured, yet prompt; needing yet wanting, fearful yet bold. When at last she pushed me away, tenderly, I could feel the reproach all over. I knew I had lost it, just like that.

  She shimmied on her bikinis and started towards the house. I prayed to God she was not doing what I was thinking.

  Cor blimey! She was doing it. She was going to my house.

  We started kissing again the minute we entered the house. I felt her sigh and lean her head against my neck. She trembled again and her legs parted slowly against mine as we kissed again. I felt she was aware of herself as I was of myself. I felt myself tumescent and grow hard against her stomach. A craving for what I had not had for over a year now almost electrocuted me. It was as though it was electricity passing through me. I carried her to the bedroom as though she were a two-year-old toddler. The queen size canopied bed took her without complain. I scraped off the wet bikinis and got away with my briefs at the same time. No foreplay, no silly games. It was straight to congress.

  I was on top of her. She was the finest satin sheet I had ever lied upon. I felt her legs part slowly and I knew that she was already ready for our first time together. I directed myself into her. Her orifice of pleasure was so tight that I rained salt to pass through. She swung her hips, arched her back up, opened her legs wider and at last I broke the barricade to her womanhood. I felt the dam burst from me inside her and I knew I was done. At last.

  Next time it’d be easier.

  CHAPTER 96

  5th October,

  New York, USA;

  Their times in the US together were golden nights
and silver mornings. It used to pass too swiftly for Susan because since their becoming lovers she found him an invariable elation to be with. His quickly and devilishly yet serene mind stimulated hers; and through her inner eye she saw the unfamiliar things of life, not the platitudes and trivialities many people filled their lives with.

  Together they went to places in New York – the Central Park, Prospect Park in Brooklyn, the Bronx Zoo, Empire State Building, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the New York Public Library amongst others. Whenever he left for Kenya he went back soon as promised. They had gone to Hawaii, Iowa, and the Bahamas, places she only saw in movies and read about on the internet and travelogues.

  On this day, their last day before his going back to Kenya for his many business meetings and other commitments at the ministry of gender and culture, they watched and filled the elephantine beauty of the Central Park for the umpteenth time. One tour guide had told them that it had taken the genius of Frederic Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux to design the Central Park where they were now and they much loved his craftsmanship.

  They rented horses and rode deep in to the park. They talked about themselves, nothing else. The beauty and grandeur of life around them and inside their love-drenched-bodies drew them closer to each other in solitude, and by the end of the day Samson was sure that he truly loved her. He knew that his archenemy, Kennedy Maina, was dating her, and though Samson had at first gone to Susan to get at Ken, now things had changed. At last he had fallen in love. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Susan.

  When it was time to go he knew that he should do what he wanted, what he had to do.

  “Susan, I don’t want this to end. I love you, come with me, and marry me, Susan. I’ll give you everything that life has to offer.”

  She was about to laugh at his face and tell him, “Don’t be daft, Samson Ndolo. What I want from life isn’t yours to give. This was fun, but not reality. We can be good friends but my heart loves somebody else, and I can’t love you” but she checked herself in time. She did not say it. She remembered when Ken proposed to her. They were in the Maldives. She had told Ken that she was not ready to marry him, meaning to get married. Not to him. Now here she was, after screwing another man, being proposed to.

  She said nothing but stared at him.

  “I mean it, sweetie. Would you please marry me?”

  She said nothing. She was thinking.

  She heard Ken’s voice telling her not to compare him with another man. The damage was already done. Ken will never forgive her, but it was what her heart wanted. She’d not have married him anyway. She had told him so, so he should never expect anything from her.

  “I love you, Susan. I love you more than you, or you will ever, think. Marry me.”

  Even a blind man could not have failed to see the enthusiastic nod.

  CHAPTER 97

  2011;

  My love towards Shirli was like the rocks beneath that seeps the waters of the world for all eternity like a mammoth sponge. It grew with each passing minute and day of the Israeli calendar, everything around me her and her only.

  She was always there, knowing exactly what I wanted and giving it to me, responding to my desires and needs, and I responding to hers. Her mellifluous voice sang my name in different tunes; put a smile on my gloomy face, and her touch always electrified me. Where on earth would I find someone like her?

  We could not stay without the company of each other. Nature was our all-time companion, the beaches of the Mediterranean a home for us, birds the orchestras that offered free performances, and the tall grasses our love nests and mattresses. All this was a liaison; nobody in the family had an iota of what was happening between the two of us, except that there’s a problem, big problem.

  July of my second year in Israel came and heavy bleak blankets hang over me with menace. Some people were after me. I don’t know why, perhaps because of the secrets I kept to myself.

  Many a time I received presents from Meira, and nobody could fail to see what was happening. Meira was trying to have me appear in her romantic radar and she was not going to have it other ways. I did not tell Shirli about it for I thought Meira would stop once she realized that I was not that into her. It was all in vain. My relationship with Shirli was at stake.

  Meira, who was doing her masters in medicine, was also a columnist in the Israeli Insyder. In her Relationships column in the Insyder she was the liberal modern lady who would have a man for the mere fact of shenanigans or so I got from her point of view of the arguments she put across to the world from her medical mind.

  In one of the articles she had written something to do with no-strings-attached bandwagons. She had written that this was the trend of the modern woman who would commit to no one but have a fuck buddy or a Friend with Benefits who oiled her joints twice or so a month. These women lead a glitterati lifestyle and are outspoken, but could not commit to anyone. These women, according to her, were sexually liberated and what they wanted from men was a No Strings Attached romp in the sack, given to them by those lucky ones she selects.

  ‘And don’t mistake this for love making. This isn’t love. It’s purely sex,’ she had written. ‘Limit your diction to nothing mushy and squishy. No sweet nothings, no in-depth foreplay or anything done by those in love.

  ‘The guy goes to the woman’s place, have a few drinks together and then get down to biz. These fuck buddies should have a condom, ladies, or else...’

  That was her view, the way I took it from her articles, and I knew that she’s one I should keep away from. Never to entertain her company in private the way I was with Shifra.

  But then it happened. I wasn’t that smart to know what was happening. Jeepers Creepers! She was in love with me. God forbid! But she loved me, she told me so herself.

  It was too late when I connected the pieces that I had been missing and got the answer to the puzzle. She had been doing all what she’s doing to me because she was in love. And believe me; she was not into this NSA thing she had written about. It was part of her research, in fact out of pure serendipity, when she was writing her thesis for her masters.

  This year the White Night Festival was held in July. White Night Festival is an Israeli annual event, usually taking place late June or early July, which is a celebration of Tel Aviv White City’s proclamation as a UNESCO World Cultural Heritage Site organized by Tel Aviv’s municipality. During the ‘White Night’, cultural institutions, as well as commercial ones, are open to the public all night long, and many special events take place.

  Meira invited me to the bash that was organised by the Israeli Insyder in Tel Aviv in commemoration of the White Night. I asked Shirli to go with me but she told me that she was going to audit their businesses in Tel Aviv-Yaffo. She told me that she won’t be long, and furthermore Meira had invited me, not her, to the bash so may I stop being a jerk and go and rave to grave?

  After the bash, Meira offered to drive me home since I had not used the business car and had left my car at home. Instead of driving to her father’s home where I resided, she drove to her house in Ramat Aviv. She promised that we’re going to have a few drinks then she would take me home. She had something to talk to me about.

  She had known my tastes for wine from the numerous dinner parties at her father’s home and she offered me my favourite – St. Anna sweet white wine, a product of South Africa. I don’t remember drinking more than a glass of the wine, or finishing the bottle to the extent of drinking myself to a stupor. Point is, I didn’t know what happened. I was never driven home, and I never finished the glass of wine she offered me. It was there on the bedside table in the morning when I woke up, nude, and in Meira’s ample. All what she could say was that I lost it and she took care of me.

  She was austere nude. I had slept like that with my sister! Jeez! I looked at myself. Stark naked. In fact I could not believe what I was seeing.

  “Have you seen a ghost, Ken?”

  “Not really, but a vision, M. Would you m
ind telling me what the hell is happening here? What am I doing with you at this hour... blooming heck...” reality dawned on me. “What have you done, Meira?”

  “Nothing that has never been done, brother. Lemme say, some old-fashioned incest is the word.”

  Were they a piece of an ember I couldn’t have reacted such swiftly. I warded her hands off me as though she were leprous and faltered my eyes all over. Spurious guilty was plastered all over her. Here she was, Jasmine Meira Shalom, unperturbed by what she had done. “You drugged me. How could you?”

  My hackles were beginning to rise. She had struck me as anything in this world, but not as a rapist.

  “I know you’re silently demanding explanations. I’d offer a million and one of them. First of all, I am not your sister for heaven’s sake. I fell in love with you the day I saw you. I have always loved you. I’ve tried to show it to you but you’re a wilderness of emotions. I love you, will, and shall love you always. Don’t you see that? Stop playing monk on me.”

  “Still it beats me.”

  “All right. I got a little crazy about you and last night was so stupid of me. I am sorry. You know everything about me yet you don’t give me your heart. I love you, please, see that at least.”

  “I’ve heard all that. True you’re crazy about me to the point of sleeping with me without my consent. Does that seem right to you?”

  “I am so...”

  “Oh, save the sorry for yourself. How could you do such a thing? You’ve terribly hurt me. I must go now.” Your father must hear this.

  She reached for me as I got out of bed and grabbed me. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t leave now. I don’t want you to leave us. How could I explain that to Hanan?”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you….”

  “Ken, please, forgive me. Find a place in your heart and forgive me. Forget it happened and let’s move on.”