10 comments/ 39538 views/ 5 favorites Sari's Bargain By: Moondrift Chapter 1. Meeting Sari “There is someone I would like you to meet, David.” Father had walked into my study looking like the cat that had just found the cream. I followed him into the library and as we entered a young woman rose from an armchair. To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. She was tall, perhaps five feet nine or ten. Her figure was superb except that she looked a little top heavy since she had large full breasts. From her narrow waist her hips broadened out gently and below were long shapely legs. There sprang to mind a picture of a Greek goddess I had once seen, and this thought was enhanced by the classic beauty of her face. Her chestnut coloured hair tumbled in seemingly careless abandon to cascade over her shoulders in shining waves. Glittering green eyes looked at me and there was something in them that fleetingly looked like a moment of startled recognition, as if she knew me, which I was sure she did not. Then a shutter seemed to drop down over her yes. She still looked at me, but it was if she did not see me. I was riveted by her beauty. “She’s one of the loveliest women I have ever seen,” I thought. I mentally corrected myself. She was clearly no more than twenty four of five, just a year or so older than I was. She might better be described as a girl. There was a twinge of desire in my groin. I wondered what she was doing here and for a moment considered humorously if father had bought her for me like families did back in the past; like paying a bride price. “Perhaps she belongs to some wealthy family with whom my father wants to have ongoing business connections.” I had to stop myself laughing at the thought of father buying me a wife but my imagination roamed further. “Perhaps he’s bought her as a concubine for me – or himself.” My fantasies were brought to a halt as father went on; “This is Sari Mikowski,” Sari, my son David.” “Hello,” she said her voice a soft contralto that even in that one word revealed the accent of one whose native tongue was not English. Her eyes still looked through or past me and the voice matched her eyes, being distant and vague. I began to wonder if she was some sort of beautiful imbecile who was not quite with us. She made no attempt to extend her hand for me to shake. I remembered the flash of seeming recognition I had seen in her eyes a moment before and decided she was not imbecilic, yet there was something strange about her. There was a coldness and remoteness. Those eyes that did not see; a frigid stance which seemed to say, “I am untouchable”. The word hauteur came to mind. She looked rather like those models on the catwalk with that frozen look of disdain on their faces that some assume as they strut arrogantly, displaying the latest creation. Not sure how to respond to the frozen response my father’s introduction had elicited I followed her lead and said simply, “Hello.” I also failed to extend my hand. I thought Sari was a name matching in beauty the one who bore it, but in my head I found my own name for her; “Ice Maiden.” There was silence for a moment, and then my father said rather pompously, “Sari and I are to be married.” I thought I might have misheard so I said, “What did you say, father?” Impatiently he replied, “We are going to be married.” That really focused me. Until that introduction I had never met or even heard of Sari. That my father was to remarry might not have altogether surprised me. Mother had been dead six years and there was no reason why he should not have sought female companionship, but someone who was approaching forty years his junior! Then a wave of horror swept over me; “My God, I would have a stepmother about one year older than me.” “Aren’t you going to congratulate us?” father asked, in a voice that he might use when intimidating some quailing witness in court. What the hell did he expect? He brings in a stunningly beautiful Ice Maiden, announces they are to be married, and expects me to applaud! I wanted to say, “Don’t be so ridiculous. Who do you think you are, Don Juan?” Instead, and knowing what was good for me, I managed to choke out, “Of course, congratulations.” The Ice Maiden seemed to lose whatever slight interest she might have had in me and turning to father and putting her hand on his sleeve said, “Darling, you did say we were going to eat in that lovely restaurant we saw the other day…” “So,” I thought, “Ice Maiden is able to string a connected sentence together.” “Ah, yes. Time to go I suppose.” Father nodded briefly to me, placed his hand on Ice Maiden’s elbow and they left. The Ice Maiden did not even nod to me. I think I had ceased to exist for her. I was rejected as beneath her notice. Chapter 2. A Recalcitrant Son They left behind a thoroughly disorientated David. I returned to my study, asking myself, “What’s the old man up to? Has he got horny in his old age? Perhaps he wants a decorative female to parade around and sit at table during his dinner parties?” Then another thought struck me; “Good God, he’s going to try and replace me!” You see, I was one prize disappointment to father. He was an eminent barrister renowned for his ability to make the most scrupulously truthful witness look like an arch liar. Ours was a family of barristers who had made a fortune winning unwinnable cases for wealthy clients. It was without question that I should follow in the family tradition. At least, it had been unquestionable until the time came for me to enter university, when I announced I would study medicine. Father, my uncles and no doubt grandfather and great grandfather had they been alive, were horrified. They constituted the legal firm of Brook, Brook, Brook, Brook and Parsons. In case you are interested, Parsons is my father’s sister’s husband. As I became more recalcitrant they became more adamant in their demand that I “Stop being such a stupid sod”, and follow the family tradition. Had mother still been alive she would no doubt have sided with me, as she frequently had when alive, often sheltering me from my hectoring father. She was one of, if not the only, person who could bring father to heel. “Do stop trying to be so intimidating George, “she would say, “you’re not in the courtroom now.” That would bring father down to a muttering but compliant level, such was mother’s influence with him. My only defence against father and uncles was stubbornness. I can’t say they eventually relented, indeed, they used all their courtroom skills plus bribery to try and change my mind, but finally they accepted the verdict and retired from the struggle still complaining and threatening. So that was it, I conjectured; the beautiful bride to be was to bring forth a new male heir. But why, I wondered had a girl like that accepted a man my father’s age? I tried to be objective. For his age father was still a handsome man; he had an aristocratic appearance and with the timbre of his baritone voice he sounded impressive. Above all, he was rich, well connected and powerful. So, I decided, the bargain had been struck; child bearing in exchange for security and status. I suppose I might as well admit that while mother was alive, and right up until my stand about studying medicine, I had been somewhat cosseted and spoilt, as befitted one who was to take his place in the family law firm. Once I had won the case for medicine father seemed to lose interest in me. The bonds of affection between us had always been tenuous, his interest in me being little more than one to carry on the family traditions in legal practice. Of course, I still got the benefits of the family wealth. My father could not “let a son of his go around like a pauper,” but he began to become almost a stranger to me. Looked at objectively I suppose like Ice Maiden I had made my bargain as well. I accepted his lack of affection for the sake of being supported through my medical course. I could have left the family home and entered a university college or taken rooms somewhere; instead I settled for the comfortable environment that only demanded that I keep out of father’s hair. I gave a sardonic laugh. “I suppose that makes both me and the girl whores in our own way.” Thus I came to the conclusion that father was marrying Ice Maiden in the hope of producing another son who would follow in his legal footsteps. Of course, he might not be alive to see that hoped for outcome as he would be well into his sixties if and when such a son was born. He would need to live until he was nearly ninety to witness the boy’s entry into the law practice. Another thought occurred to me. My father was a very chauvinistic male, what if the child was a girl? Would he like Henry the Eighth dispose of his fair bride? I had a chuckle at that thought. Having demonstrated my independence about studying medicine, I fully intended to continue that independence once I had graduated. I would cease to be financially dependent on the family, and make my own way. The anticipated brother or sister could have their share of family goodies, and welcome, but graduation was still some way ahead for me so, I decided, “I’ll keep my head down below the trench line for the time being.” Chapter 3. The Wedding The one aspect of the upcoming marriage that did trouble me was the stepmother aspect. How was I to cope with a beautiful if icy stepmother? It seemed faintly ridiculous to have a stepmother more or less my own age. “Still,” I thought, “needs must. I’ll have to deal with it as best I can. Perhaps Ice Maiden might melt a little.” As it turned out, Ice Maiden did remain frozen, which was just as well, as well I thought. The wedding was to take place a couple of months after I was first introduced to Ice Maiden, never the less, all the formalities had to be gone through. There had to be an engagement, and my father’s engagement gift to Sari was a magnificent diamond ring plus a Jaguar car. His wedding present to her was an exceedingly expensive motor launch, and he probably saw as an added bonus himself as her husband. For the wedding he managed to get a tame bishop to conduct the ceremony in the city cathedral. I vaguely recalled grandfather having defended the cleric on a paedophile charge some years before. The congregation was made up of legal colleagues, family members which was much the same thing, their womenfolk and politicians to whom favours had been done or from whom they had been received. There was no one there at the ceremony or the reception who were real friends of my father. My father had often espoused the view that one did not really have friends, only people who could “do you favours.” Ice Maiden did seem to have a few friends present but they were all about her own age. With them I saw Ice Maiden show some signs of animation for a change. It did strike me as odd, however, that she seemed to have no relatives present. I did have a friend with me, Sylvia, but even in our case we were also currently bound by favours. It seems to run in the family this exchange of favours business. The favours uniting Sylvia and I were exchanged in bed. Sylvia was a fellow medical student and my current bed companion. We were not in love or anything like that, and the relationship was one of exchange. Neither of us sought anything long term either with each other or anybody else. We had sexual needs, and we satisfied them with each other – for the time being. I seemed to have no problem in getting girls for sexual gratification, but I did have a rule that stated, “Only one girl at a time.” Sylvia and I had been serving each other for about six months at the time of the wedding. My father, conservative in most things, was at least a liberal with regard to my sexual needs. When it became obvious that I was good and ready to begin sexual activity, he spoke to me, or rather, he gave a speech, in which he announced that although he wouldn’t actually find sex partners for me, should I find some for myself, I was “welcome to bring them home for the night”. Having a generous allowance plus a BMW and access to a ski boat, I had little difficulty in finding girls to gratify me, much to the chagrin of my fellow male students and those girls who missed out on me. Did I hear you say, “Arrogant young bugger”? Not really because I am only telling the truth. Money seems to buy most things, except one. If you don’t know what that one thing is, then you must wait to find out. It was at the wedding reception that Sari met Sylvia for the first time. Sari’s sparkling green eyes seemed to sweep over Sylvia; her lips curved in a faint mocking smile; she murmured, “How do you do,” and moved on. Sylvia stared after her for a moment then turned to me and said, “Bloody frosty bitch isn’t she?” I shrugged and said, “Careful, sweetheart, that’s my stepmother you’re talking about.” We both burst out laughing. During the course of the reception I noticed that Sylvia was not the only one to be the object of Sari’s disdain. She seemed to shower her frost over everyone except father, whom she treated with exaggerated and rather embarrassing affection, and her few friends present with whom she actually laughed. Sylvia nudged me in the ribs and asked, “How’s it going to be, having a sexy stepmother like her around the place?” I tried to laugh that one off saying, “Getting my prick inside that one would be like entering an ice box”. Never the less Sylvia had added to certain thoughts lurking in my head. For all her coldness Sari was very physically desirable. If proof was needed for that, one had only to see the lustful looks in the eyes of the men, young and old, at the reception. Also, by an equal and opposite reaction, one only needed to look at the anger and spite in the eyes of their female companions. I hastily tucked that thought of Ice Maiden’s physical attractions into some dark recess of my mind, and as soon as all the sycophantic speeches were over and the “happy couple” sent on the way to their honeymoon, I took Sylvia to bed and endeavoured to relieve myself of lustful thoughts – for a while. Chapter 4. Marriage Problems and a Slight Thaw While the honeymoon couple were away life got back into its routine of study and bedding Sylvia. During this time I wondered if Ice Maiden would eventually drop her detached attitude and become more sociable. I had thought that once safely married and secure, Sari might warm up a little. She did not. With everyone Sari stayed at a distance. We had two servants, a cook, Josie, and Lisa whom we described as our “Housekeeper.” Neither of them actually lived in our house, Josie being married and Lisa having a small cottage of her own. Ice Maiden treated them with the same disdain she used with everyone else except my father. The trouble with Josie and Lisa was, that they interpreted Ice Maiden’s attitude as one of contempt for their status in the house. Lisa literally ran the house. She was a well set up woman of around fifty and at one time I did think she might have been my father’s choice as companion in his old age, which indicates the place she occupied within our household. My father held many dinner parties, mainly attended by those from whom he sought “favours.” Seated at the meal table Ice Maiden maintained her distant attitude. At times it was almost as if she was not there, mentally and emotionally speaking. Physically it was another story. The men still clearly lusted for her, and the women hated her. With me she remained equally reserved although I was told to call her “Sari” and I, of course, was “David.” To my great relief she made no attempt to play the substitute mother to me. Had she done so it would have been both embarrassing and ludicrous. For some time Ice Maiden and father continued their displays of affection, my father calling her “Pet” and “Darling,” holding her hand or stroking her. Sari reciprocated calling him, “Sweetheart” and “Dearest.” It was all very doting and to me slightly nauseating. It was around twelve months after their marriage I began to notice a fall off in this connubial bliss. Father seemed to be less uxorious and Ice Maiden referred to him as “George”, having dropped the endearments. I took little notice of this, assuming it was the fall off that seems to occur in most marriages when the first blossoming has faded. I confess that I based this on my own experience, which although not marital, did indicate to me that six to twelve months was as long as I lusted for any one female. Two years went by. I was well into my medical course, and socially speaking I had passed beyond Sylvia to Stacy and from Stacy to Tania and was currently enjoying Rosemary. Ice Maiden seemed to have thawed a little in relation to me. At the same time I noticed that she and father were starting to snap at each other ever more frequently. I gathered that as some of the warmth between stepmother and father diminished stepson became the doubtful beneficiary of Ice Maiden’s need for an ally in the house. It is said that “familiarity breeds contempt.” Living in the same house as Ice Maiden might have meant that as I got used to her just being around, I would no longer have unfilial thoughts about her. I must admit to you, it was not so. At times Sari made it very difficult not to have prurient thoughts about her. To see such a physically attractive woman floating around the house and at times glimpsing her in minimal underwear or scanty casual garments did nothing to keep the hardening of my manhood at bay. I suppose I should have been grateful that she kept me at double arms length most of the time. Had she been overly affectionate or physically demonstrative, I think my life would have been one great hell of sexual hunger for her. As it was, I set up my own defensive barrier. I avoided her whenever possible; made excuses for not eating with father and Ice Maiden, taking my meals in the kitchen early with Lisa and Josie before they left for the night, and whose conversation I found more stimulating than that which took place in the dining room. As for that dining room conversation; it consisted mainly of my father going on about his latest legal victories to which Sari made appropriate noises of admiration. Alternatively they might engage in one of their ever more frequent tiffs, or would sit in silent hostility. When I did join them for a meal anything I had to say seemed to skate past them. I longed for the time when I would qualify and could leave home and begin my professional life. That way I should be independent and away from the tantalizing Sari. Sari was becoming a real itch in my groin. In addition, I began to feel an intense envy towards my father as images of him laying Sari came floating into my consciousness. Life was made even more difficult when Ice Maiden began the slight melting process. She actually started to make the odd enquiry about my studies. I suppose this was a safe topic, but it did seem to indicate that she was reaching out just a little. When responding to her queries about my studies, she also opened up a fraction about her own academic life. I had earlier considered whether all the remoteness on her part might be a cover up for her lack of intelligence. When I learned that she was an honours graduate in classical studies at a university in her country of origin I had to review that view of her. “My God,” I thought, “there is a brain under that ice. Who knows, I might even find a human being in there.” So things tramped along with father and Ice Maiden getting ever more irritable with each other, and my existence being acknowledged by my frosty but now slightly unfreezing stepmother. I tried to puzzle out what the real problem was between father and Ice Maiden. It was always over very petty matters that led me to suspect there was more to it. I was due to find out. Sari's Bargain Chapter 5. Crises Are Upon Me. Then came crisis time; two events fell upon me that added together brought me to one of those turning points in life. The first and less severe crisis occurred when my current girl friend decided she needed a change of sex partner. The new sex partner proved to be a lecturer in a subject that she was not getting good marks in. It was noticeable that after sharing his bed, her marks in that subject improved dramatically. No doubt it was the extra private tuition she was receiving; or something like that. The loss of my girl friend did not bother me all that much. I had a couple of possible replacements in mind, and I only had to decide who was to be the lucky girl. The second crisis was more severe and threatening. Father had gone off on one of his cases to a distant city. He had left the house looking very irate. There had been yet another but more severe than usual argument or row between him and Sari. Whilst not being able to hear what it was about, I could certainly hear their raised voices, especially father’s bellow. After he had gone I heard sobs coming from their bedroom, but despite the slight warming up in our relationship, I still did not feel at liberty to go and enter the bedroom to ask what had happened. I did, however, decide that I would join Sari for dinner that evening instead of being with Lisa and Josie in the kitchen. I had come to realise that the increasing tension between Sari and father had been at least in part responsible for Sari’s unfreezing in relation to me. Isolated within the household, she was reaching out for a friend. Her frosty manner towards Lisa and Josie had put them completely off-side and in any case they were both far older than her. I was very nearly the same age as Sari, so perhaps she thought I might be susceptible to a closer relationship. Dinner in the dining room was usually far from an intimate affair. The table was large and father would sit at one end and Sari at the other. If I was present I seated myself on one side somewhere in the middle. On this night Sari moved to sit beside me. Somewhere during the second course right out of the blue, Sari asked, “Do you dislike me very much, David?” I nearly choked on the food I was trying to swallow. I felt like an animal, suspecting a trap, and wondering which way to run. I opted for what I hoped might be a safe response, and answered her question with a question. “What makes you think I dislike you?” “David, you’re not a fool, you know why I’m married to your father. Surely that must be a threat to you.” I tried for another escape route. “Sari, I don’t really know you; until recently you’ve been almost completely aloof. I might have disliked you for that, but how am I to know what if anything else I might dislike about you?” “David, you’re being obtuse. We both know what I’m here to do, but if I must say it, I’m here to provide a replacement for you.” I managed a laugh. “Yes, I know.” “Don’t you hate me for that?” “No, why should I?” She looked at me as if trying to puzzle something out, so I went on; “You are to provide father with a son who will do as he’s bidden; a son who will follow in father’s legal footsteps. I’m certain father has told you all about my defiance of his wishes, the obdurate and wilful son who chose to study medicine instead of law.” “Yes, he has.” “If you provide him with what he wants, then I’d be very happy for him, and I’m sure you’ll be well rewarded.” Sari turned pale and her face became grim. “That was a cruel thing to say.” “What?” “That I should ‘be well rewarded’.” I realised that I had been thoroughly insensitive, and apologised; “Sorry Sari, I only meant that father would be very grateful to you. Having a son to follow him in his profession would mean a great deal, a very great deal, to him.” She suddenly looked very downcast and simply said, “Yes.” “If you are concerned that I might be angry or bitter about his wanting another son, then put your mind at rest. I made my own choice knowing how father would feel. I must say that you came as a bit of a surprise and if you do give father what he wants, I’m sure he won’t, as they used to say, ‘Cut me off without a shilling’. Even if he did, he has never the less provided the wherewithal for me to study medicine. I shall be able to make my own living. So if you’re worried that I might drag you and your offspring through the court one day to get at the inheritance, then forget it.” Sari pushed back her chair, stood up and left the room without another word. I had touched a raw nerve in her and felt somewhat ashamed but did not feel I could go after her to make another apology. Chapter 6. Another Freeze; Another Thaw The shutters came down again; the return of the Ice Maiden. I went back eating in the kitchen again and Sari and I worked hard at avoiding each other. My father returned and for a while peace seemed to reign between him and his wife. Meanwhile I had selected my new bed partner, a somewhat buxom girl called Nora. It took a couple of weekends with the ski boat and some spins into the country with the BMW before she joined me in bed. As a sex partner she proved somewhat raucous. She was one of those females who are capable of seemingly endless orgasms and each orgasm was an occasion for yells and screams that nearly brought the house down about our ears. My father, who usually ignored my sexual activities, told me that Nora’s orgasmic cries could be heard all over the house, and if she didn’t quieten down I should need to seek another partner. Thereafter I managed to muffle some of the noise by placing my hand over her mouth as she climaxed. The peace between father and Sari did not last for long. Soon there was bickering to be heard again, if not all over the house, certainly within earshot of my bedroom. Then father was off again to yet another distant courtroom. The renewed squabbling between father and Sari had not this time resulted in a friendlier rapprochement between Sari and me. We remained distant and coldly polite. Lisa and Josie had both decided to go on vacation for a couple of weeks, so instead of employing replacements for them, Sari to my amazement, had told father she would cope with the cooking and housework. From day one of her arrival in the house she had never struck me as the housework type. I had been puzzled for a long time about what Sari did with her days. Earlier in her marriage, as I have already indicated, she tended to roam or sit around in a state of semi undress a great deal. She seemed to be revelling in not having to do anything. Later, and most markedly when the squabbles with father began, she would be gone from the house for several hours each day. I did wonder if, having found herself sexually unsatisfied with a man so much older than her, she had got herself a lover. Having undertaken to look after the house and do the cooking, she still went out each day. I was tempted to ask her what she did when she left the house, but apart from the coldness between us, I was afraid I might get an answer I did not want to hear. With only the two of us in the house and Sari doing the cooking we could hardly eat the evening meal separately, so we ate in the kitchen. This led to another minor unfreezing in our relationship. It was nothing dramatic; just an exchange of queries about each other’s day; how had it been? And so on. This continued for about three days until Sari sprung one of her “out of the blue” questions on me again. “David, do you think we could be friends?” I had been on edge sharing our meals in the kitchen and this question really incensed me. I snapped at her really hard. “Sari, since the day you bloody well entered this house you’ve spent most of the time treating me as if I didn’t exist. I don’t know why and perhaps I don’t care why, but I notice that every time you and father aren’t getting along well, I get a bit of your attention. I’m sick of being ignored or being used as a stand-in when you can’t get on with old man, and that is precisely the reason you want to be friendly with me now, as a stand-in.” There was a long pause. I looked across the table at Sari. She was sitting stock still, rigid. To my shame I saw tears running down her cheeks. Like many people in that situation, made to feel guilty by the response their words or actions have evoked, I plunged in even deeper. “For Christ’s sake don’t turn on the waterworks, it doesn’t impress me. You’ve been a solid lump of ice since the day you moved in here, so freeze up again.” Her weeping up to that point had been silent, but now she broke down into racking sobs. I was angry with her and myself; angry with her because she had dragged such bitter words from me, and angry with myself for having lost control the way I had. I was at a loss to know what to do and castigated myself for my inactivity. “A bloody fine doctor you’ll make,” I thought, “when you can’t handle someone crying.” With that self-rebuke I rose and went to Sari. I put my hand on her shoulder and muttered, “Sorry.” For a moment she said nothing and continued weeping. Then I felt her hand cover mine as it lay on her shoulder. She spoke through her sobs; “The trouble is you’re right.” I had anticipated rejection and perhaps an angry verbal response; her agreement with my acid words startled me. I was also surprised by the realisation that this was the first voluntary physical contact we had ever had. The touch of her hand on mine sent a quiver of pleasure through me and I was confused as to how to proceed. In the circumstance I left my hand on her shoulder, waiting for her to withdraw her hand. Instead she gently squeezed my hand, holding it as if it was rescuing her from some fate like drowning. We must have remained like that for a couple of minutes, then she finally released my hand and I her shoulder. She stood and said again; “You are right.” She walked slowly towards the kitchen door. There she stopped and turned, fixing those green eyes of her on me, and this time not looking past me or through me, but into me. “One day,” she murmured, “you might understand.” Chapter 7. I Learn Something She left the room. I wanted to go after her; to ask her forgiveness and to offer the friendship she had asked for. Instead I went into the library and poured myself a drink. “One day you might understand,” she had said. Understand what? Some dark secret? Some past she kept hidden within? What? If my father had been more communicative I might have learned something of Sari’s background, but the gulf that had grown up between us had precluded that sort of intimacy. My father having few friends, only people he used, meant that Sari had gained few if any friends through being married to him. In any case Sari’s own aloofness would have put many people off. She did, however, have a few girl friends who I gathered she had met while engaging in some university extension course. Occasionally they visited her and once in a while she would go out with two or three of them. I had not paid particular attention to these friends but I had noted there were no males among them. I had put this down to her not wanting father to get the wrong idea, but in passing I had noted that a couple of these friends were married, but there husbands never came with them to visit. As if the thought gives rise to the event, a couple of days after that critical evening with Sari, one of her friends called on the off chance Sari might be home. “Just passing,” she said, “and thought I’d drop in.” As it happened Sari was not at home so I asked her to come in since she’d been kind enough to call. Her name was Adrienne and under cover of being hospitable I thought I might feel out what she knew about Sari. She gave me a first class opportunity. “Excuse my being so nosy, but I have wondered how you and Sari get along. I mean, it must be odd having a stepmother near enough your own age.” She gave a giggle and went on, “Don’t mean to be prying but one can’t help being curious.” I decided to exploit Adrienne’s “prying” for my own ends. “That’s all right” I said, pouring her stiff drink, “it’s natural that people should be interested. As a matter of fact, there’s not a great deal of communication between Sari and me. I suppose we manage to live in the same house without conflict, but Sari is rather remote where I’m concerned.” “Ah, yes,” said Adrienne in a speculative sort of voice. “Then nothing’s changed.” “How do you mean?” I queried. “Well she still sort of hides away from people, especially men.” I noted she had already got through her drink so I poured her another on the grounds that a little alcohol can often elicit a lot of information. “Yes,” I said, “she is remote with nearly everyone except people like you and her other old friends.” “She has to trust, you see. Took us a long time to get though to her, poor thing, but she’s really lovely when you do get to know her. I mean, she’s incredibly lovely on the outside everybody can see that, but she’s sort of beautiful on the inside as well, if you see what I mean. Just look at all the work she does among her own people, the refugees I mean; all voluntary as you will know.” “So that’s where she does to when she goes out,” I thought. Then pretending for Adrienne’s benefit to know about this refugee work I simply said, “Yes.” “Of course, she went though hell herself before she got out of the country. No wonder she fends people off with her cold manner. You and your father are very privileged to be privy to her life; there’s only a few of us who are.” I was bursting to know what it was father and I was supposed to be “privy” to, but I was in no position to ask. Adrienne rose and said, “Well must get on, let Sari know I dropped by will you?” “I’ll do that,” I replied. Adrienne departed not quite steady on her feet. The drinks had been rather strong. I was left with some knowledge about Sari, but with the tantalizing question; what was this “hell” she had gone through? Chapter 8. My Sorrow and an Invitation When Sari came home that afternoon I told her about Adrienne’s visit, then asked her if she would come into the lounge as I wanted to talk to her. She looked at me somewhat austerely but never the less followed me into the lounge and sat. We had hardly exchanged a word since her weeping session so I began by reiterating my apology. “Sari, I want to say how sorry I am for the way I spoke to you the other evening. Especially since you asked me for friendship and all I did was to reject you. If you can forgive me, I’d like us to start again.” “I think I’ve forgiven you already,” she replied. “I understand how you must feel. Perhaps it is you who should forgive me.” “For what?” “For the way most of the time I’ve been so distant towards you.” “But Sari, you’re like it with most people.” “Yes, and I’m sorry for that too.” “I don’t want you to be sorry Sari, but I do want to understand why. You said that one day I might understand, but how can I understand if you don’t tell me?” “I can’t tell you. “Why not, don’t you trust me with whatever your secret is?” “I would like to, David, but I wonder if you would want to be my friend if I did tell you.” “Surely it can’t be that bad? Does father know?” “Some of it.” She had been looking at me with sad eyes, but suddenly their look sharpened. “Has Adrienne been talking to you?” “Well, yes, I invited her in for a drink.” “And you questioned her about me?” “Yes, but only because I want to know you better, and she didn’t give me any details, I promise.” “She had no right to talk about me to you at all.” “It doesn’t look as if we can be friends, does it. A friend is someone you trust enough to let them see something of you, who and what you are. I’m sure you’ve heard enough about me from father and rest of the family, but I know hardly anything about you.” Another one of Sari’s bolt from the blue questions sent me reeling again. “David, would come with me to see a film tomorrow night?” She had skittered right away from the subject we had been discussing leaving me bewildered. I felt my irritability starting to rise up within, but pushed it down. She was making an opening, so I would walk through it. “All right,” I said. “We go to see a film tomorrow night.” “Lovely David; your father and I hardly ever go out like that. It’s always legal business with him when we do go out.” She looked at me and smiled almost shyly. “I hope you don’t mind being his substitute?” I laughed, “All right Sari, I shall be honoured to substitute for the old man.” She joined in my laughter and said, “really, I shall enjoy being with you for your own sake. Now I must go and prepare dinner.” She rose and came to me, and to my utter amazement, kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you David,” she said, and departed for the kitchen. That brief brush of her lips across my cheek, her momentary closeness, her female fragrance had me hardening up. “My God,” I thought, “if such a mild demonstration of affection can have this effect on me then what if…. Careful David….” Sari had taken charge and inserted the thin end of the wedge of friendship. I would wait and see how things developed. Chapter 9. I take the Initiative The visit to the cinema was unexceptional in that we went, saw a film, and came home. We talked about the film we had seen, decided it was not too bad, and that was it; “Where to from here?” I thought. Sari having taken the first step towards a new relationship between us, I decided the initiative was now mine. With the heavy load of my studies my free time was limited and although I had not yet selected a new sex partner, the pressure to do so was growing. Most girls are not content with just being bedded; they want to be taken out and entertained so any new partner would also encroach on my time. I had noted that Sari was very fond of music. I had heard her playing CD’s and got to know her taste. In addition I had heard her playing the grand piano we had, and doing so with considerable ability. Actually the piano had stood unused for years, my father considering it just one more thing that people of our wealth should have. Clearly Sari liked classical music. Most of it was not particularly to my taste, but I decided that a concert would be the thing to take her too. This proved convenient since our State Orchestra gave regular Sunday afternoon concerts, and that tended to be the time that I rested from my labours. The only problem was, father was due home and I wondered how he would feel about me taking his wife to a concert. Before asking Sari if she would like to go with me to the concert I decided to approach father on the subject. I waited until he was alone in the library and with some trepidation made my move. “Father.” He looked up from some papers he was studying. “Yes?” “I’m going to one of the Sunday afternoon concerts, and wondered if Sari would like to go with me.” “Well ask her.” “You don’t mind?” “Why should I? Make a change for you two to get together.” In the now more than two years Sari had been in the house, such was the contact between my father and I, that I didn’t think he’d even noticed the distance between Sari and me; apparently he had. He went on, “Since when have you been interested in going to classical concerts?” “Oh, just thought I’d give it a try,” I hedged. “Well, you can take her where you like, keep her amused.” That was my dismissal. He looked down at his papers again and I left him to his legal world. I went in search of Sari and found her in the sun room also reading some papers of her own. As she looked up lowering the papers I caught a glimpse of the heading. It read, “Refugee Association.” Sari's Bargain I made no comment and simply extended my invitation. “That would be lovely, David,” she beamed. “I don’t go very often. Most of my friends don’t like that sort of music and it’s not much fun going on your own; but I didn’t know you were interested.” I decided to be a bit more honest with her than I had been with father. “As a matter of fact I’m not all that keen, but I know you are so I thought…” “David! That is so…so…considerate of you.” She was sitting on a sofa with her legs drawn up under her; her skirt had ridden up to expose her thighs. I felt a twinge in my testes foreshadowing an erection. I quickly arranged the time with her, and fled, leaving her to her reading. There were two days to go before we were due to go out. In that intervening period I found myself getting as excited about being with her as I had been on my first ever date. I was like a child waiting for Christmas, counting the days, hours, even the minutes to the concert. “I shall have her to myself for at least three hours,” I thought, totally ignoring the fact that there would be a lot of other people at the concert, and in any case, I could often have her to myself at home. I had still not chosen a new sex partner, having become somewhat engrossed in the developing relationship with Sari. As a result my testes were crying out for the release of the banked up sperm. I had to deal with that on my own, but when I gained relief it was Sari who reared before me as my fantasy. I was not unaware of the dangers inherent in the situation. Even over all the time we had been virtual strangers living in the same house, I had been aware of her sexual attraction. Now as we drew closer and the barriers we had erected between us began to crumble, that attraction pressed in upon me with ever increasing strength. The concert did not bore me as I thought it would, but I think I was hearing the music through Sari as she sat beside me. Her presence added a finer edge, a thrill to what I was hearing. During the interval as men turned to look at her, I felt a surge of pride in being the one to escort her, and rejoiced at the palpable envy I drew from them. Our conversation on the way home and on our arrival centred only on the music we had heard until Sari decided it was time for her to change her clothes. It was then for the first time she kissed me on the lips and said, “Thank you David, it was delightful.” At dinner that night I joined father and Sari at the table. “Enjoy the concert?” asked father, addressing neither of us in particular. “Yes, very much,” I answered. “It was very enjoyable,” echoed Sari. I got the feeling we were both understating what we had felt for safety’s sake. “Glad to see you two getting on so well,” rumbled father, then turning to me, “Take her out more often, haven’t got time for that sort of thing myself.” I wondered how Sari felt being brushed off so brusquely. “My God, I thought, I wouldn’t be so cavalier in my treatment of a wife like her.” Chapter 10. Boating, Lust and Revelations Father’s offhand treatment of Sari worked in my favour in that we did start going out together with increasing frequency. Given the pressure of my studies it was the Sunday afternoon concerts that were our main diet. We clearly had an ever growing friendship, but still Sari did not talk about what Adrienne had called the “hell” she had been through. That is, until there was the short semester break at the university. I still had plenty of catching up to do in my studies, but did allow myself some time to relax. Just before the break began Sari came to me and said, “David, you’ve got a couple of weeks free, if the weather is fine, why don’t we go out in the launch one day? We could do some swimming and fishing.” The wedding present motor launch seemed hardly to be ever used. I think Sari might have had a few of her girl friends out in it occasionally, but that was about all. I suppose they all had their boyfriends or husbands, and as Sari seemed to reject their menfolk, it was not often these friends would join her. Yet like the concerts, it was no fun being out on a boat by your self. So it was agreed that we spend a day on the boat, weather permitting. On the day in question the weather did permit. It was warm with a light offshore breeze and near cloudless sky. The boat was kept in a marina where it was serviced and cleaned courtesy of father’s money. The boat was a nine metre cabin cruiser that sat rather ostentatiously amid the more modest recreational fishing boats. We were met by the man who oversaw the maintenance of the boat who exclaimed, “Taking her out then, Mrs. Brook! She needs a bit of a run. She’s all fuelled up and ready to go.” Sari had adopted her remote manner and simply said, “Thank you Mr. Carver.” He left us to it. I had never been on the boat and therefore knew nothing of its layout, and confronted with the array of buttons and lights on the control panel, I left it to Sari to get us under weigh. The motor throbbed into life and we cruised slowly out of the marina and into the gulf. Once in the gulf Sari opened up the engine and the boat surged forward. The two arms of land that constituted the gulf, stretched out until they turned to join the main coastline, and were about six kilometres apart as we began our trip and gradually moved away from us as we progressed. We were heading for one of the fishing grounds about five kilometres distant. Once started Sari handed the helm over to me. I had no idea where the fishing ground was, since my only interest in boating was close inshore water skiing, but Sari said, pointing to the compass, “Just stay on that heading, I won’t be long, just going to change.” The three metre cabin was situated slightly ahead of midships, leaving a foredeck of about two metres and a stern deck that included a sheltered area just behind the cabin where the control panel and helm were situated. Shortly Sari emerged from the cabin having changed. I nearly lost control of the boat at the sight of her. She had put on a swim suit that might have been described as a modest one piece, except for the material it was made of. It seemed to be some sort of thin white see through net that clung to her body, clearly revealing her breasts and a little dark patch of pubic hair where her mons pushed against the material. At the sight of her my heart began to pound and I felt slightly nauseous as I fought to beat down the lust I was feeling for her and tried to control my shaking limbs. Seemingly unaware of the effect she was having on me, Sari said, “I’ll take over if you’d like to go and change.” “No need,” I said, “I put my swimming trunks on under my shorts before we left.” I made no move to remove my shorts as my swimming trunks and shorts between them, managed to partially conceal my erection. Sari perched on the seat beside me and stared ahead. “What the hell is she trying to do to me,” I inwardly wailed. Her close proximity was driving out of my mind. I could smell the slight perfume of her body and from the corner of my eyes see her hair ruffling in the offshore breeze. I sought desperately for a way out of my dilemma and suddenly had a bright idea. “Have you got anything to drink on board,” I asked as casually as I could. “Yes, I keep some whisky and brandy in the cabin. What would you like; I’ll get it for you.” She had almost headed me off at the pass. I protested and said, “No, you take over, I’ll do it.” She shrugged and smiled, “Okay.” I clambered down the short ladder into the cabin. There were twin bunks and I lay on one and masturbated. I was so worked up it was all over in a flash. I found a cloth and cleaned up my emission and then hurriedly poured a brandy and dry for Sari and a whisky for myself. Back on the deck Sari took the drink from me and said, “You took your time, couldn’t you find the drink locker?” My erection diminished I replied, “Oh yes, but I’ve never been on the boat before, so I took a look around.” Sari cut the engine revs and said, “This is the place, let’s drop anchor here.” She slowed the engines to a stop and cut them. We moved to the rhythm of the slight swell coming up the gulf from the open sea. The anchor was forward so I went to the bow and dropped it over the side. The boat drifted for a few moments, then the anchor caught and the bow swung round to face the breeze. “A swim first,” Sari announced, and made her way to the stern where there was a short swimming ladder standing upright. She released a fastener and lowered the ladder into the water, then climbed down it. I felt it safe to remove my shorts now, but did not feel so safe about swimming. I had always been told there were sharks around in the gulf. However, not prepared to look scared in front of Sari, I followed her into the water. We swam around for a while, and then clambered back on to the boat. If Sari’s swim suit had been virtually transparent before, it was doubly so now it was wet. It clung to her more tightly then ever, and the pink nipples of her large breasts thrust out like small acorns. I concluded this was not going to be a very comfortable day for me. “Let’s do some fishing,” Sari declared, and from a locker produced hand lines and bait. Happy to be distracted by any means, I took one of the lines, baited the hook, and dropped it over the side. On the other side of the boat Sari did the same. At first we stood alert ready for the fish to bite. As it became clear that the fish did not share our enthusiasm we relaxed. From another locker Sari produced two air mattresses and a pump. She proceeded to blow up the mattresses, and when inflated they were laid on the deck side by side. “Relax,” she said, indicating the mattresses. I knotted my fishing line round the hand rail and flopped down onto a mattress. Sari dropped down beside me. I lay on my back gazing up at the sky. There came to mind a verse from Omar Khayyam where he describes the sky as an inverted bowl. As I watched the few puffs of cloud sail slowly across the vast sky, I could agree with his description. I had never been more intensely aware of the beauty of the heavens, and like my experience the first time I went with Sari to a concert, the moment was made more potent by her presence a hand touch away from me. The slight motion of the boat and the peace that seemed to enfold us must have led me to doze off. I was awakened by Sari rising to enter the cabin. She re-emerged shortly carrying two more drinks. “You’ve been asleep,” she said. “Did you have nice dreams?” I was hardly aware that I had been asleep and certainly could not remember any dream. Then I thought, “Perhaps there is a dream and this is it, being here with Sari.” I sipped my drink tentatively. “I’d better not get too relaxed,” I thought, “Or God knows what I might do, or try to do.” Sari had seated herself on the mattress, her knees drawn up under her chin. From where I lay I could see the cloth of her swim suit pressing into the cleft of her vagina to clearly delineate its firm outer lips. The dream began to turn into another nightmare of longing for her. I sought for some excuse to escape back to the cabin to relieve myself. Sari was staring straight ahead not looking at me as she began to speak. “David, you want to know about me, don’t you?” “Yes,” I admitted, “I am very curious.” “I’m ready to tell you, if you wish to hear.” “I’m listening.” “David, you live in a country at peace with itself. My country seemed to live in peace for a long time, but it was a false peace. Underneath there was discontent and this discontent finally boiled over. There was revolution that quickly became civil war. My country was made up of two large ethnic groups and a number of smaller ones. My family belonged to one of the smaller.” “Have you any idea what a civil war is like, David?” “I only know what I read in the papers or see on the television news.” “David, however realistically they try to present it, it can never match the horror of the reality. People you have lived in peace with for as long as you can remember, neighbours, friends, people you trust all become something else.” “I learned about the angers, hatreds, envies and lusts that a veneer of civilisation hides. Strip away that veneer and you see all the prejudices and bitterness. It rises to the surface like scum.” “While the two main ethnic factions fought each other, everyone took advantage of the chance to get their revenge for all the real and imagined wrongs that they had stored up within them.” “My own small ethnic group was a particular target. They came and looted our homes then set fire to them. People on whose knee I had sat as a child spat on me screaming their venom. Those of us they did not kill they dragged away into their concentration camps. Men and women separated, children torn away from their mothers. Men executed at random, and the women…” I had been watching her as she spoke. Her eyes had been wide open, staring as if seeing the scenes she described. Now she closed her eyes and from beneath the lids tears began to fall. “The women were systematically raped. Over and over again they raped us. Some of the women, the very religious ones, committed suicide. They saw themselves as defiled, impure, and they could no longer face themselves or their people.” “Some of us were more fortunate. We were selected as what they called, ‘Officer’s meat’. If we behaved nicely and pretended to enjoy what they did to us, we were not subject to the appalling things that were being done to the other women. If you did made objections, you were thrown to the ‘other ranks’ for them to enjoy.” “I played the game and survived. Then came the foreign troops, coming to ‘liberate’ us, they said. They came with their bombs and shells and added to the destruction we had already inflicted on ourselves.” “When it was all over some of us were allowed to leave the country as refugees; I was put on an early flight out. I was given that privilege because I was prepared to spend the night with the man who was in charge. Then I arrived in your country. I was pregnant and I had the pregnancy terminated.” She stopped speaking and lay down on the mattress and turned her back on me. So that was it! The remoteness, the coldness towards people, especially men; then as if picking up my thoughts she went on in a muffled voice: “Don’t imagine David that it is only in faraway places this can happen. It is here too, lurking beneath that veneer we call ‘civilisation’. The passions and envies, the lusts and prejudices are all here. It wants but an incident to let it all boil to the surface.” She was silent again and I was at a loss to know what to say. Suddenly she rolled over to face me. Her face was streaked with tears and she shook with silent sobs. “Am I defiled, David? Do you think I’m impure, tainted? See what sort of a stepmother you have; ‘Officer’s meat’.” “Don’t Sari, please,” I murmured. I reached out to touch her arm and she came to bury her face in my chest. “Hold me David, please hold me. It’s so hard to trust...please hold me.” I was on the verge of tears myself, and felt a sense of shame that I had lusted for her, that I might have tried to seduce her. My veneer of civilisation had been ready to crack not long before. I might have tried to have sex with my father’s wife. Now, as I held her in my arms, sexual desire had gone and I simply wanted to comfort her, to try and convey to her that I had no negative image of her. Gradually she calmed and tried to smile through her tears. “Have I told you what you wanted to know, David?” “Yes, Sari.” “Is there anything else you want to know while I’m in the mood?” There was, but I was not prepared to push the matter further at that time. She had come to trust me to such an extent that she had confided her deep secret, I would build on that trust. Since I was silent Sari took off on one of her tangents that I had come to see as part of her. She gave a wan smile and said, “We haven’t looked at our fishing lines.” We rose and began to haul our lines in. I felt instantly that I had a bite. I pulled the flapping creature on to the deck and looked at it, and then taking it from the hook I dropped it back into the water saying, “I don’t need your life, little one.” The fish flashed away into the depths. Sari was exhausted by her emotional exposures and I felt little better. We decided to up anchor and return to the marina and home. Sari, perhaps all unknowingly, had challenged me to look at myself. Would I, given the circumstances that had prevailed her country, have been one of the rapists? Would what she called the “veneer of civilisation” have fallen away from me and all the hidden passions come boiling to the surface? I did not know, but I did know that my view of Sari had changed dramatically and whatever it had been, it could never be the same again. One thought that puzzled me was why, given what she had been through, had she worn that provocative swim suit? She must have known the effect it would have on me. Was it a way of punishing men through me? Or, was it to test me, to see whether I would also treat her as a piece of “Officer’s meat”? I thanked God I had managed to find a way round that one, even if it was by masturbation. I still had questions in my mind about her. How had she come to meet and marry my father? Why, given her rejection of other males, had he won her? I knew this was not the time to ask, and if the time ever came for her to tell me, it would have to be of her own volition. Despite the fact that we had taken some food with us on the boat, neither of us had eaten. I think we were both too wound up to feel pangs of hunger, but as we neared home in the car I stopped on the brow of a hill and said, “Shall we try eating something?” Chapter 11. Speaking of Love Sari who had been silent most of the time during our journey back, nodded. We got out of the car and sat on the grass to eat a couple of chicken legs and some salad. Sari sat close, leaning against me as if the physical contact would protect her from something. After a while, and speaking very low, she asked; “David, do you think it is possible anyone could love me if they knew my story?” I began, “Of course Sari, there are many people who…” She cut me off; “I mean a man and not one who just wanted my body, but someone who really loved me.” “There’s father…” I began. “That’s different,” she interrupted quickly; “Completely different.” I wanted to pursue that, but was afraid I might hear something I did not want to hear, so I said; “I’m, sure there are many who could love you sincerely.” She rose and said, “Thank you David, and thank you for today. I feel as if I have been somehow cleansed inside. Shall we go?” We went the few remaining kilometres to the house. I dropped her off at front of the house and garaged the car. I sat for a few minutes in the car feeling utterly drained. When I went inside father was just finishing dinner and asked, “Have a good time? Catch any fish?” I avoided his query about a “good time” and said, “didn’t catch anything; they weren’t biting.” I passed on to shower and go to bed. I saw nothing more of Sari that evening. I suffered a series of nightmares that night. They nearly all involved watching Sari being raped, and when I saw the rapist’s face, it was me. When I woke in the morning I felt as if I had not slept at all. Sari made no appearance at breakfast time but just as I was finishing father came into the room. He looked gloomy and only grunted when I said good morning. I hunted out our Dalmatian and together we took a long walk across fields and through some woods. My thoughts were not connected. I recalled my nightmare, the revelations of Sari and also I recalled there was some studying I had to get on with. Sari's Bargain Two hours later I returned to the house to find Sari sitting in the sun room. She was again looking at some papers, but as I entered she put them down, stood up and came to me, and kissed me on the lips. “Good morning David,” she said, looking at me as if to try and gauge my reaction. I returned her kiss and said, “Got to get on with some work.” I left her. I tried to settle down to some serious study but for a long time Sari kept bursting into my head. It was thus for the next two days. It was clear that Sari’s remoteness towards me was a thing of the past. We both avoided any reference to what had passed between us on the boat, but we both acknowledged the other’s existence through normal if fairly superficial conversations. Sari even asked me if we could go to the Sunday afternoon concert, to which I agreed. Chapter 12. The Bargain Before that Sunday father was off up north for yet another trial. The morning he left I heard another of the rows between him and Sari and this time it really could be heard all over the house. I tried to get the gist of what it was about, but all I heard was my father bellowing, “It’s not my damned fault, woman.” When he left I heard more weeping coming from their bedroom. After what had passed between us I decided that this time I could intervene. I knocked on the bedroom door but got no answer. I opened the door cautiously and looked in. Sari was sitting on the edge of the bed, still in her nightdress, her head in her hands, weeping. I seemed to be always involved with her crying. I went to her and put my arm round her shoulders. “What is it, Sari? What is it between you and father? I’ve heard you arguing and squabbling before, but nothing like this.” She remained silent except for her sobs for a minute, then said in a muffled voice, “I don’t think you need to be told what’s wrong, David. It’s obvious isn’t it?” It wasn’t obvious to me and I had to confess as much. “What am I doing in this house, David? Why am I married to your father?” “Well…I suppose…” I took a wild stab at an answer, “because you love him?” She let out a long sigh. I tried again; “Because he loves you?” Suddenly she became animated, her tears laid aside. “Oh for God’s sake don’t be such a romantic, David. I’m here to produce a son for your father.” “Yes, we’ve talked about that before.” “And where is the son?” “I er….” “There isn’t one, is there?” “No, but there’s more to…” “That was the bargain, David. I got security in exchange for giving him a male child, and it hasn’t happened.” I had assumed this arrangement all along but to hear her spell it out so blatantly I found shocking. “How did you and father come to make this arrangement…I mean, I’ve no idea how or where you met…you were just dropped into my life unheralded.” “You want to know how it began, David?” “Yes.” “All right; it was during the extension course I did at the university. The course was designed to train us in the better helping of refugees coming to this country. Your father came to give us a couple of lectures on the legal aspects; you know, our rights, gaining resident’s status, that sort of thing.” After the first lecture I managed to pluck up the courage to approach him and ask him for clarification on a couple of points he had made. That’s how it started. “He was very paternal and I think that was something I needed. Both my parents were killed during the civil war; I suppose I responded to his fatherly manner.” He answered my questions and then went on to ask me how long I had been in this country and did I intend to stay. We chatted for so long that all the other students had left and it was well past lunchtime.” “To cut a long story short he offered to buy me lunch. I felt safe with him, so I accepted. He was the first man I had felt secure with since…what we spoke of happened.” “He had second lecture to give later in the week, and after that I made up a question to ask him, just so I could be near him again. It wasn’t love or sex David; it was the feeling of safety he gave me. He seemed so strong, so reliable.” “Then it was lunch with him again and at his suggestion dinner with him the next evening. To begin with I had no idea how well off he was, but it became obvious in the sort of places he took me to.” “I wasn’t naïve David, I could see he was, as you people say, “smitten,” so I went along with it. Then after a while I was told about his “ingrate” of a son and how he wished he had a second son to succeed him in the legal firm.” “I don’t need to spell it out in further detail, do I? It was a straight exchange of a son for security. A bloody whore, aren’t I? The trouble is I haven’t kept my side of the bargain.” “But there’s still time for that, Sari.” “You think so?” “Well, why not?” “That’s what I wondered, David. I wondered if what had happened to me, or the termination of my pregnancy had made it impossible for me to get pregnant ever again. I had all the tests and was told there was no reason why I could not get pregnant.” “Then…father…” “Yes, but he won’t admit it. He keeps on about having sired you so there was no reason on his side why I should not get pregnant.” “But…then…” “David, your father is a sick man, don’t you know that? No perhaps you don’t because he won’t admit it to himself. I think I’m the only person who does know. He paid out for the best medical advice he could buy, and now won’t take the advice given.” “What’s wrong with him?” “The most obvious is extremely high blood pressure. For a man of obvious intelligence, he can be incredibly stupid. He has been prescribed medication that he won’t take. He says it’s all nonsense.” “He is also suffering from other organic problems about which he will do nothing. It’s as if he sees himself as immortal; or perhaps he sees it like one of those unwinnable court cases that he always wins.” “Sari, are you telling me he can’t…can’t perform…he can’t…” “Not quite. When we first married he managed, but progressively he’s got worse. He tries but…well…I don’t need to go on, do I?” “No.” “I wanted to give him his son, David, I really did, and not just because of our bargain. I really would like to have a baby for its own sake; can you understand that?” “I understand.” “George’s aggression towards me has been getting increasingly worse, heaping blame on me. You see, it wasn’t as if he really loved me right from the start. Oh, he found me sexually desirable enough, but what he really wanted was a womb to breed a child in.” “And you, Sari, did you love him?” “Not as a woman should love a man she was going to have a child with. I admired him, and as I said, I felt safe with him and in terms of material things he had everything to offer me, and most of all, I would become a citizen of this country, but love; no.” I held her to me for a long time. I could find no words of praise or condemnation. Looking over my own sexual behaviour decided me that before condemning another, I should begin with myself. Then Sari made one of her obscure remarks. “I didn’t know how dearly I would come to want the one thing you can’t bargain for.” I was about to question this, but before I could she performed one of her bolt from the blue antics, changing the subject. “David, I’m a mess, I must get showered and changed. Thank you for listening to me, once again.” She tried to smile and I was dismissed. Chapter 13. I Get a Warning. I left her room knowing still more about Sari and more bemused than ever. I somehow felt I had a responsibility in the situation, but had no idea at that moment how I should exercise it, or even if I should exercise it at all. As I left the bedroom I saw Lisa dusting a table in the passage. She looked at me quizzically for a moment. We had known each other since I was a child, and there had never been any of the master-servant nonsense between us. “Mrs. Brook has been very friendly lately; she seems to have softened somehow.” “Yes.” “It’s as if something has happened to her so she can let you see the inside.” “Yes.” “Be careful there, David.” “How do you mean?” “She’s young and very attractive. Just be careful.” I had felt a bit unjustifiably guilty at being seen coming out of Lisa’s bedroom, so I just said rather lamely, “I’ll be careful, Lisa,” and hurried on. I continued to cogitate on what if anything I could do; but what could I do in any case? An ailing father with diminished potency wanting a son with a wife whom he could not get pregnant! I tried to dismiss the conundrum and went to take my own shower and change. “After breakfast,” I thought, “I’ll lose myself in some serious studying.” I worked in my study until lunchtime. I usually ate lunch in the kitchen with Lisa and Josie and on arriving in the kitchen was amazed to see Sari sitting at the table eating. “Thought I’d eat in here,” she said, “It’s cosier than that great dining room.” None of us commented, but clearly Sari’s presence was yet another mark of her changing attitude. My father being away, Sari also joined us in the kitchen for the early evening meal. After the evening meal and the clearing up Josie and Lisa were off home; Sari and I went to the sun room and helped ourselves to drinks. Through the long windows we could see the sun going down behind the trees, its branch filtered light making a moving pattern on the walls and floor. It was very peaceful. We sat, each wrapped in our own thoughts for some time, and then Sari asked, “Shall we go to the concert this Sunday?” Attendance at the concert had become such a regular feature in our lives that it almost went without saying we would go. I said rather lazily, “As usual.” Perhaps my response had sounded too offhand and Sari asked, “Do you want to go with me, David. I mean, have you got tired of my company?” I sat up sharply; “Of course not, Sari. I love being with you.” “Even though I’m always telling you woeful stories about my life and crying?” “Perhaps because you tell me the stories and feel free to cry with me.” Chapter 14. Talking of Love. There was another Sari change of direction. “I haven’t seen your girlfriend around lately.” “No” I said giving a wry grin, “I’m sort of between girlfriends at the moment.” “Oh. You don’t seem to keep girlfriends very long. Do you prefer it like that?” “Yes, it saves getting bored with the same one all the time.” “Do you ever fall in love with them?” “Not really. I like them…well…most of them…but I wouldn’t want them around for the rest of my life, if that’s what you mean.” “Don’t you ever think of settling down with one woman?” I’d heard that one before, so I gave my standard answer. “I suppose I shall need to get myself a wife one day, you know, respectable doctor and all that. Why do you ask?” “I just wondered. I suppose I was really wondering about myself; would I ever love or be loved.” It was my turn to change the subject, so I said, “I know you work among refugees, but you’ve never told me exactly what you do.” “I suppose you could call me a counsellor. Many of them when they get here are traumatised. They need to talk through their experiences, get them out in the open. That’s what I do. Also we try to explain the emigration laws to them and help to find them somewhere to live. It’s a frightening thing when you’ve perhaps lived all your life in one town or village, to suddenly find yourself in another country with no friends or relatives and you don’t speak the language, you don’t know the laws and customs.” “Yes, I understand.” “Just think, David, perhaps you get sick and need a doctor. You can’t tell the doctor about your symptoms and can’t understand what the doctor tells you.” Being well into my medical studies I could certainly appreciate that problem. “Don’t you have doctors who speak the language?” “A few, but not enough, so some of us have to go with them to the doctor to interpret, but even that can be difficult and sometimes embarrassing for them.” “Yes, I see that. You really do care, don’t you?” Unintentionally I had pushed Sari on to the defensive and she rounded on me. “Do you think your whore stepmother is incapable of caring?” “For God’s sake, Sari, I didn’t mean that and I think you should know me well enough by now not to even think it. What I was going to say was that since you were speaking of love, your caring is a sort of love.” She seemed to wilt a little and said, “Sorry David; you’re right, I should know by now.” She gave me her quizzical look again. “You have cared for me, David.” She had stepped back from that most dangerous of questions; ‘Do you love me’. The one asked that question may never after feel free to express their love; they will always feel some coercion to do so. That sent my brain into turmoil. Did I love her? Certainly almost from the first time I had met her I had lusted for her; but then she had only been a desirable body. Once she began to open up to me I started to see beyond the outer beauty. I knew her now as a severely hurt and hurting person and now also as a caring person. As Adrienne had said, “She’s beautiful on the inside.” I had known the pleasure of her company and conversation, shared experiences with her, and been privy to her deep self. Yes, I loved her, and should she disappear from my life I would grieve for her. The question was should I openly admit to her my love. To confess to the beloved the love one feels, is to open the self them and all the potential hurts that such openness can give rise to. Sari had been agonisingly open with me; I decided to follow her example. “Yes, I love you Sari.” Even if I had wanted to ask the question, “Do you love me?” I had no need to. The look in her brilliant green eyes said all that was necessary; never the less she spoke the words. “I love you, David.” There was no falling into each other’s arms, no passionate kiss; I did not grope for a breast. We sat wrapped in a strange peace. It was like coming in from battling a fierce storm to find a warm fire and dry clothes waiting. We had come home. Sari spoke very quietly, so quietly that I had to bend towards her to catch the words. “I knew the first time I met you.” My mind flew back to that first meeting; the sudden flash of recognition, then the shutter coming down to mask her thoughts and feelings. I felt saddened that I had needed to wait until now to experience the same recognition of her. “I understood then I was making a mistake,” she went on, “but the bargain had been made, and anyway, I had no means of knowing how you felt.” I chose not to tell her that my first feelings were those of raw sexual desire. We sat watching the sun disappear then the room darkened. We did not touch each other or speak. The questions that might have been asked; “What are we going to do?” “Where do we go from here?” “What form can our love take?” hung unasked between us. Lisa had warned me, “Be careful, David.” She with her female intuition could see the possible direction Sari and I would take, but what content we would give our love was yet to be determined. Chapter 15. The Deeds of the Night When the light had gone completely Sari rose and said, “I think I shall have an early night, darling.” After saying goodnight to her I sat on for a while trying to come to terms with all that had passed between us. I was out in strange territory. The only other person I had ever truly loved had been my mother, but this time it was different. I had no emotional map to guide me. I tried to analyse the feelings I had experienced with my girl friends, but they in no way matched what I was feeling for Sari. I sighed rose and went to take a shower. Getting into bed, my mind still wrestling with the strange new relationship I had entered, I felt the return of sexual desire for Sari. It was not as it had been when all I had wanted was to take from her. I wanted to give as well as receive. I wanted…what? I wanted for the first time to make love and not simply have sex. If sex there should be, I wanted it to be an expression of the deep love I felt for Sari. That night, unbidden, she came to me. I had been half asleep but on hearing her enter I switched on the bed light. She was clad in a diaphanous black nightdress that seemed to cling to her body to reveal every lovely outline of her curves. She sat on my bed and said, “I want you to give your father what he wants.” As usual she was ahead of me. “How do you mean, Sari?” “He wants a son; I want you to give him one…or least a child, boy or girl.” “But…” “I also want us to have a physical expression of our love, David. I know you want that as much as I do; in fact you have wanted me physically almost from our first meeting.” “And you?” “I want for the first time in my life to copulate with a man I deeply love. I want his child in me. So please, fertilise me David.” She removed her nightdress and stood looking at me for a moment. I saw naked those breasts I had longed to caress, her firmly cleft vagina as it curved away from her mons to disappear between the top of her thighs. I had to but part her legs and I could plant a kiss on the sweet place she was inviting me into. She got into bed beside me, pushing away the bedclothes as she did so. I always slept naked, so she could see instantly that I was aroused, my penis standing up and already discharging pre-ejaculation fluid. I felt I had never wanted a woman as much as I now wanted Sari. She bent over to kiss me her soft lips working to open mine and insert her tongue. My hand reached for the longed for breasts and they were warm and firm under my touch. I gently pressed them, letting my hand move up from their base, to touch and press her nipple. As I did this she moved to put one leg over me so that I could feel the moist pressure of her vagina against my side. I broke from her kissing and took her nipple into my mouth, sucking it and softly nibbling. She pressed closer to me, squirming her vagina against me to leave a trail of her lubricant. I sought and found her vagina with my fingers and I began a slow stroking of the outer lips, working my way gradually in to touch her inner lips and her opening. She was murmuring softly, “I love you David, I love you so dearly. It’s been so long…I’ve needed you so much….” I think I was responding with my own words of love but cannot now recall what they were. As I touched her clitoris with my finger, circling it carefully she said, “No David, now” and spread her legs wide. I came between them and with her hand guiding my penis I entered her. She gave a brief moan and abandoning English began to speak softly in her native tongue. I knew no word of her language, but as she now spoke it I needed no interpreter. Every soft syllable was expressive of a loving passion I had never experienced before. I pressed into her until my full length was in her, then I paused, looking at her face. She looked up at me, her green eyes fixed on mine as if searching for something there. They seemed to look deep within me asking a question and seeking an answer. Not sure of what she wanted from me, I spoke words from the heart; words that on occasions when I had coupled with other women would have sounded ridiculous and would probably have set them laughing at me. “I want you above all women.” She smiled, closed her eyes and began to move with me as I slid back and forth in her. She was all soft, moist warmth, and utterly open to me. I wanted to stay with her like this without end but my now long abstinence from sexual intercourse produced its own demand. Sari had continued to speak her love softy in her own tongue, but now her voice began to intensify and with it she increased the rhythm of our coupling, her body beginning to shake. She clung to me, her legs winding round me, finger nails digging into my back. My hands went under her buttocks and thrusting deep into her there shot from me the first ejection of my semen into her. Sari's Bargain Sari gave a gentle cry and suddenly began to writhe against me, endeavouring to force me ever deeper into her. I seemed to go on for ever pumping my seed into her as she climaxed, not with screams or shrieks, but soft cries. During my other sexual experiences, when I had finished my emissions, I was ready to withdraw. My immediate sexual energy spent, I lost interest until the next erection arrived. With Sari it proved different. It was the connection, the physical union, I wanted with her. I had found an oneness with her beyond anything previously felt by me. I stayed with her, kissing her face and hair, fondling her breasts, while she continued in her own language what sounded like a melodic love chant. We stayed long together and as eventually I withdrew Sari spoke one word, yet in that one word was a world of love. “David.” I lay beside her pulling up the covers over us, and held her to me. All the puzzlement and perplexity that had enshrouded our past relationship had finally resolved itself in this act of love. Now she lay peacefully in my arms as if she had finally come home and was safe. We coupled once more that night before falling asleep. For the moment the probable difficulties before us played no part in my thoughts, and I think the same applied to Sari. We were content for the moment to live within our own capsule of love. Chapter 16. The Pain of Love and Desire Reality came with the dawn. I was awakened by Sari getting out of bed. “I must get back to my room, darling…Lisa, she’ll be here shortly; she mustn’t know about us.” I wanted to pull her back into the bed, to feel her body against mine and to…but I saw the sense in Sari’s move. I lay back thinking over our night. Throughout the day Sari and I tried to behave as we normally would have done. I set to with my studies and Sari went off to her refugees. The problem was, an emotional dam wall had come crashing down and its flood had inundated me. I had experienced wild sexual couplings many times before, but with Sari it was something different. I knew from my perspective that I had found what I had probably unknowingly been searching for with all the other girls. I thought of it as the ever flowing fountain from which I could always drink. Sari was that fountain. After what seemed a long day she came to my bed again that night and we loved. Perhaps there was a touch of desperation in our coupling because we knew father was due home the following day. I wanted to beg Sari not to sleep with him but knew it could not be avoided. Sari in trying to console me rubbed salt into the wound. “Darling, you know I can’t be with you again until he goes off on another trip. When he gets back from these trips he can usually manage to…to…” “Have sex with you,” I said bitterly. “David, if I do become pregnant, it has to be his child, you understand that, don’t you?” I understood all right. If she got pregnant the father would most likely be me, but I would have to pretend along with Sari that it was his. “My bargain, David, remember?” “Yes.” With Sari still beside me I woke about two o’clock in the morning; that hour when the dark thoughts come welling up to overwhelm us. Was I simply a dupe? Was all the talk about love and trust simply a way of getting me to make Sari pregnant, perhaps even to save her from being divorced by my father for not keeping her side of the bargain? Were the stories about her “hell” even true? And what of my father; was he as sick as she had implied? In short, had I been played as a sucker by a woman who knew how to look after her best interests? I must have moved because Sari stirred, came awake and looked at me. “Awake, David, are you all right?” She snuggled into me and at the touch of her body against mine my doubts vanished, for the moment. The day that followed was one of agony for me. My father arrived home and looking for signs of ill health I could detect nothing unusual about him. My dire thought of the night came back to torment me. I had to attend lectures that day so saw nothing further of Sari or father until the evening. I joined them for dinner and noted that father seemed to be in a particularly jovial mood, having just won himself an enormous fee for the defence he had conducted. I noted that Sari was using some of the endearments she had earlier abandoned. A piercing blow was struck in my guts when rising from the table he said to Sari, “Let’s make an early night of it, my dear.” Sari had said he could usually manage it when he came back from one of his trips; “He’s going to manage it tonight” I thought, and the image of father penetrating Sari sent waves of anguish through me. Distraught I called for a taxi and went to a university club I belonged to and tried to drink myself into oblivion. I have no recollection of arriving home that night, except before falling still fully dressed into bed I vomited down the toilet pan. When I woke up I felt sicker than I had ever felt in my life. The stink of whisky and vomit still clung to me and I shambled off to shower like a ninety year old man having a bad day. I avoided breakfast partly because my stomach could not face it, and partly to avoid seeing either father or Sari. I fled for the sanctuary of the university and some laboratory work I had to do. For the next two weeks I moved through a surreal landscape, playing cat and mouse with Sari particularly with her asking me if I was all right, and me plastering on a smile and assuring her I was perfectly okay. Neither of us approached the other for sex. This could be put down to the presence of either Lisa or my father in the house, but in my misery I failed to see the logic of things and assumed Sari had no wish to copulate with me. I thought of taking my sweet revenge and actually brought a girl into the house for the night. I made sure Sari saw her and understood what we were going to do. The young lady lasted about an hour and a half when, in a flaming temper she got out of the bed almost screaming, “What are you, some sort of weirdo; you can’t even get it up.” She left me feeling completely humiliated. It had been true when I told Sari I wanted no other woman but her, and that truth was now rammed home to me. Having once, as it were, tasted Sari, all else was bitter to my palate. I was in that abyss of misery that love knows when if thinks itself betrayed. Love then takes on the form of its opposite, hate. Yet that hatred is really self hatred; self hatred because one feels humiliated by the knowledge that one has exposed ones most sensitive self to the other, and it has been flung back in your face. At the end of the two weeks father was off again to another distant trail and huge fee. I had to face the reality that Sari and I would be alone in the house once Josie and Lisa had left for the night. I tried to counter the situation by eating in the university cafeteria and at home shutting myself away in my study. It was a useless ploy. Chapter 17. Reconciliation On the second evening of father’s absence I was working, or trying to work in the study when there was a tap on the door. I told myself I could not hear it, but there was no escape. Sari after tapping again, walked in. She came to me where I sat at the desk and knelt beside me and laid her head in my lap. “Darling, I think I’m pregnant. I should have had my menstrual period last week. I’m always very regular, but it didn’t happen.” “Father managed it after all I snarled,” wanting to hurt her as much as I could. She raised her head and looked at me; “David!” “Been having a good time with him, have you? Been telling him how much you love and trust him? How much you long to have his baby?” That brief outburst of venom had exhausted me emotionally and I sat silent and rigid. Sari spoke slowly and deliberately. There was no anger in her voice, only sadness. “So that’s it, David. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me. Well, if you must know, your father did manage it the first night he came home, just. Since then nothing, and if it’s any consolation to you, I haven’t tried to get him to do anything.” I looked at her face, searching for the expected signs of falsehood, of an attempt to smooth talk her way into my confidence again. I had to admit I saw nothing but deep sincerity. The pent up emotions of the past two weeks surged up to overwhelm me, the tears came and I broke down into an outburst of weeping. Once started I could not stop; I felt Sari’s arms go round me and then her soft voice was comforting me. “David, David my love, you’ve been tormenting yourself and it’s my fault; but darling you knew what I had to do, I didn’t hide it from you. You’ve doubted my love and there was no need, I spoke the truth to you.” Her voice became brisker. “David, if I had just wanted to get pregnant, don’t you think I could have found some man with the right characteristics, the right colouring, to make me pregnant. Can’t you see if that was all I wanted it would have been easier, safer? But it was you I wanted...want…why couldn’t you believe that? I tried to tell you that for once in my life I wanted to be with a man I truly loved.” She paused for a moment and then her voice became sad. “Not once have I lied to you, David except through my demeanour when I first came to this house, but every word I have spoken to you has been the truth.” We have deceived your father, but that was to give him something he wanted very dearly. If you doubt my sincerity in this, then I promise you I shall never make any claims against your father’s wealth. I could say that when I have given him his child I shall leave here and never come back, but would you ask me to leave my child…our child, David?” “Oh David, what a price we pay when we make such bargains as the one I made with your father. Is part of that price the loss of your love?” “David, don’t you think I’ve suffered enough loss in my life? Do you really want to add one more loss?” Shame overwhelmed me and I could say nothing, but Sari with that mysterious instinct women have for knowing what was needed said, “David I want you to come to bed with me. We don’t need to have sex, I just want to hold you and talk to you about our baby.” I rose, drained of all emotion at that moment. She took me by the hand and led me to my bedroom. Later I realised her delicacy in not taking me to her bedroom where she slept with father. That night she not only spoke to me of her joy at hopefully being pregnant – “we can’t be sure until I’ve had a proper examination” – but held me as if I were her child. She had said we did not need to have sex, but with my head between her breasts desire took over. I took this opportunity to engage with her in one of the most intimate activities that can occur between a man and a woman. I moved her to the side of the bed, knelt before her, and parting her legs bent forward to kiss her vagina. I ran my tongue over her outer lips, then pushed in to taste and smell her womanhood. She began as she had before softy calling out, “David, oh David,” then as her orgasm approached the climax came upon her she once more began that low chant in her own language. When she had calmed I moved her back to the centre of the bed and penetrated her. She was soft and relaxed as women often are after a fulfilling orgasm, but as I came into her she started the chant again. Still lying inside her I asked her about this chant. She looked up at me shyly. “Darling, I can’t find the words to express what I’m feeling in your language.” “But what are you saying,” I asked. She gave a little laugh and said, “I need several words in your language to say the same thing, but they are words of love.” “I sensed that,” I responded, “but try and tell me what they are.” “Well, if you won’t laugh at me…” “I promise I won’t laugh.” “What my words say are, ‘You are my beloved one; I desire only you; you are my sacred place.’ But you see, I need only three words in my language to say that, and those three words are the deepest words of love and commitment we have.” There was something almost biblical in those words, and I found myself overwhelmed by the power that lay behind them. I said, “That is the most exquisite thing anyone has ever said to me.” I with drew my penis from her vagina and lay once more with my head between her breasts, hearing the beating of her heart. I felt her breathing grow more rhythmic and she slept. Chapter 18. Looking into the Depths I did not sleep immediately, by lay with her contemplating what she had said. I found it breathtaking in its commitment, but I also felt apprehensive. Could I live with that degree of commitment from another person? Did it not place a heavy responsibility on me, and could I ever match it? I thought about my past relationships; how we had sneered at the idea of commitment and love, deriding them as “something for “dreary people,” not the free swinging “beautiful people.” We live in an age in which people are throwaway items. When they no longer serve our ends, no longer fit in with or get in the way of our other desires and ambitions, we cast them aside. Had Sari achieved nothing else in my life she would have forced me to look at what was inside. I did not always like what I saw but I acknowledged the truth of it. “People can get nailed to a cross for speaking the truth,” I reflected. As I listened to her heart beat and felt her steady breathing I felt an overwhelming desire to care for Sari and that which she carried inside her. “Yes, I’m committed,” I thought. “More committed than any marriage ceremony could have made me.” From then on there was no more doubt between us and I seemed to bask in an aura of love. When we could come together sexually it was always the sweetest coupling I had ever known, like Cleopatra she never sated my desires, but always fuelled the fires of my passion for her. Medical tests confirmed her pregnancy and my father on being told was jubilant and cast grim looks of satisfaction on me. He would have his replacement son – he had no doubt it would be a son. For a while he fussed over Sari, but the novelty seemed to wear off, and soon he was dashing about all over the country more than ever piling up his fees. There was something almost frenetic in all his rushing back and forth so it was I who enjoyed the beauty of Sari as her belly began to swell. Perhaps you think I say that cynically; not so. Sari was one of those fortunate women who in pregnancy become ever more beautiful, and this added to her normal beauty made it almost heart stabbing to look at her. Chapter 19. One more Crisis One more crisis emerged in our lives. It was about a month before Sari was due to give birth. Father had gone up north for a trial and late one evening we received an urgent telephone call. Father had collapsed in the court room and suffered a stroke. He was in hospital in the northern city and Sari and I drove there to see him. We were led into a private room and saw father, his face and body paralysed down one side and unable to speak except to make a few difficult to interpret sounds. The doctor told us that with time and treatment he might regain some mobility and speech. We arranged for him to be brought south to the most expensive private hospital we could find. Whether the expense meant any better treatment is a moot point, but had father been capable of making the arrangements, expensive they would have been. Treatment began and with agonising slowness father began to speak again in a slurred manner, but his mobility did not respond so well to the therapy. In the meantime Sari had given birth to a boy so I found myself travelling from one private hospital to another. My studies got into a hopeless mess, so after several interviews and much paper work I got them deferred for twelve months so that I could take care of things on the home front. When Sari arrived home with our son, we took the first opportunity to take the boy along to be viewed by father. He managed what looked like a lopsided smile and said to Sari what sounded like, “Well done, my dear.” We had not named our son, so we asked father what he would like him to be called. He took so long to answer we thought he had not understood so we repeated our question. He made several attempts to answer and finally came out with what sounded like “Jonathon”. To be sure I wrote the name on a piece of paper and held it up to him. He managed to give a sign of agreement. So Jonathon it was. Sari breast fed our baby, and it was one of the pleasures of my day to watch the little one at her breast. Sari made a picture of tranquillity sitting there, Jonathon making little sucking noises as he greedily took her milk. Sari was still breastfeeding Jonathon when father was finally allowed to come home. He had gained almost no mobility and had to spend his time in a wheel chair being pushed usually by a nurse we had hired and who lived in the house. The doctor had sounded the dire warning, “Another stroke like the last one could be fatal.” Sari and I had been sleeping in my room, together with Jonathon who needed to be fed during the night. Lisa and Josie were now fully aware of the situation, and although they had not been told, they must have worked out whom Jonathon’s father was. After her earlier warning Lisa said nothing. With the arrival of father thought had to be given to the sleeping arrangements. We had plenty of bedrooms, but the question was, should Sari return to sleeping in the same room as father? If she did, Jonathon would have to join them as well. It was no longer a case of Sari sleeping in the same bed as father, but a matter of being in the same room with her own bed. As far as father knew, he was the begetter of Jonathon. We had no wish to let him think otherwise, but if Sari failed to share his room if not his bed, suspicion might arise. It was the nurse who resolved the matter for us, declaring that it would not be a good idea to have Jonathon in the same room as father since the child still woke in the night, often crying to be fed and would probably disturb her patient. So Sari and baby slept in a separate room. Once recovered fully from giving birth, Sari and I had resumed our sex life. The situation was now made a little difficult in that I had to go to her room when we wanted to make love. I missed her absence from my bed sorely. One small thing I noted that had me a little puzzled. Whenever Sari was feeding Jonathon in my presence her breasts were exposed. If my father was present her breasts were covered by a cloth. I asked her about this. “Ah, yes,” she said, “among my people it is customary for only the father of the child to see the mother’s breasts naked as she feeds the child.” I hoped father did not know about that custom. After my twelve months absence from the university I began my studies again. Given that I passed all the necessary exams I would qualify at the end of the year and commence twelve months internment in one of the major hospitals. It was about half way through the year when one day as I was attending a seminar, I got called out of the room to a telephone call. It was Sari. “David, your father’s just had another stroke; it looks very bad for him. He’s on his way to the City Hospital now in an ambulance. The hospital was situated in the university grounds so I said, “I’ll go straight over there.” The hospital was only about ten minutes walk, but even so, they had already brought father in. On giving my name and asking for him I was told to wait and after a few minutes a doctor approached me. “Mr. Brook?” “Yes.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Brook, your father died as we brought him in. We did everything we could, but nothing worked; sorry.”