Absent. The English Teacher: The English Teacher

15. Doing It

1 15 D DO OI IN NG G I IT T “We stand back from the narrative and reflect on the Party: how it was born, how it grew, from the leadership of Waiaki at the turn of the twentieth century, through Harry Thuku in the 1920s, to Jomo Kenyatta in the 1950s, who took the party to Independence in 1963 We get a potted account of the arrival of the white man: first the missionaries, then the soldiers, then the settlers; how at first the Africans could not take them seriously because they looked ridiculous with the, quote: ‘skin so scalded that the black outside had peeled off’; but before long it was the whites who were laughing as, by force and fraud, they entrenched themselves in the land of the Agikuyu. The fact that these white people were ruled over by a woman, Queen Victoria, did not surprise the black people of Kenya since they too, in the remote past, had female rulers like the legendary Wangu Makeri…” … Ah, Wangu Makeri. She danced naked in front of the menfolk, driving them crazy with desire. Wilhelmine had done it to George, in a scantily furnished lounge somewhere in Kumalo suburb; a house, once a home, that had indulgently nurtured two generations of Rhodesians, all of them now gone, gone back to the Diaspora, or to the Jewish cemetery in Athlone. He recalled the unpolished parquet floor covered in tiny paper stars, the altar candle burning without a flicker in the stillness of that night, until a huge emperor moth with comb-like antennae and staring eyespots, guttered it. He had been seriously drunk, on bottle after bottle of Private Cellar cordon rouge, a medium bodied red wine with, according to the label, fine berry flavours and a rich plum jam aroma. Gentle tannin provide [d] fullness and a lingering ripe fruit finish. Jane Birkin was gasping J’taime while outside a million cicadas were shrieking. He recalled the pain in his knees as he crawled towards that swaying body, those penthouse lids half closing eyes, which mocked him, he later realised, to the core of his being. His liver-spotted hands took brief possession of those 96 gyrating hips, and he buried his face in her crotch – nothing i’ the middle – and found with his tongue her clitoris. It grew enough for him to take it in his chipped teeth and nibble it. Wilhelmine was sighing with pleasure, but nothing to match Jane’s theatrical breathing, or the excited Christmas beetles. He drew his hands in until his thumbs were placed on the lips, the parings, which he parted; then he lifted his head away so he could look. It was about a centimetre long and as blue as a shorting cable. “Let’s do it, George,” purred Wilhelmine. “We’ll try the Twenty-Third Manner, El khouariki. Come.” She cupped her hands on either side of his cheeks and guided him to a standing position; then she took one of his elbows and led him to a room, which was empty except for a mattress on the floor. With slow deliberation she unbuttoned his safari suit jacket, pushed it over his shoulders, pulled it down his arms, and dropped it onto the floor. She unclasped and unzipped his safari suit trousers, and let gravity take them down. Then she lay on the mattress, opened her legs and waited. George hesitated because he realised that, unspeakable desire notwithstanding, he didn’t have an erection. He hated his body for betraying him, and the more he hated it the more it refused to co-operate. “I’m sorry, Mina,” he muttered, “I’m too drunk.” (Are you sure that’s the reason, George?) “You white men,” said Wilhelmine with contempt, “You are all castrated . ‘Know, O my brother (to whom God be merciful), that a man who is misshapen, of coarse appearance, and whose member is short, thin and flabby, is contemptible in the eyes of women.’” George began to dress himself, trousers first. “You are familiar with The Perfumed Garden?” “Familiar! It is my Bible!” “But it was written by a man who was a sexist by all accounts.” He cursed his zip, which had stuck half way. “Shaykh Nefzawi knew how to give a woman pleasure.” She had closed her grasshopper legs and turned on to her side. George was almost amused by her bumlessness, though her small breasts were shapely. “He accuses women in general of treachery...