“Go back to him, Nagoth, andtell him that your mother is from his tribe. He will take it,”suggested one of the boys.
I hadread somewhere that one of the hardest things to believe is theabysmal depth of human stupidity. I now believed it.
I wasgoing back with my artwork under my right arm, my head hangingdown, my shoulders drooping and my footsteps dragging, when Mrs.Okom stopped me. She was the Art teacher for my class.
“What’s wrong, Nagoth?” sheasked me. “You didn’t submit anything for thecompetition?”
I openedmy mouth to say something, but no sound came out. I could not helpmyself. I just burst into tears and my entire small frame shook, asI cried. Mrs. Okom pulled me close to herself.
“What’s wrong, my child?” sheasked soothingly.
I toldher how I was turned back with my artwork, because I wassmall.
“Let me see what you have done,”said Mrs. Okom and I gave her the work.
“This is beautiful, Nagoth!” sheexclaimed. “Don’t worry; I’ll submit it for you.” And she did. Ilater won that Art competition. But it did not end there. Hastygeneralisations based on my stature have dogged mycareer.
I was determined not toencourage any friendship with you, even after you offered me thestapler. One just has to draw the line somewhere, else one is boundto lose all their pride and self-respect. As far as I wasconcerned, you could take your arrogance, your size and yourstapler … and go to hell!
The days passed quickly at theLodge. Maria made them pleasant for me. With each day, I grew fonder of her. I even becameconvinced that I was in love with her. We exchanged cards andgifts. We took walks together in the evenings.
“I love you,Maria,” I said to her one beautiful evening, as we sat togetheralone on the beach after some vigorous swimming. She was wearing aone-piece, blue bathing suit, while I was wearing a pair of blue trunks that she hadbought for me. We held hands under the silver moonlight, lying inthe wet sand and enjoying the sea cool breeze.
“I love you, too,” she replied,looking as sweet as candy. Her face looked soirresistible.
“Do you mean that?” I asked her,my hand slipping around her waist.
“Of course, Nagoth. I loveeverybody!” Then, she laughed in that carefree way that I founddeeply arousing.
“That’s fine,” I said. “But whatI want to know is if you are in love with me?”
“No, I’m notin love with you, Nagoth. I like you and I enjoy your company, but I am not in lovewith you.”
“But can’t you try to be?” Iasked pulling her closer.
She laughed. “Nagoth, love issomething that I think comes naturally. You don’t force it,” shereplied.
“Are you in love with someoneelse?” I felt her hesitate, before she answered.
“No,” she replied and stood up.“Let’s go home.”
“I don’t feel like going backjust yet,” I said lazily, still holding her hand.
“But I do,Nagoth, and that overrules any objection from you.” And she pulledme up.
Yet, hermother was the one who had the greatest impact on me. Her words ofencouragement so lifted me, that I found myself painting with threefingers and throwing aside my handkerchief. It was embarrassing atfirst, especially when people were watching, but I began to get theknack of it and my old style began coming across! My work becamealmost as good as before and I knew that with time, I would perfectit.
My best work, I think, was thepainting I did of Maria. It was not just my old style that wasflowing through my fingers when I did that painting; there waslove, as well. I often told her that I loved her, but she wouldlaugh it off saying that of course we should all love oneanother. Sheoften said that she was not in love with me. Despite this, she didnot resist my kissing or holding her.
The dayshe died, I had barely seen her. She had had a worried frown on herface and seemed to want to be alone.
“What’s wrong Maria?” I askedher, as we sat on the wooden chairs in the grounds of theLodge.
“Nothing, Nagoth,” she replied.“Just let me sort out myself, okay?” Earlier, I had seen hertalking with Philip, then Willie.
“What were you discussing withWillie?” I asked her.
“Oh, he was preaching asusual.”
“I saw you with Philip, too,” Isaid.
Shelooked angry. “I’m not your property, you know,” she said. “I cansee and talk to whomever I please.”
“Oh, I know that,” I said. “Iwas just asking.” But the truth is that I did feel a kind ofproprietary air over her, which was quite unreasonable, since shewas not my wife. So, I decided to let her be.
At about 10:00pm that night, I was in my room when Iheard her footsteps inthe corridor. I had walked with her so often, that I had no doubtit was her. She knocked on a door and it opened. Before I couldopen my own door, she had gone in and the door closed. I poked outmy head to look down the corridor at the same time that Philipbrought out his own head. We glanced at each other, then both shutour doors. I was curious to know whom she had come to see. Itcertainly was not Philip.
Afterquite some time, a door opened again and I heard her footstepsgoing away after the door slammed shut. I opened my door. That waswhen you opened your door. I had no time to lose! I shut my doorand went after her. I managed to catch up with her, near the bottomof the stairs.
Eventhen, she did not bother to check who was behind her.
“Maria!” I panted, as I reachedher. “Didn’t you hear me behind you?”
“Oh, Nagoth! Can’t you leave mealone?” she asked. I noticed that she still had
