Building The Bridge - 8. Chapter 8 - Decisions

Confusion is never a pleasant experience. The isolation you feel as a result of the uncertainty on its own makes dealing with the feelings of insecurity associated with the lack of clear direction difficult to bare. Aside from the complexities of being under constant strain from pondering endlessly what to do, there is also the effect on one’s confidence and sense of self worth that are affected by the experience.

These were the internal mental struggles that faced a tired and bedraggled Jacob as he wondered through the botanical garden, a wide open expanse of greenery in the eastern districts of Bulawayo. The dry brown grass, closely cropped and trim beneath his feet showed its thirst for the rains of spring. All around him bird song could be heard on the air, loud, soft, shrill. A plethora of greens and browns, plants of every variety spread out around the grounds, a world of beauty and space where you could loose yourself.

It had quickly become a place to which the boys escaped to be alone, wondering either together discussing the mysteries of the world, or alone wrestling with the considerations of their mind. Today Jacob had opted to visit the landscaped gardens on his own. He came to a stop at the protea garden, a rocky outcrop with a variety of the common cape flower. The ever green of the leaves showed in contrast to the dreary browns of winters grip on other plant varieties in the gardens.

Jacob smiled as he paused for reflection, looking at the plants. How easy it must be to have nothing more interesting in life other than to await the warm caress of the sunshine, the tickling drops of the rain and the comforting richness of the soil to ensure your survival. How he wished his life could be so effortless, left to rely only on nature to provide the answer to his needs.

This internal turmoil he experienced every time his desires rose up within him was a cruel and unusual torture. The conflict of his yearn to feel the heat rising off the body of the Adonis with who he passed the time of day these days, and the ever constant voice within his head that cautioned him against fulfilling any such fantasy was an ever present thorn in his side.

He would punish himself long and hard into the night, seeking a temporal emotional fix to the lust he fought to control. After each apocalyptic release of his seed he would finally succumb to sleep, allowed for a moment to escape the temptations of the flesh, to enter into a world of visions and possibilities.

He felt so alone with these problems. There was no one to whom he could turn to seek advice, ask for guidance or observe to gain understanding. He desperately wanted the distressing mix of feelings he could not control to stop, and while he knew that they were associated with the very presence of Philippe, he could not bear to tear himself free of the obsession that was so rapidly taking over his life.

He could not stand to be away from Philippe. Even now his chest was constricted, his breathing was ragged, his eyes darting, fleeting, searching. It physically hurt to be out of Philippe’s presence, to be parted from him, to feel the loss of his departure, the loneliness of his absence.

“Arrrrrrrgh!”

He screamed into the still air. This was ridiculous. How could uncertainty be so damn powerful? Why was he letting this happen to himself? He needed to take control, to make decisions, to choose his path.

But which path……

Nothing was clear. Nothing was easy. Is this how life was when you became an adult? Responsibility suddenly seemed very unappealing. Independence was no longer an adventure. He wished in that moment to be home near his Ma. Free from this pain, away from the mystery of indecision, back to simplistic living.

He turned, kicked at a twig in the dust and muttered to himself.

“Come on Jacob Cummins, you’re better than this!”

He strode off towards the gate and main road. In his mind he knew he needed to take control, he just wasn’t completely sure that he had the strength to manage that just yet. He would take his time and be sure he had made the right decision. This was his future and he could not make an error of judgement. He smiled to himself. Da would be proud of him, his son was becoming a man and making the choices that were needed to give direction and purpose to his life.

…………………………..

In the chill of the early morning Colin reached out and pulled the warm body stretched out on the other side of the bed towards him. Nyasha stirred and breathed in deeply as he was drawn across the sheets to be spooned up against the iron hard steal of his lover’s body. He grinned. It was these moments of endearment that he treasured, the times when his partner held him and helped him to feel safe, comfortable.

He twisted his body slightly so that his hips lined up and tucked squarely into the throbbing groin pressed hard against him. He groaned deeply from within his body as the iron rod of passion crested his cheek and came to rest along the valley of his buttocks. He grasped onto the arm curled around his chest, and hugged it too him, bending his head to softly kiss the bicep firmly holding him.

Slowly Colin’s hips ground forward, thrusting himself between the firm mounds of flesh, He could feel the flex of those powerful muscles clamp down around his stiffness, gripping him in the warm tunnel he adored to feel around him. He pulled back, a gasp escaping his lips as the cold air stung his exposed manhood. He rapidly drove back, deep into the love that rubbed backwards into him.

Nyasha could feel his desperate need gripping his stomach, the familiar tickle of that desire he knew would lead to him impaling himself on that rod he loved to feel driven deep into him. He couldn’t stand it any longer, and he pulled out of his lovers embrace, turning within the bed and lowering himself to the erection he could see proudly standing up from its nest of public curls.

He slowly flicked his lips with his tongue, breathing in deeply, the musk of manliness catching in his nostrils, inflaming him, fuelling his need, engulfing his senses, releasing his animal instincts.

In one swift movement he completely swallowed the throbbing rod of love as Colin cried out in ecstasy. Nyasha cupped the two jewels that had grown taught as he salivated on the massive manhood within his mouth. He squeezed ever so gently, pulling downwards as he sunk lower onto the hard penis in his mouth. Colin groaned, lost in the mists of pleasure. Nyasha was good at this. He had learnt exactly what satisfied his lover and he knew exactly how to bring him to the most awe inspiring climaxes.

But not today. No he was not ready to allow the release. Today was about teasing, building, creating anticipation. Nyasha sucked the soft skin of the two nebulas he played with into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the skin, tickling the soft hairs as they came in contact with his face.

Colin was writhing across the bed. He was panting, his demand for release building by the second. He growled, an animalistic sound erupting from his throat as he looked up to see Nyasha’s head engulfing his groin. He could feel his ministrations bringing him to the edge then leaving him teetering on the cliff, crashing back into desire, burning for an explosion, becoming more and more frantic.

Chaos ran through his head, every sense alive, every emotion flaring, alert and responding to the experience. His body was tingling, his tongue dry, his eyes rolled backward in his head, his breathing erratic. This is why he loved this Nyasha. This was why he would never let him leave. He knew exactly what to do to make the experience of making love into the most intense exchange between two people. This man was the most amazing lover Colin had ever had, or would ever seek.

Nyasha rose from Colin’s groin and kissed his way up the body below him. He reached Colin’s neck and sucked deeply on the exposed flesh, lowering his body to press against the naked skin of the man, to lie completely on top of him while he savoured the salty sweet taste of his neck. He rose to peer into the eyes of his master, his big brown irises staring into the steamy storm raging in the blue orbs he looked at.

He pressed himself down, crushing their bodies together, rubbing up against one another, stimulating the already sensitive manhood trapped between their hips. Colin was moaning uncontrollably. Nyasha kissed him deeply, his tongue darting in and out of the warm cavity of Colin’s mouth, their tongues meeting in a short embrace, tasting each other before fleeting to another place in the mouth, exploring, enticing, enforcing.

Nyasha slowly rose and place a knee either side of Colin’s hips allowing him to straddle himself over his partner. He pressed down on Colin’s chest, and reached behind him to take the stiff rod in his hands. He slowly guided Colin’s engorged penis to the deep darkness of his buttocks. Placing him at the entrance to his inner self, he slowly allowed himself to sink back on his haunches.

The familiar sting burned as he pressed himself down harder, inadvertently grimacing against the pain that in that moment ripped the air from his lungs. He moaned as he sunk lower and lower, feeling the shaft fill his body, feeling himself take off into the giddy heights of ecstasy.

The pain subsided and Nyasha rose and fell, his body lost in a trance, his mind flashing with sparks of electrical explosions as sensations within him were triggered and released. He was lost to the realm of love, caught up in the emotions of sexual fulfilment, stars bursting around him as he rose and fell, each thrust releasing a steady flow of endorphins that stimulated and tantalised his brain.

Below him Colin was experiencing a similar fulfilment of contentment, groaning loudly as he thrust himself upwards, seeking each time to plant himself deeper and deeper within his lover. In the throws of love, nothing else mattered, his cries piercing out into the breaking dawn.

Orgasm overtook them both almost simultaneously, Colin driving upwards while grabbing onto Nyasha, pulling him down towards him as he pulsed within him, his moaning becoming a stuttering grunt. In that moment as Nyasha sensed his lover reaching his release, his own powerful climax coursed through his body, thick streams of semen flying out to coat Colin’s chin, torso and stomach. Nyasha exhaled a breath he’d drawn as the first tinges of his impending release had alerted to him to his orgasm, and now spent he fell back against the body below him, Colin wrapping him in his arms as they both lay there covered by a glow, an inner peace.

They must have fallen asleep like that, for when Colin opened his eyes again the sun light was streaming in the window. Nyasha still lay on top of him, quietly snoring, the rise and fall of his chest evident to a conscious Colin. He smiled and caressed the confused tangle of curls of hair that covered Nyasha’s head. He was grateful it was a Sunday and he did not need to rise up early and head out to the back breaking toil of foundation laying.

Progress had been quick but intense, and much of the work force were exhausted by the constant pressure of expectation that drove them on. Due to the laying of the concrete slabs that would make up the anchor blocks of the stay mechanism for the bridge the day before, everyone had a day off to allow for the mix to solidify sufficiently for work to continue. They all planned to enjoy the respite that the break in construction offered.

Pressed by an urge to empty his bladder Colin rolled over, Nyasha’s body rolling onto the bed waking him from his contented slumber. Colin rose and padded over to the jug he used to relieve himself. He hummed to himself as he felt the satisfaction of release and the comfort of wakefulness overtake him. He was considering perhaps killing a chicken and enjoying some chicken broth or stew when a loud knock on the front door interrupted his thoughts.

Nyasha sat bolt upright in the bed looking towards the door, while Colin shook the last few drops of urine from himself and padded back over to the bed reaching out for his britches. He staggered as he struggled to slide his moving feet into the legs of the trousers as he made his way towards the front door.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

“My name is Stewart Dwyer Sir,” was the muffled reply.

“Hold on,” Colin called, frustration overtaking him as he continued to have difficulties getting the garment on his body.

“Damnation,” he cursed. “What the hell……Why on this day of all days?” his mood was rapidly sinking into anger as he finally got his legs into his pants and pulled them up slipping into the suspenders.

He threw open the door and shot daggers at the short man in a black suit that stood on his verandah. “What do you want,” he growled at the man.

Instinctively shrinking back Mr Dwyer reached out his hand to offer a hand shake. “My name is Steward Dwyer and I am a minister of the Dutch Anglican church here to act as a missionary to this outpost sir.”

Colin frowned. A mission post at Victoria Falls. He wasn’t sure he wanted a minister bashing around the place.

“What is your business here then Reverend?”

“No, no sir, not Reverend, just a missionary minister,” Stewart smiled.

Colin shrugged and looked at the man expectantly.

“Erm…..Yes well,” stammered the minister. “Every soul deserves a chance to hear the gospel sir. I am here to fulfil my duty as a minister and share with the locals and workers.”

“Your duty?” Colin shook his head as a scowl crossed his face.

“Indeed. Rumour has it that you have a sizeable work force staying on site Sir, and each of them needs a channel for repentance and salvation Sir!”

“A chanel?” Colin repeated.

“Yes, yes indeed sir,” Stewart nodded getting excited. “It is only through Christ our saviour that any man can find his salvation and meet his creator….”

Colin cut in. “With all due respect Mr……”

“Dwyer. Stewart Dwyer.” Stewart offered.

“Mr Dwyer. We are all hard working men here at this outpost. We have toiled endlessly for the past three weeks and today have a break thankfully. I have no inclination to stand here and discuss the in’s and out’s of religion with you today of all days.”

Colin took a step backwards and made to close the door.

“If you want to talk to me further, see me on Monday morning when I am working.” He turned to close the door.

“Oh but I was hoping to perform a mass this morning Sir,” Stewart appealed.

Colin fixed him in a steely gaze.

“What part of day off did you fail to understand man?”

Stewart gulped. “God never takes a day off Sir,” he fired.

“That may well be the case Mr Dwyer, but we are only men. We sweat, we bleed, we shit and we get tired. Today is a day of rest for the men and for the Lord. Leave them to rest and see me on Monday, now be off with you!” he hissed before slamming the door.

Stewart stood for a moment staring at the closed door, his mouth agape. He didn’t quite know what to do, but he sensed it would be unwise to push this man. He decided to set up his tent at his wagon, and wonder through the camp and speak to the men he met one by one.

Plan in mind, he turned strode to the steps and set off into the dusty early Sunday morning.

……………………..

Simba sat on a rock outcrop, his skin glistening in the fading sunlight, the moisture dripping down his bare shoulders, running in tiny rivulets down his muscular back. The rain was a constant presence of the rain forest that surrounded the waterfalls, and as Simba sat scanning the spectacle before him, raindrops fell onto his body bathing him in moisture.

Today was the first time in weeks that he’d been able to escape to the cliffs that hung precariously over the furious torrent of water that churned at the bottom of the gorge. This was a place that many of the men from the camp escaped too, a place they came to marvel at natures beauty, a place they came to contemplate life, ponder time and revitalise the soul. It was spiritual in a way, seeing the dazzling power of the water pouring over the precipice, listening to the roaring thunder rising up from the chasm below, feeling the mists of raindrops caressing the skin. This was where a man could escape the pressures of his life and become lost for a moment in the splendour of nature.

Simba loved to escape the camp and take time to think about his family, many miles away, resident in a rural village, his son and daughter growing up without seeing him, his wife looking after his little family without his help, no man to guide or look after them. He missed his family something fierce. It was not something he ever spoke about, and it was not something his masters ever asked about. It was a given that as a native labourer, even a boss boy, he was not expected to pine for his family, not given a chance to speak about the people he’d been forced to leave behind.

It had been five years since he’d seen any of them, looked on the smiling face of his beautiful daughter, or heard the cute giggle of his tiny son. He wouldn’t be so small anymore, old enough to stand on his own two feet, old enough in fact to even walk on them. It’d been five long years since he’d felt the embrace of his wife, been able to kiss her tenderly on the lips, hug her body to him. He longed to feel her warmth, to hear her breath close to his ear, feel her heart beat close to his own.

Working for the Rhodesia Railways had once seemed exciting and empowering, but in reality had become a cruel and difficult cross to bear. It was torture being separated from those he loved for such long periods of time. He’d learnt quickly not to expect time to visit, having once asked for leave as a junior labourer. His efforts had only earned him a slap from his boss at the time and a shift from hell for the next few days. He’d never bothered to ask again.

For five years his only company had been that of the labourers around him, the men that he worked with, his masters and an occasional visitor to the line. There were no women he could take carnal pleasure from. There was no one he could share the joys of intimacy with. He had been reduced to pleasuring himself, a moment of escape which only served to enforce a feeling of shame within him. He was married, a father, a grown man. He should not be carrying on like an immature teenager, yet the powerful yearning that drove him to these acts would never go away. He would always be drawn back to that feeling of desperation, need, want, desire. He could not stop himself.

He sat staring into the green waters of the Zambezi as they fell into oblivion. How he wished he could return home. Leave. Go back. His whole body ached for his home. However return was not an option. He would never be released from his post, and desertion would only lead to arrest, a beating and designation to hard labour. He had worked too hard to reach where he was to loose it all. The pains of his isolation would endure, the ache of his body would remain, and he would rise again tomorrow to continue with the toil of progress.

He stood, shook his head, droplets of water flying from his face. Were they droplets of rain or tears of frustration? He sighed unsure. He turned and slowly made his way back towards the encampment, back towards civilisation and its relentless march forwards.

………………………

Life in Bulawayo had settled into a routine. Each morning the boys would rise, wash, have breakfast and then be tasked with various chores around the house. Georges would travel into town to the British South African Company offices where he’d get up to date information about progress at the site, and fulfil his responsibilities as the site engineer.

He’d finally organised himself a few days to travel to Pretoria where he would visit a renowned boarding school with his sons. He had worked fast and hard to ensure that everything was put in place before his departure for Victoria Falls. He wanted to be sure his family were properly established in Rhodesia before he committed himself to the task at hand.

He and his wife had quickly established contact with a doctor that they had been recommended to see. Henrietta had settled in with Dr McLeod and the doctor had given a satisfactory prognosis of recovery for Henrietta in the drier more agreeable temperatures of the African savannah. It was little Charles who had struggled to acclimatise. He had suffered much in the heat, often crying and taking hours to go down after feeding. He would wake at irregular hours and struggled to settle. It was a burden on both mother and father; the long voyage and stress of relocation having severely depleted their store of patience.

Finally in desperation Georges had consulted Dr McLeod and on his advice taken the services of a nurse who’d taken care of young Charles through the day and night, giving the parents space to rest and catch their breath. After a few days, the family had interviewed for a nanny to become a more permanent fixture to their home as the nurse could not be with them forever, and so a rather portly woman called Patience had been hired by the family to take care of the children and help Henrietta to cope.

Patience was a cheerful woman, always singing and cleaning. She loved to cook and had been well trained by a colonial family that had recently returned to Europe, leaving Patience free to join the Imbault household. She fussed over the baby Charles, treating him with kindness and joy much as any mother would treat a child. It warmed Georges heart to know they had found someone so attentive to his child’s needs and he felt relaxed now as he needed to travel to South Africa to formalise his other two sons education arrangements.

Harvey Edwards School for Boys was a respected academy located in an expensive part of Pretoria. The school had a reputation of turning out some of the most well rounded and finely educated young gentlemen in South Africa, and at considerable expense would provide one of the finest educations the country could deliver.

It was not easy to secure a place at the academy and were it not for the influence of the Debeers company directors, whom all sent their sons to the school to be educated, Georges would have struggled to get an interview, let alone consideration of his application. However, after a quiet word in the Principles ear, Georges application had been met with favour and he and the boys would arrive on Thursday for their interviews and entrance examinations.

For Philippe the prospect of attending the school was a devilish idea. He had objected to being sent so far from his family for his education, had argued with his parents about the idea. He had retreated into an unusual silent defiance as they had set out on the journey to Pretoria. Georges did not quite understand Philippe’s resistance to attending the school. His sons had always attended boarding school in both France and England, a fine education was something Georges had committed to providing his children early on. He and his wife had convinced themselves at the station that Philippe’s mood must be due to their arrival in a new country and their son’s uncertainly of what to expect. He would overcome his fears and settle down as soon as he was admitted to the dorms and made some friends.

Finally Thursday dawned, dark, dull and overcast. At breakfast at the Dortmund Hotel everyone had been quiet, nervous tension occupying their thoughts. In the carriage on the way to the school, Marcel had been chattering freely, Philippe choosing to stare moodily out of the window, Georges frowning from child to child, attempting to answer Marcel’s questions and worrying about Philippe’s continued silence.

A sudden crash of thunder heralded a down pour of rain, thick, heavy and loud. Everyone’s mood sank a little lower, and Philippe begun to mutter under his breath. Georges shook his head in chagrin. Did Philippe not appreciate how important today was? His education was at stake. Frustrated he chose to look out of the window at the sheets of water pouring down from the sky above. ‘I wonder how wet we will get when we leave the carriage,’ he wondered. It would not do to sit through the interviews and examinations all damp.

The ride slowed as they turned into the courtyard of the school grounds. An imposing red brick building swept into view through the window, its façade stained by the rain into a dark bloody colour. Light from within spilled out of windows glinting off the puddles of water that were tortured by the droplets of rain hitting their surface giving a shimmer to the scene that lay before them.

The carriage pulled to a stop before a long flight of steps leading up to the entrance to the school’s administration building. The family sat and waited for the footman to arrive and open the door. As luck would have it the man had a large umbrella to shelter them from the storm, and one by one he escorted them to the foyer. As imposing as the building itself, the wide open space of the foyer was dominated by large glass cabinets filled with silverware of every description. Shields and trophies from all manner of sporting and academic achievement lined the shelves, sparkling, boasting of a proud heritage of success.

In between the cabinets four life size portraits hung of former principles, stern looking men wearing robes of honour, holding scrolls of entitlement, an education earned from a variety of universities, a qualification that gave them the right of passage to enter into a career of teaching, the job of imparting knowledge and guiding the new generation to enlightenment and achievement.

At the far end of the room, set on a rich rug was a dark wooden desk behind which sat a woman working at a typewriter. She was middle aged, hair worn in a in a tight bun, horn rimmed glasses set at the end of her nose, her chin pointing forward determinedly. Georges sighed, shook himself of the rainfall that had caught his coat and walked forward to the desk.

“Good morning,” he said quietly. “Georges Imbault to see Mr Squires please.”

The woman looked over her glasses at Georges, peering at the boys who stood quietly behind him.

“Very well sir, please wait a moment.” She rose and made her way to an oak panelled door and knocked before disappearing inside. She returned a short while later, holding the door open and indicating that Mr Squires would see Mr Imbault and his sons. They entered into the office.

Plush furnishings greeted them as they wondered into the room. Wooden panelling surrounded three walls of the office, the third lined with a book case holding hundreds of volumes. Books from authors both great and small stood on their shelves, quiet testament to the knowledge that had passed through this office through time. A large oak desk stood proudly on the thick carpet in the middle of the room, leather chairs surrounding it and a tall man standing beside it. He was balding, smiling, dressed in a smart day suite. He reached forward and shook hands with Georges warmly, welcoming him to the school, his green eyes sparkling as he looked over at the two boys stood timidly at their father’s side.

“Come, please sit down,” he said motioning to the chairs around his desk. “I am Mr Squires,” he introduced himself, “and you must be….”

“Philippe,” Philippe croaked clearing his throat. “I am Philippe Imbault sir.”

“Very good,” Mr Squires acknowledged shaking his hand as Philippe took a seat and then turned to Marcel.

“I’m Marcel,” Marcel squeaked, muted by the intimidating environment he found himself in.

“It is nice to meet you all,” Mr Squires said shaking Marcel’s hand while shepherding him into an over stuffed leather chair.

“Thank you for seeing us sir,” Georges said as he made himself comfortable.

“It is my pleasure,” Mr Squires said as he made his way around his desk to take his seat. “Can I offer you anything to drink, tea or something?”

The Imbault family declined the offer.

“Fine. Thank you Mrs Templeton that will be all. Can you see to it that Mr Saunders and Mr Harrington are on hand to show the boys to the examination room please?”

“Certainly sir,” Mrs Templeton took her leave, quietly closing the door behind her.

Mr Squires clasped his hands together. “Welcome to Pretoria. You have travelled a great distance to be here I understand?”

“Indeed Sir,” Georges confirmed. “We are of French origin, but have been resident in the United Kingdom for a number of years and have chosen to settle in Africa for medical reasons now.”

“Oh?” Mr Squires frowned.

“Yes, unfortunately my wife has suffered with a cursed infliction for a number of years and it is on the advice of her doctor that we have immigrated to Africa.”

“Oh my, I am sorry. I hope that your new home agrees with your wife?”

“Indeed she is settling in remarkably well already Sir. Thank you for your consideration.” Georges smiled.

“I am glad to hear of it. So you are now resident in Rhodesia?” Mr Squires inquired.

“That is correct. We have taken a house in Bulawayo at present. I am contracted to the British South Africa Company and will be working in Victoria Falls shortly,” Georges replied.

“Yes indeed. I heard that you would be working for the BSAC. You will enjoy your time with the company I am sure. You will find they look after their top people very well.”

Georges inclined his head in a mark of acceptance of the fact, and held Mr Squires’ gaze for a moment. Mr Squires smiled at him and looked to the boys.

“Now tell me, what do you wish to be when you leave school young man?” he asked looking at Marcel.

“I wish to be an engineer Sir,” he promptly said, glancing at his father who was smiling proudly.

“And you Philippe?” Mr Squires looked to Philippe.

Philippe looked at the man thoughtfully. He paused before he replied, “To be honest Sir I have not yet decided, but I would consider a career in politics.”

Georges was astounded. He turned to look at his son, never having considered that his child would follow a career in politics, and shocked to hear that Philippe had even considered it.

“My, my. An honourable career young man. You can change the world and shape peoples lives as a politician.” Mr Squires observed.

“Or shape the future of a nation sir.” Philippe said.

Mr Squires nodded his head. This was a bright boy he noted, a deep thinker and someone that didn’t just speak for the sake of speaking.

“How have the boys been educated thus far then Mr Imbault?” Mr Squires asked returning his attention to Georges.

“I have here with me a full report of their education to date Mr Squires, written reports from their tutors and the head of the school they attended in Surry in England. I have also brought with me their report papers, and their last examination results.”

“Very thorough,” Mr Squires commented taking the envelope from Georges. “This information will be very useful.”

He took the papers from within the paper envelope and spent a moment flicking through the reports. He would frown or smirk from time to time as he read or saw something which interested him, his actions and expressions being closely followed by the three men in front of him. He finally looked up from the written reports.

“Impressive,” he commented pursing his lips.

“That is kind of you sir,” Georges smiled proudly looking at his boys.

“I am sure they will do well here at Harvey Edwards. Shall we get your examination out of the way while your father and I discuss your admission boys?” he asked.

The boys nodded quietly, nerves once more kicking in.

Sensing their discomfort Mr Squires smiled. “Don’t worry boys, this is a mere formality. We only want to establish your ability so we can place you accordingly.”

The boys nodded again as everyone rose. Mr Squires pulled on a rope and a bell could be heard tinkling faintly in the distance. The door opened and two smartly dressed young men entered into the room.

“Ah this is Master Greg Saunders and Master Simon Harrington our Head and Deputy Head boys,” he introduced the two newcomers.

Everyone shook hands by way of greeting.

“Mr Saunders and Mr Harrington will take you boys to the central hall where you will meet Professor Digby who will adjudicate your examination and then show you around the school grounds.”

The four boys paid close attention to Mr Squires’ instructions.

“It is half past nine now boys and your examination should take a little over an hour I would guess. Be sure to be back here by eleven please Mr Saunders?”

“Yes certainly sir,” Greg replied, moving to escort the boys out into the foyer leaving Mr Squires and Mr Imbault in the office to talk.

The boys made their way through the reception foyer through a door on the other side of the office into a long hall that took them into an adjoining building. Here they came to a large theatre style hall where two desks had been placed before the stage up by a big black piano.

A small man in a flowing black gown was busy fussing over some papers on the piano, his tiny feet shuffling as he muttered to himself.

“Professor,” Greg called as they approached.

The small man spun around to face the boys, his eyes frowning at them over a pair of round spectacles sat on his nose. He had grey hair and a squirrel like face, small, inquisitive and fun.

“Ah Saunders, about time what!” he chirped.

“Yes sir, I am sorry you have been delayed. I am sure the weather had not done us any favours this morning Professor.” Greg replied.

“Quite,” the professor agreed. “Well show the boys to their tables then. Are you ready for your examinations boys?”

Neither boy replied, taking their seat at a table each, watching expectantly as the Professor made his way over to them with paper and pencils.

“There is nothing to worry about lads,” he fussed. “You will do fine I am sure. Now who is who?”

“This is Philippe Imbault,” Greg said standing behind Philippe, “and his brother Marcel sir.”

“Ah very good to make your acquaintance boys I am sure,” said the Professor wondering over to the piano. “Now Philippe I can only assume you must be the one that is seventeen and Marcel you are…”

“Twelve sir,” Marcel piped up.

“Ah good,” said Professor Digby. “Now I will start you with a Mathematics paper. Twenty problems for you to solve. Write your answers on the paper I have provided, and make sure you put you names on the paper as well. You should show any working you do to calculate your answers on the same sheet of paper boys. Do you understand?”

They nodded their heads in unison, accepting their question sheets and setting to work. The professor and the prefects watched the boys for a while before retreating over to the piano where they conferred quietly while the boys worked. When both Philippe and Marcel had completed their Maths papers, they were given an English paper to work through and then a short general knowledge multiple choice test.

Mentally taxed, the boys were then taken on a whirl wind tour of the school, the dormitories, the dinning room and the administration facilities. Once more it was Marcel that did most of the jabbering, Philippe choosing to remain quiet, not really paying heed to what was taking place around him. He replied politely when spoken too, but took no inspiration from the experience, nor did he feel inclined to feel interested in the place he might soon have to call home until his schooling was completed.

Instead all he could do was think about Jacob. He missed him terribly. This trip had only served to enforce to him the feelings that he felt for the boy that he’d come to admire. He looked up to Jacob, thought of him in so many ways. He felt closer to him than he’d ever felt to anybody, and it pained him to be away from him. He missed his boyish smile, his playful nature. He longed to spend hours with him again talking about anything, laughing at silly moments, sharing secrets, enjoying one another’s company.

It had alarmed him that despite it having been only a few days since they’d departed from Bulawayo station, that he could feel so profoundly lost without Jacob being around him, that he could not bare to think of having to spend an extended period of time here without him. It was weighing heavily on his mind and he was not at all sure what to do about it.

What scared Philippe more than anything was the realisation that this was not just the feelings of friendship that he shared with Jacob. It was far more than that, and he was slowly coming to the realisation that he might even be in love with Jacob. He was not at all sure how he felt about that either. Could two men even love each other like that?

With his mind so preoccupied with these considerations it was no wonder that he had not done well in his examinations, and on his return to the office, he found that his father had a scowl of annoyance on his face, and Mr Squires was frowning in concern at the papers that he and Professor Digby were poring over.

“Ah boys! Did you like our school?” he asked, standing to welcome their return as the four of them entered the office.

“Yes sir,” they chorused.

“That is good news,” he smiled as they sat down. “Mr Saunders and Mr Harrington, thank you kindly for your time this morning. I am sure the Imbault boys are as indebted to you as I am.”

The prefects bid the boys farewell and made their exit from the office with the professor.

“Well now, your papers have been marked and the results are here. Unfortunately it would seem that your nerves have got the better of you today Philippe. You have not scored very convincingly on these papers.”

Mr Squired looked up to see what Philippe would say. Unsure of what to say, Philippe could only return his gaze.

“Do you not have anything so say Philippe?” Georges asked?

Philippe glanced at his father sensing his disapproval. “I do not know what to say father. I could give any number of excuses but they would be untrue. My mind was not focused or prepared for such a test today.”

The men were silenced by the boy’s honesty. Mr Squires looked from Philippe to Georges and back again.

“I admire your candid response Philippe, however it is not going to get you the place I feel you deserve young man,” he said. “We have already begun our final term of the year and I am hesitant to disrupt a class by placing an under performing pupil in the class. I would suggest private tuition for the remainder of the year and you return next year to repeat the year.”

Repeat the year? Philippe was alarmed. He would have to spend another whole year in formal education just to finish his schooling? This was not the answer he had wanted to hear, and he suddenly regretted not putting more effort into his performance in the examination.

“I am sorry sir, I am just distracted by so many new experiences and feelings. There is just so much to take in, and I am not young and impressionable like my brother, I like to feel comfortable and at ease in my surroundings before I can concentrate well. Father you know these things.”

Georges nodded slightly looking between his sons. “It is true Mr Squires,” he acknowledged. “Philippe does take longer to settle and is far more sensitive than Marcel.”

Marcel smiled while Philippe cringed. He hated to be discussed openly like this.

“My point exactly Mr Imbault. If Philippe is given private tuition at home for the rest of the year and is familiarised with the syllabus here, then he can be in a much better frame of mind and a more solid position academically to slot into his form in the new year. I would also point out that you might feel happier knowing that your wife is not left completely alone in a new environment when you depart to Victoria Falls. It may well be a sensible decision all round.”

Philippe and his father considered this mans logic for a moment. What he said made sense for various different reasons to each of them. Perhaps it was wise council in the circumstances.

“In the mean time, based on these scores we would be happy to offer Marcel a place here at Harvey Edwards starting immediately. If he be ready to arrive on Saturday next week, we will accommodate him in his dormitory and secure his place in class to start on the following Monday. Would that be suitable Mr Imbault?”

Georges sighed and nodded. “It is not the result I had hoped for Mr Squires, but yes that will be acceptable.”

“In my experience sir these things are never as easy as we assume, but life is never that simple, and while I have every intention of helping Philippe, I am also responsible to every other student in this building and must ensure the best for each of them as much as I do for every new student. Don’t see this as a set back, but more an opportunity to prepare for your placement here at Harvey Edwards Philippe.”

Mr Squires had an air of authority while also calming both men. He knew that the shock of failure would be a bitter pill for Georges to swallow, and the prospect of repeating a year would seem daunting to Philippe. He wanted to assure both of them that this would be the best course of action for the boy without causing any further upset.

“Very well, I will get Mrs Templeton to sort everything out, and we will write to you confirming Marcel’s and Philippe’s placements, and go from there.”

Everyone stood, realising that the meeting was over. Mr Squires closed the folder on his desk and proceeded to show the Imbault men out of his office with thanks. He updated Mrs Templeton passing her the file, and took his leave.

Georges finalised some details with Mrs Templeton while Philippe and Marcel withdrew to the door way looking out on the rail still pouring down in torrents.

“I think your in trouble,” Marcel observed waving at the carriage driver who’d spotted them emerge from the school building.

“I think you could be right little brother,” Philippe muttered.

The carriage drew up and the boys sprinted down the steps, scurrying into the carriage to await their father. It was several minuets before Georges made his way down to the carriage escorted by the footman. He climbed into the body of the carriage, shaking off the rain that had got his hair despite the coachman’s umbrella.

“Well that was a revelation,” he sighed as the carriage pulled off. “What the hell were you thinking Philippe?”

Philippe looked down at his shoes. He knew that it would be pointless to respond to his father. Experience had taught him that it was better to allow his father to vent, and vent he did much of the entire trip back to the hotel, and then on again in the hotel room itself. Eventually Georges had tired himself out and retreated to his room where he’d taken a rest.

Philippe in the mean time was left pondering his fate. He was still shaken by his realisation that he may well be in love with another man, a beautiful man yes, but none the less a person of the same sex. While he was worried about his schooling and the fact that he would have to repeat a year, he was more concerned with these new revelations and how they would affect his life. More than anything he was worried that if Jacob found out he would react badly. He could not stand the idea that Jacob might hate him if he learnt that he loved him. That would never do. He must never know, could never be told the truth. This would be one problem that Philippe would have to work out on his own.

 
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