Stronger Than Lions - 25. Imago

Friday afternoons used to be when I went to catechism. Friday afternoons were when I yielded myself to dogma, ate fish for lunch and thought, because I did these things, I would spin my doubt into a cocoon of faith and, in chrysalis, glimpse the infinite in verses and lines that were copies of copies of copies of things written in tongues no longer spoken.

I had studied and still my mother’s tumour had spread.

I had prayed and still my mother had lost her hair.

I had knelt before a bishop and still my father would cry himself to sleep when he thought nobody else was awake.

I had oil poured on my head, and still each day diluted all our hope.

I had taken a new spiritual name and been proclaimed confirmed in Christ, and still my mother had died.

Now Friday afternoons were for swimming training. I yielded myself to the sprites and spirits of the water, I downed protein shakes and biltong instead of fish, and thought, because I did these things, I’d be stronger, faster, and better. Some of it seemed to be working, at least on my body if not on my soul: I had piled on cords and bands of muscle, smashed personal bests in heats and galas, and enjoyed strutting around in the change rooms, lapping up the looks of surprise and poorly-disguised envy from boys who previously ignored or tormented me.

On the Friday before the big rugby game, I stayed in the pool for an extra hour, losing myself in length after length, stopping counting after I had swum an old-fashioned mile. I ignored Jason in his far opposite lane; I suppose he ignored me.

When I eventually stopped for a rest I was surprised to see Frank standing near the pool’s edge. wearing civvies. There was a large SLR camera slung over his shoulders. He held it carefully as he snapped shot after shot of the swimmers.

Our eyes met.

‘Frank,’ I said, feeling the old fear snake briefly across the base of my spine.

‘MacLeod. No need to look so shocked.’

‘Oh. I just wasn’t expecting…’

‘I don’t just play rugby, okay? I’m taking some pics for the school magazine. I’m part of the production team and stuff. Got asked to take some snaps of you water rats.’

I nodded, surprised and not a little confused.

‘Sounds…cool.’

‘Well, feel free to like carry on. For fuck’s sakes, Caleb, I’m not shooting you with a gun.’

He had never called me by my first name before, and certainly not without some slur attached to it.

‘It’s a nice camera, Frank,’ I said, shivering a little. ‘Good quality.’

He gave me the slightest of nods. ‘Thanks, I guess. Seems like you and I like lenses, but of different types. Apparently some of the guts of this camera and your telescope’s optics are all made in the same factory in Germany.’

‘How… how did you know about my telescope?’

‘Chris is my teammate, idiot. And he’s like your best mate or whatever. Says all good stuff about you, so, relax already.’

‘He does?’

‘Yeah, no need to freak out.' He looked away. ‘Um. Sorry I’ve been a dick to you. You’re all right, I guess.’

‘So what, you finally realised I’m a human being?’ I felt a little rage build inside me but I let it ease off.

‘I knew that, man. But if you want some long drawn out apology then you’ve got the wrong person.’

‘Suppose I’ll take what I get,’ I said flatly.

‘Whatever.’ He gestured towards the water. ’Well, get your arse back in. The pool looks boring without you in it.’

* * *

Later that night, Chris was quiet during supper, tapping his feet against the legs of the dining room table, hardly touching his food. I tried to distract him with a game of Grand Theft Auto but he wasn’t paying any attention at all. Mid-game, he got up and started pacing around the room like a panther in a cage.

‘Stressed about tomorrow?’

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘More than I thought, bru.’

‘Come,’ I said, getting up. ‘I’m going to run you a bath.’

He nodded and followed me upstairs.

‘Sorry I’m such a wuss tonight,’ he said as he lay back in the water.

‘Shut up and let me take care of you.’

‘Get in with me, please?’

I clambered in behind him. He laid his head back on my chest. I thought of bringing up my encounter with Frank in the pool earlier, but let it go when I felt my dick twitch as it pressed against his back. I stroked his damp hair and reached down with one hand started playing with him. He closed his eyes and moaned a little.

‘That good?’ I asked.

‘Perfect, bru,’ he murmured.

‘Is this allowed? know some coaches don’t want their players to have any sort of action the night before.’

‘You’re sweet. Nah. Coach is pretty cool about that. Not that I’d listen to him if he were oh... wow... that’s good...’

He came violently, nearly winding me as his elbows dug into my sides and his convulsions splashed nearly a third of the tub’s water on the floor.

* * *

I decided to bunk the morning’s pre-game festivities at the school and slept in. I vaguely remembered Chris kissing me goodbye. It was past ten when my father dragged me out of bed.

‘What’s wrong, my boy?’ he asked me as we sat at brunch. ‘You’ve hardly touched your food.’

I think I overdid training yesterday. Body’s a bit sore. Sorry, Dad.’

I felt bad. He had specially tried to cook, and miraculously not burned anything, but I wasn’t hungry.

‘No stress, laddie. At least you’ll have more time for studying after next week when swimming and rugby are over. I’m really proud of you boys.’

A creeping unease bore down on me, and I didn’t know what to do.

‘You ready to get going? I can’t wait to see the Wolves kick some arse.’

My father had been a proud Wolf in his day, even playing as a replacement in the Second XV when he was in Matric.

As we parked outside the school, my father’s cell phone rang.

‘Oh crap,’ he groaned as he rang off. ‘There are two bloody emergencies. Dental abscess and a knocked out incisor. Sorry, laddie, I should have swopped out my weekend call but it slipped my mind.’

‘It’s fine, Dad. I can get Rob or Chris to bring me home later. I have my keys.’

‘Alrighty then. I think we can dispense with a curfew tonight. I imagine you kids will want to go out afterwards. Call me if you’re not safe to drive, promise?’

‘I promise,’ I said, and hopped out of the car and started walking to the rugby fields.

There was a huge crowd of Pretoria supporters. I had arrived just in time for the second team game and managed to avoid prosecution by the prefects, who were always on the lookout for those playing hooky at compulsory events.

Rob waved to me from the grandstands. ‘We were wondering what happened to you,’ said Bella, looking odd in a huge Wolves jersey as I joined them. Even Rob was decked out in the old red and blue and was waving the flag of the howling wolf.

The school’s mascot was the Wolf of Gubbio, whom St Francis supposedly tamed after it was terrorising the inhabitants of the small Italian village. The wolf promised to stop attacking and the saint, in return, arranged for the villagers to feed the wolf. I’ve always loved that story.

‘Thank God you’re here,’ said Rob. ‘Bella has been perving over all over the Pretoria players and I needed you to dilute the oestrogen.’

‘Hey. I have to put up with your sighs and moans over the cheerleaders,’ said Bella.

‘Sorry,’ I shrugged, ‘I haven’t been feeling too great. Slept in.’

‘Bet you’ll feel much better when you see Chris run onto the field,’ she said.

The second team game swam before me in a haze. Unfortunately, Pretoria hit an early winning streak and St Francis just couldn’t keep up. The visitors were victorious, the College’s crowd erupting into a roar as they trounced us 22-8.

‘Shit,’ said Rob, typing furiously on his calculator app. ‘This puts us at equal points with Pretoria in the tournament. We’re going to have to thump them in the Firsts game to advance to the semis.’

‘You okay?’ said Rob as we bought hot dogs before the final game.

‘Dunno,’ I confessed. ‘I’m all weirded out, like something bad’s going to happen.’

He patted my back. ‘Don’t freak yourself out, dude. Grab some chow and let’s make fun of Miss Carmichael throwing herself at the rugby players.

We all cheered as the Wolves ran onto the field. Frank shook hands with the Pretoria captain—a massive ginger, who briefly raised his eyebrows as he scanned his opposition and caught sight of Chris. I wondered if he recognised him as the bad boy from last year’s game, and I swore my boyfriend looked uncomfortable for a second. But then the teams launched successively into their school songs and soon the game was underway.

The game had all the intensity of Springboks vs. All Blacks clash. At half-time, Pretoria led St Frank’s by three points, each team having conceded a penalty and scored a try, but the Wolves failing to convert. Nearly half an hour ensued until Pretoria scored another try, though also failing to convert.

At 15-7, it was looking grim for us until Frank sneaked a try over the line. The cheers doubled in volume as he succeeded to kick the ball over the posts.

It was now 15 all. Five minutes remained. Pretoria would still win on possession if we tied.

Four minutes.

Three minutes.

Two.

Silence descended as the teams got into a scrum: the mass of players heaving and pushing this way and that, writhing like a giant centipede.

Then a player broke loose. It was Frank He charged across the field—sidestepping two burly Pretorians! He passed it to Chris…

...who leapt like a flying squirrel and scored the winning try.

We all exploded into jubilation. The Major hopped over onto the field to hug the players, tears in his eyes. They hoisted Chris and Frank into the air and above the screams and shouts I could hear Mr Mazibuko’s wife ululating. The crowd charged onto the field and I followed suit forcing my way through the throng. I could see him—flushed, elated, triumphant—as I inched towards him. I could almost reach out and tug his jersey.

‘Chris!’ I yelled. But he didn’t hear me as the cheering team swept him past me.

I slunk back to the edge of the field.

* * *

Rob sensed my let-down and promptly hauled Bella and I into the car and drove us to The Fat Cactus where he shoved two tequila slammers in front of me.

‘Down ‘em, MacLeod,’ said Bella. ‘You’ll feel better.’

‘Am I the only one drinking?’

‘Afraid so,’ she replied. ‘I’m in uniform, and Rob’s driving. Don’t worry, Romeo, you’ll see Chris soon enough.’

‘I didn’t realise there’d be an after-party for the team. Guess it’s a big win for them.’

‘Meh,’ said Rob, as our food arrived. ‘I don’t understand why they’re all sporting a celebratory semi about getting into a semi-final, but, let your boy enjoy his party, you’ll have him all to yourself later. Let this grumpy ginger keep you company until then.’

‘Thanks, Robbie.’

I felt better after my beef enchilada and the tequila, and soon we decided to get home.

‘Wait,’ I said, as we passed the school. ‘Drop me off.’

‘Okay,’ said Rob. ‘You wanna try find Chris?’

‘Yeah. He texted me to apologise and say he’d be home later. His phone is now off, but I want to see if I can find him. My dad can fetch me if I don’t see him.’

‘No sweat,’ said Rob, stopping at the main gate.

It was seven, already dark, and a chilly wind had brought the scent of the sea behind the mountain from Table Bay. It would probably be raining soon. I zipped up my hoodie and jogged to the main rugby field, reasoning the team would still be celebrating in the changing rooms.

Sure enough, there was light behind the entrance.

I tried the door. It opened. There was nobody in the corridor but I could hear shouts and cheers coming from the end of the passage.

What the hell, I thought, and walked towards the commotion.

I’m glad I was hiding behind a cupboard. My face fell as I took in the spectacle.

A little Bacchanal was in full swing. A bunch of girls, all topless, were dancing around the room, giggling as they taunted and cajoled the team.

Chris was sitting on a bench while Tricia Moore lowered herself onto him, emptying a bottle of beer on his head, waving her huge breasts in his face. He reached out and pawed at them. He was in briefs and his bulge was obvious.

I must have gasped too deeply because he turned and our eyes met.

‘Fuck,’ he mouthed. He tried to get up and fell over in the process and the crowd laughed.

Sick tugged at the back of my throat.

I had studied, prayed, and knelt. I had received oil and taken names. I had partaken of the land and of the sea and reached into the waters faster and further. I had emerged from all these iterations of the soul and the flesh into broad-chested imago, and still she had died and now he had forsaken me.

I bolted before anybody else could see me. I ran out into the night, pelted by the freezing rain, a hot bomb of anger exploding in my head.