My story, Pinch appears in the collection which won a Lammy in New Yorky last night. Here it is: PINCH Martin Hatchuel Pinch was the game they invented when they were boys running together on the veld behind their village in the wild and lonely Karoo, the only boys in their tiny settlement where Meiring’s father ran the district’s post office and trading store and Ludolf’s father drank the mampoer he distilled under an overhang in a valley half a day’s easy ride from his house. Pinch was when you sneaked up on your opponent without him seeing or hearing you and you caught the delicate skin at the side of his neck or under his arm between your thumb and forefinger and you twisted; and, of course, Pinch turned back on you if you were caught before you pinched. And that was what made Pinch so addictive: they knew each other so well that it was almost impossible to succeed. They could feel each other, the one when the other came close; they knew each other’s needs, each before the other knew his own; they saw the world together, each through the eyes of the other. As he lay in the cold and the dark, Ludolf tried to remember their scores. Meiring had always been in the lead, always a little more secure, a little more cunning, but he’d had his turn and there were times, satisfying, shout-inducing, laugh-till-you-hurt times when Ludolf had Pinched first and won (and when he’d lost he’d had to take his punishment, Meiring with his neck in an arm lock, drilling his knuckles into the poll of his head and shouting “Give up yet? Give up?” And Ludolf would never give up and he’d wrestle back, hooking his leg and tripping them both until they landed giggling in the dust and panting in each other’s arms). They hadn’t played Pinch since they’d joined the commando almost eighteen months ago. Meiring stirred in his sleep. Ludolf could smell his animal smell and felt the rough, filthy cloth of his jacket against his cheek. He tried to tuck their blanket under his shoulder behind him and he reached over and tried to push the far corner over Meiring’s chest. But it was too small. He felt the cold come in from behind, down his legs and into his boots and creeping up his back from the crack where his trousers had parted from his shirt. There was nothing he could do but push their bodies closer together to try and draw what he could from Meiring’s warmth. The smell was nothing: they’d got used to the stink of each other long ago and they’d got used to sleeping in pairs like this, sleeping as all the men did when they were on commando and the nights in the veld were cold beyond cold and a fire was unthinkable and they had nothing but each other for warmth. But Ludolf had never got used to Meiring’s body. It was too close. It was too fine. Meiring moaned and sighed and opened his eyes. “Mmh,” he said, his mouth thick with sleep. “Still dark.” “It’s almost morning.” The moon was a thin line in the sky, and they’d slept in the starlight but now the colour was growing in the east. “I’m cold,” said Meiring and pushed himself backwards against Ludolf. But Ludolf had to hold himself away, hold the lower part of himself away so that Meiring wouldn’t feel his hardness. He felt bad as soon as he’d moved like that and made up for it by putting his arm around Meiring’s shoulder and hugging his chest against his broad, strong back. Meiring looked back at him and smiled. “We’d better get up,” he said, and reached back to pat him on his thigh and rolled himself onto his knees and stood. Then he walked a few steps and stopped and peed on the ground. It sounded steamy and loud in the clear, still air. This was their second night away from their commando and they were hungry. They’d been living on biltong and beskuit for months and they’d been riding quickly in the last few days, stopping less than normal because they expected they were being followed by enemy patrols and here, close to Graaff-Reinet and deep in the Colony, they were running low on ammunition and the commandant wanted to avoid any fighting until after they‘d they met up with the rest of their column, hoped they’d find them waiting somewhere near Bethesda with supplies and, perhaps, news from home. There were sympathisers in Bethesda, he’d said, a family of Rebels he thought he knew. And then when it was getting close to dawn and the night was dark and the clouds hid the moonlight and the stars, Meiring and Ludolf had got lost. They’d been riding through a poort filled with unseasonable mist, close at each other’s side as always, leading one another until in a sudden clearing they’d realised they were alone and that they’d probably been alone for some hours. They’d stopped at a pool and allowed their horses to drink as the dawn grew around them and Meiring had said, “I think we should wait here for the light. Rest a while. Then we can go back and try and work out where the others have gone.” But the resting had been good and they were exhausted and this was the first time the two of them had been alone in months and they’d felt safe like that, hidden amongst the rocks and the bushes. “We’ll move on tomorrow,” Meiring had said. And now tomorrow was here. “Have we got anything left to eat?” he said, turning as he buttoned his flies. “I’ve got one piece of biltong and two or three pieces of biscuit,” said Ludolf. “Same here,” said Meiring. Ludolf was kneeling, rolling their blanket in their canvas groundsheet and tying the bundle with a worn strip of leather. A horse and saddle each; a rifle each; a hat each and a set of clothes; and a single blanket and a groundsheet - between them that was everything they had. “Maybe we should wait until tonight and try and find a farm and see if they’ve got anything there,” he said. “Maybe they can give us directions.” “Good idea,” said Meiring. “If they’re on our side. And anyway we can’t ride during the day this close to Graaff-Reinet: the Khakis might see the dust.” It hadn’t rained and the clouds had gone and the soil of the veld was powdered and red. They were surrounded by red and by the dull military green of the Karoo’s stunted, rounded shrubs and the pale, fragile white of its waves of tall and delicate grass. They ate what they had, sharing as they always did, knowing they’d be hungry again in an hour or two, and then they took water straight from the pool and drank. “You know what?” said Meiring. “Let’s stay here another day. We can wash our clothes. We both need to wash our clothes.” “We’ll never catch the others then. We’re too far behind.” “I know,” said Meiring, and he grinned. They were friends and they were equals, but Meiring had always taken the lead like this. And it wasn’t just his age: he’d always been quicker than Ludolf, less trusting of others but also more daring, before the war always first with ideas for adventures, always leading them into trouble - and often leading them out again. But in the eighteen months since they’d become men by joining the fight (and they were hardly that: Meiring, older by a year, had turned seventeen on the day they’d ridden out), Meiring had aged the quicker of the two. The days and weeks of waiting, then suddenly riding too quickly to another place to wait again, the tension before the bullets began to scream into the men around them, the hot terror of the shrapnel and the noise of the cannons that frightened them and thundered into their souls; the farms burning and the livestock dead, shot by the enemy and left to rot; the parties of women and young children and old men that tramped the veld - these things had changed them all but they’d changed Meiring more than most and he’d become distant and silent. And now here was the old Meiring again and Ludolf was pleased and relieved. And he decided he’d Pinch him at least once before they day was out. Suddenly Meiring punched his shoulder. “Hey!” and Ludolf punched him back. “Ha!” said Meiring. “Eighteen months on commando and you still hit like a girl!” Ludolf threw himself at him, struggling for a grip at his arms and pinning him down. They were both short for their age but they were lean, lean from being teenagers and lean from their hunger, and they had teenage spirit and they wrestled fiercely. They began to shout as they fought, smiling first at each other and then laughing louder and louder until suddenly Ludolf felt Meiring go limp beneath him. “Giving up, are you?” “No,” said Meiring. “We need to be quiet.” “Oh,” said Ludolf, letting go of the older boy’s wrists and sitting back astride him, feeling the softness and the flatness and the surprising slimness of his waist under his thighs and looking down at him and resting there a moment before rolling off and lying next to him to stare up at the sky. It was blue now and the sun was filling it from where it was coming up above the ridge to the east. “If we wash early, our clothes’ll dry quicker,” he said. “We’ll need to keep watch,” said Meiring. “Let’s wait until it’s a bit warmer, then you can go in first.” “Let’s climb up there in the meantime,” said Ludolf and he pointed at the ridge. “See where we are.” They checked on their horses, loose-hobbled and grazing, and they took their rifles and their bandoliers and put on their hats and began to walk. It was easy going across the valley, a bit tricky on the scree at the bottom of the slope. Ludolf let Meiring lead the way, as always, and soon they found a game path and they started to climb. It was a low ridge and they came suddenly to the top and Meiring ducked down so that his head wouldn’t show against the sky. “What’s there?” whispered Ludolf. Meiring waved his hand for silence. He raised his head again and slowly panned the veld as he stood there, hunched and stiff and Ludolf could see the concentration in the tension of his body. “Nothing,” he said at length and as he did, Ludolf grabbed the skin on his neck and Pinched and twisted. And then he giggled that high-pitched, rising laugh he gave when he was excited and he turned and started to run. “You bliksem!” They tore down the path, careening and out of control, their legs and arms pumping uncoordinated, rifles waving, shouting and whooping, their voices echoing in the silence of the morning. Ludolf had the lead as they ran across the riverbed and Meiring dropped his weapon and launched at him and tackled him and brought him down. “Pinch,” said Meiring when they’d caught their breath and the laughter had died. “I’d forgotten about Pinch.” “Do you still remember the score?” said Ludolf. “Of course I do. Forty to me, one to you.” “Rubbish!” said Ludolf. “You’re crazy.” “Pinch,” said Meiring, and there was a sadness in his voice. “Pinch,” he said again. “I’d forgotten about Pinch.” It was hot in their valley with the sun overhead and they were sweating and ready to swim. “But we have to stop making so much noise,” said Meiring. “You said you didn’t see anything,” said Ludolf. “I dunno. I saw the town.” “What? Graaff-Reinet?” Meiring nodded. “It’s about six miles from here.” “Dear Jesus.” He knew they were in the enemy’s country, but Graaff-Reinet - that was the biggest garrison of all. “It’ll be OK,” said Meiring. “You go first, but just be quiet. Don’t splash or anything. I’ll keep watch from that rock over there and I’ll throw a stone if I see anything,” and he stood up and picked up his rifle and his feet crunched softly on the sharp, clean sand. Ludolf fiddled with his rifle and turned his back to Meiring and undressed and then collected his clothes into a ball in front of himself and turned and let himself slowly into the muddiness of the water. It was warm in the shallows but colder as it got deeper, and he laid back and let it cover him, all of him except his nose and his eyes. It was good. Then he took his pants and rubbed them against themselves under the water and did the same with his shirt and his jacket and swished them around and lifted them up and grinned at Meiring and Meiring grinned back at him and waved. He found a stone and rubbed his skin with it and then when he was finished and he couldn’t hide any more, he came out of the water still with his back to Meiring and spread his clothes on a bush in the sun to dry. “Come here, it’s my turn,” said Meiring and Ludolf had no choice, he had to walk naked across the sand to where Meiring was sitting on the rock and he picked up his rifle for something to hold as he went. Meiring watched and laughed as he sat down and jumped up again when the hot stone burned his naked skin. “You’ll have to sit on your hat, guy.” Ludolf made himself comfortable and Meiring began to undress. They’d seen each other naked often before; at home they’d taught themselves to swim by pushing each other into the deepest pools in the river and since they’d joined up they’d swum together with the other men in the commando and if Meiring thought there was anything strange about Ludolf’s sudden shyness today, he said nothing about it. Ludolf tried not to watch but he was transfixed by the broad slabs of muscle on Meiring’s hairless chest, by the small, tight nipples, crowns on their own dark circles, by the lithe, white stomach, the thin march of hair down to the navel, the dark triangle in which his manhood nested like a short, thick, blunt-ended rope. His mouth went dry and his stomach clamped down and he realised he was getting hard and he was guilty and he thought ‘what is this?’ and whatever it was he was sure it was sin. They talked a lot and listened to the men when they lay around in their laagers or when they rode out together, and the older men sometimes spoke about the evils and hungers of the flesh, and the dominees had thundered about them whenever they’d listened to a sermon (less regularly at home - where they saw their dominee only when he traveled through or when their fathers took them to town for shopping and nachtmaal - but on commando they had them amongst them and they heard them all the time). But none of them had ever said anything about anything like this. Why was he feeling this? Why suddenly? Why today? Why? And yet he felt love. Meiring took much longer to rinse his clothes and to swim than Ludolf had done and he lay on his back and took water into his mouth and spurted it towards him like a statue in a fountain, said nothing as he lay for minutes looking at Ludolf on the rock, turned over and stroked once or twice across the pool, the pale globes of his backside glistening where they caught the sun through the mud in the water. When he was done he stood on the bank and flicked water from his skin and then he spread his clothing on the shrubs next to Ludolf’s. He felt the other boy’s jacket and said, “Your stuff’s almost dry,” and then he came across to the rock and leaned against it and turned his face towards the sun, closing his eyes against the glare. Later they dressed and lay in the shade and slept and waited for the heat to pass. Towards evening they checked on the horses again and took them to the water to drink. Then Ludolf saw a rabbit in the river bed and he risked the noise and shot it. Meiring skinned it and gutted it and said, “We’ll have to wait ‘til it’s dark before we light a fire, we don’t want them to see the smoke.” They collected wood and kindling in the last of the day and then when it was dark they lit the fire with a flint but it was too small and they cooked too quickly and they were too hungry and the sweet, gamy meat tasted raw and bloody when they ate it. Ludolf didn’t want the night to come, scared of lying down with Meiring after the things of today but Meiring was tired when they’d eaten and said, “It’s too late to go anywhere now; we might as well sleep here and ride out in the morning.” Ludolf was casual. “We’ll have to leave early then,” he said. “Before the dew,” said Meiring. “Before the dew.” The cold came quickly under that crystal, cloudless sky, the brittle starlight brighter and the insects rattling louder than ever before as Ludolf and Meiring pulled their blanket closer around them. “Do you ever think of home?” said Meiring. “Of course I do,” said Ludolf. “Don’t you?” “All the time.” “You remember when we got into your father’s still that time and drank his mampoer?” “How can I forget it? I’ve never had such a headache in all my life.” “Did you know he knew we’d done it?” “No he didn’t.” “Yes he did.” “But how did he find out?” “I told him.” “Why did you go and do that?” “I thought you were going to die. I told him so he’d know why you were sick.” “He never said anything to me.” “I made him promise he wouldn’t.” “But he would have thrashed me if he’d known.” “He thrashed me instead.” Ludolf was lying behind Meiring and he sat up and leaned over his shoulder and looked down at him. “Never.” “He did. Think I’d lie about it?” “No, I don’t suppose you would.” But Meiring’s voice was getting weaker and soon his breathing slowed and deepened and Ludolf knew he’d fallen asleep. They’d spent so many nights like this and they were used to the hard ground beneath them and they usually slept easily, but tonight Ludolf was restless and he had to force himself to lie still or Meiring would wake. He didn’t want to wake him: he wanted to protect him and make him comfortable and keep him safe. And as soon as the thought came to him, he felt himself growing and he was disturbed by his powerful hardness and the tenderness at its tip as it rubbed and pushed against his trousers and against the small of Meiring’s back. The rest day had tired him, though, and at last he slept. His bladder woke him sometime in the night when everything was silent and he pulled himself slowly away from their bed and walked a way off and tried to pee without sound. He shivered as he stood and waited for the flow and he was cold when he came to lie down again and as he lay up against Meiring the boy moved back towards him and snuggled against him as he had this morning and they slept again. Later Ludolf woke a second time and they’d changed positions in their sleep. Now he was lying in his right side and Meiring was behind him, his body pressed tight against his own, knees behind knees, his hand on Ludolf’s shoulder. And Ludolf’s eyes grew wide as he realised that Meiring’s hardness was pressing against him, too, and that it was warm through the layers of their clothing. Ludolf lifted his head and craned his neck to look back and Meiring was smiling. He lay down again and looked straight ahead and he was shivering, but not because he was cold. Suddenly Meiring’s hand moved onto his chest and he felt himself pulled even closer and he pushed himself back against him, pushed with his backside against his hardness and it was good. He feels it, too, he thought. He feels it too. And his heart beat in his ears and his eyes filled and he squeezed them tight and he thought about kissing him. He’d never kissed anyone before, but he knew what it was and he didn’t care, in the morning when they woke he’d kiss him. But it was a footfall that woke them and men talking in the strange, sing-song language of the enemy. English. Neither of the boys spoke English. “Here they are, sir!” Five Khakis surrounding them, a sixth leading their horses. One of them holding their rifles. “Where are the rest of your troop, boys?” “What’s he saying?” whispered Meiring. “I don’t know,” said Ludolf. “It seems they don’t speak English, sir.” “I can see that, sergeant, thank you.” “Sir.” “Well, get them up!” The sergeant came closer and took a corner of the blanket between his thumb and forefinger, cautiously as if it was diseased, his nose pulled up, took it and pulled it away and let it fall and motioned them to stand. “This one’s wearing British insignia,” he said, pointing at Meiring. “Sir! Look at the jacket. He stole it from the 17th!” “I can see that, too, sergeant,” said the officer. He reached across himself and opened the holster at his side and rested his hand on the butt of his pistol. “You read Lieutenant-Colonel Gorringe’s orders, sergeant. If the enemy wears our insignia, it’s a capital offense. Execute him.” “But a trial, sir, what about a trial?” “Why’s he getting his gun out?” said Ludolf. But Meiring said nothing. “Oh, they’ll get their trial, sergeant. They always get their trial.” Meiring turned to look deeply at Ludolf as the officer drew his weapon and pointed it directly at his beautiful, blond head. And then he smiled at the boy he loved and said, once and sadly, “Pinch.” 7 January 2007 Creative Commons License Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International
Posted on: Tue, 03 Jun 2014 07:35:51 +0000
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