Date: Thu, 04 Jul 2002 11:11:11 +0930 From: andrew staker Subject: "Lolito" chapter 3 LOLITO Chapter 3 I stood looking into a toilet bowl full of dark brown shit corpuscles, dangling the last drips of piss from my penis. I ran my left hand over my face and eyes then watched the cleanly chaos inundate and leave the bowl sparkling blue. Monday morning. A sleep-in, for it was nigh on eleven. Unlike the previous, today was overcast and murky. A sombre wind whispered. Brad had hinted that we'd make our little trip down to the kiosk. It could not be far, I thought to myself. So I dressed prettily even before breakfast, aiming--and achieving--a casual yet tended look. I sat at table munching on Auntie's crumpets. Shit, not much left. I would need to go shopping. So I took a juicy $50 note from its pile of siblings and suavely put it in my pocket. Were they awake? Hopefully. But is it not too forward to go over, knock on the door and say, "Hand me over your kid"? So I should have to wait until he came knocking on my door. Boy, such tedious moments. I even managed to peer across. Their shack was dormant. For a Monday this was unusual I thought. Or perhaps not. It was the edge of Adelaide after all. Toward the south and east lay nothing but modest hills. North was the city, houses swelling ever more. I was too well dressed to splash about in the water. But perhaps a walk to the beach, just to see who and what was moving. How boring a sight: retirees walking their poodle, a mother and three infants lazily strolling. The temperature was not low, so some bathed. Usually guys or girls my own age, on holiday playing with each other. Yet they formed clumps that excluded yours truly. But I grew tired of a beach lacking a sun and my version of Tadziu. Back to the house to watch the midday tele-news, on the national broadcaster of course! Tragedy here and there, terror hither and thither. Interest rates up, dollar down. Then the sport and how some pimply dude my own age was achieving world fame and wealth while I wasted away in a shack lusting over the puerile form of Brad. That activity soon consumed itself. And I lay on the couch, half tempted to read that poetry book. But no. I had other things on my mind. So mustering all my determination, I got the keys, wallet and traversed the road. I stood on the porch, on their porch. The wind licked wisps in my hair. I could see my hand trembling. But it managed to knock. In almost no time at all, a round, passive man opened. The dialogue was rather generic and Katie recognised me. "Dad," she said to the man, "this is Pete. I told you... from across the road?" I walked in. A swarthy woman loomed grandly over the kitchen, mangling some chicken into lunch. "Mum, this is Pete." She wiped the greying hair from her face with a moist hand. "Hello. Peter... McMack," I said, half awed, half eyeing for my Lolito. The father got me a drink whilst she said dryly: "Mrs Winckelmann. And he's John, my husband." The petite crucifix intermittently interrupted her resumed labours, but Katie luckily took care of me. The place was rather desolate, minimalist in decor, featuring an aged Bible verse on the wall. Katie said: "So, how are your holidays going?" "Not too bad. Been going to the beach and that," I responded, grasping my perspiring glass of raspberry cordial for reassurance. "But it's pretty boring." Who should come out through the hallway but Brad, sporting some grey track pants and a nonchalant yellow t-shirt. "Peter!" he squealed. The mother stopped for half a second, the recommenced. "I thought you'd never come." The father had by now taken out a laptop. "I'm going to do some work dear," he told his wife. And he left. "My husband works in computers," Mrs W. told me. "Do you take much interest?" I told her I was a consumer, not producer of computer tech. "O, it pays off!" and she smiled, gurgling some beer. Suddenly the overtly Christian austerity I initially envisioned evaporated. Her smile was genuine. "I tried to get Kate into it, but no brains!" "Mum!" the indignant Katie rightly retorted. Meanwhile Brad childishly giggled. "Well... are we off then?" Brad: "She's gotta come too..." To which his mother calmly responded: "Why of course. Why not?" So we left for our little walk to the kiosk. Katie informed us of the hot guys around the place, it being summer and all and that. "You should find some girls too," to which an interesting silence was the sole respondent. It was not a long walk at all, probably about three minutes max. The kiosk turned out to be "Maslin Beach General Store OPEN 7 DAYS". It featured two plastic chairs, a matching table plus a plethora of associated lolly and drink advertisements. We shuffled inside, gazing at its limited but encyclopaedic range of goods. Cat food to mouse poison and newspapers to boot. "Well you two, I actually need stuff to eat, 'cause if I don't buy it, no one will. And I'm not about to starve!" So I busied myself with seeking out what I need. Katie bought her brother an ice cream and invited him out, but chose to follow me around. So I asked him: "Which one should I get?" and he picked the brand of toilet paper with a blue duck. Then he decided upon chips with little crinkles and chocolate made by Nestle and so on. In the end I had a little bundle of goodies and a hefty amount to pay. But he had been by my side. We then joined Katie outside, with the kid standing, licking his strawberry-flavoured, chocolate-coated confection on a stick with expert skill, his pink tongue and red lips gorging on it. Make me into an ice cream! I yelled within. "So tell me about uni," Katie provoked, giving rise to a summarisation which she periodically broke off with comments about the various cars driving by, containing more often than not guys whom she found appealing and felt she had to make it known. I doubt she was interested in my tale about university life, but I decided to press on in spite of her. Her mobile phone finally rang and she felt she needed to go at some distance resulting in a two-way confidentiality: I had free access to my Brad. "You know," he said, "I think I believe you don't like her." "You do?" "Yeah," he continued. "Well that's different to the last two days!" I smiled at him, glancing across, glad to see her talking still. He nudged nearer. "Actually, I feel sorry for her." What? "Yeah, I mean... I can tell you don't much like talking to her. You screw your nose when she interrupts you..." He had got me! I defended: "Well, I mean, she... she's..." "Rude--can't listen?" Exactly that. "Well, you just gotta get used to her!" and he swayed in jest, chucking his used ice-cream stick in the bin. "Good ice-cream!" he said, thanking me with a stolen kiss. "But... I didn't buy it. Katie did..." I protested, in shock. "Oh..." and he laughed it off. His sister returned, staggering. She looked at him. Her eyes seemed to glisten with sadness. "He fucken... that bastard... he dumped me!" she cried, leering to his shoulder. He consoled her as best he could, sometimes looking in my direction and smiling. He even nudged me over. I did a knightly thing and began to comfort her. Her arms were surprisingly soon snaking their way around my body. We decided to walk over to the grassy reserve some fifty metres from the shop, passing a bus stop on the way. There was a family picnicking and some youths arcing their athletic selves in pursuit of the hither-thither football. The clouds were well and truly thickening. By sheer chance the family's radio was functioning and the weather report came on, with warnings about gales, thunder and local, heavy falls of rain in southern areas. To me this was exciting, but with Katie in mourning at the denouement of a teenage relationship, it was not the right time to make my meteorological sentiments known. "But I thought you were single," I said, rather bemused by the whole affair. She became enflamed. How did I know that? Had Wormus been telling me stuff? (Indeed he had told me of the last, Italianate boyfriend... as far as I knew, that was as far as her romances extended.) "Well you know nothing! That was just a dork! My real boyfriend was Shane!" And because she subsequently fell on her back in an orgy of tears, her tender brother filled in the cracks. Yes, Kevin was her boyfriend, but only as far as he and her parents knew. Shane was the real guy... the one who had the emotional and corporeal benefits of Katie's love. Brad continued by saying, "Shane was kind of a rebel. Like he did shit he wasn't meant to. And mum and dad would never have liked him. So yeah... Katie didn't wanna let them know!" Hence the hush-hush. The kid had even concealed it from me. "Mum and Dad don't need to know now," he told her. "I mean, what'd be the point?" So we gathered ourselves and walked home. I was keen to get my shopping inside the fridge et cetera and not so keen on having lunch with them so when Katie awkwardly excused herself and Brad, I was more than happy to let them go and eat with Mr and Mrs Winckelmann. I fried a kransky sausage split in half and ate it with some baked beans fresh from the can--kind of a favourite of mine. So I sat on the red couch, watching an American soap opera. But this idiosyncratic pleasure did not last long, for young Brad let himself in. "Lunch over!" he announced. "Mum said I could play." "O good," I responded, so very glad. "What were you watching?" he said, skipping over onto the couch. I told him. "Not too exciting. But I'm usually at school around now... so it's worth watching. But they take Jerry Springer off on the hols... that's a pity. Why do people hate us schoolkids?" I cleared my throat. "How was lunch? Your mum looks like she can cook." He giggled slightly. "I don't suppose you want a drink?" "Actually," came the reply, "I was after a cocoa, like last night." I said that could be done. "But... well, can you make a cold one?" That too could be done. As I got up, he followed. "This is a nice kitchen," he idly observed. Maybe it was... but there was a much nicer thing in the kitchen. "So this is your aunt's place?" "Sure is. I'm here on holiday..." "Like me!" he jumped in. We chortled a while before quiet. I didn't feel like saying much... nor possibly did he. But I grew uncomfy, so I stopped my mixing of milk, sugar and cocoa powder and asked him, "Why did you kiss me today?" He did not immediately respond. Rather his eyes lowered slightly and he glided his soft hands across the bench-top. "I... I'm sorry..." and he walked out in a hurry. I decided it would not be wise to chase him. Perhaps I could not even move. So I stared at the sea in frustration. O ye brooding clouds. Deciding that it would be a waste, I finished to cocoa and began to sip it, walking sadly back to the room. Maybe I would read that book of poetry after all. Were I one to adhere to cliches, the mug would have dropped from my hand when to my surprise I saw him on the couch, sitting rigid, leafing through the book of poems. In a subdued voice with a cautious tone he said "Thanks" after seeing the drink in my hand. I handed it over. "Look at this one I found. It's a bit hard..." With some discomfort, I managed to ask if he had read poetry before. "Not really. But if Katie can... me too. What d'you think of this? 'How sweet I roam'd from field to field And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld Who in the sunny beams did glide!'" I walked over, sat next him and then commenced: "'He shew'd me lilies for my hair, And blushing roses for my brow; He led me through the gardens fair Where all his golden pleasures grow.' I think it's great. What a lucky find!" and I smiled towards him. "So you don't mind if it talks about guys?" he timidly enquired. I said that it was talking about love, which is neutral. "So it doesn't care about boys or girls...?" "No," I replied. "Love is a feeling people have 'cause they are human!" "My sis is real down now. And my parents don't know why... and she can't tell 'em either." "I must admit," I said, "it's a rather odd situation." "Have you ever been dumped?" No. "Is that 'cause there aren't many girls up in the country?" Ah... the answer. The answer. "Have you ever had a girlfriend?" "Well, I'm an honest guy Brad... so no, I haven't." There, I had done it. I told him something about me that back up in Clare made everyone look funnily toward me. But his reply was not "you gotta get one" but "that's cool." After a pause, he continued with: "I'm sorry I... did that... I won't ever again..." and he stared at his hairless arms, playing with his puffed-pastry like fingers. Ah my Brad, if only you would do it again! "You know what? You should be Katie's boyfriend." I almost baulked. "WHAT?" He had initially hated me for so much as talking to the poor girl. "Well... she could use your strong muscles for a hug now. I seen them..." though I doubt what he had seen were muscle, the point was he had seen. "But I told you Brad, I don't like her." "And I do?" he looked into my eyes. "But it would make her so much happier." All the convincing I needed came from his eyes, his rosebud lips and that naughty little nose covered in Caucasian skin. I consented. He then dashed off and returned, sure enough, with Katie and a videogame. The three of us spent the remainder of the afternoon wrestling or racing or flying on the PlayStation. I was minimally skilled, largely through lack of experience or perhaps poor hand-eye coordination. But Brad really got into it. The pleasure he extracted from the little electronic box connected to the television was amazing. Katie and I sat on the couch, his young body nestled between us on the floor. I was terrible in trying to convince Katie I had feelings for her. If anything, I could have sworn the kid's back rested a tad too comfortably against my leg. When it got to six, I was utterly bored. "I have a headache," I said. "Maybe we should go for a walk." Katie jumped up and offered to get me a glass of water. It took Brad a little longer to break out of the PlayStation's hypnotic grasp. "O, okay." She returned with the water. I continued: "Well, while we were down at the shop, I noticed some kind of bushy, hilly place just across that reserve. Kind of had a path. What do you guys say?" They quickly agreed so we turned off the electronic gadgets and headed down. The shop was still open, but had all its lights on. The sky was darkening and a rather loud wind blew in from the sea. So Indian file, with Brad in lead and me at back, we walked through the swaying bushes. There was no one around but the blue light of stormy evening. He ran happily left and right, climbing and descending... his cheerful voice colouring the air warm. And we reached it, the little peak. He stood, gazing toward the turbulent horizon and close to the madding sea, whose waves crashed with anger against the beach. He spread his thin arms. "I am a prince!" he shouted toward the wind. Katie sat down, rather disinterested. I walked over to the knoll and joined the kid. We were both princess now. Then some chunky raindrops spat on us. But it was warm; it felt good. Nature was licking us all over. His yellow t-shirt, getting wetter, moulded to his boyish body. His hair grew moister, his eyes struggling to stay open. He looked adorable. I would have reached across and patted his sweet face, were it not for a sharp human sound. "It's getting cold!" Katie shouted. The kid and I did not say a thing; rather, we continued our strange co-nuptial with Nature. "Oi... I'm fucken wet!" So I turned, only to see Katie trudging across the muddying ground. Brad turned too. Then she yelped and slid, falling on her arse. Brad burst a giggle but her screech of pain replaced it. "Ow... ow! OW!" and then we realised something was not right. She could not walk--a twisted ankle or something. So we carried her between us back home. It took a while and the rain, coupled with thunder, made it an adrenaline-intensive walk. We knocked at the Winckelmanns' door and their father let us in. Rather quickly the decision was made that they'd rush her to the local hospital in Noarlunga. "Could you stay here and care for Brad?" Mr W. asked of me. Could I ever! "Sure mister Winckelmann. Can do." So they zoomed off. There we were, Brad and I, sitting in the gloomy, rain-dropped quiet of his shack. I was not in the mood for PlayStation, so we played Guess Who, that boardgame where one has to discover which person the opposition has chosen by way of eliminating physical features. After this got boring, and the television got boring, he turned to me: "I know what we can do." He got up, then from somewhere down the hall, yelled out: "Come here." So I followed. "Well, I got to tell you what to wear. Do it to me." What, was he serious? This question was soon answered when he removed his wet shirt with no fuss. "I am cold after all." So he opened up the wardrobe and started plonking an array of t-shirts and shirts on the bed. The veritable rainbow of colour was only outshone by the dull, wet shine of his naked torso. "Pick one," he told me. "Well... that one," I said, pointing to a nice, Bordeaux-coloured shirt. "Okay..." he said, picking it up, then stopping. "Wait... it's gotta match with my pants." He felt his track pants with slender fingers. "Wet too!" and as casually as before, off slid the pants. I was left breathless, viewing the near-naked body of Brad. A nondescript pair of grey briefs covered his fruits de garcon. He turned to the wardrobe, yanked out some pants and begged me elect a pair. Stumblingly I said: "Those look warm... and go with the shirt." Sure enough he was happy with my choice. He removed his wet socks and replaced them with an equally white pair. Then his pants and shirt. He was once again clad, looking less carnal but no less seductive. He asked if I needed some change of clothing, to which I replied: "I doubt they'd fit me." For the remainder of the night, we stayed in front of the TV, intermittently eating and drinking sweets, some of which I had gone across the road to get from my place. Katie and the parents had still not returned and it was getting late. Brad eventually fell asleep with his soft head on my shoulder, body extended while I sat upright, having a hard time trying not to sleep. In the end, I think I was too weak. I caved in and had a pleasurable dream.