evidence in my mind, now, of his homosexuality. I shook my head. I said I didn’t much like it. He asked me how I knew I didn’t like it when I hadn’t tried
it. It was one of those trick questions my parents used to ask me when I was a kid. I didn’t answer.
I swigged at my wine again. I suddenly felt unprotected, and in a strange place where I did not know the rules.
‘Which team do you play for?’ I said, slurring slightly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Are you that way inclined?’ I said, struggling to find a way of putting it delicately. I was vaguely aware that I was lifting these euphemisms from sitcoms I had watched. ‘I
don’t particularly mind if you are. I just want to set the record straight.’
‘Which way inclined is that?’ Henry raised an eyebrow. He clearly knew what I was talking about and was teasing me. The knowing expression on his face sent a bolt of irritation
through me.
‘What I’m asking is: are you queer?’
I immediately regretted the brutality of the question. But Henry simply took a swig of his water and smiled at me, apparently unconcerned by my rudeness. He made no reply. This annoyed me more
than his teasing.
Convinced now, on the basis of no evidence whatsoever, that Henry was, as I thought of it then, a sexual pervert, I rose, went back to my room and sat mutely on the bed. I felt very hungry and I
had to admit that the smell of the food was actually extremely good. But I wasn’t prepared to surrender, although I had no idea what it was I would be surrendering to, or where the lines of
the battle had been drawn.
Just before I fell asleep, I heard Henry call to me from outside the door.
‘Goodnight, stupid.’
‘Stupid yourself,’ I muttered, this time not loud enough for him to hear.
Six
T he first few days I spent on the
Ho Koji
were unremarkable. I was bored in Buthelezi House and I was bored on the boat.
My History revision books sat in a pile in the corner, still untouched in their plastic supermarket bag. I passed the time dozing, listening to music or reading pulp in one form or another
– I liked science fiction and Henry had found a pile of DC and Marvel comics somewhere and dumped them on my floor. I read a lot of Superman adventures. It struck me at one point as
significant that green Kryptonite, the only thing that could kill Superman, was actually a piece of his home planet that had broken off and floated into space.
His own home was the only thing that could destroy him.
During that first week, Henry made no special attempt to accommodate or entertain me. He was neither hostile nor particularly convivial. He ventured a few exploratory queries about school,
friends and so on, but he didn’t press very hard when I proved consistently reticent. I was determined not to display any positive signals that might encourage him in my seduction.
The days were long – and there was no television to watch in the evening. Henry showed me the larder and the fridge, both of which were well appointed with eggs, cheese, bread, butter and
all the staples. I was left to fend for myself.
To pass the time, I sunbathed on the upper deck during those first, hot days. It was a pleasant enough kind of boredom. There was no requirement for any activity here – Henry seemed to
expect nothing of me at all except that I remain reasonably clean and tidy. One of my few virtues was that I was someone who liked order and almost instinctively cleared up after myself.
Henry, on the other hand, was clean but messy. I often found myself picking up his detritus – scraps of paper, fountain pens, even laundry – from the floor and placing it out of
sight. Also, he snored at night, so loudly I could hear him, the walls between the rooms being thin. He smoked heavily, both pipe and cigarettes, so that even with the windows and doors open the
place reeked of tobacco.
We quickly settled into a routine, with barely a word being spoken between us. I would rise
it. It was one of those trick questions my parents used to ask me when I was a kid. I didn’t answer.
I swigged at my wine again. I suddenly felt unprotected, and in a strange place where I did not know the rules.
‘Which team do you play for?’ I said, slurring slightly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Are you that way inclined?’ I said, struggling to find a way of putting it delicately. I was vaguely aware that I was lifting these euphemisms from sitcoms I had watched. ‘I
don’t particularly mind if you are. I just want to set the record straight.’
‘Which way inclined is that?’ Henry raised an eyebrow. He clearly knew what I was talking about and was teasing me. The knowing expression on his face sent a bolt of irritation
through me.
‘What I’m asking is: are you queer?’
I immediately regretted the brutality of the question. But Henry simply took a swig of his water and smiled at me, apparently unconcerned by my rudeness. He made no reply. This annoyed me more
than his teasing.
Convinced now, on the basis of no evidence whatsoever, that Henry was, as I thought of it then, a sexual pervert, I rose, went back to my room and sat mutely on the bed. I felt very hungry and I
had to admit that the smell of the food was actually extremely good. But I wasn’t prepared to surrender, although I had no idea what it was I would be surrendering to, or where the lines of
the battle had been drawn.
Just before I fell asleep, I heard Henry call to me from outside the door.
‘Goodnight, stupid.’
‘Stupid yourself,’ I muttered, this time not loud enough for him to hear.
Six
T he first few days I spent on the
Ho Koji
were unremarkable. I was bored in Buthelezi House and I was bored on the boat.
My History revision books sat in a pile in the corner, still untouched in their plastic supermarket bag. I passed the time dozing, listening to music or reading pulp in one form or another
– I liked science fiction and Henry had found a pile of DC and Marvel comics somewhere and dumped them on my floor. I read a lot of Superman adventures. It struck me at one point as
significant that green Kryptonite, the only thing that could kill Superman, was actually a piece of his home planet that had broken off and floated into space.
His own home was the only thing that could destroy him.
During that first week, Henry made no special attempt to accommodate or entertain me. He was neither hostile nor particularly convivial. He ventured a few exploratory queries about school,
friends and so on, but he didn’t press very hard when I proved consistently reticent. I was determined not to display any positive signals that might encourage him in my seduction.
The days were long – and there was no television to watch in the evening. Henry showed me the larder and the fridge, both of which were well appointed with eggs, cheese, bread, butter and
all the staples. I was left to fend for myself.
To pass the time, I sunbathed on the upper deck during those first, hot days. It was a pleasant enough kind of boredom. There was no requirement for any activity here – Henry seemed to
expect nothing of me at all except that I remain reasonably clean and tidy. One of my few virtues was that I was someone who liked order and almost instinctively cleared up after myself.
Henry, on the other hand, was clean but messy. I often found myself picking up his detritus – scraps of paper, fountain pens, even laundry – from the floor and placing it out of
sight. Also, he snored at night, so loudly I could hear him, the walls between the rooms being thin. He smoked heavily, both pipe and cigarettes, so that even with the windows and doors open the
place reeked of tobacco.
We quickly settled into a routine, with barely a word being spoken between us. I would rise
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