Pomp and Circumstance the sequel to my latest novel, The Merry Millionaire both soon available on Amazon, Kindle: Ron, Mervyn and Ali have arrived in Aswan by train and are staying at the Cataract Hotel. While Ali and Mervyn take a felucca to Kitcheners Island, Ron muses beside the swimming pool. After a little searching, I discovered the swimming pool in the middle of the garden. Although had I been clever and ventured on to my balcony, I would have seen it immediately, as our rooms were easy to see just by looking up from the perimeter. Several people were sitting at tables in the shade of cream and brown striped umbrellas, while Nubian waiters, wearing brown pantaloons, cream open neck shirts and brown tarbushes, served cold drinks. So civilized and luxurious was the scene it was necessary I push aside the thought, that in less than a week Mervyn and I would be saying goodbye to Egypt. The one consolation however, was that he and I would sail back to England on our old friend the ‘Viceroy of India’. As I cooled my hand on a second glass of Pimms, a thought suddenly struck me. I wondered whether Bob the steward would be aboard. It was two years since the cruise to Norway. Perhaps he was working on another P & O ship. It amused me to recall the night I discovered Mervyn and Bob’s assignation. At the time, I never revealed how hurt I had been, and neither did I disclose the knowledge to Mervyn. But my special relationship with Mervyn has changed significantly over the subsequent years. Even if the physical side has waned somewhat, we have since developed a deep affection for one another on a more mature level. ‘Drums along the Mohawk’, was reaching an exciting conclusion and I should have been concentrating, but I became preoccupied watching two young English chaps larking about in the pool. I recognised them from Port Said, because when the Orontes docked, Mervyn and I had acknowledged them while we waited in the queue for our passports. They must have been travelling second class, since we would surely have noticed them had they been on any of our decks. They were playing a ducking game where one lad holds the foot of the other under the water, while the other holds the first one’s head. Then the lad holding the foot hauls his friend out of the water, who then performs an impressive backward somersault, landing hard, creating an enormous splash. The lads were attractive, as well as wearing the latest swimming costumes and personally, I found their game inoffensive and entertaining. Other occupants of the garden however clearly felt differently judging by their frowns and shaking heads. Even so, being typically English, nobody complained so the lads continued their game unopposed. Eventually, growing tired of bombing each other, the word ‘bomb!’ shouted every time one of them hit the water, they climbed out of the pool and flopped onto their backs on the grass in front of my table. All the while keeping my book under my nose pretending to read, I watched as they prepared to sleep, stretching, and yawning like a pair of leopards lying in the sun. Suddenly I was quite pleased I had declined the excursion to the Botanical Gardens. This garden was proving to be a garden of the Zoological kind, and tantalising to say the least. Would I ever recover from my insatiable longing for the attractiveness of youth? Or maybe to become like Kitchener, happy at the age of sixty to possess the devotion, companionship and respect of a man almost half his age. On the other hand, as I grow old, grey, wrinkled and bald, will I still hanker for fresh faced, thick haired, athleticism? How feeble and sad that would appear to the world. At least Kitchener had some dignity. Would he have peered over his book, licking his handlebar moustache, his pupils dilated by the glare of the sun flashing off wet tanned skin? Of course. Whether he had set his cap for Oswald for better or for worse, or otherwise. He was a man after all, who obviously appreciated beauty by his love of porcelain, flowers and interior decorating. Then, why not surround yourself with beautiful things. Besides, what is the difference in collecting fine china figures, and gathering around you a bevy of handsome young officers? As Mervyn observed, Kitchener and I are somewhat alike. Like him, I too recognize the value of youthful beauty. Once the age of awareness is reached, then the blossom begins to fade. My philosophical mood ended as the young men gathered up their towels and raced each other through the garden towards the change rooms. I was tempted to follow, but for once, staunched my curiosity. Drinking down the last of my Pimms and reading the final sentence of ’Drums along the Mohawk’, I snapped shut the book, stubbed out my cigarette and returned to the hotel.
Posted on: Tue, 20 Jan 2015 19:53:44 +0000
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