I'LL SWIM ASHORE

by David A. Johnstone

A houseboat, moored under the tall weeping willow, rocked gently in the wake of a passing motorboat. Inside the cabin on one of the bunks lay an African. He was naked and his black skin gleamed with sweat. On the opposite bunk a naked white skinned youth lay sleeping. It was July, one of the hottest Julys in living memory. From the transistor radio came the commentary of a cricket match.

Joseph breathed in deeply, it was stuffy in the cabin. One porthole was open but hardly any breeze worth mentioning came in to cool his body. He glanced across at Donald. The boy looked cool. 'Perhaps we South Africans sweat more than the English,' Joseph thought. Then his face grew serious as he remembered that many white people believed that Negroes all sweated and smelt strongly in any weather. Joe knew too that there was a great deal of hatred and dislike of dark skinned people in London, but not as much as in America. In America there was the colour bar. Thank goodness that the English didn't feel the same hatred that the Americans felt. Yet Don's mother was one of the few he knew who hated him just for his colour.

Donald stirred and sat up. "You awake Joe?" he asked.

"Yes ages ago," Joe answered, "come over here."

Donald got up and came to sit beside Joe. He looked at the difference in their bodies, touching the warm flesh as if unable to believe it real. Joe took the boy's hand gently and placed his lips to the palm. Donald drew his hand and Joe's around him and they fell back onto the bunk.

"I love your lips," Don murmured and traced his finger along Joe's sweat beaded top lip, which pouted slightly. "I love your whole body."

Joe didn't speak. Somehow there was no right answer. He liked to feel the boy's body close to his but in another way he felt uneasy.

Time passed slowly, from outside they could hear the lapping of the river beneath the boat and the call of the wild birds. Other than these sounds peace reigned on the river. Saturday was generally busy on the river, but today was regatta day and most of the usual crowd in their punts and rowing boats had stopped near the bridge to watch the local crew, and give their support.

Donald's mother would be there too, serving teas in the large tent with some of the other members of her Sewing Circle. Donald had the whole afternoon free to be with Joseph. Suddenly Joe stiffened. The sound of footsteps reached Donald's ears. Joe jumped up quickly and peered through the porthole. Someone was coming towards the houseboat. Joe couldn't see the person as the trees blocked his view of the path.