"Get your costume on quickly," he whispered, "it may be your mother, Don." Don pulled on the black swimming costume without answering. His heart was beating hard against his ribs. Joe was pulling on his own costume and still trying to see who was approaching. The footsteps stopped. Both men listened. Don's face was pale, it showed the fear of his mother discovering their hideout. Somehow if they lost this refuge then it seemed that Don would lose Joe. His mother hated Joe. She hated him for his colour. She called him "Nigger."

Joseph turned, placing a finger to his lips, he came across and quickly kissed Donald. "I'll go over the side and swim ashore," he said, "I'll see you at the gym tonight.”

Donald nodded, longing to delay the Negro's departure, but his hand trembled as he raised it to wave to Joe. The other man slipped out of the cabin and over the side into the clear cool water. He swam under water away from the houseboat as a figure moved from the trees and reached the jetty.

"Donald," the voice was harsh, "Donald, are you there?" The woman stopped and listened. Somewhere a moorhen screamed to its mate. The cabin door opened and Donald appeared. He smiled, "Why, hello Mum, what are you doing here? I thought you were helping out at the regatta."

"Well I was, Donald, but I felt that something was wrong. I don't know what or why, but well you know me. I get these strange feelings at times," she paused and stepped down into the boat.

"Well, have a glass of lime juice with me then," the boy laughed. "Come on down, it's a bit untidy. I was sleeping or dozing when you shouted."

The woman followed the boy down the two steps into the cabin and looked around suspiciously. She wrinkled her nose.

"Oh Donald, it smells dreadful in here. Surely you cannot sleep in this heat. Have you been alone all afternoon?"

"Of course. I did see Mary Anne when she passed with her boy friend, but no one else," Donald lied, his back to his mother as he poured two glasses of lime juice. "Here," he said, holding out the glass, "this will cool us down."

Donald's mother sat down on the bunk where Joe had lain a few minutes before, and Don suddenly felt a wave of hate flow through him. How possessive his mother was since his father's death. If Dad had been alive he would have been able to live without having to watch every word and gesture. Watch for every sign that might give away his secret.

"I do wish you would be more sociable, Donald," his mother sighed, putting down the glass, "you could be such a help to me instead of always hanging around with those uncouth boys from the gymnasium."

"But Mum, you know they are my friends. You wouldn't like me to have no friends at all."

"Donald, I have never said that . . . it's well . . . you know that I condone your way of life. I try to be brave and not mind when I see you becoming more twisted every day. I didn't attack you when you told me how you felt, I tried hard to understand your feelings. But Donald I draw a line . . You can be what you are all your life and I'll stand by you, but NOT with any Niggers!"

"Mother, don't say that word," screamed the boy, throwing the empty glass across the cabin. It shattered against the wall, showering glass and liquid in all directions. "I hate that word, mother, and I hate you too when you say it."

"Donald," shouted his mother, getting up and brushing away the spots of

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