Chapter 5 . Part Two.
Red Riding Hood and the Bush Detective
Horror in the maize field
As they started off, hooking her arm through his. “Don’t you think the way we are dressed will make us stand out?”
“That’s the whole idea, people will think we are going to one of the many summer beer festivals and street parties. Our own party, that the neighbours highly anticipate as a role-playing orgy, is at my place tonight.”
She laughs. “You going to shoot me dead with your load. I love it.”
It was less than a thirty steps walk on the tar road till it stopped in its dead end The entrance to the maize field was a path that was only wide enough for single file, meandered through the mass of plants towering enough to make only the sky visible.
Following her, “Now remember if we are greeted just smile and wave. We don’t want to get into any conversations from inquisitive locals.”
She nods acknowledgement and lead the way onto the sun-baked trail. The route was only the length of a short sprint race.
“ I often feel when I use this shortcut, is that it is almost as if it had been designed for blind runners to train for the Para-Olympics. The plants either side would act as barriers.to support and guide the athlete till the end where he stops after piling into the canal’s wall sides.”
“Yes, very clever. Why don’t you set it up? Charge an entrance fee.”
“I would if I could. But, the famer might not like idea when his combine harvester’s threshing spinning blades get jammed by Adidas spike running shoes.”
She looked over her shoulder and stopped. Turning around, he wasn’t to be seen.
“Hello, where are you?” She called in a mixture of fun with a touch of anxiousness. Only the rustling of the flowering crowns that topped the rigid stalks from a warm July wind disturbed the silence.
“Aah, fuck off you, Ahh, get off me, Jesus Christ!”
Screams, hissing, yowling. Furiously shaking plants, their white tussels whipping around releasing clouds of pollen.
She clutched herself and her knees knocked together as three spurts of urine dribbled down her legs to collect in a puddle to be rapidly absorbed by the dry earth. Oblivious to the desire to pass something worse, she watched terrified as a large spotted, cat shaped body, shot out of the light undergrowth, its spotted brown and black hair standing on edge, tail stiff as cupid’s arrow and, almost bowling her over, still hissing and screeching, disappeared into the opposite side.
She burst into tears just as he crashed onto the path looking like he had just fought off a rabies riddled leopard. Dishevelled, he swung a camouflage day rucksack onto his back, unable to see the basket as it was violently smashed to the side of his head.
“You bastard. That WAS not funny. I peed myself and nearly shit my non-existent knickers. What the hell were you doing in there?”
Rubbing the
side of his head. “Sorry my love. Come here. I was retrieving the rucksack that
I placed there with some refreshments, yesterday afternoon. It was supposed to
be a comical surprise by going ahead of you through the maize and then quietly pop out holding drinks for us.
What I didn’t expect was the local bastard tom cat having a hump on it. It wasn’t
impressed when his shag promptly left it with a hard on. A fight broke out.
Look at the state of my arms, legs and face!"
“You idiot. Your legs! So what, a few scratches. Mine are covered in pee!”
“Okay, is was not good idea. I’m sorry but, let’s get to the end and take a break at the top. We can sit down there, pause for a drink. I think you need one.”
“Fuck you, I am not talking to you.” Rather annoyed she stormed off.
Sipping their drinks whilst sitting upright on a wooden bench, its seat area shone from being polished from thousands of nature-lovers’ buttocks as they use the canal path running its entire length. The thirty steps to the top had taken some breathe away and they studied the icey, murky waters rushing to the power turbines visible on the horizon. The recently modified buildings pointed their dark red roofing, which gleamed predominately into the cloudless sky.
“Have you anything to wipe myself in that pack of yours?”
Taking out a soft hand sized packet. “Disinfection wipes in case I must use a public toilet for a number two, urgent poo. Let me clean you up.”
“She smiled at his terrible childish alliteration and looked about. Go for it.”
He dropped to his knees and began to lick her thighs. She placed her basket on her lap and opened her legs wide enough for him to lick the already drying droplets of her fear induced, adrenalin tasting urine. She began to giggle as his head, buried under her skirt, went up to the place where the accident had started.
“Tee hee, I think you better get out of there. An elderly couple are approaching walking a dog.”
He popped up and covering his obvious member struggling to burst free with the rucksack, sat next to her and she softly wiped at the scratches on his face. As the young couple attired in traditional dress of dirndl and lederhosen passed, they were greeted with the Bavarian “GrußGott” (Greet God), whilst looking very curiously at the pair who just returned the friendly greeting by smiling and waving like penguins stuck on a jungle island.
The Alsatian puppy was scenting something had been going on and started fighting its nylon restraining leash, whimpering and short, sharp barking, glaring white teeth, as it struggled on its back legs to get to them, its banana and bouncing nuts plainly visible.
With much shouting at the animal whose name was repeated in short sentences of ,“Stop it, Hitler! Get down, Hitler, Dirty, dirty dog Hitler,” as they dragged it reluctantly along the loose gravel, its paws frantically back tracking, shaking its head on the tightening choker collar, its bulging eyes and slobbering jowls and howls of frustration filled the air.
As finally the couple got Hitler under control and were far enough away to be out of clear earshot, they burst into laughter.
“Oh yay oh yay, now that was funny. The poor thing must still be a virgin. Strange name for a dog though. I’m not sure it legal to call your pet that!” She stood up pulling him by the hand. And, ‘Greet God’? Hardly, we are heading to greet the devil at this rate or an armed local police officer. Hah hah.”
“They are most probably going to the beer garden where all the neo-Nazis hang out, get pissed and plan the next beer hall putsch. It’s quite common around here. They really get a bit over excited on New Year’s Eve when they start burning crosses on the town’s football team’s pitch.”
“Yikes! Don’t the police and fire brigade get involved?”
“Of course, they are. There the ones who organise it every year.”
Holding hands, they were silent as they took in the various images surrounding them.
“See that bench over there. That’s our next break. Last one before we head into the town centre itself.”
“I presume you have a plan for that bench as well…?”
“I do actually. I tell you. When my ex wife and I were in our early mid-twenties we were once again on holiday in Zimbabwe. In the capital is, or was, in a suburb, a collection of ponds called Ballantyne’s Park. It was very popular for family outings. A few animals. You could fish for tiddlers and tadpoles. All a very white colonial set up. No entrance fees. Toilets, but no cafeteria but people came for picnics. And the blacks were allowed even in the Rhodesian minority rule time.”
“And you had sex there?”
“No. I spotted a bench and told her, my ex, that it had a special moment in my adolescence life of changing from being just a wanker into the realms of finally getting some fish fingers. I was 17, the love of my life, Sandy, I can’t remember her surname any more, was 16. We had reached the stage of that she is letting me fondle her breasts and even with immense difficulty find the catch that let them free, so I could feel her nipples. What’s the matter with you, why you are squirming?”
“Nothing. Go on. This is fascinating stuff.”
“Well, sitting on this particular bench, Sandy and I were snogging. She was squirming just like you are, and Sandy was seat wetting and I desperately wanted to know, to feel, what went on down there.”
“And this you told your wife?”
“Yes, and were sitting on that same bench, ten years later, and guess what she said?”
“I know what I would have said. Forget it. You’ve had more than enough time to find out the in and outs of me and if think you can relive one of sexual adventures – forget it.” Squeezing his hand, “So you want to try that with me now?”
“ I hope so” and pulling her hard to his breast, slipped an arm under her top and pretended to try and unclasp an imaginary bra. “It was so difficult in those teenage times. Getting to feel parts of the female body that stirred their loins and enthusiastically open the doors to paradise.” Picking up a pebble amongst the gravel he tried to hit the opposite bank. It fell into the water. Continuing – “For example, in the mid seventies, we would go to parties. Always the same old crowd from our white’s only school and normally held in the parent’s double garage. If you managed to get catch a babe after listening and dancing pathetically to Band on the Run or Bowie’s Diamond Dogs, you went outside and tried for a snog and grope type of foreplay. Your arms all over the place and tongues intertwining as you tried to get her top out the tights jeans at the back. The plan was to get up to the bra, but once I was brought up short by a body top that is…”
“Tee Hee, buttoned between the legs, Hah hah. Well here is the bench and, oh look, how sweet…”
