nodded.
Now, standing on the jetty, she said, teasing, smiling into the words: ‘And yet you’re touching me! Disobeying her!’
‘Hmmm – I think she meant something else.’ And he pulled her even closer.
‘You can touch me any time you like, Mr Freddy Quint!’ she murmured, as they separated. ‘And any way.’
Freddy’s eyes twinkled. ‘You honour me, Miss Dorothea van Dam. But you know what? I think Ma’s right. I think the best things in life are worth waiting for.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
They walked back to the Promenade, hand in hand. Dorothea had to get back before dusk, before her parents returned; although, she thought to herself , so what? Let them find out. Who cares? What can they do to me? Yet still – her time had not yet come. She was still playing by the Rules. And then, suddenly, the Rules came to a rude end.
They had just walked past one of the several benches lining the Promenade, on which sat an elderly couple. Dorothea glanced back at them; she thought she recognised them; weren’t they members of her father’s congregation? And at that very moment, two middle-aged English women in flowered hats and white gloves walked up to the bench, smiled condescendingly at the black couple, and asked them to move. Immediately the couple rose to their feet. Afterwards, Dorothea marvelled at the recollection; the moment that red-hot rage descended on her, filled her being, and forced her to cry out, so loudly that people all around looked up to see what was going on:
‘NO! Just NO! Don’t get up!’ She physically, forcefully yet at the same time gently, pushed the woman back down on to the bench. The woman, taken by surprise, let herself be pushed.
‘You too!’ Dorothea commanded the man: ‘Sit right back down.’ And he, too, obeyed.
She turned to the white ladies, who were so astonished they merely stood there, open-mouthed in shock.
‘How dare you! How utterly, revoltingly rude of you! Where were you raised, in the gutter? You despicable people! Just go away and leave these decent people in peace! Go back to your gutter!’
The two women gasped. ‘Really – I …’ began one of them, but the other grasped her elbow and muttered something in her ear. The first woman seemed about to fight, to stand her ground, so the second woman spoke even louder.
‘No, Penelope. Let’s go. Can’t you see? The natives are all watching!’
Indeed, a small crowd had gathered, for Dorothea had not kept her voice down. People were smiling and nodding, nudging each other, tittering. One man clapped. And only then did Dorothea come to her senses and fall with a thud from her cloud of outrage.
‘Oh, Freddy! What have I done? Come, let’s go!’ She grabbed Freddy’s arm and they hurried off, to a splatter of more clapping and a call or two of ‘Well said!’ and ‘Bravo!’
Dorothea couldn’t walk fast enough; she sprinted to the bicycle stand, Freddy right behind her. And only there did she collapse into his arms, half laughing, half whimpering in mortification.
‘What have I done, what have I done?’ she repeated through her gulps of half-laughter. ‘Oh Freddy, Freddy! I’m terrible! I’ve made a scene and I bet you it’ll be in tomorrow’s newspapers!’
‘You’re wonderful!’ said Freddy, and clasped her in his arms. ‘You’re my bold brave wonderful tiger. You did right. And so what if you’re in the newspapers? You did right and I’m so proud of you!’
And they rode home, their bicycles wobbling because they were laughing so much.
To Dorothea’s great relief – for her time had not yet come – the incident was not in the papers. But she had made a stand and she knew with a clear cold instinct the trajectory her life would take. It was a good knowledge.
----
S ometimes at night Dorothea lay in her bed and listened to Freddy playing his mouth-organ. She hadn’t known it was him at first. Even before they’d met she had heard those sweet, poignant strains
Now, standing on the jetty, she said, teasing, smiling into the words: ‘And yet you’re touching me! Disobeying her!’
‘Hmmm – I think she meant something else.’ And he pulled her even closer.
‘You can touch me any time you like, Mr Freddy Quint!’ she murmured, as they separated. ‘And any way.’
Freddy’s eyes twinkled. ‘You honour me, Miss Dorothea van Dam. But you know what? I think Ma’s right. I think the best things in life are worth waiting for.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
They walked back to the Promenade, hand in hand. Dorothea had to get back before dusk, before her parents returned; although, she thought to herself , so what? Let them find out. Who cares? What can they do to me? Yet still – her time had not yet come. She was still playing by the Rules. And then, suddenly, the Rules came to a rude end.
They had just walked past one of the several benches lining the Promenade, on which sat an elderly couple. Dorothea glanced back at them; she thought she recognised them; weren’t they members of her father’s congregation? And at that very moment, two middle-aged English women in flowered hats and white gloves walked up to the bench, smiled condescendingly at the black couple, and asked them to move. Immediately the couple rose to their feet. Afterwards, Dorothea marvelled at the recollection; the moment that red-hot rage descended on her, filled her being, and forced her to cry out, so loudly that people all around looked up to see what was going on:
‘NO! Just NO! Don’t get up!’ She physically, forcefully yet at the same time gently, pushed the woman back down on to the bench. The woman, taken by surprise, let herself be pushed.
‘You too!’ Dorothea commanded the man: ‘Sit right back down.’ And he, too, obeyed.
She turned to the white ladies, who were so astonished they merely stood there, open-mouthed in shock.
‘How dare you! How utterly, revoltingly rude of you! Where were you raised, in the gutter? You despicable people! Just go away and leave these decent people in peace! Go back to your gutter!’
The two women gasped. ‘Really – I …’ began one of them, but the other grasped her elbow and muttered something in her ear. The first woman seemed about to fight, to stand her ground, so the second woman spoke even louder.
‘No, Penelope. Let’s go. Can’t you see? The natives are all watching!’
Indeed, a small crowd had gathered, for Dorothea had not kept her voice down. People were smiling and nodding, nudging each other, tittering. One man clapped. And only then did Dorothea come to her senses and fall with a thud from her cloud of outrage.
‘Oh, Freddy! What have I done? Come, let’s go!’ She grabbed Freddy’s arm and they hurried off, to a splatter of more clapping and a call or two of ‘Well said!’ and ‘Bravo!’
Dorothea couldn’t walk fast enough; she sprinted to the bicycle stand, Freddy right behind her. And only there did she collapse into his arms, half laughing, half whimpering in mortification.
‘What have I done, what have I done?’ she repeated through her gulps of half-laughter. ‘Oh Freddy, Freddy! I’m terrible! I’ve made a scene and I bet you it’ll be in tomorrow’s newspapers!’
‘You’re wonderful!’ said Freddy, and clasped her in his arms. ‘You’re my bold brave wonderful tiger. You did right. And so what if you’re in the newspapers? You did right and I’m so proud of you!’
And they rode home, their bicycles wobbling because they were laughing so much.
To Dorothea’s great relief – for her time had not yet come – the incident was not in the papers. But she had made a stand and she knew with a clear cold instinct the trajectory her life would take. It was a good knowledge.
----
S ometimes at night Dorothea lay in her bed and listened to Freddy playing his mouth-organ. She hadn’t known it was him at first. Even before they’d met she had heard those sweet, poignant strains
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