As the velvety night unfurled in a plantation mansion - The Way of the Farmer

That night as the plantation mansion resonated deeply to the sound of sleep and murmurs of cicadas – the farmer was still wide awake. Somewhere between tucking in the daughter of the one million hectare landowner and deciding to spend the few remaining hours reading – he had decided instead to polish off the remaining half bottle of brandy that night all by himself in the verandah - there were times when he would often be seized by this inexplicable urge to simply drink, drink and drink. It was his habit in Africa. And even now he found it hard to break. And this was simply one of those nights.

By his sixth shot the farmer found himself recounting the events of the day in a fuzzy haze - thoughts ambled haphazardly in his alcohol soaked brained like a drunkard trying to walk a straight line - there was no discernable pattern to his thoughts – no structure, no form, no purpose, no regard even for any description that would suffice – it was as if that night he had simply allowed the wheel that guided his thoughts to turn which ever way the currents wanted to carry his thoughts. During his drunkard sojourn – he even toyed around with the idea that he may well be out of his depths; for a while he imagined himself powerless and rudderless and as purposeful as a flotsam floating in the infinity of the sea of hopes and dreams – at other times, the farmer would simply laugh to himself, as if he was suddenly reminded of some incident or joke that had suddenly being pushed to the forefront of his consciousness. Only for it to receed away like one of those dancers who suddenly falls back only for another to take his place in the square – in this endless dance of thoughts there was no point, purpose or even direction – only perhaps the notion that he wanted to get very drunk that night. But for the best part of that night as he sat outside the verandah and drank and drank; he simply peered into the velvety darkness of his plantation – like a man lost in his own thoughts.

By his seventh shot - he even considered it a good idea to concede defeat. To even reconcile himself with the idea that his designs had somehow become transparent to this woman who now slept in his room – and that all he should really do right now is get back into his car and drive back to where he whence came from….if he could only remember where he parked the car….along with where his car keys were…. after all now that the cat is out of the bag….the whole idea of the mythical lover was as dead as a rubber duckie….what else was there left to do? Except skip town like a traveling circus troupe…..or maybe roll up his sleeves and do some much needed damage control.

This woman had even managed to stroll right into his house as if she had always been a fixture here all along - he had seen how even his own servants had behaved. Had been mesmerized and hypnotized and spell bound and he concluded this feat could only be accomplished by someone who was probably as assured as himself. His equal even….perhaps even someone who even as accomplished…if not better than himself…but how could that be?…How could he have scaled it so wrong?……the who sat in the dark began to laugh at himself again….

After his eight shot he concluded the best thing to do the following morning was to sack everyone – everyone from the errand boy right up the seventy year old Hainanese man servant. Instead he would fill the whole house with only his trusted tribesmen. But as soon as that ridicolous thought congealed, it seemed almost to disappear immideately as if he realized, this would only raise more suspicion – then as if realizing his folly, he murmured to himself,

“No…I should do nothing and pretend as if all this was only to be expected…over reacting would only allow her to read my designs….yes…I must move stealthily and silently like a hunter.”

But hardly had he said those words, the farmer began to laugh again - it was a sardonic laugh that could really only emerge from a man who once believed everything was in his sphere of control only to suddenly realize that he really controlled nothing at all – that whatever he had was really only the illusion that he was in control; when infact along, she was the one who was really controlling it all - and with this new found realization; the man who sat that night in complete darkness concludd what transpired that day was simply a series of planned events that was as well executed as any of his designs – and soon as that idea took hold in his mind; the farmer experienced a sort of admiration for a thing that he seldom ever experienced. A new sense of appreciation even for the cunning manner in which this woman had been able to whirl herself completely and totally into his life – that all he could really do was to play the part he played that evening like a string puppet. And with these thoughts tracing through his mind, he began to laugh all to himself. A laugh that was mixed with his tears along with all his hopes and dreams….and somewhere in his floating world, he reached for the bottle….only to realize that the woman was now standing before him holding the bottle - he could not see her face – she was sihouletted against the after glow of the moonlight. But he liked the way the thin veiled material of her dress allowed him to see her shape – he liked it so much that his cock began to harden on a factor of a slumbering zero to at least a respectable eight and a half and probably a bit more in his drunkard state…who was she…it was after all such a long time since he touched anyone. So that night when the woman took a swig of the fine cognac from the neck and brought her warm sweet lips to his – all he could do was take in all in like a thirsty man – it taste sweet and clear – he liked the perfume and the touch of his flesh against her cool skin….who is she…..does it really matter, another voice echoed from somewhere in his head……

But even in his drunken state….the farmer realized, it was his nemesis…..it had to be…the daughter of the one million hectare landowner.the mythical lover…the real mythical lover. And with these thoughts he worked his magic as he slid his hands in between her legs.

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