"You! Do you think I am your age?" she asked the young man, fiercely. She managed to make it sound very naughty, dirty and unprofessional all at once. He had only been employed two months before. He had been really awkward when he first joined, with shirts that showed they had been washed too many times, and coats that were oversize, probably handed down from his uncle or perhaps the local teacher. But now he was in a smart blue suit, a light shirt and a tie with blue, white and black stripes. Even his fuller cheeks seemed to show that he was healthier. I now watched him shrink back with embarrassment.
"Some boys think they are more men than others," Salome continued to mutter under her breath. I wondered what he had said to her. It looked and sounded as if he had started seducing her, making the mistake many had made before him. She was a small-bodied woman, whose smooth, dark features made her look like she was still in her mid-twenties, while in fact she was married and had two children. When I had first learned of this I was incredulous. How could that be true? She did not look anything like that. Yet she already had five years experience here at Bank of America Overseas. I still struggled with that knowledge.
I had seen her getting very agitated if a man asked her a personal question. She seemed to think he was after nothing but her cunt. It did not matter whether the man was an older one or as today, a younger fellow. She fought all of them off with the same vehemence. I was in awe of her, maybe even feared her a little bit. I could not imagine the whole department hearing her asking me such an embarrassing question. It was an open plan office occupying the whole floor, with the department head at the 'front' near the lift and stairs. There was no other escape except that door to the stairs. I wouldn't know where to hide!
Nevertheless I pondered the question of why a lovely woman, who was possessed of such good looks could be so hostile to all men. I wondered if perhaps the belligerence was a cover. But from what, I could not tell. She was an enigma to me, but I could not discuss it with any of my colleagues, who talked about her in dismissive tones, as if they had decided she was beyond redemption.
Fortunately she had never lashed out at me in that way. Instead, earlier in the year when she was expecting her third child I would ask her if she wanted anything when I went out for lunch. She had grown very large, and I could see it was difficult for her to move around. At first she looked at me suspiciously, as if even that was a devious way to get her to remove her panty for me. But I would tell her of the café where I usually ate, and that they had meat pies, chicken pies or kabobs.
"Give me ten shillings. I will bring you a chicken pie."
Allowing herself a sideways smile, she would get up to get to her handbag. Her body language said that were it in her power she would not accept such an offer, especially coming from a man. This happened a few times before I took it into my hands to bring her a snack without asking for her money first. But she made a point of giving it to me when I handed her the brown package. I did this openly so that she would have no reason to accuse me of doing her favours secretly.
One afternoon after we had balanced our work for the day we were around our section's table updating ledger cards in preparation for an upcoming audit.
I turned to her and without warning asked her, "Was, or is, your mother entrenched in the local church, the women's group, the fellowship and so on?"
She turned surprised eyes to me. "Why do you think so?" I thought I could read some fear too.
"Oh," I said lightly, "sometimes having such a mother can place very high demands on the children."
She looked steadily at me. Then she seemed to click her mouth, dropping her eyes. I feared I had offended her. She shook her head, eyes still fixed on the cards she was working on. "Surely how can you think such a thing?" She did not look angry, which gave me some relief.
"It's common enough," I shrugged.
"I think you are very clever, Richard. How could you possibly know that?" I waited breathlessly for her next words. She continued in low voice. "She was very hard on us, especially myself as the firstborn."
"What a coincidence!" I let my eyes open wide in amazement. "I am also firstborn in my family." I forebore to add that that could be the reason we seemed to rhyme so well.
Now she lifted her eyes to mine. "My mother made me feel that I could never be as good as she. Even today I cannot measure up to her."
"I do not agree with that, Sal." I saw her jaw drop. "I don't see a bad woman. I see one who is dedicated to her work, and to her family."
"Nobody has ever said anything like that to me. Even my husband nowadays agrees with my mother against me."
"Firstborns feel for each other. You can always trust me." I took the bold step of laying my hand on her arm.
Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Suddenly she pushed back her chair and hurried towards the stairs. I suspected she wanted to rush to the ladies' room to regain control of her emotions.
From that day, there was never any hesitation about bringing her a snack for lunch when I went out. Everyone in our section marveled at how this sharp-tongued woman had taken to me. Nobody, not even another woman would dare to offer to do anything for her, for fear of being brusquely refused, with harsh words to follow. Many said it was the coming baby that had become partial to me, which inaccurate sentiment I did not bother to correct. On her last day of working, she brought me a bar of chocolate, probably as thanks, or a farewell. I never worked out which, though it could have been both. She had the baby two days after that, meaning she had stayed on as long as possible so that she would have more time with the baby during her maternity leave.
Surprise, surprise! When she resumed duty after those two months, she brought me a present. I was so moved by that gesture that I felt a glob stuck in my throat. There was no more need to bring her snacks because she was now able to go out for lunch. You are probably thinking that we became so close that we went out for lunch together. You would be mistaken. Our friendship however remained firm so that we could converse freely, but she held back even from that, fearing that other people might mistake it for a change of heart, instead of her having gained a true friend in me, as she put it. She did not want to change into a social being just yet, which gratified me. This situation, while pleasant, could stay that way for months without anything more happening.
I decided to pull us out of that backwater by asking to walk with her to her busstop one day after work. She accepted very readily, to my mild surprise. Halfway through our walk, she turned to me suddenly and said, "Would you object to having tea with an old woman?"
I pretended to turn round, looking for the said person. "Where? Which one?" She merely laughed and led me into the Lamu Coffee House. This was sectioned off in little bays whose walls were curved much like the streets of that coastal town. Each had a double swinging door, so that we were effectively completely cut off from other eyes. After the waiter had served us he left us to ourselves.
"I wish I could sit here with you until dusk. I so much want to enjoy your company, but you must understand I have a small baby waiting for his milk."
I stretched my arm towards her breast. "What has reminded you of that? Do they itch with milk?" She slapped at my hand away but with such a big smile that I could appreciate her beauty for the first time.
We finished our snacks and I let her leave as I was in no hurry. I would stay on a little longer, reading my book, and only leave after dark. So we made as if to hug, but came together for a kiss. I gave it to her right on her mouth.
