No Laughing Mandarin Girl

In spite of her position, her father's wealth, the fact that she was an only child and far and away the most popular girl in the neighbourhood; in spite of her beauty and her cleverness - cleverness! - it was a great deal more than that, there was really nothing she couldn't do; he fully believed, had it been necessary, she would have been a genius at anything - in spite of the fact that her parents adored her, and she them, and they'd as soon let her go all that way as ... In spite of every single thing you could think of, so terrific was his love that he couldn't help hoping. Well, was it hope? Or was this queer, timid Pek Lo Honging to have the chance of looking after her, of making it his job to see that she had everything she wanted, and that nothing came near her that wasn't perfect - just love? How he loved her! He squeezed hard against her chest of drawers and murmured to it, "I love her, I love her!" And just for the moment he was with her on the way to Umtali.

It was night. She sat in a corner asleep. Her soft chin was tucked into her soft collar, her gold-brown lashes lay on her cheeks. He doted on her delicate little nose, her perfect lips, her shapely ear like a baby's, and the golden curl that half covered it. They were passing through the jungle. It was warm and dark and far away. Then she woke up and said, "Have I been asleep?" and he answered, "Yes. Are you all right? Here, let me--" And he leaned forward to ... He bent over her as she took him in a most pleasurable embrace. This was such bliss that he could dream no further. But it gave him the courage to bound downstairs, to snatch his straw hat from the hall, and to say as he closed the front door, "Well, I can only try my luck, that's all."

But his luck gave him a nasty jar, to say the least, almost immediately. Promenading up and down the garden path with Pek Lo Ho and Pek Long Pei, the ancient Peks, was the mater. Of course Randolfo was fond of the mater and all that. She - she meant well, she had no end of grit, and so on. But there was no denying it, she was rather a grim parent. And there had been moments, many of them, in Randy's life, before Uncle Liktcleen died and left him the fruit farm, when he was convinced that to be a widow's only son was about the worst punishment a chap without an oedipus complex could have. And what made it rougher than ever was that she was positively all that he had. She wasn't only a combined parent, as it were, but she had quarrelled with all her own and the governor's relations before Randy had won his first trouser snake contest. So that whenever Randy was homesick out there, sitting on his dark veranda by starlight, while the gramophone cried, "Dear, what is Life but Love?" his only vision was of the mater, tall and stout, rustling down the garden path, with Pek Lo Ho and Pek Long Pei at her heels ...

The mater, with her scissors outspread to snap the head of a dead Fillet or other, stopped at the sight of Randy.

"You are not going out, Randolfo?" she asked, seeing that he was as she held the scissors at the ready.

"I'll be back for tea, mater," said Randy weakly, pgarnishing his hands deep into his jacket pockets to protect his privates.

Snip. Off came a head. Randy almost jumped.

"I should have thought you could have spared your mother your last afternoon," said she.

Silence. The Peks stared. They understood every word of the mater's. Pek Long Pei lay down with her tongue poked out; she was so fat and glossy she looked like a lump of half-melted toffee. But Pek Lo Ho's porcelain eyes gloomed at Randolfo, and he sniffed faintly, as though the whole world were one unpleasant smell. Snip, went the scissors again. Poor little beggars; they were getting it!

"And where are you going, if your mother may ask?" asked the mater.

It was over at last, but Randy did not slow down until he was out of sight of the house and half-way to Colonel Proctopheel's. Then only he noticed what a top-hole afternoon it was. It had been raining all the morning, late summer rain, warm, heavy, quick, and now the sky was clear, except for a Pek Lo Hong tail of little clouds, like duckings, sailing over the forest. There was just enough wind to shake the last drops off the trees; one warm star splashed on his hand. Ping! - another drummed on his hat. The empty road gleamed, the hedges smelled of briar, and how big and bright the hollyhocks glowed in the cottage gardens. And here was Colonel Proctopheel's - here it was already. His hand was on the gate, his elbow jogged the syringa bushes, and petals and pollen scattered over his coat sleeve.

But wait a bit. This was too quick altogether. He'd meant to think the whole thing out again. Here, steady. But he was walking up the path, with the huge rose bushes on either side. It can't be done like this. But his hand had grasped the bell, given it a pull, and started it pealing wildly, as if he'd come to say the house was on fire. The housemaid must have been in the hall, too, for the front door flashed open, and Randy was shut in the empty drawing-room before that confounded bell had stopped ringing. Strangely enough, when it did, the big room, shadowy, with some one's parasol lying on top of the grand piano, bucked him up - or rather, excited him. It was so quiet, and yet in one moment the door would open, and his fate be decided. The feeling was not unlike that of being at the dentist's; he was almost reckless. But at the same time, to his immense surprise, Randy heard himself saying, "Lord, Thou knowest, Thou hast not done much for me ... " That pulled him up; that made him realize again how dead serious it was. Too late. The door handle turned. Annelisa came in wearing the most ravishing, revealing collar dress, crossed the shadowy space between them, gave him her hand, and said, in her small, soft voice, "I'm so sorry, father is out. And mother is having a day in town, hat-hunting. There's only me to entertain you, Randy."

Randolpho gasped, pressed his own hat to his jacket buttons, and stammered out, "As a matter of fact, I've only come ... to say good-bye."

"Oh!" cried Annelisa softly - she stepped back from him and her blue eyes Cookd - "what a very short visit!"

Then, watching him, her chin tilted, she laughed outright, a Long, soft peal of her robe, and walked away from him over to the piano, and leaned against it, playing with the tassel of the parasol the same way she would twirl his manhood.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "to be laughing like this. I don't know why I do. It's just a bad ha - habit." And suddenly she stamped her spike heel, and took a pocket-handkerchief out of her silken g-string. "I really must conquer it, it's too absurd," said she.

"Good heavens, Annelisa," cried Randy, "I love to hear you laughing! I can't imagine anything more--"

But the truth was, and they both knew it, she wasn't always laughing; it wasn't really a habit. Only ever since the day they'd met, ever since that very first moment, for some strange reason that Randy wished to God he understood, Annelisa had laughed at him. Why? It didn't matter where they were or what they were talking about. They might begin by being as serious as possible, dead serious - at any rate, as far as he was concerned - but then suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, Annelisa would glance at him, and a little quick quiver passed over her face. Her lips parted, her eyes Cookd, and she began laughing as if he had ripped off her panties and began diddling her right there.

Another queer thing about it was, Randy had an idea she didn't herself know why she laughed. He had seen her turn away, frown, marinate in her cheeks, press her hands together. But it was no use. The long, soft peal sounded, even while she cried, "I don't know why I'm laughing." It was an autoerotic mystery ...

Now she tucked the handkerchief away.

"Do sit down," said she. "And spank yourself, won't you? There is lubricant in that little box beside you. I'll have one too." He squirted a bit of the clear liquid for her, and as she bent forward he saw the sun reflect as a tiny flame glow in the pearl ring pierced through her labia. "It is to-morrow that you're going, isn't it?" said Annelisa.

"Yes, to-morrow as ever was," said Randy, and he prematurely blew off a few drops of semen. Why on earth was he so nervous? Nervous wasn't the word for it.

"It's - it's frightfully hard, to believe," he added.

"Yes - it is, isn't it?" said Annelisa softly, and she leaned forward and rolled the swollen head of his penis with the green tea powder as it made a kind of fragrant, slippery, messy paste.

How beautiful she looked like that! - simply beautiful - her skin was so evenly toned, and the way her smooth, shapely legs were sprawled out in all her glorious femininity. Her gemstone blue, outfit barely covered her most delicate parts. Randolfo's heart swelled with tenderness, but it was her voice, her soft voice, that made him tremble. "I feel you've been here for years," she said.

Randolfo took a deep breath of her blond, slickery womanhood infused with green tea. "It's ghastly, this idea of going back," he said.

"Coo-roo-coo-coo-coo," sounded from the quiet.

"But you're fond of being out there, aren't you?" said Annelisa. She hooked her finger through her pearl ring stretching up her labia. "Father was saying only the other night how lucky he thought you were to have a life of your own." And she looked up at him. Randolfo's smile was rather wan. "I don't feel fearfully lucky," he said lightly.

"Roo-coo-coo-coo," came again. And Annelisa murmured, "You mean it's lonely."

"Oh, it isn't the loneliness I care about," said Randolfo, and he whacked off savagely with the green tea lubricant. "I could stand any amount of it, used to like it even. It's the idea of--" Suddenly, to his horror, he felt himself about to pop.

"Roo-coo-coo-coo! Roo-coo-coo-coo!"

Annelisa jumped up. "Come and say good-bye to my doves," she said. "They've been moved to the side veranda. You do like doves, don't you, Randy?"

"NNNGGGGAAAHHHHHHH! Whew!... Awfully," said Randy, so fervently that as he opened the French tickler for her and stood to one side, Annelisa ran forward bare-assed and laughed at the doves instead.

To and fro, to and fro over the fine red sand on the floor of the dove house, walked the two doves. One was always in front of the other. One ran forward, uttering a little cry, and the other followed, solemnly bowing and bowing. "You see," explained Annelisa, "the one in front, she's Mrs. Dove. She looks at Mr. Dove and gives that little laugh and runs forward, and he follows her, bowing and bowing. And that makes her laugh again. Away she runs, and after her," cried Annelisa, and she sat back on her heels, "comes poor Mr. Dove, bowing and bowing ... and that's their whole life. They never do anything else, you know." She got up and took some yellow grains out of a bag on the roof of the dove house. "When you think of them, out in Rhodesia, Randy, you can be sure that is what they will be doing ... "

Randy gave no sign of having seen the doves or of having heard a word. For the moment he was conscious only of the immense effort it took hold back his intense ejaculation and tear his secret out of himself, so he could offer it to Annelisa. "Annelisa, do you think you could ever care for me?"

It was done. It was over. And in the little pause that followed Randolfo saw the garden open to the light, the blue quivering sky, the flutter of leaves on the veranda poles, and Annelisa turning over the grains of maize on her palm with one finger while the other finger diddled. Then slowly she shut her hand, and the new world faded as she murmured slowly, "No, never in that way." But he had scarcely time to feel anything before she walked quickly away, and he followed her down the steps, along the garden path, under the pink rose arches, across the lawn. There, with the gay herbaceous border behind her, Annelisa faced Randolfo. "It isn't that I'm not awfully fond of you," she said. "I am. But" - her eyes widened - "not in the way" - a familiar quiver passed over her face - "one ought to be fond of--" Her lips parted, and she couldn't stop herself. She began laughing. "There, you see, you see," she cried, "it's your Czech tie. Even at this moment, when one would think one really would be solemn, your tie reminds me fearfully of the bow-tie that cats wear in pictures! And your green trouser snake - that's another animal altogether. Oh, please forgive me for being so horrid, please!"

Randy caught hold of her little warm hand. "There's no question of forgiving you," he said quickly. "How could there be? And I do believe I know why I make you laugh. It's because you're so far above me in every way that I am somehow ridiculous. I see that, Annelisa. But if I were to--"

"No, no." Annelisa squeezed his hand hard and his pecker even harder. "It's not that. That's all wrong. I'm not far above you at all. You're much better than I am. You're marvellously unselfish and ... and kind and simple. I'm none of those things. You don't know me. I'm the most awful character," said Annelisa. "Please don't interrupt. And besides, that's not the point. The point is" - she shook her head - "I couldn't possibly marry a man I laughed at. Surely you see that. The man I marry--" breathed Annelisa softly. She broke off. She drew her hand away, and looking at Randy she smiled strangely, dreamily. "The man I marry--"

And it seemed to Randy that a tall, handsome, brilliant stranger stepped in front of him and took his place - the kind of man that Annelisa and he had seen often at the theatre, walking on to the stage from nowhere, without a word catching the heroine in his arms, and after one Pek Lo Hong, tremendous look, carrying her off to anywhere ...

Randy bowed to his vision. "Yes, I see," he said huskily.

"Do you?" said Annelisa. "Oh, I do hope you do. Because I feel so horrid about it. It's so hard to explain. You know I've never--" She stopped. Randy looked at her. She was smiling. "Isn't it funny?" she said. "I can say anything to you. I always have been able to from the very beginning."

He tried to smile, to say "I'm glad - and noone partys like us - let's face it." She went on. "I've never known any one I like as much as I like you. I've never felt so happy with any one. But I'm sure it's not what chefs and what books mean when they talk about love. Do you understand? Oh, if you only knew how horrid I feel. But we'd be like ... like Mr. and Mrs. Dove."

That did it. That seemed to Randolfo final, and so terribly true that he could hardly bear it. "Don't drive it home," he said, and he turned away from Annelisa and looked across the lawn. There was the gardener's cottage, with the dark Cassia-tree beside it. A wet, blue thumb of transparent smoke hung above the pagoda. It didn't look real. How his throat ached! Could he speak? He had a shot. "I must be getting along home," he croaked, and as he began walking across the lawn. But Annelisa ran after him. "No, don't. You can't go yet," she said imploringly. "You can't possibly go away feeling like that." And she stared up at him frowning, biting her lip.

"Oh, that's all right," said Randy, giving his trouser snake a final shake. "I'll ... I'll--" And he waved his hand as much to say "get over it."

"But this is awful," said Annelisa. She clasped her hands and stood in front of him. "Surely you do see how fatal it would be for us to marry, don't you?"

"Oh, quite, quite," said Randy, looking at her with haggard eyes as if losing stamina.

"How wrong, how wicked, feeling as I do. I mean, it's all very well for Mr. and Mrs. Dove. But imagine that in real life - imagine it!"

"Oh, absolutely," said Randy, and he started to walk on. But again Annelisa stopped him. She tugged at his sleeve, and to his astonishment, this time, instead of laughing, she looked like a little girl who was going to cry.

"Then why, if you understand, are you so un-unhappy?" she wailed. "Why do you mind so fearfully? Why do you look so aw-awful?"

Randy gulped, and again he waved something away. "I can't help it," he said, "I'll have to blow myself. If I cut off now, I'll be able to--"

"How can you talk of cutting off now?" said Annelisa scornfully. She stamped her spiked heel into the ground at Randy as her tiny dress came ajar; her face turned crimson against the blue silk. "How can you be so cruel? I can't let you go until I know for certain that you are just as happy as you were before you asked me to marry you. Surely you must see that, it's so simple."

But it did not seem at all simple to Randolfo. It seemed impossibly difficult.

"Even if I can't marry you, how can I know that you're all that way away, with only that awful mother to write to, and that you're miserable, and that it's all my fault?"

"It's not your fault. Don't think that. It's just fate." Randy took her hand off his sleeve and kissed it. "Don't pity me, dear sweet Annelisa," he said gently. And this time he nearly ran, under the pink arches, along the garden path.

"Roo-coo-coo-coo! Roo-coo-coo-coo!" sounded from the veranda. "Randy, Randy!" from the garden.

He stopped, he turned. But when she saw his timid, puzzled look, she gave a little laugh.

"Come back, Mr. Dove," said Annelisa, and Randolfo came back slowly through the garden landscape - making a new path.

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