her long legs are in the air, like she is running upside down. she is lost in the passion she is experiencing as he watches her. his mouth – dry. his heart thumping in his throat. a warm feeling running through him. perhaps he has come to the wrong room. he steps back and looks at the door –it is the right room. block 480. those are her legs. noah stands there wondering whether this man moaning in coital pleasure knows this is his wife to be. he wonders if his feelings for her are real or if it is one of those things he has heard gaborone men do. old rich men. young girls. prostituted. used. bartered – money. sex. moaning. city men. his heart is choking him. confusion. hunger. thirst. he can smell himself. he feels like a bottle of locally brewed beer beside a bottle of goût de diamants. his knees can hardly support him. “oh, jacob.” then she starts moaning, the way she always did when she came for holidays in the village – after we would lay there and whisper sweet-nothings in each other’s ears while thinking of what we had just shared … a moment to be cherished. continuously. a love to be preserved. permanently.

a love i had thought we would someday narrate to our grand-children.