I AM THE FRUIT OF LOVE

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Motto:

GENESIS 2:24 Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother,

and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.

I was conceived in the year 1935, in the month of June.

My mother Else and my father Emil just out of Satan's land.

Deserters, running for dear life and leaving behind their

Families: Parents. Siblings. Cousins. Friends. And livelihood.

I was conceived on a black night, in a strange room, furniture

and smells belonging to others. Unfamiliar birds screeching

outside the window, and lonely jackals howling in the far fields.

The heat. The sweat. The stinging mosquitoes. Dust of cattle dung.

She dog weary from a day of scrubbing floors, still smelling like

a mixture of sweat and cheap soap. Neither detergent nor deodorant

were known then. He bone tired from lifting loads to trucks, and

smelling of body, and the cheap brandy he had with his colleagues.

They were drawn together by loneliness and love, not educated

and articulate like you and I, to make the fine distinction.

Frightened by what they left behind, of what is waiting ahead.

No prospects of going back ever. No money. No professions.

She whimpered in the darkness, drumming her fists on his back,

to let him know she needed just a little more, please, please

oh please, just to soar over the peak of the mountain.

So that she can glide, with a sigh, back into the valley.

He groped at her big breasts, then raised her big thighs to him.

For this minute or two he was just the flower of pleasure,

the red flower opening its petals in his loins.

He sobbed soundlessly. He cannot hold back. He failed her again.

About two weeks later. She looked at his thin legs and bulging

paunch. And the bald head, where he insisted to borrow hair from

one side to the other, as if it can be hidden, as if it matters.

And he was her man, her mate. Although life was bitter, relentless.

He looked at her flabby breasts and buttocks, and wishing she

would not talk so loudly, and pluck her upper lip hair more often.

But with all the wonderful women walking the streets nearby,

having the right complexion and build, and beautiful countenance--

When she told him she bears the fruit of their love in her womb--

he smiled at her and they hugged and kissed, right there in the

street, with the horse drawn carts and the clancky fuming trucks.

I was born to Else and Emil on the 21 of February 1936.