GRINGA (41 page)

  
             
I shake my head, but he insists, so I amble over.

   
             
‘Try,’ he says, handing me the shotgun.

   
             
‘I don’t ...’

   
             
‘D
o it!
!’ 

    
             
I sigh and aim the rifle. ‘I’ve never fired a gun ...’

    
             
‘P
ull!
!’ Diago shouts and a clay pigeon is released.     

    
             
I fire and miss my target
. E
veryone laughs. Then Diago stands behind me, holds my arms and guides me. By my third attempt, I hit my target and scream with joy. ‘Did you see that Diago? Did you see that?’ 

    
             
‘P
ull!
’
he yells.

   
             
I had no idea I could be so energised by this sport and under Diago’s supervision, I become fairly good at it.

   
             
‘When I’m happy, I shoot,’ Diago says, pushing
away
the shotgun I’m pointing
at his face.
‘When I’m sad, I shoot.’

    
             
‘
Christ Diago
,
y
ou’d better be talking about clay pigeons,’ I say, handing him the gun
.

    
             
He grins and squeezes my waist. ‘Walk with me.’ 

    
             
‘Okay,’ I say
,
‘
l
et’s go swimming. I feel like some company.
’

    
             
‘No.’

    
             
‘Why not? You taught me to ride
and
shoot, so I’ll teach you how to swim.’

   
             
He shakes his head
but continues walking with me towards the rock pool.

   
             
When we get to the pool, I wade in and test the water. ‘It’s lovely. Come on in Diago.’

   
             
‘No.’

             
I swim on for a while then stop. ‘Come on in.’

             
‘No.’

             
‘Come on, you big baby
.
’

             
Muttering under his breath, he
finally
wades in.

             
I notice he can swim, but he appears un
comfortable in water.

             
‘See?’ I say, splashing him a little. ‘Isn’t so bad.’

             
I’m happy
that he’s in
and
I
give him a few pointers on safety in the water. Then I show of a little and when I was sure he
’
s impressed, we goof around
then
talk. 

    
             
‘Tell me ’bout Payton,’ he says.

             
‘Eh
…
okay
..
.
w
hat you wanna know? Tell you what – let’s play the question-for-a-question game again, okay? You first.’

    
             
He
nods
. ‘Where’s your mother?’ he asks, locking eyes with me.

             
So Marcus has told him everything.

    
             
‘She died when I was six. The same age you were when your mother died
,
right?’

    
             
He nods slowly. ‘You know a lot about me eh?’

    
             
‘
Sure do.
My turn – what’s your mother’s name?’

    
             
‘Selina,’ he says in a malleable voice. ‘She was preeetty,’ he adds
, a melancholy look in his eyes.
Then he looks up. ‘My turn?’

    
             
I nod. ‘Your turn.’

    
             
‘Why do you like Him?’

             
‘Diago! You asked me that before
.
You always ask me that
.
What’s with this  ... this obsession, huh?’

    
             
‘How long you go out with Him?’

             
I sigh. ‘’bout a year. My turn.’

             
‘Uh huh. Do you miss him? Do you luuuve his baby because is his baby? Why you like him so much? Why your voice is soft when you talk about him?’

             
‘Diago, that’s ...’ I pause to count, ‘that’s five questions. And my answers are:
Y
es,
N
o, I don’t know,
N
o
,
that’s not true.’

             
My answer baffles him and I laugh and splash him
again
.

             
‘How old are you, Diago?’

             
‘Thirty.’

             
‘Thirty! Man you’re old. Ancient!’ He looks and acts a lot older. I thought he was about fifty.

             
‘How old are
you
?’

             
‘Twenty one.’

             
‘Twenty one?’

             
I nod.
             

    
             
We stay in the water and talk and answer questions for about an hour and during this time, I find out a lot about him, even venturing into some of the things Maria and Rosa talked about. Our candid conversation
makes me feel closer and connected to him
and I suspect he feels the same.

    
             
‘But now, you’re in the water,’ I say, ‘so that means you’ve conquered your fear of water.’

   
             
He looks around
, sees how far we are in the water and frowns.
‘
Si …
’

   
             
‘That’s fantastic, right?’

   
             
‘
Si
. But that’s nuff and I want to get out.’ He jerks his head towards the ranch.

    
             
‘Okay, but I’ll race you out the water.’ 

     
             
‘Ah, a game,’ he says, his eyes lighting up. ‘You know I don’t swim like you, but okay. Now, the winner ...?’

    
             
‘Well ... if I win ... you take the day off tomorrow and spend it with me – a picnic.’ I can’t believe I’m asking for that, but I’m having such a nice time with him, I want it to continue tomorrow.

   
             
‘I can’t do that. Imaverbus
y
man.’

             
‘Aw come on. You need some fun in your life.’

             
He appears thoughtful. Then he looks directly at me. ‘If I win ... if I win ...’ His eyes are sparkling, ‘You …you …come to my
…
bed.’

    
             
Whoa! High stakes here. If I wasn’t a good swimmer, this indecent proposal would make me uneasy. But I’m confident I can win. I’m not ready for what he was asking for and frankly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be, so I’ll make sure I win the race.  

             
‘Okay,’ I say, in my cockiest voice. ‘I’m
really
looking forward to that picnic.’ 

    
             
‘
Siiiii
?’

             
‘
Siiiii
,
’ I mimic.

             
‘No rules,’ he says.

             
‘None.’

             
‘Good,’ he says, his eyes twinkling.

             
‘Excellent!’

             
I clear my throat and say, ‘On your marks, get set …g …’

             
Suddenly, Diago grabs me, lifts me into the air and throws me behind him.

             
I’m like a beach ball in his hand and I land about twenty feet away. While I struggle to surface and catch my breath, he cruises to the finish line.

             
‘I wiiin!’

             
‘Diago! That was ... how do you ...
? T
hat’s not fair, Diago.’

             
‘No rules,’ he reminds me.

             
‘Aaaagh! You … but …that’s not how …shit! You’re such a cheat.’