So, the usual suspects were gathered at the apex of the Amen Corner at Willow: Old Jim in the anchor chair, Chanteuse Mary flanking him, Jon-without and TLB looking radiant, me and New Steve on the distant end. There was also an assertive woman from the Refuge Department of F&W who insisted on talking across a triangle to New Steve, but they are lightweights, and left the field, though not before causing Jim to beetle his brows in irritation.
We drifted off into discussions of soccer- footie- arguably one of the great contributions of the British Empire to mankind. Never before has there been an international forum where carnivorous primate behavior can be displayed with relative impunity. The ISIS version would doubtless feature the ritual beheadings of the losers after the 90th minute.
There was some discussion of whether to watch the match today- at Willow, drinking at noon? Or whether to ignore the whole thing. There did not appear to be any consensus, and at my 90th minute at the bar, decided to go home. I think I kissed Mary and TLB and shook Jim and Jon-without’s hands, though it might have been in a different order.
We are past the high tide of daylight and now commencing the long slide to what I imagine will be another brutal winter. I need to figure out where I will spend this one. The light was mellow, and the humidity was welcome. Kamil the Pole had the pool duty, and Doc was out in the water with her grand-daughter in the pool.
That is a topic which has been of some interest to me personally as I prepare for the idea that there will be another generation in the family shortly.
Lee is a vivacious little girl. I have watched her grow from infant to enthusiastic swimmer on this very pool deck. The two were wrapping up their session, delayed for some reason, and I chatted with Doc through the wire of the pool enclosure.
“There was plenty of time left for a quick dip,” I said. “With the unsettled air mass over the region, the radio has been predicting thunderstorms all afternoon, but it looks like it is going to be serious. I did my cardio earlier, so this is going to be a plunge for pure refreshing pleasure.”
We exchanged waves and I went into the unit and got back into my trunks and brought a drink with my towel out where Kamil was sitting at his table by the gate and the adults talked while Lee splashed and played with the big inflatable penguin that is permitted only during the week when the complainers are not around the pool.
Looking at the clock, Doc suggested that Kamil could close the pool early and get on with things before the rains came, and I pointed out that “idiots like me would sometimes roll home in desperation from other things to get that last plunge in before the clock hit 2100. But, since I was there, and properly attired, maybe we could just get the whole thing over and let Kamil get on with his evening?”
I winked at him across the table and he nodded in stoic agreement.
To cope with the natural evaporation from the old-school pool, the guards top off the water level in the evening by turning on the big spigot at the deep end. The cascade of water is spectacular, and one of my favorite things to conclude the day is to jump in and back-stroke into the rushing foam. The pressure is visceral and powerful enough to push you back unless you go full tilt into the vortex.
“Doc, do you think Lee is ready for something really exciting?”
Lee looked up from the inflatable penguin expectantly as Kamil got up to walk to the stairs down to the basement and turn on the pump. I put my drink down and stripped off my t-shirt and stepped out of my flip-flops and padded barefoot down to the deck on the deep end of the pool as the spigot belched white foam and then started blasting water like a fire hose. I jumped in, refreshed at the shock of not-quite-cold water contrasting with the warm moisture of the atmosphere. Lee hopped off the penguin and swam down near me.
“Here is how it works. It is sort of like Disneyland, only there are no lines.”
“Disneyland?” I nodded, treading water. Then I flipped over on my back and swam toward the torrent.
I can’t tell you how good it feels to hit the colder water of the flood. I found the point of max resistance and stroked as hard as I could for perhaps a minute before I let the pressure force me away. Lee looked on with amazement. “Is that cool, or what?” I said, breathing a little hard from the exertion. She nodded gravely, and swam cautiously to the stiller water on the sides of the torrent. She tested the pressure with an outreached hand, and then stroked bravely into it.
She didn’t last long that first time, and was swept away shrieking in delight. I swam back and arced into the plume again. We exchanged places in the flood four or five times, me becoming a little weaker from the exertion as Lee gained confidence in her ability to negotiate the torrent.
I drifted back toward the ladder, and told her I was done, but would not get out until she was done. She took one more trip to the rapids and then allowed the water to push her back toward Doc, who looked on from the shallow end. I climbed out and toweled off, feeling like a million bucks. Doc collected the penguin and assorted floats and equipment and her pool bag. I put my short back on and bumped fists with Kamil at the pool gate.
“Best life guard ever,” I said. He nodded modestly in reply as Lee, Doc strode out the gate with the enormous Penguin toward the back door to the building.
“See you tomorrow, Doc. And nice work, Lee!”
She laughed with joy, and I walked back to my patio to finish my drink as Kamil started to lock the place up just a little early. Just ahead of the thunderstorms, I thought, as the flash of distant lightning lit the now dark sky.
Life is good. When I was done with the drink and the rain was starting in earnest, I went back in the unit to watch from a dry place. I saw on the computer that my Turkish correspondent is skirting the edge of propriety, talking about the Turkish hostages in Mosul. I wrote to ask what she thought about the de facto partition of Iraq into Kurdistan, Sunnistan and Shiastan. “Will Erdogan manage the torrent of events?” I wrote. “Will he accept a Kurdish buffer state?”
She wrote back to say that it was pretty weird, and she didn’t know.
Outside, the wind picked up and the thunder boomed.
Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303