Into the morning mist on the foothills.

We found a pool, fed by a freshet

Of cold spring water. 'One day when we are men,'

He said, 'We'll meet here at the pool again.

Promise?' 'Promise,' I said. And we took a pledge

In blood, nicking our fingers on a penknife

And pressing them to each other's lips. Sweet salty kiss.

Late evening, past cowdust time, we trudged home:

He to his mother, I to my dinner.

One wining-dancing night I thought I'd stay out too.

We went to the pictures-Gone with the Wind-

A crashing bore for boys, and it finished late.

So I had dinner with them, and his mother said:

'It's past ten. You'd better stay the night.

But will they miss you?'

I did not answer but climbed into my friend's bed-

I'd never slept with anyone before, except my father-

And when it grew cold, after midnight,

He put his arms around me and looped a leg

Over mine and it was nice that way

But I stayed awake with the niceness of it

My sleep stolen by his own deep slumber . . .

What dreams were lost, I'll never know!

But next morning, just as we'd started breakfast,

A car drew up, and my parents, outraged,

Chastised me for staying out and hustled me home.

Breakfast unfinished. My friend unhappy. My pride wounded.

We met sometimes, but a constraint had grown upon us,

And the following month I heard he'd gone

To an orphanage in Kalimpong.

4.

I remember you well, old banyan tree,

As you stood there spreading quietly