14th January 2012
This kiss, this kiss

I sat at the kitchen table with a pad and pencil, aimlessly doodling. I was searching for ideas; anything to write about. The tiny radio on the counter was playing and suddenly, the tune which came on caught my attention. That in itself, was not surprising, for it was one of the new crop of popular songs which one hears twenty times a day; and I didn’t mind hearing this one more time, for it was one of my current favourites: “This Kiss”, sung by Faith-something-or-the-other, I’ve forgotten her last name.
The only thing slightly noteworthy about the event, was that it started me thinking about the subject of the song: THE KISS.
The kiss, universally used by Man, more than any other gesture, to express one person’s feelings of affection toward another. Except perhaps, by the Eskimos who, last time I looked, were still rubbing noses. The kiss, that pressure of one pair of lips on another, about which poetry and plays have been written and performed; music been composed and songs sung; around which legends have been created.
And listening to the pleasant tune and the words of Faith-what-ever-her-name-is’ song, I set about wondering how, when and where we first discovered the ritual, and decided that it was to be the way that we express love for each other.
For of course, it certainly wasn’t always that way. We know that there was a time when there were other means of expressing one’s interest to the object of one’s affections. Nevertheless, it’s been a few (enormous understatement) years since we got involved in this kissing business, and I have a feeling of just how it may have come about.
Let us travel back in time a little, to a period just before man discovered the kiss.
We’re in the forest somewhere and a restless young caveman, Oog, is sitting with his back to the fire, a little way apart from the other group of guys seated around it, who are laughing and carousing, imbibing some dark-brown, frothy, alcoholic brew, which they are passing from hand to hand around the circle, in a container made from the dried-out skull of some long-gone, long-eaten sabre-toothed tiger.
They seem to be having a good time, a great time, even (it’s probably a Friday night and no one has to work tomorrow – so it’s TGIF time). Oog is not. He just sits there, staring out of the cave entrance into the darkness beyond, brooding. His best friend Ahr, noticing this, leaves the joyous circle for a moment and crawls over to where he sits.
“What’s the matter, Oog my old pal? Why don’t you join the rest of us?” Then, with a look of enlightenment, “Oh, I know. You’re thinking of that girl again, aren’t you? Boy, when this ‘love’ thing hits you guys, it does hit you hard, doesn’t it? I’m glad I’m a confirmed bachelor myself. No messing around with the fair sex for me. You know what they say. ‘The female of the species…’”
“I know, I know, ‘…is deadlier than the male’…so what?” growls Oog. “I tell you Ahr. I just can’t seem to get her out of my mind. Everywhere I look – in the light of the fire, especially in the willowy shape of the smoke rising from it, I seem to see her. I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Well, I’ll tell you. Apparently, when you’re this far gone, the only thing to do, is to tell the person in question. Make your feelings known to her. What’s the worst that can happen? She’ll turn you down and you’ll go around the place moping. And that’s what you’re doing now anyway, as far as I can see.
“So go on. Go out and find her. No use you hanging around here; you’re killing this party, with your hangdog look and sullen attitude. Some of the guys are beginning to ask questions and snicker behind your back – and that’s not good. So go find her and resolve this thing, one way or another.”
It doesn’t take much prodding, and our lovesick hero picks up his trusty club, shoulders it and shuffles off out of the cavern, on his quest. Ahr watches his departing form for a moment, and then crawls back to rejoin the circle of guys around the fire. Silly, he thought, to waste a perfectly good Friday night on some girl…
Oog makes his way through the undergrowth to the small cave where he knew that Uma, the Dulcinea in question, lived with he mother and father, along with seven brothers and five sisters (rather a small family for that period). He hides in the bushes, awaiting the opportunity to approach her.
His chance finally comes when her mother hands her a large gourd and instructs her to go down to the river and fetch some water. Stealthily, Oog follows her to the river bank and when she bends over to fill the gourd, jumps out of hiding and surprises her.
“Oog!” She can hardly catch her breath, so startled is she. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come looking for you, Uma,” he blurts out, “I love you and can’t keep it a secret any longer.”
“Oh Oog,” replies the young maiden, lowering her eyes: and then, looking back up into his with a pleased smile, “I love you too; and I’ve done so ever since we were children.”
With joy in his heart, Oog recognizes that his long-hoped-for moment has arrived. He must now show her some sign of the depth of his affection. He takes a firm grip of his club, and raises it above his head.
“Whoa!” Uma puts up a restraining hand. “Stop right there! What do you thing you’re doing?”
“Why, showing you how much I love you.”
“Oh no. None of the bash-you-on-the-head-and-drag-you-off-into-my-cave stuff for me. A girl could get a serious headache, with those goings-on. And don’t forget, aspirin hasn’t yet been invented.”
“But why not? That’s how my father, and his father before him, expressed their love to their women; and they never complained. What was good enough for my father, is good enough for me. And just look at my mother, she’s a happy woman: no matter where or when you see her, she’s always smiling.”