The Wall

52

Moses broke through the hedge with his shoulder. His t-shirt ripped down the side as he did that. He crawled on all fours into the shadow of the next house. No time to look around. Another street was located on the other side of the house. They would be patrolling everywhere by now. He couldn’t stay outside much longer. He couldn’t stay anywhere much longer. Around the house. How many houses have I already had to creep around, he wondered.

On his stomach to the next wall. Almost shoulder high. He slowly straightened up to look over it. First forward, then toward the back. Risk assessment. Crown of his head, forehead, eyes. Houses on the other side of the street, as usual. A security car rolled by. Nothing unusual.

Look around. Curtains shut.

An empty house. Presumably. Another security vehicle on the other side of the wall. Or the same one. Yet another Polo. He’d seen Polos—had to be more than one—and the bakkie that had tried to hit him. Another car drove by, then another. Moses scanned for signs of life in the houses across the way. Didn’t see any. The workday hadn’t ended yet. People were still at the office. And nobody was watching him from there.

Had he already been along here? The streets all looked the same. One-storied houses across the street, and if he turned right, he could see the ones with two stories. What would have happened if he had just surrendered to the two whites? Right at the beginning…

They would have called the police and beaten him.

No. They would have beaten him and then called the police. He had fought back. We didn’t have a choice, they’d have said.

In the station, the cops would have beaten him some more. One of them might have even raped him. Or a cellmate would have taken care of that. Or several of them. And the cops would have stood there and watched.

They would have left him lying there until morning and then set him free with a kick in the ass.

He’d been right to run.