The Wall

88

Moses looked around one more time. No faces in the windows. Good Lord, someone had just been shot out here. And not all that far off, there’d just been… just been… a massacre. The people should all be staring out their windows. Were they hiding? Or were they really all still at work?

From somewhere, he heard footsteps approach. He also heard a car. No, make that two. He quickly jumped back behind the wall he’d been using. Flipped around as he crouched down. One eye above the top of the wall. Just in time.

An entire army came around the corner. First the cops on foot with a dog, two police cars, followed by a couple of security vehicles. A bakkie, too. Don’t think about it, Moses told himself. Don’t think about the chap who’d tried to run him over earlier. Then two Polos. Behind the security cars came the guards. Two of them in civilian clothing.

Too many for Moses. Many too many. If he was lucky, he might manage to slip away. He turned onto his stomach and crawled along the wall until he reached the shadow of the house.

“We got him,” someone cried.

Moses gave a start, but then realized that they meant the other man. The dead man.

More crawling, dragging himself through a dry bed. Holding back a cough. More voices behind him. Chaos.

“Finally.”

“But who was that in the house?”

“…escaped…”

“…won’t rob anyone else…”

“…ran away…”

“…didn’t have to end like this…”

“…a job here…”

“…the police…”

“…their responsibility…”

“…heard a shot…”

“But who shot him?” a woman’s voice asked.

Everyone fell silent. The dog barked.

Moses turned back, knelt down beside an ornamental bush, and watched the scene. The people in the cars had now gotten out. They were all gathered in a circle around the body. Nobody said anything. A police siren briefly chirped somewhere in the distance. The people in the circle studied each other. It wasn’t clear if they were searching for a hero or someone to blame.

One of them turned around. Then another. Slowly, the whole group turned to face the direction from which the dead man had just come.

Moses could see their bodies tense up. Still no one was saying a word.

And right on the edge of his line of vision, Moses saw the white man come to a stop. Club in the one hand. The other hand empty.

He stopped, legs spread. Began to hit the club into his other palm.

“I took care of the kaffir,” he cried.