The Wall

9

Back out again? What else. Moses retraced his footsteps. What other options did he have? There was no way he’d find help here in the gated community. “Hello, do you happen to know how to fix a car?”

Although… he could ask the gardener. Perhaps he would know of someone, or might at least let him make a phone call if he had some free minutes on his account. He was already back at the intersection where he’d seen the gardener. But what if the failing doorbell really hadn’t meant anything? Maybe nobody had gotten around to it yet. It might not be a priority for them. Had he really paid enough attention to verify that there were absolutely no signs that someone was living there? He hadn’t been thorough enough. He should have taken a look inside the mailbox. Were the flowers in the front yard dried out? Were there any flowers at all? What if all of that didn’t mean anything, and Japie or Janie was about to get home? He could hear the sound of an engine not too far off. That might be him. On a parallel street. Just one more time, Moses told himself. One last try to get help there. The gardener was nowhere in sight anyway. He turned around and went back.

Already 1:16. What was Sandi doing? Hopefully, she was at least getting a little worried about him. Half the bottle of prosecco should have been drunk by now. And they should be… He didn’t want to think about that.

Back down the street along the wall, then to the left. There was the house. No flowers. The lawn was dry, but then again, it was really hot and had been for weeks. Moses rubbed his forehead and neck, wiping the sweat on his jeans. He couldn’t hear the car anymore. The windows weren’t all that clean. He pressed his nose against one to see inside.

The kitchen, neat. Nothing striking. The mailbox was empty, except for two ads. A building supply store and a chain drugstore, both fairly new. Somebody had recently picked up the mail.

No Janie. No Japie. Moses turned around. So out of the subdivision after all? What should he do then? Stand out by the road and wait? There weren’t many taxis around here, so it could take some time. But it would be one way he could get to a shop. The taxi driver might be able to recommend one. Money wasn’t a problem. He had several hundred in his pocket.

Or should he wait until someone stopped to help him? Super idea. He was stuck between Abbotsford and Dorchester Heights, two suburbs where pretty much only whites lived. Sure, they’d be willing to stop to help a young black man.

Walking it was then. That was okay, too.

A white man appeared at the corner he had just rounded. Sturdy, but not stout. Shorts, t-shirt. Looked like a rugby referee. Better not to cross his path. Moses turned in the other direction. He needed to get out of here now and call Sandi. The gate would hopefully open automatically from the inside.

Somebody else was coming from the other direction. Shit, a guard. And another white man. A white man in a security uniform always meant trouble. White trash despair. He looked around. The referee was getting closer, his hand hidden behind his back. The thought that he should run flashed through Moses’ mind, he might have even winced a little. After a brief hesitation, the referee flinched back a step. He’d been waiting for something like this. Run or not run? Moses was in better shape than both of them. But where? Where could he run to escape? Did he really need to escape?

He could already make out the grin on the referee’s face. Focus. The guard was swinging a club in his hand. The referee now pulled his hand from behind his back. Wow! What was that? A pistol? There was no way he’d use that.

Both of them had slowed down. The referee was still grinning. Thin mustache over his upper lip. The guard looked very, very grim. Bristly short hair, a just-as bristly beard around his chin and mouth. Moses realized that his uniform wasn’t actually a uniform, just plain black clothing, shirt and shorts. Both of them would reach him in about twenty meters. There wasn’t much time for Moses to make a decision. Fifteen meters now, twelve, ten. Only a few steps remained between him and the two men. As if in agreement, both men slowed down even more. Moses wanted to run, but he hesitated. The men both came to a stop in unison. About five meters away from him, possibly less.

Why do I feel so numb? Moses wondered. He hadn’t done anything.

“Are you lost or something?” The referee. What was he dangling in his hand? Wasn’t a pistol, but what was it?

“You’re a long way from home, boy!” The one with the club.

“What should we do with you now?” The referee.

“Should we teach him a lesson?” The other man swung the club solidly into the palm of his other hand.

“Whoa, whoa…” Moses said, raising both hands in front of his chest as a sign that he meant no harm. “I just wanted to visit a friend. Where’s the problem?”

“Hm, a friend.” The club was now being tapped rhythmically against the other hand. Thud, thud, thud.

“There’s no way somebody like you has a friend in here.” The referee.

“Do you think he’s the one?” The club now gripped in both hands.

Moses had seen the thing the referee was holding in his hand only once before. It was a taser, operated by electrical shocks. Or something like that. Could knock you out. Or even kill you.

“Okay,” he said. “You win. What should I do?” He kept his hands up where they could see them.

“Look at that,” the referee said. “The boy knows how to behave himself.”

“Yes, as long as he sees no way out!” The one with the club. “Now get on your knees, hands behind your head.”

“Okay,” Moses said. “Right away.”

He tensed his muscles for a moment, braced one foot a few centimeters behind the other. Took a deep breath. And took off. Toward the wall, past one of the houses, and back in the direction from which he had come.

“Hey!” he heard behind him. Followed by the sound of the two men also beginning to run.

For one very brief moment, it occurred to him that he had just made a serious mistake. But what other choice did he have? Bastards.

Moses kept running.