Max Annas - The Wall

Did they even have one?

He walked back into the living room in search of the kitchen. Opened the fridge, took out the orange juice, and drank straight out of the bottle. After that, he stuck his head under the faucet.

No aluminum foil in the drawer. Nor in the pantry. Maybe they’d just run out of it. Or it was kept somewhere else.

For the first time, he felt safe, since nobody could see him in here. But how long would this feeling of safety last? Only until the owners returned. Until they started searching the houses.

Moses put the juice back up. No, they wouldn’t do that. Private property was sacred in South Africa. Every thief in the government swore by that. The houses would remain untouched for the time being.

Cheap furniture, but expensive appliances. A monstrous flat-screen TV hung on the wall. Speakers large enough to fill a stadium with sound. Two MacBooks on the desk. How careless was that? Sitting next to an old telephone that you couldn’t even buy anymore. Moses briefly considered going up to the second floor, but he had other concerns. He crept around the first floor and quickly opened all the doors. The only locked door was a steel one. The garage , Moses thought. The ladder , an afterthought.

Through a street-side window, he saw the old woman he’d just seen on the phone. She was talking to the two men. Pointed at her house, then at the ground—he was lying in my yard. She gestured to the side—and ran off. Now she shook her head—this country wasn’t safe anymore. If she had been alone with the white guard, she would’ve added that things had been better before. He’d understand what she meant.

An old man walking a small dog on a leash approached them. He kept looking all around as he drew closer.

Moses groaned. Only old people and whites, and old white people, lived here. He thought about the phone.

He went over to the desk and lifted the receiver. A dial tone. Why hadn’t he thought about this right away? He could finally call Sandi.

“What do you mean, she’s still warm?”

“Touch her,” Thembinkosi said, lifting the freezer lid again.

“No,” Nozipho said. “I don’t want to. Why is she still warm?”

“Because she hasn’t been dead all that long.”

“But…”

“And because she hasn’t been in the freezer long.”

“And…”

“We have to get out of here.”

“But… The men in the car must have put her in there.”

“Maybe.”

“Why maybe? Who else could’ve done it?”

“I don’t know. I’m not here to…” Thembinkosi broke off. He wasn’t sure how to end the sentence.

“What?”

“…to investigate a murder.”

Nozipho stared at him. “You just said murder .”

“Come on,” Thembinkosi said, taking Nozipho’s hand again. He pulled her back into the house and to the door to the smaller bedroom. He opened the door so that more light fell into the hallway. “There!” He pointed at the spot.

“What is that?”

“I think it’s blood.”

Nozipho leaned down to look at it closely. “And that makes you think the old woman was murdered? Maybe she just cut her foot or something.”

“You just said it yourself. What other reason could there be to put her in the freezer instead of calling the doctor or the police?”

If only he could remember Sandi’s number. The one for the new phone she’d had to get after her old one was stolen on the bus taxi. He’d saved the number on his own phone and then… forgotten it.

Remember. You see her number every time you send her a text. Visualize the number. “082,” he muttered to himself. It begins with 0, 8 and 2. Obviously. But then…

Remember. You see this number every day. 082, then… two of the numbers were doubles. That was over half the battle in terms of the seven digits he still needed.

But what could Sandi actually do? Call the police? Surely the others had already done that. The double numbers. Come on! If worse came to worse, Sandi would see him being taken away. And maybe she wouldn’t come alone. Witnesses were always good.

Two sevens, and two… two nines. The first pair early in the number. 082, then a 4, then the two 7s. 082-477. The two nines were close to the end. Right?

Or right at the end. That’s it. 082-477, then two other numbers followed by the two nines. The old man who’d just shown up began to gesture wildly. He pointed at the little dog, an ugly creature with what looked like a hairbrush at the end of its tail.

Odd numbers. That was it. He had noticed that most of the numbers were odd at some point when he’d been sending a text. Other odd numbers appeared between the sevens and the nines. What was left? A one? No. Three and five? Or five and three?

Moses took a guess. 082-477-3599. Dial tone. Ringing. Waiting. “Hello?” shouted a man’s voice. He hung up.

082-477-5399. Another dial tone. Ringing. Waiting.

“Hey!” Sandi said.

“It’s me.”

“What’s up? Why aren’t you coming? Why is your phone dead?”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean… you can’t?”

“I’m stuck.”

Moses told her the story from the moment the car rolled to a stop. About Khanyo, about the classmate whose name he couldn’t remember, about the referee and the white man with the club, and about running away.

“And where are you now?” Sandi asked after he stopped talking.

“In a house.”

“Whose house?”

Moses considered what he could possibly say. Before he could reply, Sandi continued: “You broke in?”

“The window was open.”

“Shit. What should I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“The police.”

“No police.”

“Well, sure, but what then? Where are you exactly?”

“Between Abbotsford and Dorchester Heights.”

“That’s the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s suburbia. It’s called The Pines. White people live here, lots of them.”

“That much I know. Should I come there?”

“And then what?” Moses asked.

“Where’s the house located?”

“No idea. I just ran.”

“I’ll bring along everyone we know!”

“That’s good. Don’t leave me here alone!”

“Absolutely not,” Sandi agreed. “No way!”

“I love you,” Moses said.

“I love you back. Come to the entrance.” With that, Sandi hung up.

Something had happened wherever the old man had come from. Moses wondered if he had trampled through his garden, too. Had he crunched his hedge? Tipped over a garden chair? The man rubbed his face, then did it again. The white guy with the club patted his arm and pulled a package of tissues out of his pocket. Handed the man one. He was clearly crying. Shaking her head, the woman who had seen him fall was saying something to the old man.

Because of the hedge? Not hardly. Maybe this was his chance , Moses thought. While the others were busy with whatever had happened to the old man, he could escape out back. He walked over to the terrace door and looked through the pane. Straight along the wall as fast as possible. At some point, he had to reach the gate and then freedom. He was about to turn the key in the glass door and open it, when it occurred to him that he might set off an alarm. Some doors and windows were part of the security system, and an alarm would go off if you opened them. That’s exactly what he didn’t need.

Moses returned to the child’s room and opened the window. That hadn’t caused any problems earlier and wouldn’t now either.

He cautiously stuck his head out, looking right and left. Nothing. He slowly lowered himself through the window until he was back on the terrace. He then kept running in the direction he’d been going. Less panicked. Calmer. He knew what he wanted. He had to somehow reach the exit. And Sandi had to come up with a plan.