Max Annas - The Wall

“What are they doing?” she heard Thembinkosi say.

“Something with a car.”

“They’re going to dump the body.”

“Not yet. Not with that car. People can see in it.”

“What now?” Thembinkosi asked.

“How would I know? In any case, one of them has left. To get another car.”

How could someone get out of a gated community? Through the gate you entered through. But how could he get back to the gate?

Moses was still standing behind the shoulder-high wall, trying to figure out where he was. The walls, the electrified wire, and the surveillance conveyed the message that nobody was allowed in unless they belonged here. All the burglars and tramps, all the poor and disadvantaged, you needed to defend yourself against. It was the same regardless of where you had to live in South Africa. But he wanted to get out. He hadn’t come here voluntarily.

But how to get out? And where? Was there something like an emergency exit here? A gated community didn’t need a fire escape or an evacuation plan. After all, there was only the one exit. He had to get there. But how? The security company’s bakkie drove across his field of vision. An older black man was sitting at the wheel. A few minutes ago, he hadn’t even paid attention to who was driving the car that tried to run him down.

Maybe the nanny could help him. He should have asked her. The first friendly person he’d encountered in here. Moses ducked and crept back to the parallel street. He heard the white guy’s voice again.

“If I were in charge here, none of this would have gotten so far.”

“What do you mean?” a second voice asked. Also masculine. Also white. Also no longer young. Was that the referee? He couldn’t remember how his voice sounded.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes…” The second voice sounded teacherly. “It’s different than it used to be. Be careful. You don’t want to end up in trouble when all’s said and done.”

“Burglary. Rape. Who knows what else he’s up to?”

The two men were standing on the other side of the wall. Moses tried not to breathe.

“Still, there shouldn’t be any shooting unless it’s an emergency. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah… Sure, only in an emergency.”

“And even then… Think about what the newspapers will write about it.”

The footsteps faded. Moses began to breathe again.

“Which of the two of them has left?” Thembinkosi leaned out of the wardrobe. His door opened in such a way that he couldn’t see out the window.

“No idea,” Nozipho said. “I only saw the car driving away.”

The garage door slammed. A phone rang.

“Yes,” High Voice said.

Thembinkosi stepped back into the wardrobe and nodded at Nozipho. They both left the doors behind which they were hiding open a crack. Air circulation.

“Everything’s fine,” High Voice said. “No, Mother’s doing well.” He had to be standing right outside the room. “Yes, she went shopping. Uh-huh… I’ll tell her. She probably has her phone turned off again. Sure. Yes, I love you, too. Take care.”

A few moments later, High Voice was in the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a glass.

“His mother?” Nozipho asked quietly.

“His mother-in-law.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, just a feeling.”

The sound of a bottle being opened in the kitchen. Something was poured into a glass. Drawers.

“What should we do?”

“Either we wait. Or we do something.” Thembinkosi exhaled through his lips.

“What could we do?”

Thembinkosi stepped out of the wardrobe. Spoke quietly. “As soon as we leave this room, we’ll face a confrontation. We’ll have to…”

“…incapacitate him. They murdered that woman. We can’t tell him that we just happened to be in this house and now want to leave, and that we promise not to say anything.”

The shrill siren of a police car in the distance.

“Great,” Nozipho said. “And now the cops. They were feeling left out.”

Moses was still sitting with his back against the wall. He could breathe again, but his legs didn’t want to obey. The white trash guy was dreaming of blowing him away. That meant he had a gun on him that would enable him to do that. Every street he crossed from this point on might be his last one. The guy could be standing anywhere, waiting to just shoot him. I felt threatened , he would say afterward. Scared of a burglar and rapist. After his death, nobody would give a shit what the newspapers printed.

He didn’t want to die.

He needed to be more careful.

Back on all fours. That alone was humiliating. And back in the other direction. The first house. Then the next. The girl’s face was no longer in sight. Cautiously. There were probably people at home. They probably knew what was going on in the neighborhood and were now more diligent than usual.

Moses peered around the corner of the house at the street on which the nanny had just been playing ball with the little boy. He couldn’t see them anywhere. Or hear them. So keep going. Running the few meters to the wall behind which he had hidden several minutes ago, he threw himself back down in the grass. The dead bird was still being disemboweled by the ants. He lifted his head and looked in both directions, but couldn’t see either the nanny or the child.

Lowered, then lifted his head again. For thoroughness’ sake. Who else might help him? A guard appeared at the next corner. Moses immediately ducked back down.

Wait. Let him pass. Disappear. Then look for the Kaizer Chiefs’ house. The footsteps slowly grew closer. Rubber-soled boots, not loud but audible. Only a few meters away. Moses wished he was as tiny as the ants close to him.

For a long second, Moses heard no noise at all. Each noise seemed to have vanished, to have been swallowed up like under a bell. There were also no smells. And his attempt to feel was just as futile as his attempt to hear. The blood had drained from his fingers and toes. No circulation.

Stasis. Complete. Practically dead.

Tried to quietly breathe in. And back out. In. Back out. Where was the guy?

The blow from the club almost deafened him. It landed on the wall, not on his body, but Moses jerked so hard he almost pissed himself.

“I got him!” the guard yelled, grabbing Moses’ feet at the same moment.

It took an eternity for Moses to recover from the shock. Might have been a half or full second. At first, he thrashed about helplessly, then with more determination. He was able to pull up his knees, which destabilized the guard. He then stretched his legs back out. As fast as he could. He hit the guard in his support leg and heard something crack. It was so loud and clear that it seemed like it wanted to make up for the seconds of total silence.

Very close by, he could hear the siren of a police car.

Sandi was standing in her room. She was convinced at least twenty minutes had passed. Maybe more. The phone was still in her hand. Sweat trickled down her back.

The room was small. Bed and wardrobe and kitchenette in less than twenty square meters. Toilet and shower in an old supply closet. She wasn’t complaining. Some of her friends had it even worse. Communal kitchens were shit. Communal bathrooms were shit, in the literal sense. Above all, when the boys used them. She gazed at the small photo of her and Moses that she’d pinned up over her bed.

What had Moses gotten himself into now?

Wrong question. She shook her head. Disloyal. A betrayal to their relationship.

Once more from the top. What had actually happened to Moses? The car, his phone, the gated community—why would anyone want to live in such a hell hole—the two white men, and then the break-in.