Max Annas - The Wall

What could I do? she wondered. Nothing came to her. Just like a few minutes ago, and the time before, and the time before that. But there was always something you could do. Right?

So once again. Sandi sat down on the bed and pulled her shoes on. It gave her the feeling of doing something. Go stand at the entrance to that gated community , she thought. But how? With whom? With what?

With guns.

Ridiculous. She didn’t know anyone who had any. Except for her uncle in Mthatha. Just go in. Search. Take Moses by the arm. Walk out.

Sandi rummaged around under her bed. Pulled out a shoebox. Opened the lid. Pulled out a few maps. Flipped through them. Zimbabwe. Lesotho. Durban.

She left her room and knocked on her neighbor’s door. Laura opened right away.

“You have a city map, don’t you?” Laura had moved from Zambia three months ago. And had her own car. How else would she find her way around?

“Sure.”

“May I borrow it?”

Two minutes later, the map was stretched out on the bed in Sandi’s room. She was kneeling beside it. Here was Abbotsford, situated at a highway intersection. Mostly small single-family homes and a few newer gated communities. And there was Dorchester Heights, larger homes, a subdivision stretched along the Nahoon River. Suburbia lifted out of a dictionary, and not even a single shop where you could just buy a loaf of bread. The map didn’t show her where The Pines was located. But there couldn’t be all that many possibilities. The river was here, Dorchester Heights was there, just as it was printed on the map.

There weren’t many other open spaces. She could envision quite precisely where Moses was. What she couldn’t envision was how she was going to actually help him.

The security guy instantly released his hold on Moses. From his mouth emerged a sound of surprise, more than of pain.

Stand up, quickly look around. Nobody else was nearby. Back around the house. His ears were still throbbing from the blow that hadn’t even struck him. Had he been seen from inside this time? No time to worry about that. Quickly into the next yard. Pause at the wall where he had earlier eavesdropped on the white guy with the club and the other voice. They would shoot him. He had to escape, but he also needed to be careful.

The street was empty. No face in a window, as far as he could see. The two white men had headed to the left. He took off to the right. That was the wrong direction. Away from the exit. Once again. Then again, if this was about survival , he thought, there actually wasn’t a wrong direction .

Moses sprinted down the street and saw the small hill off to his right. So, he was heading toward the river. That was the direction he’d taken at the beginning. A T-intersection in front of him, twenty or thirty meters off. He’d cover the distance rapidly. But which way after he did? Right or left? Make up your mind , Moses chided himself.

To the right of the intersection, three people materialized. Moses slowed down slightly.

Two old women and an old man. The man with a stick, both women with dogs. A senior citizens’ patrol.

“There he is!” the man cried.

One of the two women screamed. One of the dogs began to yap. The other followed suit. The group had now reached the middle of the intersection. The man spread out his arms, using his stick as a barrier. Don’t do that , Moses thought. And: Hopefully, they aren’t armed . He started to run faster.

The other woman yelled: “Here! Help! Help!”

Past them into the T-crossing and down the next street. Moses could still hear one last “Hellllp!” with a very long L.

Dogs , Moses thought fleetingly. Real dogs. They weren’t here yet . Keep running. Forward and to the right toward the river. Straight ahead and slightly downhill toward… Toward where? There were no directions. Everything here was offlimits, everything was cut off by an endless wall. Make up your mind.

Somewhere behind him, he heard the short yelp of a police siren. A guard appeared in front of him. So to the right it was. Free until the next T-intersection. Very close to the river. Then see from there. Run.

Moses couldn’t see the guard who had hidden behind one of the walls. He was mid-stride with both feet off the ground when the body check came. Stumbled to the side, couldn’t regain his balance, landed with his chest against a trash can that fell over. He somersaulted over the large plastic container and landed in the filth that was now spilling out of the can. The other man fell on top of him and kept rolling due to his momentum. The guard crashed into the wall of the next house with his shoulder and yelled loudly with pain.

But he was quickly back up on his feet, faster than Moses, who was still sliding around in the garbage. The security guy planted himself in front of him, legs spread, as he held his shoulder. Moses slowly stood up as the whee-ooo, whee-oo of the police siren grew closer. The guard was obviously in extreme pain as he cried: “Just stand there! They’ll catch you!”

The police car rounded the corner. Moses turned around, slid precariously on the trash again, regained his balance, and sprinted across the street.

“Stop!” came the order from the police loudspeaker. “This is the police! Stop immediately.”

Moses was just vaulting over a waist-high wall. As he took off, he noticed that something slimy was stuck to his shoe. He was lucky he hadn’t face planted against the wall.

The police sped up, and as Moses slipped down the side of the house, he could already hear the brakes. Doors opening, doors slamming, boots running. Moses was behind the house, paused to consider his options, ran along the house toward the neighboring yard instead of making a beeline for the next street. A hedge with yellow flowers, thick but not too tall. He dove across it and landed on the other side. A soft impact this time. He hunched up small. Wanted to be invisible. Once again. Forever now.

“Where is he?” he heard a man ask.

“Has to be back there,” a woman said.

Back there meant not here in the front. They were looking somewhere else. The voices soon moved away.

“Do you see him?” The man. Further off.

“Not here.” The woman.

Moses looked around, but didn’t stand up. Hanging in the window, a poster of Itumeleng Khune. The Kaizer Chiefs’ goalie. And captain. Was he actually where he’d wanted to be? The house had two stories, as he recalled. He got to his feet and crouched over as he ran toward the front facade. There was the tricot in the window. There was the mailbox which had caused him to even notice the house in the first place. Moses walked up to the front door and hoped to remain out of sight until the door opened. He knocked and waited.

“We’ve never taken out anyone,” Nozipho said quietly. They were standing at the window and looking out at the street.

“I know,” Thembinkosi said.

“It isn’t our style.”

“I know.”

“We do what we do because we’re good at it. And not the other.”

Thembinkosi didn’t say anything.

“And when that girl tried to steal my purse… you weren’t even able to hit her. I had to do it.”

“I know. But we’ve always known that at some point it might be necessary. And as far as that girl…”

“Psst!”

Footsteps could be heard in the hallway. It was too late to slip into the wardrobe. The steps kept going. Piss splashed in the toilet.

“I need to go, too,” Nozipho said.

“As far as that girl was concerned, that was completely different. You didn’t have to hit her.”

“But I wanted to.” Flushing.