THE ONE SHOT POLICY

THE “ONE SHOT” POLICY

It was after midnight by the time Moses Sithole finally reached the fire-break. In the light of the full moon, he could see the fence – the last obstacle between him and freedom. He had to go over tonight. To try in daylight would be suicidal, as he had discovered to his detriment the last time he had dared to dally in open ground. A ripple of fear ran down his spine as he recalled the most frightening experience of his life! Oh yes, this man who had pursued him so doggedly was good and could not be toyed with – especially now that he was so close to freedom.

Freedom to live a few more months and then die an agonizing death! Still, it was better than being shot like a dog tonight. With a heavy heart he recalled his earlier visit to the clinic near his village…

“Mr. Sithole, your diarrhoea is not from something you have eaten. It is from a deadly disease called AIDS. There is no muti for it - no medicine I can give you to make you better. This disease has killed many thousands of people throughout the world and it will surely kill you too. I’m sorry.” Moses was stunned. He felt as though he wasn’t actually in the room with the doctor, but floating somewhere outside, looking in on this tragic scene.
“Although there is no cure, there is someone who can help ease the financial problems your unfortunate wife and children will be faced with when you pass,” continued the doctor. “It is a type of life insurance – a one-shot policy if you like,” he said, with more mirth than Moses felt appropriate for the occasion.
But it was all lost on Moses who had only heard about insurance. It was some type of savings which white men paid lots of money into in case the tsotsis stole their belongings. He never understood it then and surely had greater things to contend with now!

The man introduced to him as Jacob had indeed offered him some hope. Not necessarily for him, but for his family, as Dr. Khumalo had promised. Under the spreading branches of a flat crown, in a dusty clearing where children played noisily with an empty paraffin tin, Jacob explained the terms of a deal which could make his family rich. “My friend, many people are now suffering from this killer disease and all of them will die – you included. But I have friends – white men from America who have grown tired of hunting lions and elephant…” Slowly, carefully and without committing himself, Jacob outlined his plan, leaving Moses to fill in the blanks himself. The hunter, it seemed, was willing to pay a large sum of money if Moses was to agree to become his quarry. He would enter a ranch at one end and, if he made it to the other end, the money would be paid directly to him – no questions asked. If he failed to get to the other side, his wife would receive an anonymous contribution of the same amount. Either way, his family would never be found wanting again. Moses just sat there, incredulous!
“Go home and think about it, Moses. We will need your answer by tomorrow morning. And Moses, should anyone come to hear about our little discussion…” Jacob drew his forefinger across his throat, leaving little doubt as to the consequences of any indiscretions!

Moses had walked the dusty road to his village many times in his life, but this time was different. He stopped on a small hill and looked down at the neat array of huts, each with its well swept yard, its chickens and its goats. He could see his own huts and could hear the playful shouts of the village children. There was Miriam, his second wife, with Thandi, his last born. Fat as a tick, she ran on unsteady legs, trying in vain to catch a big brown hen. Squealing with glee, she wheeled and tried again and again as the hen evaded her. A faint dust plume caught his eye and “Wiseman”, his oldest son, came into view, riding the big, black Raleigh bicycle which Moses had bought for himself at Rajah’s store and which Wiseman now rode to school and back. Dressed in grey flannels and a black blazer, he already looked like the successful man Moses knew he would one day become.
His other three children had to walk to school and it would be a while before they appeared. He looked again at Wiseman. “What a bright future that boy has,“ he thought proudly. But without money, all his children – including Wiseman - would be denied a decent education and be destined to a life of rural poverty. Moses was ashamed when fat tears suddenly rolled down his cheeks and he quickly wiped them away in case anyone should see them. A man should not cry like a baby! But perhaps a man who had made a decision such as Moses had just done could be forgiven a small show of emotion.
At his feet was a cardboard box which contained twelve cartons of sorghum beer – all the credit that Rajah would allow him. It was an extravagance which would earn him a reprimand from Sandile, his senior wife, but in time, they would remember and appreciate his meagre farewell. It would be his farewell to the village and his family’s farewell to poverty. He picked up his box and slowly walked the last, winding kilometre to his village; slowly, for it was unlikely that he would make this trip again.

After the impromptu party, Miriam gave Moses that “look” and, despite the load on his shoulders, he was sorely tempted. The thought of her tender and willing loins stirred his senses and he almost followed her to her hut. But he had a date with his ancestors, sooner rather than later and this could well be his last night on earth. It seemed only proper that he spend it with old Sandile, she of the flaccid skin and pendulous dugs. Furthermore, he would need all his strength in the morning and a night with Sandile would not be as taxing as a night with the energetic and insatiable Miriam!

The next morning, Moses said an unemotional goodbye to his family. He did not want to arouse their suspicions and did nothing out of the ordinary. All went well until Wiseman came and told him that his school report was due that day and that he would be well pleased with his results. Suddenly, it was as if Moses had awakened from a deep sleep and was seeing reality for the first time. He didn’t want to die - he wanted to live – wanted to see his children grow up and have children of their own. He wanted to take another wife and get a better job! He wanted to buy another Raleigh from Rajah and race his son along the dusty foot paths. What a predicament he had got himself into. What an awful mess he had made. But all was not lost. If he could avoid the hunter and make it over the fence, then there was still hope, wasn’t there? He would have the means to achieve his goals. For the first time in his life he would know what this freedom is that everyone was talking about.

With renewed vigour, he reported to Jacob at the clinic as arranged. He wore khaki trousers and a white, short sleeved shirt. He was barefoot. Attached to a loop on his waist band was a small enamel cup and in his hand he carried a panga. These two items were part of his dress and accompanied him wherever he went. Neither man showed any emotion as they discussed the final details of their arrangement. Moses would start on the Northern boundary of a nearby game farm and would be required to travel to its Southern boundary fence. If he managed to escape through or over this fence, he would be paid a reward of R100 000 and be allowed to die the painful, though natural death which his disease had in store for him. If the hunter got to him first, death would come swiftly and painlessly, his wife would get the money and his family would forever have pleasant memories of their husband and father who had met with such a terrible accident, but who had been forward thinking enough to take out such a good insurance policy!

When they drove through the gates of the game farm, Moses’ spirits soared. He knew this place! He had worked here for two and a half years as a youth, looking after Mr. Bothma’s cattle. He remembered how fat they were and how far he had walked, tending them! That was before game farming had become more profitable – before Mr. Bothma had sold them all and switched over to nyamazanes which did not need Moses to take care of them…
Later, the farm had been claimed by the Khumalo clan. Suddenly, the picture was complete – that is how the good doctor had become involved.

Jacob handed Moses a white muslin bag of dry rations, but Moses’ eagerness to get going was making him feel more and more uneasy. This was a high risk business to say the least and he could sense trouble brewing. He only hoped that the hunter was as good as his reputation!

The homestead had naturally, been built on the top of the escarpment, giving a panoramic view of the valley below and the river, way off in the distance, near the horizon. Moses moved easily through the tree line, making his way steadily down towards the flood plain, so that he would not be too far from water. His diarrhoea had left him weakened, but above all, thirsty. Water was heavy to carry and it got hot in the heat of the day, so it made more sense to stay near natures’ own cool supply. He looked back often, searching for a sign of his pursuer, but saw nothing. And so, when he reached the open ground between the trees and the start of the riverine forest, he crossed it without hesitation.

The hunter placed his elbows on a flat rock half way down the plateau and, through the scope on his rifle, watched Moses nonchalantly breaking cover and walking toward an outcrop of rocks near the river. He felt offended that Moses should disrespect him in this way. He watched as Moses scooped a hollow in the sand a few metres from the river’s edge, waited for it to fill with cool, clear water and then filled his cup. After slaking his thirst, Moses placed his cup on top of a nearby rock. The cross-hairs moving over Moses’ body charged him with anticipation and his skin crawled. Like a hyena with slavering jaws, he watched as Moses opened his fly and relieved himself. He adjusted his aim slightly and, with practised ease, squeezed the trigger.

Moses dropped instantly to the ground. His ears were ringing from the crack of the passing bullet and his heart pounded like a herd of stampeding cows. What the hell had happened? He sat there, uncomprehending, feeling foolish. He actually burst out laughing when he looked down and saw that he had pissed his pants. The shock had left him shaking and he turned and surveyed the ground behind him. Where was the hunter and why had he not seen him earlier? His keen eyes scanned the middle distance, but he could see nothing. He cast his eyes left and right, but the hunter was nowhere to be seen. Just then, a glint of light caught his attention. It was far off, half way up the koppie he had just descended. That was impossible – he could never have fired from so far away! With growing apprehension, Moses tried to make sense of it all. He was a simple man and had no concept of the range, speed or accuracy of a modern hunting rifle. “So far away…” he kept thinking. “OK, so he can shoot from the next door farm,” – he chuckled at his own joke – “but I’m still here, alive and un-injured, which means that he missed! If I can keep that sort of distance between us I’ll be fine.” With that thought in mind, he reached for his tin mug – but it was gone! The realisation that the hunter had, in fact, not missed his target, left him stunned and, for the first time since this episode began, he was truly afraid. He fumbled with his belt buckle as another bout of diarrhoea hit him…

Moses had two options. He could follow the tree line which he knew would lead him to the fence, but would offer relatively sparse cover, or he could head for the thick bush lining the river. Here, he would be afforded good cover, but the going would be slow and arduous and he would leave an easily discernible trail on which the hunter would be able to travel quickly. He knew also, that the river veered off to the west some distance before the southern boundary of the ranch, which would leave a lot of open ground to cross before regaining the tree line. The thought sent a shiver down his spine! The trees seemed the better option, but the thought of a well defined track gave him an idea. With a quick glance behind him, he made a dash for the river.

Using his panga, he cut a swathe through the reeds. Moving as quickly as he could, he moved deeper into the reed bed until he found what he was looking for. A well used hippo trail crossed his path at right angles, heading inland, away from the river. The trampled reeds formed a mat which would easily hide his spoor. He continued on for perhaps twenty metres before finding a second, parallel path. He ran down this path, towards the river, cutting reeds as he went. When the trail disappeared into the water, he lopped off a few more reeds and then ran back to the first trail, ever fearful of running slap bang into the hunter! He slowed his pace and carefully stepped onto the reed mat, ensuring that he left no sign of his passing. With luck, the hunter would follow a false trail long enough to give him a sizeable head start!

Soon he was back in the relative safety of the trees and moving quickly along well worn animal paths. They were leading him back onto the plateau, climbing all the time. At one point, he was faced by an almost vertical bank and had to hold onto a thick, thorn covered creeper in order to make the ascent. This presented a good opportunity to give the hunter something else to think about. The thorns on the creeper were big – like the spurs on a rooster’s leg – and the strong vine was securely entwined in the upper branches of its host tree. Moses pulled it down as far as it would go and then wedged it with a short piece of stick. Satisfied that his booby trap would work, he carefully skirted it and scrambled up the bank.

The hunter cursed when he eventually unravelled Moses’ plan. He had lost a lot of time but was finally on Moses’ tracks again. He was not angry. Rather, he admired the man’s courage and ingenuity and was grateful for having been set such a demanding challenge. He tracked ahead of himself, not following individual footprints, but rather looking for broken twigs, bent grass or disturbed earth. Moses too, was moving quickly, leaving him little time to conceal his tracks. When he reached a steep bank, he was relieved to see Moses’ tracks clearly imprinted in front of him. He reached out and took hold of the vine.

Behind him, Moses heard a shout, followed by a long string of curses which he did not understand. It was a lot closer than he would have liked, but it had taken him a while to set his trap – time well spent, as it turned out!

The heat of the day and the fast pace Moses had set were taking their toll. As the shadows lengthened, he longed for water. Glancing to his left, he could see the sun’s last rays dancing on the distant river’s rippling surface and this just increased his craving. He squatted on the edge of the escarpment, elbows on his knees and tried to come up with a plan. He knew that the hunter would be on the same level as him and would have an equally commanding view of the valley, so to try and reach the river was out of the question. To make matters worse, the reed beds were criss-crossed with hippo trails and this was the time when they left the river to forage for food. He would far rather take his chances with the hunter than with an angry hippo! It wasn’t much further to the fence and he knew he could make it tonight, but not without food and water. He reached into the bag which Jacob had given him and tried to eat one of the dry biscuits, but his mouth was like cork and he could not swallow the crumbs. In disgust, he spat them out and wondered what to do next. He was startled by a thud behind him and spun around, instinctively throwing his body to one sign, expecting a bullet to come crashing into him. But instead of a speeding bullet, he saw a monkey apple rolling harmlessly toward him. Fat, round and full of delicious fruit, it had chosen this precise moment to detach itself and fall to mother earth! He snatched it up, cracked it open and greedily shovelled the flesh into his mouth. After eating two more, he felt like he could take on the world. This was the sustenance he needed for the final thrust. Discarding the muslin bag, he set off once again.

When the hunter found Moses’ bag of uneaten rations and the remains of the fruit, he cursed. He was dog tired and his left hand was throbbing where the thorns had ripped through it, but he knew that there would be no rest tonight. Moses was not going to stop until he reached the fence! To make matters worse, night was falling which meant that Moses held all the cards. Following him was going to be very difficult indeed. His only glimmer of hope was the full moon which would rise in about an hour. Until then, he would have to follow an imaginary straight line and hope for the best.

Moses was moving quickly and was soon bathed in sweat. It burned his eyes and plastered his shirt to his back. His shirt! “Hau, inkosi ami!” His white shirt! The hunter would spot it from a mile away! Hurriedly, he removed it and discarded it, hiding it behind a bush.

The hunter too, was making good time, sticking to the high ground and travelling due south. He hoped he was on the right track, but the bush seemed to be getting thicker and he was starting to have doubts. But then his luck suddenly changed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement. He peered into the darkness. Something white had appeared and, just as quickly, disappeared. It was off to his left and below him. He didn’t know what it was at the time, but knew it had to have something to do with Moses. Ten minutes later, he found the discarded shirt.

Crouching in the grass, Moses could see the silver fence, bathed in the moon’s eerie glow. His heart was beating furiously again and he looked around for a sign – some clue as to the hunter’s whereabouts. A short distance away a small herd of Impala grazed happily on the veld, unaware of the human drama which was unfolding. They seemed to be at peace with the world and their serenity gave him the confidence he needed. Steeling himself, he made a rush for the fence!

He hit it running, his panic stricken feet rasping over the wire, desperately searching for purchase whilst his hands clawed at the shiny strands. Finally, everything seemed to dig in at once and he was moving upwards, scaling his last obstacle. As his right hand reached the top wire, his feet slipped from under him and he almost fell. With all his weight supported on one arm, he started to swing his left hand upwards when he was struck by a searing pain between his shoulder blades. He tried to ease the pain by taking up some of the weight with his legs, but they would not respond; they just hung limply against the wire. At that moment, Moses knew he would not make it over the fence. The pain in his back was so intense and the disappointment of failure so overwhelming that he started to cry. But this time he made no attempt to hide his tears. He hung onto the top strand of wire and stared into the bush beyond. And then, through his tears, he saw Wiseman on his shiny, black Raleigh bicycle, pedalling furiously towards him, white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. He tried to call out, but no sound came. But when he looked again, it wasn’t Wiseman, but Dr. Khumalo and Jacob. What were they doing here, in the middle of nowhere? Panicking now, he glanced behind him and when he looked ahead again, they were gone. What he had seen was only a thorn tree, its branches swaying to and fro in the gentle breeze. His mouth filled with blood and he started to choke. Then his vision blurred and the strength left him. His fingers straightened and he fell to the ground. Blood oozed from the gaping exit wound in the middle of his chest and was greedily soaked up by the dry soil.

The little heard of Impala stood nervously to attention, nostrils flaring and ears twitching as they searched for signs of danger. Having found none, they followed the ram’s example and resumed their search for food, nibbling daintily on the short, sweet grass. Such is the cycle of life and death in the African bush. Death comes to the unwary or the unwell. Those who survive do not mourn death, but celebrate life and its uncertainty.

Dr. Khumalo and Jacob waited nervously for the hunter’s call. They were on the point of implementing their “plan B” when it eventually came. This was too lucrative a business to leave loose ends lying around and they were not prepared to take any chances. One way or another, the hare would never live to incriminate the hounds!

When they found him, the big American looked badly in need of a bath and a rest. “What happened to your hand?” asked Jacob. “Oh, caught it on some thorns,” he replied, looking wistfully at the blood soaked dressing on his left hand. “Holy shit man, this guy near ran me into the ground. Remember the last guy you sent me? He hardly made it out of the camp!” (What they did remember was the hunter’s heated demands for a refund) “But this one was a real mover - I even got to thinking that maybe I wouldn’t catch him at all! Are you sure he had the pox?”
Dr. Khumalo looked at Jacob who smiled wryly and said, “Surely sir, you would not doubt the word of a highly trained health professional.”



Terry Rizzato