THE THIRD AND LAST WE HOPE

Howard was the harbinger of the bad news that my man, the lad I had had such high hopes for, had reported that my horse, the love of my life, my bakkie, my beloved and vital pick-up truck had been stolen from the farm!

‘Oh woe is me’, cried I ‘OH NO NO NO”.
I was not happy, this was a lot worse than just a heart attack this was an attack on the very foundation of survival for all on the estate.

Now Wonder boy as readers of these ramblings might recall arrived on the farm a few years ago and deeply impressed me with his clever hands and brain, but mainly that he seemed to want to work and make something of himself, a rare attribute out here. I vested in him trust and responsibility, I set him above other men and gave him all the wisdom and knowledge I could, I had such hopes and he has taught me a profound and expensive lesson.

Like most disasters this started very small, and there in is the rub. A battery charger disappeared, a small and really quite insignificant thing.
I who locks nothing, and who has lived here on my mountain with many people and have lost less could not believe that it had been stolen, and settled on the ‘lost’ theory. This was in retrospect my blunder and I must now beat my chest and once again cry ‘mea culpa’ as I should then and there have made a big fuss.

So began a series of mysteries, a cow, chainsaw, various tools, petrol all sorts of things just started to disappear but no one could be identified as the perpetrator. Actually we all knew, just knew it was him, but I refused to see the evil in him, so I lost my old bakkie, rolled when drunk and now even my fab Toyota Legend 35 pick-up with leather seats, blue teeth and chromed roll and nudge bars was dead because of him the bastard.

I delayed my return to the farm for both medical and practical reasons as well as the fact that I had no desire to interview Mr. Wonder whom I knew was to blame and on whom I had nothing on.

Having rented a vehicle I wondered my disconsolate way back, and as a consolation I stopped at Woolworth at Witbank to get some goodies, while there I just happened to call my good chum Phishy Tim to enquire after a product he had found there and naturally the discussion turned to recent events.

He had a tale to tell that changed the entire complexion of the dreaded interview with the wicked Wonder, suddenly from being a third rate power in my own domain I was elevated by Phishy Tim’s tale to that of all powerful and mighty.

It transpired that at last the bugger had made a blunder and had taken the bakkie to Tim’s place (without permission) to get some money from him and was thus bust to rights and could be immediately arrested and thrown into prison. I was delighted and having arranged this with the authorities was spared any confrontation and he was hauled off never to be seen again.

Once in the tender hands of Inspector Michael Mthunzi he soon spilt the beans and the whole sad and sorry tale came out. Nothing unusual or funny, in brief he took the money from Phishy and spent it on booze, got drunk and crashed the vehicle into some other folk, ran away and concocted a pathetic story about a mysterious theft, so he is gone and I miss him but am glad that that sad saga is over.

Just as an aside, when I went to the cop station to turn him in I found Brendon, Michael and Karel sitting around their prison look strangely smug. Like cats that have got the cream. I enquired at this sudden contentment with their lot and was gleefully informed that indeed my powers of perception were not letting me down and that yes indeed they were reveling in some long absent job satisfaction.

There had been riots in town that had handed them the opportunity to stick it to many members of the chattering classes who had in the past, been less than polite/helpful in their dealings with the officers of the law. They mentioned that over 7000 rounds had been expended in their struggle to maintain law and order. They were well pleased.
As was I, it seemed that the heavy hand of the law so long absent was being felt.