Halley's Comet by Hannes Barnard
Author:Hannes Barnard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Random House South Africa
Published: 2022-01-28T09:01:15+00:00
The trip
Away games in Ladysmith were the worst. There was nothing wrong with the town itself; it was large and had a few grand old buildings, although the place had seen better days and had a tired look to it. Just like the busloads of travelling rugby, hockey and netball players arriving after their painfully slow Saturday-morning journeys. It was particularly bad for those living in Dannhauser. Long before the sun rose you had to get the school kombi, which then took you in completely the wrong direction, back to Dundee, where all the teams boarded the school buses and set off on the red-eye trip to Ladysmith. From the pick-up in Dannhauser to the large field at the rear of Ladysmith High Schoolâs main pavilion, it took easily two-and-a-half soul-destroying hours. It was the single biggest reason why Dundee didnât have a fantastic record against them; the kids were too tired to be motivated.
Today, though, as the bus filled with senior rugby and hockey players made its way along the drawn-out hilly road to Ladysmith, Pete was loving every minute of it. On his shoulder, Renate was sleeping peacefully. She made soft breathing sounds and her arm was anchored around his middle.
He gazed out at the sun dangling low above the horizon, illuminating hundreds of acacia trees and rocky hills in its fiery glow. It struck him how incredibly inexplicable the human mind was. A week ago, he was a mess, almost killed, but now, with his arm around Renate, he felt as though life could not be any sweeter. Are our memories so weak that the simplest positives can blank out the most horrid memories? The image of that boy, the now-dead boy, who had been right next to him was still very raw. He could see the blood pouring out of his young body, the fear, hate and anguish in the fatherâs eyes as he scooped up his son, knowing that as a father he should have protected him â but couldnât. No one could have. Perhaps we paint over the dark torrents of hurt with a thin layer of caramelised sugar, Pete thought, to keep some sort of grip on our minds, to stop us from drowning in what lies beneath. If only caramel didnât fracture so easily and release that hidden dread to spoil the sickly-sweet coating.
The bus struggled up a long, winding hill. The driver, Mr Watson, a retired former biology teacher, searched through the gears for more power from the ageing beast, but all he managed was to agitate the sleepy teenagers. Renateâs head slipped off Peteâs shoulder and onto his chest. She woke briefly, her eyes fluttering rather than opening, and she smiled at him before nestling her head on his shoulder once more. There, it happened again, one quick smile and the feel of her small, delicate hand finding a new resting place around his middle, and the caramel hardened all over again. No darkness or grief, just rainbows and butterflies.
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