Pop-Splat by Ian Martin

Author:Ian Martin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Hubris
Published: 2010-09-28T04:00:00+00:00

It was getting light as they left Port Elizabeth. Matt felt exhausted. Through the long night he had dozed maybe once or twice.

The vegetation was changing and the landscape was becoming more hilly. They were moving into settler country. One settler, one bullet. Were whites in the Eastern Cape proud of their settler heritage? The reactionary racists might be, but they probably kept it to themselves. The road began to climb and wind its way over a mountain pass, or poort. Then at the top of the valley they turned off and descended into Grahamstown.

It was a scruffy little town built on a narrow plain and radiating into the surrounding hills. Most of the buildings were old and in need of maintenance. This must be British colonial architecture, he thought. Not like the Cape Dutch style of Stellenbosch, which he remembered as having a much more vibrant and prosperous feel to it. There was refuse in the storm water channels, and groups of shabbily dressed darkies were already gathering under trees or on street corners, having despaired of finding work for the day.

The bus turned off Somerset Road onto the campus. Prince Alfred was a tree-lined avenue that climbed steeply uphill. Progress was slow, not only because of the incline but also on account of the numerous speed bumps and pedestrian crossings. Large academic buildings, mostly old and a bit battered looking. Plenty of students wandering about, a good mix of colours but predominantly white. This was an elitist place for sure, gradually adapting to 21st century South Africa but still a way to go. By the time he graduated he’d be part of the new elite. If he graduated.

They passed a big three-storey building and he saw the stone plaque: Graham House. This was his residence.

At the top end of the road the bus stopped and everyone got off. Loaded up with his luggage he limped back down the hill. The pavement was uneven, tree roots having broken up the surface, and sometimes he had to duck under overhanging branches. Twice he stumbled and nearly fell. Ahead of him were two girls. The one in a short skirt had long shapely legs deeply tanned by the summer sun. It made him think of Ophabia, so he not only had to contend with pain in his knee, but his heart as well.

He had to climb two flights of concrete steps to the entrance doors of Graham House. The warden, a tall, sandy-haired young man with thick round spectacles was playing pool with the reception committee in the Common Room. They were all superficially friendly and welcoming. They took his bags and led the way.

His room was on the second floor. The sparse furnishings had been worn by years of rough treatment but there was a view and the room was spacious enough. After they had left he lay down on the bed and felt the tiredness wash over him in waves. For a while he lay there looking up at

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