Читать книгу Time Bomb - Johan Marais - Страница 5

1

A BAR FIGHT

Before I knew it, a mighty blow came from somewhere to my left and struck me on the jaw. I went down.

As I was lying on the ground, semi-conscious, someone kicked me in the face. I heard my nose crack and nearly lost consciousness again. From where I was lying, I watched a full-blown barfight develop, with everyone punching everyone else.

Here we go again, I thought. The same old bloody story.

It was a balmy Saturday evening and I’d been enjoying a cold beer (or six) in one of Nigel’s watering holes. We’d been watching a Currie Cup fixture on TV and everyone was in high spirits. In small pubs like this one, everyone knows everyone else and the entire community is familiar with one another’s disasters and achievements. I knew the place well. Nigel was my home town.

I couldn’t help noticing a woman with whom I’d been at odds on previous occasions and whom I avoided for that very reason. She kept looking in my direction, and I realised she was discussing me with her friend. It bothered me. After a few more beers I strolled over for a friendly greeting. She told me in no uncertain terms to fuck off and make sure that I kept my distance. I was happy to oblige. I did, however, mention the lady’s behaviour to the owner, who dismissed my complaint as unimportant, telling me to relax. “It’s just the way she is,” he said, “always looking for trouble.”

After a while I decided it was time to go. On my way out, the lady headed me off and launched into a tirade. I’d had enough by then. “If you want to behave like a man, I’ll treat you like a man,” I warned her. When she continued to swear at me, I snapped. I slapped her, sending her flying. She landed on her behind in a corner.

It was at that point that I was knocked flat. As I got to my feet, half dazed, I threw a punch at a sturdy young lad to my left. He went down, but his father, who’d been close at hand, stepped in and I joined his son on the floor.

There was a slight lull, which gave me the opportunity to ask who had kicked me in the face seconds before. When the fellow was pointed out to me, he began to curse vociferously. I aimed a blow at him but in my inebriated, punch-drunk state, I missed. He, on the other hand, found his mark.

Blood was pouring from my nose and mouth, spoiling my brand-new Pringle shirt. I realigned my nose and ascertained that, besides a broken tooth from the first blow and a sore lip, I was in reasonably good shape. At that point some blokes stepped in to restrain me, putting an end to the fight.

I drove home, knocked back a few painkillers and sank into a merciful sleep. The next morning I ached all over as I got into the shower. As the water poured over me, I had a moment of sanity. What had I been thinking the previous evening? I was fifty, after all. What was I trying to prove by carrying on like that?

I stood in the shower for a long time, trying to wash away the unsavoury events of the night before. Where had things gone wrong for me?

I remembered all the previous occasions before this last one. If there was trouble, I was there. I did not always go looking for it, but it always found me. I had no idea what had happened to my life, but I knew that I didn’t want to live like that any longer.