30 January 2009
The Voice
The Voice
When I was a young man of about 26 I was employed on a contract in the Northern Transvaal.
I lived with two others on a farm about thirty miles from a small town.
My housemates were on leave and my housekeeping skills then, as now, were dismal.
So I arrived after work to find nothing edible in the house and decided to, quickly, before the sun sets to bag me pheasant or quail for dinner.
Just back of the house was a vast field with 8 ft tall grass and over the hill it faced onto a pool in a small stream, an ideal ambush spot for any fowl. So I set of with a shotgun and some birdshot cartridges and worked my way through the tall grass for 500 yards or so until only a screen of the grass shielded me from the view of anything in my intended killing range.
Looking at the sun I realised that my hunger and anticipation had led me to the spot twenty minutes early and so I settled down for a relaxing snooze.
A noise woke me up and I peered out from my hidey hole to see a young man, about my age walking towards me. I recognized him as Adriaan Foster who lived on the next farm with his elderly Mother and Father. Although I have met him several times and we were friendly, we were not friends, some of my friends who went to school with him called him aloof and stuck up as he was not a party reveler like ourselves.
Then as now my mind works by a system or systems, unknown, even to me.
And I lay there, thinking “Bummer, I am going to bed hungry tonight”
I must interrupt the story here to tell you that I have a booming voice, I mean military parade ground, BOOMING.
Without a thought or any contemplation I cupped my hands in front of my mouth and shouted “Adriaaaan Fosteerr”
He came to an abrupt halt and quizzically looked around, but the tall grass that hid me from his view also filtered the sound of my voice and hid the direction from where it came. I gave him thirty seconds or so and shouted again, slightly louder “Adriaaaaann Fosterrr”, he was completely taken aback and stood still peering at some bushes off to my right.
By now I had to hold my nose and mouth with my hand to stop the laughter that was welling up, so it was at least thirty seconds to a minute before I composed myself and shouted again “Adriaaaaann Fosterrr”. He was standing with a look on his face that made me grab my mouth and nose and bury my face in the ground and grass so as not to burst out laughing.
Then I heard a noise and looked up. The laughter drained out of my body as I saw the scene in front of me.
Adriaan had knelt down on one knee, his hat was in his left hand and his right hand was pointing skyward. His head was tilted back and he said in a strong voice “Speak my Lord, Your servant is listening”
The silence was deafening.
I coughed and got up, he glanced in my direction but said nothing, I had nothing to say either. As I walked past him I heard a heart rendering sob and then the sound of a grown man crying.
I went to bed hungry that night and I couldn’t sleep, not because of the hunger but because some sounds stay with you for a long, long time.
When I was a young man of about 26 I was employed on a contract in the Northern Transvaal.
I lived with two others on a farm about thirty miles from a small town.
My housemates were on leave and my housekeeping skills then, as now, were dismal.
So I arrived after work to find nothing edible in the house and decided to, quickly, before the sun sets to bag me pheasant or quail for dinner.
Just back of the house was a vast field with 8 ft tall grass and over the hill it faced onto a pool in a small stream, an ideal ambush spot for any fowl. So I set of with a shotgun and some birdshot cartridges and worked my way through the tall grass for 500 yards or so until only a screen of the grass shielded me from the view of anything in my intended killing range.
Looking at the sun I realised that my hunger and anticipation had led me to the spot twenty minutes early and so I settled down for a relaxing snooze.
A noise woke me up and I peered out from my hidey hole to see a young man, about my age walking towards me. I recognized him as Adriaan Foster who lived on the next farm with his elderly Mother and Father. Although I have met him several times and we were friendly, we were not friends, some of my friends who went to school with him called him aloof and stuck up as he was not a party reveler like ourselves.
Then as now my mind works by a system or systems, unknown, even to me.
And I lay there, thinking “Bummer, I am going to bed hungry tonight”
I must interrupt the story here to tell you that I have a booming voice, I mean military parade ground, BOOMING.
Without a thought or any contemplation I cupped my hands in front of my mouth and shouted “Adriaaaan Fosteerr”
He came to an abrupt halt and quizzically looked around, but the tall grass that hid me from his view also filtered the sound of my voice and hid the direction from where it came. I gave him thirty seconds or so and shouted again, slightly louder “Adriaaaaann Fosterrr”, he was completely taken aback and stood still peering at some bushes off to my right.
By now I had to hold my nose and mouth with my hand to stop the laughter that was welling up, so it was at least thirty seconds to a minute before I composed myself and shouted again “Adriaaaaann Fosterrr”. He was standing with a look on his face that made me grab my mouth and nose and bury my face in the ground and grass so as not to burst out laughing.
Then I heard a noise and looked up. The laughter drained out of my body as I saw the scene in front of me.
Adriaan had knelt down on one knee, his hat was in his left hand and his right hand was pointing skyward. His head was tilted back and he said in a strong voice “Speak my Lord, Your servant is listening”
The silence was deafening.
I coughed and got up, he glanced in my direction but said nothing, I had nothing to say either. As I walked past him I heard a heart rendering sob and then the sound of a grown man crying.
I went to bed hungry that night and I couldn’t sleep, not because of the hunger but because some sounds stay with you for a long, long time.
Comments:
.... damn.... where does one begin to comment to that...... |
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hoosierboy 02.01.09 - 4:50 pm #
BobG Homepage 02.01.09 - 11:54 pm # I woulda said, " Get the fuck up and don't sin no more" Keesie, I'm back. Come visit! www.atthefrothingmouse.blogspot.com Kim The Froth |
# posted by KeesKennis @
1/30/2009 03:18:00 PM
