Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: BUSY (08/15/19)
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TITLE: Rinkhals and Party Lines | Previous Challenge Entry
By Corinne Smelker
08/22/19 -
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“It’s chasing me!” I eventually made out, as he streaked along the long flat path in front of the farmhouse and skidded to a stop in front of me. He wasn’t looking at me though, but back towards the direction he’d ridden from.
Our mom tore out of the house in only the way a mother can when she knows her ‘cub’ is in trouble.
“What’s wrong?” She exclaimed, holding onto his handlebars to stabilize the bicycle.
“A snake!”
Mom and I looked at each other. Not only were we new to the area, we were new to the country – this alien territory of scorching sun, dust and little rain. But snakes too? Chasing people?
Our gardener, Sipho, came over to us. “Missus,” he addressed Mom. “There is a snake, a Rinkhals, very bad. Will chase you if you get too close.”
“Now I’ve heard it all,” Mom said. “As if it’s not bad enough that we have to shake out our shoes because of scorpions, and stand back when we turn on the bath taps in case a snake decided to crawl up there for a nap, they chase you? What was your father thinking?” she asked with a sigh.
“I go check,” Sipho said in his broken English, and picked up a large garden spade. Within a couple of minutes he returned, dangling the lifeless body of a five-foot long cobra-like creature. “Yes. Rinkhals,” he confirmed. “Maybe mother protecting her babies?”
“Well, I need to protect MY babies,” Mom said.
She went inside and I heard her dial the phone, to call Dad I assume. We lived so remotely we had a party line. As usual it was engaged. One neighbour, Sonja, had a monopoly on the line. A few minutes later Mom tried again. Still busy. She jiggled the receiver, a sign to Sonja that she really needed the phone.
I could hear snippets of the Mom’s conversation. Obviously she was NOT happy and was giving Dad a considerable piece of her mind. I wondered whether he’d even dare to come home.
The rest of the afternoon passed fairly uneventfully. I’d hear Mom on the phone every now and then. “Yes Joan. A snake! It’s a wonder he wasn’t bitten! We live so far out, he could have died.”
And, “Seriously! I am so thankful for Sipho. We’d all be dead in this house if it weren’t for him.”
After a tense dinner, where Mom gave Dad the silent treatment, I had to call a friend about some homework that was due the following day. I picked up the phone and heard Sonja on the line. Normally I’d put the receiver down straightaway, but my brother’s name caught my attention, so I stayed on the line.
“Ja, Piet. That is what I heard. Young Paul was bitten by a Rinkhals this afternoon. Ja, sad, hey? Shame. I hear he is busy dying…”
I hung up. And started laughing. I was only 10, but even to me, the phrase ‘busy dying’ just sounded so wrong! I went to the lounge and told my parents what Sonja had said. Mom glanced at Dad, anger forgotten, and they both burst out laughing. “Busy dying? How do you get busy dying?”
I had images of an old person, strolling around to friends, “Hey. So I am really busy. Yeah. Busy dying. Don’t think I can make the braai next week since I’m busy dying.”
We all lost it. “We may speak the same language,” Mom said, “but I don’t know that I will ever understand these people!”
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This is based on a true story, and in South Africa, the phrase ‘busy dying’ is extremely common.
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Loved this.