It had happened under cover of night, but when the alarms sounded all pretence of secrecy was gone. They had swept into the house and taken jewellery, money, electronics, all the while shouting and waving their guns at us. We couldn’t hear what they were saying because of the alarms, but their faces said it all. We were insects trapped inside a ringing church bell with a group of desperate and angry hornets.
They were gone before the security company arrived, wielding their guns and shouting their orders to one another. They said we were lucky no one was killed. I had heard stories of these security companies shooting people who were innocent, but I didn’t have to worry because I was white. I was still shaking.
I don’t know how, but I was so tired I managed to go back to sleep.
The fresh clarity of the morning was almost too much to bear. I woke up feeling empty, and when I looked around the house I saw that it was empty too. My dad sat at the kitchen table reading something, blood encrusted on his lip. I decided I couldn’t stay in the house and went outside.
There was a light mist, so that beads of water formed on my arms and legs, and everything seemed to shimmer with an ethereal quality. A bird cawed above, and I could hear it flapping its huge wings. The lush, green grass seemed to whisper in the wind, and there were little specks of pollen floating in the air, glowing in the warmth of the morning sun. When I closed my eyes, there was peace.
Behind the trees, wires stretched up and all around the property line, a fence to keep people out. I followed the fence around, looking in at our house from the edge. The little metal bars behind the windows had been torn out of their frames, the glass smashed and the wood broken. There was a hole in the fence. Why didn’t the alarm go off when they made it?
I carried on round and walked beneath the trees lining the front garden. I saw that someone had trodden on mum’s bright red flowers, but I couldn’t tell if it was the thieves or the security guards.
I was young, but I knew why it had happened. There were poor people in our country, as well as rich people. I had seen the slums outside Johannesburg. You must always lock your door, in case the people who try to sell things to you when you are stopped at the robots get angry.
I was suddenly jerked back to reality – Dube, our dog, was dead, floating in the swimming pool. I felt too empty to cry. He wasn’t so lucky after all.
When I came back in I heard that my parents were talking in the next room. I couldn’t tell what they said a lot of the time, but I knew they were worried from hurried, shaky way they spoke. They said something about England.
I remembered we had relatives living in England, but whenever we visited they always seemed to have less than us. In England everything is so expensive you can’t afford much, my mum said. It’s so crowded they have houses with two floors, just so they can fit more houses in. They don't need high gates around their gardens. A lot of them don't even have gardens.
Listening to the muffled shouts, I thought of the last time my parents had argued. Dad ran a business, and he did pretty well. One day, dad had come home with a huge grin on his face, talking about people who worked for nothing. Mum had glared at him, and later I had heard them arguing in their room. Mum was shouting something about exploitation, but at the time I didn’t know what that was.
As I thought about this I looked out across our garden, at the jungle gym dad had built last summer at the weekend. I had seen monkeys playing on it not long ago. They were a menace, my dad said, stealing food whenever they got in the house. I secretly liked them, and sometimes even threw some food to them when no one else was looking. No monkeys in England.
I could hear my parents clearly now – they had raised their voices and were yelling at each other. I hid in the little gap between the side of the sofa and the wall, and buried my head in my hands.
I heard something about the outside alarms. What if we didn't need to turn on the alarms every night?
The door slammed and someone came storming out of the room, and then out of the house. I could hear the car pulling out of the drive. I heard the cold machine buzz as the electronic gate opened, and then heard them clang together as they closed.
I went through into the room where they had been arguing. My dad sat there, stony faced. He looked tired. It scared me to see my dad so weak. It reminded me of last night – we were so helpless.
My mouth was dry, but I managed to part my lips and ask, “Where did mum go?”
“She just needed to get away for a while”
That wasn’t really an answer, but I turned around and left the room. Out of the shattered window I could hear a pattering on the thick, dark leaves, as it began to rain.
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