The old man stood on the balcony of his bachelor flat. Afternoon traffic rushed by but this did not interest him. Anger and revenge boiled in his stomach as he intently peered at the tow truck parked on the pavement below.
He vividly remembered the night that his son, Tom, died. He was expecting Tom to arrive from the suburb where he lived with his wife and two daughters. He was to visit them for the weekend. He stood on the balcony as now, all groomed, packed and ready to go.
With excitement he watched the car turn into his street. Excitement turned into horror as he saw the bus racing across the red robot, colliding with his son’s car at high speed.
The old man rushed down the stairs and into the street. The first thing he saw was a group of onlookers who came from nowhere. The next was the tow truck, its yellow lights flashing coming to a halt with screeching tyres. The driver jumped from the truck clipboard and pen in his hand.
When the old man finally reached the scene he saw the truck driver standing over his son’s limp and bloodied body saying “Please sign here Sir, you must sign here.” Angry he rushed forward but just then a uniformed police officer grabbed the tow truck driver by his collar shoved him into his vehicle and shooed him off. Suddenly ambulance personnel attended to Tom and the old man rushed closer to his son. He forgot all about the tow truck driver until…
The old man was on his way home from the local supermarket one morning, about six months after his son’s death. As he rounded the corner he saw the truck. It was parked on the pavement right in front of the block of flats where he lives. Anger boiled in his stomach.
He remembered when the anger became revenge. He was standing on the balcony staring at the tow truck. The memory of Tom’s accident repeated in his mind. “Please sign her Sir, you must sign here.” Over and over and then he heard other voices, those of the onlookers. “Bloody vulture, he has no respect. Can’t he see the guy is gone? These vultures will sign the papers in one’s blood if they can. Why doesn’t he call someone to help?”
Daily he stared at the truck. Daily he relived the memory, heard the voices in his head. Anger, resentment….revenge. His son was dead, he was hurting and here was someone to vent his anger on… to take revenge on.
He watched the parked truck on the pavement. The driver was smoking, listening to his radios, both to the local radio station as well as to the police band. Sometimes he rushed of to another accident, yellow lights flashing.
The truck always returned. The driver smoking, watching his portable television set, listening to his police band radio. And the old man… planning revenge.
The old man stood at the passenger side of the truck. The driver was asleep, lightly snoring. Anger, resentment, anger, resentment…
“Hi there uncle, can I help you.” The man was awake! “Yes… Hello” and the old man passed the mug he held in his hand to the man. “I did not mean to disturb you but I see you standing here everyday and I thought you could do with a cup of coffee.” “Yes, thank you,” the man reached for the mug.
Later on his balcony the old man contemplated his planned revenge. Phase one went smoothly. The man did not recognise him and suspected nothing. Revenge, sweet revenge...
Three weeks later the old man decided that it was time for phase two. The truck driver became used to the daily visits from the old man who brought him coffee. It was the first time in his life that someone reached out to him without expecting a favour in return. He started to enjoy the visits even though the old man did not speak much.
One morning the coffee contained enough ant poison to kill two men. It was tasteless with no smell. The old man had read that enough ant poison is guaranteed to kill a human… but it will be a slow painful death. Revenge, sweet revenge. The old man stood at the passenger door of the truck cup of coffee in his outstretched arm. The man reached for the cup… then everything went black.
The old man woke up in hospital. The nurse at his side informed him of the mild heart attack. He remembered the coffee, handing it to the truck driver and then drifted of to sleep.
The old man slowly woke up. “Hello uncle, you gave me such a fright. Just falling down like that and the mug shattering on the pavement. Fortunately it did not cut you. Are you okay now uncle? You became like a dad to me over the past weeks, you know the one I never had. I started to trust people more and decided no longer to be as hard on them. Don’t die on me now uncle.”
The old man listened to the young man rambling on, relieved. He lost his son, not by this man’s doing, and over the past weeks he gained… a son!! Revenge… long forgotten. At last peace flooded his soul.
Old man and young man eyeing one another in silent wonderment.
In South Africa today security plays a vital part in any business or private home. This book and the volumes to follow, will guide you step by step through the essential precautionary measures to be taken in protecting your family and valuables. From employing security guards, evacuation of your site and security measures to burglar bars and alarms in your private home.
a Book compiled by me from experience gained after 10 years in the security industry as Industrial relations officer with Nosa qualifications, 1st Aid, fire protection and also S.O.B. grade A.
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