Read Online Drowning by Jassy Mackenzie - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jassy Mackenzie
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Heading downhill, the vehicle jounced over a series of steep bumps in the road. Glancing up, I saw that the intense heat had already formed a series of cumulus clouds which bulked on the horizon, grey and threatening.
“We’ve got an hour, maybe two, before it rains again,” he said. “Let’s deliver this diesel. I’ll show you the bridge on the way back.”
When we arrived at the neighboring farm, I was introduced to the owners—Thandiwe, an elegantly dressed black woman, and her blonde-haired, German husband, Berndt.
“Thank you so much,” Thandiwe said, as Berndt and Nicholas hefted the containers from the back of the truck and carried them into the garage. “We were planning to go into town as soon as the storm had passed. Bad luck about the bridge.”
“Look on the bright side. At least you weren’t stuck in town when it collapsed.”
Nicholas’s words were interrupted by a loud wailing. A chubby boy with enormous brown eyes and a halo of frizzy dark brown hair came running into the garage, blood spurting from a gash on his chin. He was followed closely by an anxious-faced girl a few years older.
“Mom!” she cried. “David fell and hurt himself in the garden.”
Picking the boy up with concern in her eyes, Thandiwe turned—not to Berndt, but to Nicholas.
“Doctor,” she said anxiously, “thank goodness you’re here. It’s all happening at once today. Would you mind taking a look?”
Nicholas examined the bleeding cut carefully.
“It should heal fine, but it’ll need a stitch or two.”
“Do you have your kit with you?”
“Always, Thandiwe.”
I watched in surprise as he jogged back to the car, returning a minute later with a large plastic trunk. He pulled on gloves before removing the equipment he needed from the stock of supplies inside.
Berndt held the child on his knee while Thandiwe and I watched from a safe distance. The child’s sobs abated as Nicholas spoke to him gently before injecting tiny amounts of what I supposed was a pain killer. Then, with precision and care, he closed the wound with three small stitches.
“I didn’t know he was a doctor,” I said to Thandiwe.
“Oh, he’s not actually a doctor. We just call him that. He’s a paramedic who’s done years of work overseas. Or so he tells us.” She smiled, looking at me with some curiosity. “He doesn’t tell us much, actually. Are you—er—how do you know him?”
“He pulled me out of the river when my car washed away,” I said. “I’m staying until the bridge is rebuilt.”
Thandiwe clapped her hands over her mouth.
“No! You’re the woman who almost died? Berndt took his tractor down to the river to help Nicholas reach you. He said it was the most frightening experience—a race against time with the car being washed downstream in that raging water. He came back and said Nicholas had told him your heart had stopped and he didn’t know if you were going to make it.”
“Well, so far, so good,” I told her. “I’m very grateful to Nicholas. He’s given me my life back.” I added quickly, in a firm voice, “All the same, I can’t wait to be home with my husband.”
To my surprise, Thandiwe gave me a big hug. “I’m so glad you are okay.”
With the stitching finished, Nicholas removed his gloves and packed his first aid kit away before washing his hands thoroughly in the farmhouse kitchen. Five minutes after that we were ready to go home. Before we left, Thandiwe thrust a large, heavy cooler bag into my hands.
“Here you go,” she said, smiling. “As a thank-you.”
“It’s packed with meat, I’m sure,” Nicholas said. “You didn’t need to, Thandiwe. But it will be very welcome.”
When we got into the car again, he asked me, “Do you want to go and see where the bridge was? It’s just a little further down the road.”
The early afternoon had become grey and cool, with threatening clouds bulking overhead.
“As long as you don’t think we’ll get
Heading downhill, the vehicle jounced over a series of steep bumps in the road. Glancing up, I saw that the intense heat had already formed a series of cumulus clouds which bulked on the horizon, grey and threatening.
“We’ve got an hour, maybe two, before it rains again,” he said. “Let’s deliver this diesel. I’ll show you the bridge on the way back.”
When we arrived at the neighboring farm, I was introduced to the owners—Thandiwe, an elegantly dressed black woman, and her blonde-haired, German husband, Berndt.
“Thank you so much,” Thandiwe said, as Berndt and Nicholas hefted the containers from the back of the truck and carried them into the garage. “We were planning to go into town as soon as the storm had passed. Bad luck about the bridge.”
“Look on the bright side. At least you weren’t stuck in town when it collapsed.”
Nicholas’s words were interrupted by a loud wailing. A chubby boy with enormous brown eyes and a halo of frizzy dark brown hair came running into the garage, blood spurting from a gash on his chin. He was followed closely by an anxious-faced girl a few years older.
“Mom!” she cried. “David fell and hurt himself in the garden.”
Picking the boy up with concern in her eyes, Thandiwe turned—not to Berndt, but to Nicholas.
“Doctor,” she said anxiously, “thank goodness you’re here. It’s all happening at once today. Would you mind taking a look?”
Nicholas examined the bleeding cut carefully.
“It should heal fine, but it’ll need a stitch or two.”
“Do you have your kit with you?”
“Always, Thandiwe.”
I watched in surprise as he jogged back to the car, returning a minute later with a large plastic trunk. He pulled on gloves before removing the equipment he needed from the stock of supplies inside.
Berndt held the child on his knee while Thandiwe and I watched from a safe distance. The child’s sobs abated as Nicholas spoke to him gently before injecting tiny amounts of what I supposed was a pain killer. Then, with precision and care, he closed the wound with three small stitches.
“I didn’t know he was a doctor,” I said to Thandiwe.
“Oh, he’s not actually a doctor. We just call him that. He’s a paramedic who’s done years of work overseas. Or so he tells us.” She smiled, looking at me with some curiosity. “He doesn’t tell us much, actually. Are you—er—how do you know him?”
“He pulled me out of the river when my car washed away,” I said. “I’m staying until the bridge is rebuilt.”
Thandiwe clapped her hands over her mouth.
“No! You’re the woman who almost died? Berndt took his tractor down to the river to help Nicholas reach you. He said it was the most frightening experience—a race against time with the car being washed downstream in that raging water. He came back and said Nicholas had told him your heart had stopped and he didn’t know if you were going to make it.”
“Well, so far, so good,” I told her. “I’m very grateful to Nicholas. He’s given me my life back.” I added quickly, in a firm voice, “All the same, I can’t wait to be home with my husband.”
To my surprise, Thandiwe gave me a big hug. “I’m so glad you are okay.”
With the stitching finished, Nicholas removed his gloves and packed his first aid kit away before washing his hands thoroughly in the farmhouse kitchen. Five minutes after that we were ready to go home. Before we left, Thandiwe thrust a large, heavy cooler bag into my hands.
“Here you go,” she said, smiling. “As a thank-you.”
“It’s packed with meat, I’m sure,” Nicholas said. “You didn’t need to, Thandiwe. But it will be very welcome.”
When we got into the car again, he asked me, “Do you want to go and see where the bridge was? It’s just a little further down the road.”
The early afternoon had become grey and cool, with threatening clouds bulking overhead.
“As long as you don’t think we’ll get
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