SO FEW TOO MANY

SO FEW TOO MANY
“Let’s try the mall in Bedfordview. I believe it has some lovely shops after its refurbishment, “I suggest to my partner, Jeanne, after exhaustive trips to our usual consumer jaunts.
“Okay. Perhaps we’ll find some inspiration. Everywhere else seems full of the same cheap and nasty mass-produced goods,” she agrees, not looking forward to the excursion.
“You pack Amy’s nappy bag, don’t forget her juice and formula, while I get the two of us ready,” she instructs.
“Sure, but don’t take long. We must be home early enough for the braai tonight. Your brother’s arriving about six with the steaks.”
I know very well that Jeanne is capable of taking hours to get her and our twenty-month daughter ready. In a way I can’t blame her. To leave the house unprepared is courting disaster especially over Christmas.
“Dad, we’re ready,” Jeanne calls from behind me.
I glance at my watch; they have only taken half an hour or so. I’m impressed. I finish my sentence and close the ‘in progress’ file on the computer and spin around. They look beautiful. Amy in fresh pink parachute material pants and a matching vest with dancing fairies. Jeanne’s in Levis and tight T-shirt that barely covers her waist. She looks great. Hard to believe she is a mother of four, so petite. They are smiling and posing.
“Wow, sexy girls. Do you want to go shopping my Sweetheart?”
Amy nods with vehemence and runs toward me, her coordination still not quite there.
She loves the malls, the decorations, the people, and the action. From her stroller, she waves at passers by like she’s the Queen Mother.
“Ta Ta. Daddy.”
She points to the door becoming more demonstrative with impatience.
The centre is not busy, probably because the renovations are still incomplete. Modern décor of marble, glass, chrome and subtle lighting greet us. The frustrations of negotiating the building site of a car park melt away.
“They really did a lovely job, Dave. Remember how tatty it was? Look, there’s ‘Exclusive Books’. Want a quick peak.” Jeanne gives me a mischievous look.
“Wouldn’t mind a gander, if there’s time,” I reply, joining in the game.
“Mummy, Mummy,” Amy points wide eyed at a sparkling window display in a small jewellery store.
“Yes, darling, it’s lovely.”
We grin self-contentedly at one another. To be blessed with a little girl, after three boys, at our time in life. Although it seems having children in your forties is becoming more common.
Exclusive Books is a delight, with coffee shop, easy chairs and row upon row of delectable books.
“Knock yourself out,” Jeanne offers. “I’ll get Amy some chips while you surf.”
She points to the endemic red M of MacDonald’s across the passageway.
“Okay. I won’t be long. Give me five minutes then we’ll grab a burger or something.”
I need time to myself, plenty of it, without hindrance or restraint in the bookstore. Now is not the time, we are Christmas shopping.
“Okay. But you promise only five minutes,” Jeanne reiterates
“I promise.”
A crash outside the book store startles us.
“What on earth was that? It gave Amy quite a start.” The annoyance on Jeanne’s face is apparent.
“Not sure. Sounded like a sign falling off the wall or a shop window falling out. Hope no-one is hurt.”
Another enormous crash follows. I turn to the entrance, this time people are running. Some duck into the shop, their faces telling me all is not well. I pull Amy from the stroller, take Jeanne by the arm and head for the back of the store. We find a small enclave, which the two sit behind.
“Wait here. I’ll try and find out what’s happening.”
Jeanne reflects the gut wrenching fear I feel within, but I dare not show it.
“Don’t do anything dangerous. We don’t want a hero.”
She holds Amy closer.
A young, terrified Asian girl is crying a few feet away.
“Bring her here,” Jeanne demands.
I take the ladies elbow and lead her to our refuge.
I head toward the coffee shop where waiters are pointing. The urge to stay with the family is strong. I want to wrap them in my arms and cower in the corner.
“What’s happening?” I ask the first waiter.
She doesn’t answer. I hear another call out.
“It’s a madman running around shooting.”
My heart jumps into my mouth.
‘Please not a nut case. They’re the worst,’ a voice yells in my subconscious. I look across at where the waiter is pointing. All I see is the little jewellery store we passed minutes earlier. Another deafening noise resounds. I duck involuntarily. Visions of a madman wreaking carnage play in my mind. ‘How the hell do I protect my girls?’ A fleeting thought suggests hiding, protecting myself above all else. Embarrassment, then anger replaces the idea.
I rise, the fear gone. Standing outside the entrance of the jewellery store, legs splayed, is a man cradling an AK47 sub machine gun. Relief floods through my body, thankful that it is not a lunatic on the loose. I turn to head for my kin when gunshots go off, followed by shattering glass.
‘Shit, all hell’s breaking loose. Hope the cavalry haven’t arrived. They’re likely to cause a shoot out or worse still, a hostage situation,’ a crystal voice warns me. All I want to do is to get back to my family. I resist the urge to lay them on the floor and cover them with my body.
“What’s going on? That’s gunfire,” Jeanne asks holding Amy to her chest. “They say it’s a madman shooting everyone?”
“They’re robbing that jeweller’s, just outside.” I reply trying to sound calm.
“Thank God. Rather that.....” The same relief crosses her face.
The Asian woman gives a whimper and rolls her eyes. Jeanne pats her on the shoulder, Amy mimics.
“Shouldn’t we find a storeroom or an office?”
She looks up at me, embracing the baby and stranger.
“Too dangerous. They’re after money and offices hold safes.”
I glance over the shelves to see people who were once browsing now crouching. A voice hollers.
“Where’s the manager. Close the front doors.”
“Not on your life”
People titter; despite the situation, humour is present.
The commotion outside lasts two to three minutes, unmentionable thoughts flash through my mind. It feels like hours.
Shouting breaks out. Young men start to give chase, what they hope to achieve against armed assailants is unclear. Perhaps they are plain clothes policemen.
The all clear filters through the cellular grape vine.
“Let’s stay where we are for a few minutes, make sure it’s all over,” I suggest to Jeanne and the lady. Jeanne reassures the Asian lady and establishes that she is a tourist; she has been in the country a few days.
“I heard about the crime here, but I didn’t know it was so bad,” she whimpers.
“Well, we’ve lived here all our lives and this is our first time too,” Jeanne replies, hurt by the inflection.
“I suppose you’re right. It’s just my luck.”
“I am. This is a lovely country being ruined by a few thugs, but they won’t win.”
Jeanne is defiant with patriotism.
“Thank you for taking care of me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“That’s okay.”
The women’s attention turns to Amy, who has become restless.
I pretend to look at books, but my eyes won’t focus. My mind is still racing and my stomach’s a whirlpool.
“See you in a minute, ladies. I need the restroom.”
Normality returns too quickly. It is indicative of our history and transformation. When violence no longer shocks and barely disrupts our Christmas. A reality, which threatens all, unless condemned without reserve or condition?