Iíd been digging for weeks. The first obstacle was a one and a half ton boulder that took the longest to get through merely because of its virginity. It was a piece of mother Ėmother earth, in its rawest purity. The memory of it made the concrete filler seem like sandstone. Who am I kidding, the concrete felt like concrete, but because it was man made I suppose I felt that if a human had made it I could take it apart, and I did. It took way longer than the boulder but that boulder had the psychological drop on me being a virgin and all.
The funny thing is I always knew it was there, the gold I mean. I remember buying the place knowing that It wasnít the house or the property that was drawing me. The house was pretty run down; the former owner was an out and out piss cat. Heís pretty wife left him for someone with a fatter bank account. Shame I donít want to be judgmental or anything but thatís all she must have had going for her. The looks I mean. Sheíd decorated the place and I must say I felt embarrassed that she was an Afrikaner like me. Her taste was beyond bad, and with a sense of self flagellation I took my time dismantling what sheíd done.
One of the first things was the Ďchandelierí in the bed room. The best way to describe it must be pink globules of snot. I always wondered who the hell would even conceive to make such a repugnant attack on the visual senses. Where in the world would such a thing be made, either in China or Pakistan? If it was Chinese I could still understand those guys work for nothing, Pakistani . . . maybe they were forced to make the damn things you know, the way you get client adverts. It will never cease to amaze me how a client will go to an advertising agency and dictate to the creative (usually the graphics people) team how to make their advert. When I see a really crap add, you just know.
Well the freaking light was so ugly I couldnít throw it out. It was like one of those obje d crappo things you see in the background of Mythbusters. Adamís just keeping it until he can expose of it in some spectacular manner like a big boom or dropping it from a chopper at two thousand feet. I would have liked to see what a twelve gauge would have done to it through a high speed camera. Alas the place I hung it was needed for something more constructive and one day with a little pang it just got eaten by the big black bin. There were other things, like the flamingo mirror, right in the entrance. My my, it must have cost a literal pisspot. This was a potentially cool feature, twelve by fifteen foot mirror probably bigger, ruined with sandblasted illustrations (calling them illustrations is in insult to illustrations), freaking sandblasted illustrations of badly drawn flamingoís, palm trees and cloud shaped blobs.
The house has a nice view. I never forget that, but itís built like all the houses in South Africa, facing the (expletive deleted) street. What is wrong with Afrikaners? We have the same brain as everyone else why canít we seem to use it? Huh? I ask you with tears. The house has a fantastic view but it faces the (expletive deleted) street. I love the view; the kitchen has the best one. Iím grateful, way grateful for the view maybe now, now that Iím stinking freaking rich beyond my wildest dreams I can do the view justice. Just rip the whole place down and build it the way it was suppose to. Ja. I donít know, I donít think I found it just to blow it away on excessiveness. Would it be excessive to build a nice house though, I would be creating jobs. Itís a way to spread it round a little. Hmmm.
It was drawing me when I was still a kid, twenty odd years ago. I remember riding past the house in the eighties thinking I should stick to the speed limit, if I were staying there in that house I would not like it if noisy motorcycles came racing past. Strangely I like the house; it seemed so far out of reach though. Itís amazing how dreams come true though. I think I use though way too much, on the other hand though. Though.
After Iíd been drawn to the place like a man being drawn towards his destiny. (that was a bit lame), the first thing I really wanted to do was dig a forty five degree tunnel right into the south wall in the downstairs apartment. You can almost hair the twilight zone music. Too-dee-doo-dee too-dee-doo-dee. Yeah the melodrama, scoff all you like, if you could see what Iím seeing youíd probably soil your knickers. The question is what do I do with it. Everybody always thought the wagons were separated, man, were they off, way way way off. Theyíre all here itís hilarious there must be nine hundred tons of gold here, some of its coins thereís diamonds. This is going to screw with the world economy for sure. Thereís one diamond here, uncut, half the size of my fist. Crazy to think itís just a rock. My heartís pounding so loud, I hope it doesnít attack me. My batteries are fading a little, the torch batteries I mean, I donít want to get stuck here in the dark, I must be two kilometers from the entrance and Iím waste deep in water. This old mine is tricky. I put some coins in my trouser pocket and start back. The water is like ink. As I go Iím looking for the roots of the sycamore tree behind them Iím home. A twelve meter crawl then Iím home. I stop put my hand in my pocket and pull out three gold coins, the smile on my face has started hurting.
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