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.I charged across that field like I didn’t care whether I lived or died.And it wasn’t an illusion.I didn’t care.All sensible thoughts were gone, all memories were wiped clean, the future didn’t exist.At those times you can accept the possibility of your own death.When I see people who are grief-stricken because someone they know has died suddenly, I want to say this to them: ‘It’s not so bad for the people who die.When they see it coming and they’ve had no warning, they accept it.In the few moments that they have, they accept it.They give up everything, their obligations, their hopes, their fears, they give them all up without a fight.They tense their body and they take the blow and they don’t have room or time for anything else.They know it has to be and so all the fear leaves them.Believe me, I’ve seen enough people die.Believe me, I’ve been close to death enough times now.This is the way it is.’The problem isn’t for them, it’s for the people left behind.They have time to think about it all.And they have imagination.I don’t think it’s always a good idea to have both time and imagination.Cos what you do then of course is go over and over what happened, reliving it a hundred or a thousand times, in slow motion, adding a soundtrack and an emotions track.The dead people can’t do that.They got it over and done with in a couple of seconds.You’re stuck with it for fifty years.Or more.When I write all this down, it makes perfect sense.I just wish I could follow my own advice, especially when it comes to my parents and what happened to them.It’s easier with Robyn because I saw her face as it happened so I don’t have to rely on guesswork so much with her.I saw that acceptance in the second or two before she ceased to be.So, there I was, sprinting across the paddock like a maniac, in the zone if you want to call it that, chasing two armed men who were just approaching the ridge and the fence line.To my left was Lee, who did his ‘drop to the knee and take a shot’ routine again, with no better result than the first time.I thought we might have a chance as they came up to the fence, no matter how good they were, as it was going to take them quite a few seconds to get through.I planned to take a couple of shots myself at that stage.But they were too professional for me.As they approached the summit one of them turned and raised his rifle, while the other started the struggle to get through the barbed wire.I dropped fast.I could see Lee doing the same.I flattened myself in the grass, shuffling to the right to get behind a little rise.The guy fired one shot but then nothing.I waited a few seconds more then lifted my head.The second soldier was getting through the fence while the first one covered him.They were pretty quick.Lee fired again, then he was on his feet and running forwards once more.He hadn’t hit anyone.But the way Lee ran straight up the hill, he must have been pretty sure that this guy at least didn’t have any ammo.I didn’t want to be outdone, so I got up too.I did the zigzags.The man put his rifle right to his shoulder as if he was going to fire, so we both dropped again.He didn’t shoot though.Lee might have been right.Now that I had a better shot at the two of them I lined up the one on the left and squeezed the trigger.At the very last moment, before I fired, he pulled away and disappeared.I was up again straightaway.The two of us ran the slope hard.As we approached the fence they were a hundred metres in front of us.But at the same time I could see something lumbering into view from the right.What the hell? For a moment I actually thought it was a large vehicle.The police were here already? Had someone heard the shots and called them? I felt like an idiot when I realised what it was.Colin McCann had put his bull in this paddock.I hadn’t seen the bull for a couple of months.He was a magnificent creature, one of the best in the district.A horned Hereford, and you don’t get those so often these days, dark red, the size of a delivery van, with hindquarters that shouted power, and a proud head.Col never dehorned his bulls.He was a purist, I guess, and liked the natural look.Besides, it was a bloody business, cutting horns off, and the bulls hated it.Everyone has their own opinion about horns, but my favourite approach was Tammie Murdoch’s, who put tennis balls on her goats’ horns, held with metres of duct tape.It made the goats look pretty funny, like aliens.Goats have a perpetually bewildered expression anyway, which kind of matched the tennis balls [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]