The View from South Africa
In a roseate African dusk a skinny teenager ignores the sliding pitch of the lark’s incessant call and shoulders a Mauser Model 1895 rifle. He squints down the crude iron sights, imagines himself to be Yevgeny Maximov and, between heartbeats as his grandfather has taught him, squeezes the trigger. The antique weapon bucks and roars in his hands leaving a choking cloud of white smoke and a ringing noise in his ears. The watermelon, placed on the corner of the…