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THE EXCHANGE by Claudia Nicholl Copyright @ Claudia Nicholl 2007 Edited by Eileen Pienaar The Exchange by Claudia Nicholl Page 2 CHAPTER 01 The small aircraft jumped as it hit another air pocket. Bradley’s stomach lurched, suddenly sitting in his throat. For an instant, the cabin lights dimmed and loose items jumbled in all directions. He swallowed with some effort. The plane shuddered a couple of times and settled again, at least for the moment. Grinding his teeth, he swore quietly. Bradley hated flying. He loathed being confined to a small space, far away from the safety of terra firma. He detested the notion that someone else was in control and that he was at the mercy of these so-called professionals. In his opinion, there was nothing fascinating about flying in an aeroplane. Modern air travel took a person from point A to point B in a short time, but nothing more. Bradley wished he had taken his car, but unfortunately distance and time constraint did not allow it. The plane went through another air pocket and shook violently. He hoped to God that the seams on the aircraft’s metal panels would hold. Although it was relatively cool in the interior, Bradley’s hands were sweaty, leaving wet print marks on his black leather armrests. He was not scared. Well, maybe just a little bit. After a few minutes, the rattling ceased considerably and Bradley dared to look through a small window on his left. Ragged lightning strikes illuminated the dark sky and rain whipped relentlessly against the Plexiglas pane. The Exchange by Claudia Nicholl Page 3 There was absolutely nothing to see outside. Frustrated, he shook his head. They might as well have been in the middle of hell. Bradley turned his attention to the other five passengers in the plane. An elderly man sitting to his right, wearing a grey tailored suit, was unperturbed by the mayhem around him. His slack jowls hung loosely, only quivering occasionally, reminding Bradley of a worn-out Basset hound. The man had opened the top button of his white shirt and loosened his canary and red striped tie. A bald patch on top of his head was flecked with liver spots and his half-moon spectacles perched on the tip of his bulbous nose. Like all the other passengers, he was strapped in his seat, but he was holding and reading a newspaper as if he were sitting in his lounge at home. The passenger one seat further to the front had his head tilted back. His silvery hair clung to the headrest, and he seemed to be asleep. He had crossed his arms in front of his bulky chest and his feet were planted firmly on the carpeted cabin floor. Sitting perfectly upright, his body moved smoothly with the turbulence, like a surfer riding a three metre wave. His tanned, wrinkled face was peaceful and it seemed to Bradley that not even an exploding bomb could wake him from his slumber. The passenger’s baggy khaki clothes were well worn and crumpled, and Bradley noticed that several pockets were bulging. Another vicious lightning strike dazzled past his window, followed by an instant clap of thunder. Bradley jumped in his seat, but his safety belt held him back, cutting painfully across his stomach. The Exchange by Claudia Nicholl Page 4 Why did they have to fly through a storm? Why had the pilot not taken a route around the bad weather? That’s what normal pilots did, didn’t they? Taking deep breaths, Bradley tried to relax, but the plane continued to shake violently. Again, he wondered how much longer he would have to endure the torture. Groaning silently, he prayed that the aircraft’s rivets would not pop out and shoot through the sky like bullets from a gun. He regretted deeply that he had not taken a commercial flight from OR Thambo airport. Maybe he would have been safer in a bigger plane. The decision to fly via charter from Lanseria airport had been a spontaneous one. Time had been of essence and there had been no other transport available on such short notice. For the hundredth time Bradley wished that he had stayed at home. What did he have to prove? He did not need the money. He did not need to work; therefore, he did not have to take on this assignment. What on earth had gotten into him? The small plane was thrown around the dark sky like a ball between professional players on a tennis court. It hit another air pocket and again Bradley’s stomach lurched up into his throat. He had no idea how close or how far away they were from the safety of Mother Earth. Fear of crashing became paramount in his mind. Squeezing his eyes shut, vivid images began chasing each other behind his tightly closed lids. The plane nose-dived. The whining of the engines became a high pitched sound, hurting his ears. He saw thick, grey clouds rushing past, the brown ground racing towards the plane with tremendous speed. It The Exchange by Claudia Nicholl Page 5 hit the surface with enormous force. He was thrown out of the small aircraft, his body flung like a rag doll across rocky boulders, large metal shards raining down around him. He bounced hard on the rough ground, breathing laboriously, lying crushed amongst dusty thorn bushes. He smelled the burning plane, saw billowing smoke, and felt excruciating pain shoot through his broken arms and legs. His limbs stuck out at impossible angles. Rivulets of blood ran from a deep gash on his head and he heard hyenas, the fearful scavengers of the bush, approach. He smelled their stinking breath, heard their snickering laughs and saw the anticipation in their wicked eyes as they surrounded him, waiting for him to succumb, so that they could rip him apart. Bradley shuddered involuntarily. “Dear Lord,” he prayed silently. “Please let me get out of this alive. I promise to be a good boy from now on!” The last six months had been a joyride for Bradley. His grandfather had passed away and left him a large chunk of money. As a matter of fact, he had inherited enough money to be able to live comfortably for the rest of his life without ever working – if he handled the money wisely. He and his grandfather, Philip, had been close and Bradley had fond memories of the tall man with his slightly stooped shoulders, a shock of white hair and sharp blue eyes. Philip Tanner had made his money buying and selling properties. The old man had been extremely shrewd, hardly ever having made a wrong move, boasting a fine nose for business. The biggest portion of his fortune had The Exchange by Claudia Nicholl Page 6 been made during the second half of the ‘nineties in the housing boom which had rocked Johannesburg. People had been crying desperately to find safety from the high crime rate in South Africa. Burglaries, rapes and murders were on the daily agenda. Statistically every third person was hit sooner or later. It did not matter if someone was rich or poor, Black, Indian or White, living in the affluent northern suburbs or in the more affordable southern areas. Nobody was safe. Six-foot walls, electric fences, vicious dogs and security guards patrolling the streets of their precious suburbs were no longer enough. People wanted to feel safe in numbers, which meant that they wanted to live closer together. Soon the invasive townhouse and cluster complexes popped up like mushrooms after a rainy day. Philip Tanner sensed the market-change and bought up properties all over Johannesburg, even risking enormous debts in the process. Once the properties were legally in his possession, Tanner’s teams demolished the usually large houses quickly and within the shortest time possible - sometimes as little as three months - built smaller townhouses on the same size property. Homeowners all over Johannesburg had shouted with joy. Those who sold their homes made huge profits, and those who bought newly developed townhouses felt safe and secure, not minding their cramped conditions. Often, they willingly and happily exchanged three or four hundred square metres of floor space for a quarter of that size. Meanwhile, Philip Tanner made a killing. The Exchange by Claudia Nicholl Page 7 Bradley, however, was not overawed by the old man’s success, and he was wary of his grandfather’s business ethics. “Why are you so opposed to townhouses?” Philip Tanner had asked his grandson. They were walking along the cobble-paved garden path, away from his grandfather’s ‘mansion’, as Bradley secretly called it, to the bottom of the huge property. They strolled slowly towards a wrought iron gazebo standing in front of a small pond. The bronze metal latticework of a bench glinted in the bright sunlight and two ducks cleaned their brown and green feathers busily at the edge of the dark murky water. Their yellow beaks parted the down with quick strokes, their heads turning swiftly from one side to the other. “It’s nothing people don’t want,” his grandfather said, slyly. Bradley pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans and sighed. Although they had been down this road many times before and every time it had led to nowhere, he replied, “It’s just a shame to cram eight families into a space where before only one family lived.” Philip Tanner shrugged his shoulders. “They want to live like that. As a matter of fact, they demand to live like that.” Bradley shook his head.

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