It’s about twenty-five metres from the top of the arch to the water. No one was quite sure what happened. He hit the water and disappeared. He was drunk at the time. Everyone was drunk. It was the annual university boat race. Two boats raced against each other down the Cowie River while the rest of the university got smashed on cheap liquor.
I wasn’t there when he hit the water. I wasn’t there when he drowned. I was further up the river drinking Coke and vodka. I drank too much too fast. The last thing I remember was climbing onto the top of a friend’s Land Rover and driving into town where the bridge was. The next thing I remember was being punched in the faced. After that a policeman arrested me and put me in the back of a panel van. I had no idea what had just happened. As I write this I still have no memory of what happened. Everything between the Landy and the fist are details from other people’s accounts.
I was taken to the Port Alfred police station where I had to spend five hours in a prison cell sobering up. At first I was scared. I didn’t know what had happened. I spoke to a lawyer, a lecturer from the university, who told me to chill. I wasn’t being arrested. My crime was a misdemeanour and I would be released with just a fine. After this I relaxed and began to sober up. I played cards with the cops and tried to piece together the missing 30 odd minutes of my life. At some point my friends came to find me. They tried as best as they could to fill in the blanks.
A Land Rover pulled to a stop right next to the archway of a bridge. A young man hopped off the roof and ran up the side before anyone could stop him. Everyone watched this idiot climbing up the bridge. How could anybody be that stupid? A guy has just died, literally, died. How could anyone be that callous? The whole town was in a state of shock. Someone else followed him up. At the top of the bridge the two men started to fight. The one was trying to talk the other down. The other was filled with outrage that someone was telling him what to do. Eventually the other was talked off his ledge. He made his way down the side full of fury and indignation. Both men reached the bottom. The other turned and threw one final insult. A fist flies into his face.
I’m standing on a bridge. I have no idea how I got there. My lip is sore and swollen. A policeman grabs me from behind and leads me to a police van. Everything is bright and I am seeing double.
They let me out of prison around five in the evening. Everyone had left they had all gone back to the university, which was in another town about fifty kilometres away. Johnny Clegg was playing a concert. I have no idea who the guy was who punched me in the face but I would like to say thank you. Every now and then I think everyone needs to be punched in the face. I hitched back to home alone in the dark.
I had to return several weeks later to pay the fine. I had to pay it in the district where I was arrested. I paid a visit to the bridge. Sober this time. It was high. I marvelled at my own stupidity. I was surprised that only one person had died. Several weeks later they put huge barriers and barbed wire halfway up the arch to deter anyone else from climbing it.
