The eyes of the black bull: Taking in every detail, as of life depended on it

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Spending the night alone, and facing it out with the dead beast By Nhamo Muchagumisa A dead bull lay on Mrs Murezvi’s doorstep and the entire neighbourhood had thronged her yard to witness the spectacle. Her yard was ablaze with camera flashes. She knew that pictures of the bull and herself would be splashed on the front page of the provincial weekly tabloid. She wondered who had invited officials from the press and as she waited for the elusive answer, she could hear many people talking on their mobile phones. She nearly dropped dead with fury. She had woken up at five as usual to carry out her domestic chores, preparing to leave for work in the process. As she staggered into the verandah porch, the presence of the black bull greeted her eyes, its black velvet coat dazzling under the illumination of the tower light that stood majestically a couple of yards from her house. She had stood motionless, bewildered by the presence of the dead bull, weird thoughts reeling in her head. She stared at the bull’s dead eyes and the eyes stared back.

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