Mining For Mystery

New thriller takes readers into the murky backwaters of South Africa’s mining industry

- Rupert Smit

Electricity sneaks into your house and into your dreams, whisper-quiet, leaving no sticky fingerprints, not tracking in mud. She is well-mannered and polite: she asks no questions, makes no mess; and then she is gone again, without fuss and without complaint. She twitters on your phone; she mixes your muesli; she blends your single malt; she designs your jeans; she froths your cappuccino.

Without her your Kreepy doesn’t crawl, your shower makes no steam, your fridge turns nasty. She is your silent and permanent companion, and when loadshedding spoils your party, you miss her more than you can imagine. As her extra gift to you, as a kind of additional spiritual bonus, she keeps your hands clean and your conscience clear. And to keep her in step and faithful to your every need, you need coal. Lots of it.

Coal is her dark twin, the dirty scoundrel, the pirate who plunders, the dark lord who leaves behind a bitter wake of destruction. He rips up the land and belches forth his filthy offering from deep gashes in her sides; he spreads his choking blackness over the swathe of his passing; and the scars of his parade never heal. From the temples of his massive furnaces, kilns and boilers, his fiery breath yells abuse at the blue sky; and the powdered bones of his reign spread far and wide, carried on an unwilling wind. And where he stomped over the country, the rivers and streams weep sad and distorted tears forever after.