An Accident

It was a dark night slightly drizzling. The tiny row boat finally reached the mile 8, Tuaran Road bridge. The man called desperately for help. Only his father and a younger brother came out but they recoiled in horror. Slumped across the rafters of the boat was second brother, body soaked blood red as the torchlight flickered across.

What happened was this. At 7pm just after dinner two brothers went out into the bakau marshes for a hunt. Hoping to bag a deer or two they each carried a shotgun. One hour later the tragic consequence of mistaking the other for a wild animal resulted in a shotgun blast.

Years later the confession of eldest brother revealed he has been startled by sounds of rustling leaves. In an instant he looked up and saw a silhoute of what came across as a wild boar. He took aim and fired. There was a blood curling scream and then moanings. His heart beating from excitement he went after the prey. But alas he found instead the still-warm body of his younger brother. He begun to curse and swear. No sooner his brother begged him to sent him back to the house and he calmed down and complied.

He must have rowed for what seems like an eternity (about one hour) when he reached the homestead. After quickly cleaning the wounds they carried their brother to Yinfook's house. Yinfook was the church elder and the only one for miles around to own a car. Gingerly they loaded second brother into the car and off they sped - to town, and the hospital.

With today's modernised trauma unit, an accident such as the one narrated above should have not been any problem. Fifty years ago however it was different. The bullet had penetrate a vital organ and infection set in. Two days later the wound turned septic and second brother succumbed. The family was dumbfounded and grieved. Eldest brother who fired the fatal shot carried the anguish and guilt right until his dying day. In the last stage of his life he was actually mad.