Archangel Ordeal

Almost without thinking about it, I slipped out of my couch to trot over to where the two mangled forms were waiting on that unwholesome couch. The two stretchers were somewhat crooked. I saw that the paramedics had done what they could to keep that pair warm and comfortable; the sheets seemed to be clean under the hellish glare of the halogen flood-lamps on the scene. One fellow was breathing from a cylinder; the other was looking a bit pale and blue around the gills as well. They had both been fished from the river; I glanced across the brown water at the five wrecks which had been retrieved. As well as that, I had a look up the rough and rocky slope where they had come plunging down; one tree at least had been shattered by their impetuous descent. But the cars had plainly fallen; they had not remained upright as they had fallen, rolling and bouncing down the grim slope to tumble quite a way across the river plain before the water had stopped them. I glanced at the two men; they were not as badly off as I would have expected, though I was deeply regretting that impulse which had driven me from the safety of the pilot's couch. In silence I turned away while my team and the paramedics made their way with the victims behind me. And what, do you ask, does all this have to do with the elderly South African Statesman, Nelson Mandela?