Anderman se vrou

deur Chris Karsten, Human & Rousseau, 2019

 

Op see bevestig Simon sy spesmaas: Rachel wou sy knaters uitsny. Daar was ander rusies deur die jare, natuurlik was daar – in watter huwelik is daar nie soms harde woorde nie? – maar hierdie een was van vulkaniese aard. Sy het glo gesê – onder meer, want sy het baie te sê gehad, sê hy – dat dit haar grootste vernedering is, dat haar man haar nie met ʼn ander vrou verneuk het nie, maar met ʼn ander man! En so aan. Dit was net die eerste uitspu van die eerste warm rook. Toe bars die lawa uit. Waarop sy hom woedend soos ʼn hond by die slaapkamer uitgejaag het, sy klere in die gang agterna gesmyt, die deur geklap het.

Sewe-en-veertig

deur Irma Venter, Human & Rousseau, 2019

Isolde kom aangestap soos ’n vrou wat onveilig voel. Ek het dit al baie gesien. Haar arms is om haar lyf geslaan, ten spyte van die sonnige, windlose weer en warm blou jas waarin sy toegewikkel is. Sy soek oor haar skouer, jaag ’n straatkind wat kleingeld soek ongeduldig weg.

Sailor Song

by Ken Kesey, Viking Penguin, 1992

The women also sang, hurrying back and forth along the path above with their baskets on their shoulders. As he watched the men and women singing and working together, Eemook began to feel sad. He pictured how he must look to them, propped against the distant stone. For the first time in his life he saw how small he really was – how inferior – and it made him very, very lonely. He found himself wishing he also had a helper to sing and work with. He was hoping his playmate Shoola might slip away and come help him hold the shells for the drilling when, as if in response to his wish, he heard his name called: “Yi, Eemook, yi!”

Die Dao van Daan van der Walt

deur Lodewyk G. du Plessis, Tafelberg, 2018

Soos ’n Rooms-Katoliek in die bieghok gaan ek met pen en papier my sondelas woord vir woord van my gewete afwerp. Wanneer ek alles begryp, wil ek vry wees, so vry soos ’n Kruisvaarder na ’n stywe aflaat.

Inteendeel

deur Andre P. Brink, Human & Rousseau, 1993

Ek ken nie meer die name van die plekke waar ek verbykom nie. Al die vroeëre name het nou ontoereikend geword. Ek besit niks. Ek moet hulle van voor af leer ken: nie die name nie, maar die dinge self. Die klipheid van ‘n klip, die koppigheid van ‘n koppie, die doringheid van ‘n doringboom, die stilte van stilte.

Lila

by Marilynne Robinson, Virago, 2014

Sorrow is very real, and loss feels very final to us. Life on earth is difficult and grave, and marvelous. Our experience is fragmentary. Its parts don’t add up. They don’t even belong in the same calculation. Sometimes it is hard to believe they are all parts of one thing. Nothing makes sense until we understand that experience does not accumulate like money, or memory, or like years and frailties. Instead, it is presented to us by a God who is not under any obligation to the past except in His eternal, freely given constancy.

Sewe-en-veertig

deur Irma Venter, Human & Rousseau, 2019

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