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Sample translations submitted: 2
Afrikaans to English: Mission General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - Afrikaans 2. Limbo?
Marco sink doodmoeg weg in die sagte rusbank, neem die afstandbeheer en vind ‘n Engelse kanaal op die platskerm. Hy wens hy was nou in Portugal sodat hy vir ‘n slag weer iets in sy eie moedertaal kan waardeer maar hier is niks; net snaakse tale en Engels.
Paola het hom hoor inkom en kom kaalvoet met net ’n langerige T-hempie ingeloop in die sitvertrekkie van hulle mobiele eenheid. Hoe gelukkig was hy nie om haar in hierdie godverlate land raak te loop nie, sy stukkie asemrowende lewende Portugal. Marco glimlag gelukkig terwyl hy haar skoonheid bewonder. Die hele dag sien hy al uit na sy pragtige Paola en toe sy praat is haar Portugees soos manna uit die hemel.
Sy steek haar hande uit en probeer hom uit die rusbank optrek. “Kom klim in saam met my in die stort dan was ons al die dag se nonsens af en jy vergeet van alles, my liefling.”
Hy skud sy kop. “Nee nie so haastig nie kom eers hier.” Hy ruk haar liggies vorentoe sodat sy giggelend in ‘n sitposisie op sy skoot beland en hy omhels haar en gee haar ‘n liefdevolle drukkie terwyl sy hom ‘n ligte soentjie gee.
Sy maak hom sommer lighoofdig. “Ek mis jou die hele dag, wat het jy met jouself aangevang?”
“Ek was so bietjie bekommerd oor jou, liefling. Die kolonel het baie ontstoke gelyk na daardie vergadering vanoggend in die tent. Niemand van ons het vyf teenoor drie stemme verwag ten gunste van majoor Hunter se voorstel nie. Wat het gebeur? Het hy julle voor stok gekry, want een van julle moes seker teen hom gestem het? Ek is redelik seker dit was nie jy nie; jy is hopeloos te uitgeslape om so fout te maak?”
“Dit was Hannes Haasbroek. Ek het jou gesê die man het te sagte hart vir die spioenasiewêreld. Die kolonel het hom nou uit die jurie geskop en kaptein Dexter gaan hom vervang. Gelukkig vir hom is hy te kosbaar vir die kolonel maar hy sal van nou af katvoet moet loop. Die kolonel gaan hom moeilik vertrou in die toekoms. Hy het ons toegesnou dat hy nie weer sulke verraad sal duld nie en ons moes hom verseker dat indien daar weer ‘n verhoor gaan wees ons vir sy besluit gaan stem, basta! Ons moes hom belowe of anders sal hy dié wat hom nie die versekering kan gee nie, ook afskop van die jurie en vervang.”
Paola rek haar oë. “Dus was dit die laaste demokratiese besluit.”
Marco knik. “Dit lyk so, ja, behalwe as die gemeenskap daarin sal slaag om die prosedure rondom gelyke stemme te verander.”
“Wat dink jy gaan hy doen omtrent daardie groepie wat die skuiling in Port Elizabeth wil binnegaan? Hulle missie klink tog in ons almal se belang?”
Marco skud sy kop, “Genoeg vrae, kom ons gaan stort eers.”
~*~*~
Hunter het almal gegroet waar sy ou en nuwe vriende in ‘n ry staan hier by sy 4x4-bakkie met Batista en Buddy agterop. Chloe het reeds van die honde afskeid geneem en omhels Hunter styf voor sy hom in die oë kyk met trane in haar oë. “Ek en Lyle het klaar besluit, ons en wie ook al saam met ons wil kom, gaan julle kom besoek oor ‘n maand en sommer baie voorrade vir julle saambring. Ek hoop net julle gaan die spinnekoppe oorleef. Het jy nog genoeg geld by jou om daardie bakkie so veel moontlike kere vol voorrade te gaan maak voor môreaand en onthou: gaan maak so veel moontlik dromme vol brandstof. Ook dit gaan baie kosbaar word.”
Hunter soen haar liefies op haar voorkop. “Toemaar, skattebol, ek het jou twee leeuwyfies wat ons gaan oppas en ek gaan hulle net so lief maak vir ons as vir julle. Kom, los my nou. Dit is tyd om tot siens te sê vir eers. Die son gaan binnekort onder en ek wil nog die winkels oop kry op pad kleinhoewe toe.”
Chloe los haar stewige omhelsing teensinnig en staan terug en Hunter draai na hulle drie nuwe vriende wat bymekaar staan. Hy het iets op die hart wat hy met hulle wil deel voordat hy die pad vat. “Weer eens dankie, Nonkosi, omdat jy Isaac so goed bygestaan het anders het ons vandag nog hierdie honde verloor net omdat die Morrison vent sy gesag wil afdwing.”
Nonkosi glimlag vriendelik waar sy tussen haar man, Anton, en dokter Khaya en sy vrou en staan. “Dit was die regte ding om te doen, Majoor, nie net vir julle nie, maar vir ons almal.”
Hunter knik. “Voordat ek die pad vat moet ek julle waarsku. Julle sal ‘n plan moet maak om die gelyke stemprosedure te verander, want ek is seker Morrison gaan seker maak sy mense gaan hom nie weer in die toekoms in die steek laat nie.”
Anton stem saam. “Jy is heeltemal reg, Hunter, ons groepie hier moet sommer nou dadelik ‘n plan maak en so spoedig moontlik ‘n vergadering saamroep en hom voorspring voordat daar weer iets gebeur. Ek stel voor ons roep sommer môreoggend ’n vergadering byeen en verras hom oor die werklike rede vir die vergadering deur eers voor te gee ons wil oor iets anders praat.”
Zoey stem saam. “Ja, kom ons gaan sit sommer nou saam rondom ons groot eetkamertafel. Ek hou net mooi niks van die opgeskorte vonnis wat oor Lyle en Ronnie se koppe hang nie. Die pes het nooit ‘n datum gegee waarop hulle vonnisse opgehef word nie. Ons moet dit in elk geval ook aanspreek as ons môre vergader.”
~*~*~
Nico staan voor kaptein Van Vuuren wat hom ingewag het op die marmerstoep. Hy het met net ‘n T-hemp en kortbroek daar kaalvoet aangeloop gekom en is dadelik deur die soldate omsingel en geboei en is hierheen gelei. Hulle kon duidelik sien hy dra geen wapen of ploftoestel nie en hou geen bedreiging in vir hulle nie en dit het tot dusvêr sy veiligheid verseker maar hulle het tog dubbel seker gemaak deur sy hande agter sy rug te boei.
Kaptein Van Vuuren frons met ‘n duidelike vraagteken op sy gesig. “Ek herken jou gesig. Dit is op een van die ID-foto’s wat aan ons gestuur is. Julle is aangegee as ‘n terroristesel en nou kom jy jou hier oorgee? Wat is aan die gang, meneer? Ons het bevele ontvang dat ons julle gevange moet neem en kolonel Morrison van die internasionale teen-terrorisme-eenheid moet kontak vir verdere instruksies sou julle hier aankom. Waar is die res van julle?”
Nico is dankbaar toe hy agterkom aan die man se uitspraak dat hy Afrikaanssprekend is en hy antwoord in Afrikaans en ek hoop dat dit sy vertroue so bietjie sal wen.
“Ek is hier om met kolonel Morrison te onderhandel, Kaptein. Ek kom in vrede en het baie belangrike inligting wat ek dadelik met hom moet deel. Ek is deel van sy eenheid en moes noodgedwonge ondergronds gaan om die inligting vir hom in te win, dus vra ek u mooi. Kan ons hom dadelik kontak, asseblief. Dit is lewensbelangrik.”
Van Vuuren kyk stip na Nico: “Wat is jou naam?”
“Nico.”
Die kaptein knik tevrede en kyk na sy manskappe wat Nico hierheen gebring het. “Wag hier op verdere bevele, manne.”
Hy draai om en begin na binne loop verby die oop swaar 666 deur. “Volg my, Nico, so vêr het jy nog nie gelieg nie. Jou naam was saam met jou foto. Wie is die mense saam met jou? Is hulle gevaarlike terroriste met ‘n versteekte kernwapen wat die hele Port Elizabeth bedreig?”
Nico verduidelik terwyl hulle loop na ‘n staaltafel wat opgeslaan is voor die 666 muur. Daar sit seiners by die tafel slaggereed by hulle radio’s “Kaptein, Francois is my kollega en is ook deel van ons eenheid maar die res is almal onskuldige mense wat deur die regte terroriste in ‘n moeilike posisie gemanipuleer is. Hulle is almal heeltemal onskuldig en die kolonel sal verstaan wat aan die gang is sodra ek hom kan inlig.”
Nico se oog val op ‘n pragtige luitenant wat opstaan toe sy hulle sien aankom. Van Vuuren spreek haar aan: “Luitenant Jansen, skakel dadelik met daardie direkte lyn vir kolonel Morrison.”
Jansen bestudeer Nico geïnteresseerd op en af terwyl sy die nommer vind en skakel voor sy die slimfoon vir die kaptein aangee. Nico wag in spanning dat Morrison antwoord.
Uiteindelik praat die kaptein. “Kolonel Morrison, hier staan ‘n man voor my wat homself identifiseer as Nico en die ID-foto wat julle gestuur het bevestig dit. Hy het gevra dat ons u dadelik moet kontak. Hy is glo deel van u eenheid en het iets lewensbelangriks wat hy dadelik met u moet deel.”
Die kaptein bly ‘n oomblik stil en luister voor hy antwoord. “Reg so, Kolonel, wag net ‘n oomblik.”
Van Vuuren skree skielik verby Nico in die rigting van die manne wat nog voor die deur se ingang staan en wag: “Kom haal af die boeie en maak gou.”
Die sersant wat hom geboei het, kom ingehardloop en verwyder dit haastig voor hy omdraai en weer buitentoe loopmars.
Van Vuuren wag geduldig en toe die boeie los is, gee hy die slimfoon vir Nico. “Staan so bietjie eenkant. Die kolonel wil privaat met jou praat. Wanneer julle klaar gepraat het, gee my weer die foon. Hy het gesê hy gaan my sê wat ons met jou moet doen nadat julle gepraat het. Ek hoop vir jou part hy is tevrede met jou storie. Die ou klink hoogs ontstoke.”
Vervolg volgende week uitgawe 64
Translation - English 2. Limbo?
Marco sinks into the soft couch, tired as a dog, takes the remote and finds an English TV channel. He dearly wishes he was in Portugal to enjoy for a change his mother tongue but he can only find strange languages and of course, English.
Paola heard him entering and she comes to him with bare feet and clad with only a longish t-shirt into the sitting room part of their mobile unit. He thanks his stars that he ran into her; his own breathtaking, living piece of Portugal. He smiles as his eyes wander over her exquisite beauty. He was looking forward the whole day to be with his beautiful Paola and when she speaks in Portuguese it sounds like manna from heaven.
She extends her arms and tries to pull him out of his decline on the coach: “Come and have a shower with me and then we wash away all the day’s nonsense and forget about everything, my darling.”
He shakes his head. “Not so quick. First, come here.” He plucks her lightly forward and giggling she lands sitting on his lap and he embraces her lovingly and she gives him a little kiss.
She makes me lightheaded, he thinks. “I have been missing you the whole day, what have you done with your time?”
“I was a bit worried about you, darling. The colonel surely looked extremely agitated after that meeting.in the tent this morning. No one could have guessed that Hunter’s proposal would win by five to three. What happened afterward? Did he scold you because one of you surely must have voted against him? I am reasonably sure it wasn’t you, you are much too foxy to make such a mistake.”
“It was Hannes Haasbroek. I told you before he is too soft-hearted for the world of espionage. The colonel kicked him off the jury and replaced him with Captain Dexter. Luckily, for him, he is too valuable for the colonel but he will from now on have to tread lightly. The colonel won’t trust him in the future. He shouted at us that he won’t tolerate sedition in the future and we had to ensure him that in the future we should vote for his decision, period! We simply had to promise him or else he will kick those who don’t pledge their loyalty to him off the jury and replace them.”
Paola’s eyes widen. “Thus, it was the last democratic decision?”
Marco nods. “It seems so, yes. Except when the community can force him to change the procedure around equal votes.”
“What are his ideas regarding the people who try to get to the hide-out in PE? Their mission seems to be beneficial for all of us?”
Marco shakes his head. “Enough of silly questions. Let’s hit the shower.”
~*~*~
Hunter has already said goodbye to all of his new and old friends standing in a row next to his 4x4 with Batista and Buddy at the back. Chloe has already said farewell to her two dogs by hugging them and now she hugs Hunter tightly. She looks up into his eyes with tears in hers. “Lyle and I have already decided we, and everyone who wants to come along, will visit you with plenty of supplies in a month’s time. I only hope you will survive the attacking spiders. Do you still have enough cash to fill up that bakkie to get as many supplies as possible before tomorrow evening? And remember: fill up as many drums with fuel as possible. It will be valuable in the future.”
Lovingly Hunter kisses her on her forehead. “Don’t worry, my dear. I have got your two lionesses to look after us and I am going to make them just as affectionate for us as for you. Come, leave me now. It is time to get going, for now. The sun soon is going to set and I want to catch the shops open on my way to the smallholding.”
Chloe let go of him and reluctantly stands back and he turns to his new friends standing together. He wants to get something off his chest before he departs. “Once again, thank you, Nonkosi, for supporting Isaac so excellently or else we would have lost these dogs just because that Morrison guy wants to enforce his will.”
Nonkosi, standing between her husband and Doctor Khaya and his wife, smiles friendly: “It was the right thing to do, Major, not only for you but for all of us as well.”
Hunter nods. “Before I go, I must warn you. You will have to find a way to alter that voting procedure because I am convinced Morrison will ensure that his people won’t leave him in the lurch next time.”
Anton concurs: “You are so right, Hunter, our group here must quickly make a plan and speedily call a meeting to make a move before something happens again. I propose we call a meeting for tomorrow morning and surprise him by pretending the meeting is about another matter.”
Zoey agrees: “Yes, let’s go now and sit around our big dining room table. I utterly dislike the suspended sentences hanging over the heads of Lye and Ronnie. The pest never gave a date on which the sentences would be lifted. We must discuss this if we are going to have a meeting tomorrow morning.”
~*~*~
Nico is standing in front of Captain Van Vuuren who waited for him on the marble veranda. Nico approached him clad only in a t-shirt and with bare feet. He was encircled by soldiers and handcuffed and lead to the captain. They could see that he had no weapon or explosive device on him which secured his safety up to now, they, however, made double sure by handcuffing his hands behind his back.
Captain Van Vuuren frowns with a clear question mark on his face. “I recognize your face. It is on one of the ID photos that were sent to us. You were indicated as a terrorist cell and now you come here and hand yourself over? What is going on, sir? We were ordered to take you into custody and let Colonel Morrison of the international anti-terrorism unit know immediately for further instructions. Where are the rest of the group?”
“I am here to negotiate with Colonel Morrison, Captain. I come in peace and am in possession of very crucial information that I must convey to him immediately. I’m part of his unit and had to go underground to gather the information for him, so I am asking you friendly. Can we contact him immediately, please? It is a matter of life and death.”
Van Vuuren eyeballs Nico intensely: “What is your name?”
“Nico.”
Satisfied the captain nods and looks at his soldiers who brought Nico to him. “Wait here for further orders, guys.”
He turns around and walks into the house past the heavy 666 door. “Follow me, Nico, thus far you have not lied. Your name was attached to your photo. Who are the people with you? Are they dangerous terrorists with a hidden nuclear weapon that endangers the whole of Port Elizabeth?”
Nico explains while they are walking to a steel table erected against the 666 wall. Signallers are sitting ready at their radios. “Captain, Francois is my colleague and is also part of our unit. The rest is innocent people who were manipulated into a difficult position by terrorists. They are truly innocent and the colonel will understand what is going on when I enlighten him.”
Nico’s eye catches a beautiful lieutenant who rises when she sees them coming. Van Vuuren talks to her: “Lieutenant Jansen, dial Colonel Morrison immediately on the direct line.”
Jansen’s interested eyes wander up and down over Nico while she finds the number and dials. She then hands the smartphone over to the captain. Nico waits anxiously.
Eventually, the captain speaks: “Colonel Morrison, here is a man in front of me who identified himself as Nico and the ID photo you sent confirms it. He requested that we contact you immediately. He claims he is part of your unit and has a matter of life and death to discuss with you.”
The captain is silent for a few moments while he listens before he answers: “In order, Colonel, please wait a second.”
He yells past Nico in the direction of the soldiers waiting in front of the door: “Come and take off the handcuffs and be quick.”
The sergeant who had handcuffed him comes running in and quickly removes the cuffs and then quick march to the entrance.
Van Vuuren waits patiently until the handcuffs are removed. Then he hands the smartphone to Nico. “Just move away a bit, Nico. The colonel wants to speak to you in private. When you end the conversation, hand the phone over to me. He told me he will then decide and give orders on what to do with you. For your sake, I hope he is satisfied with your story. He sounds furious.”
Continues next week in Edition 64
Afrikaans to English: New Rush
Source text - Afrikaans Blinkklippiekoors.
Hoofstuk 1: Die besluit
“Bliksem!!”
Hy smyt die skoffelpik van hom af weg asof dit ‘n boomslang is. Die pik land op sy steel en spring ‘n boog deur die lug.
“Bliksem!” sê Samuel weer en lek versigtig aan die blaas wat op sy hand oopgebreek het en waarvan die souterige vog helder strepe oor sy vuil handpalm loop.
“Dis die verdomde piksteel. Hy kan mos nie vir ons behoorlike stele koop nie. Nou het die ding my hand stukkend gemaak.”
Sy broers kyk na die jong reus en lag vir die ongewone uitbarsting, maar ‘n dwarrelwindjie wat langsamerhand sand bymekaar gemaak het, smyt dit skielik op hulle neer. Dit brand in hulle oë en slaan seer op hulle beswete gesigte.
“Kom ons rus eers ‘n bietjie,” proes Chris. Hy kyk oor die vaal lappie mielies wat worstel om in die droogte mielie te word en die onkruid wat welig staan tussen die yl stronkies.
“Die mielies moet vandag geskoffel word,” het hulle stiefpa vanoggend gesê. “As dit eers gereën het, gaan ons nie voorbly nie.”
Die ‘ons’ wat nie gaan voorbly nie, sluit homself natuurlik nie in nie. Dis die werk van sy drie stiefseuns. Dis hulle betaling vir die goedheid van sy hart, vir die enorme hoeveelheid kos wat hulle verorber, vir gratis onderdak.
“Vir wat ‘n mens in hierdie dorre aarde probeer mielies plant, gaan my verstand totaal te bowe,” is Herklaas se bydrae terwyl hulle aanstap na ‘n eensame kameeldoring met yl blaartjies en ‘n suinige koelte.
“Kan jy weer sê,” beaam Chris. “Maar jy weet dis maar net ‘n manier om ons te pes.”
“Ek verstaan nie.” Samuel lek nog steeds aan die blaas op sy handpalm.
Partykeer raak Chris erg die moer in vir sy ouboet se domheid. So sterk as wat hy is, so onnosel kan hy partykeer wees.
“Ons is sy bleddie slawe, man!” sê hy vererg. “Hy sit daar in die huis of onder die boom in die koelte en dink net hoe lekker hy ons nou weer kry. Ons moet mos betaal vir elke ou dankbaarheidjie.”
“Dis seker darem nie so erg nie.” Dis Herklaas wat ‘n patetiese paar woorde uiter.
Chris vererg hom vuriglik. As hy praat, spat die spoeg uit sy mond.
“Moet jou nou wragtig nie ook staan en onnosel hou nie! Hy gun ons niks! Ons moet werk soos slawe van sonop tot sononder en dan heel dag hoor van hoe dankbaar ons moet wees vir kos in ons monde en ‘n verdomde dak oor ons koppe. Nee, hy gun ons niks, hy en daardie seuntjie van hom wat met sy gat in Engeland sit!”
So vurig is Chris se uitbarsting dat die ander twee dit nie waag om iets te sê nie. Hulle gaan sit onder die skaam skaduwee van die kameeldoring en drink lou water uit hulle waterbottels.
“Kyk,” sê Samuel na ‘n lang ruk, “ek skoffel nie met daai vervloekte pik nog ‘n enkele stukkie land nie. My hande is gaar geskaaf van die ruwe hout.”
Chris kyk hulle ondersoekend aan. Dalk is dit die regte tyd. Hy wag al lank vir so ‘n kans. Vandat hy die berigte in die koerant gesien het van die groot rykdomme op die diamantdelwerye, veral die New Rush, los die ding hom nie. Hulle het altyd vaagweg geweet van die delwery aan die Vaalrivier, maar die berig in die koerant oor die reuse diamant wat uitgegrawe is, het ‘n koors in hom aan die brand gesteek wat geen pleister kan uittrek nie. Hier sit hulle en vrek en werk hulle kapot vir niks en daar grou iemand ‘n blink toekoms uit. Al kry hulle nie so ‘n groot diamant nie, al moet hulle iets anders doen as diamante grou, dit kan nie dáár slegter wees as hier nie. Hy dwing homself om doodkalm te praat.
“Luister, my broers, ek gaan nou ernstig met julle praat. Hoe lank bly ons al op die plaas?”
“Amper tien jaar,” antwoord Herklaas vinnig. Hy het die meeste verstand van die drie. “Ons het in 1862 hier aangekom, Junie 1862. En dis nou Januarie 1872.”
“Juis,” sê Chris, “en wat het ons?”
“Niks,” sê Samuel en lek weer ‘n slag oor die seer in sy hand. “Net mooi niks!” Hy bestudeer die blaas op sy hand asof dit ‘n juweel is.
“Juis. En dink julle ons sal oor vyf jaar iets hê?”
Hulle verstaan nie sy vraag nie, maar hy is tevrede. Hy het daarin geslaag om hulle aandag goed te vestig by wat hy wil sê.
“Wie keer hom om op ‘n dag vir ons te sê ons moet ons goed vat en trap?”
Hulle antwoord nie. Dis waar. Hulle het niks, ook geen aandeel in die erf van die plaas nie. Die plaas is klein Philip s’n, dit weet hulle.
“Met ander woorde, ons werk eintlik vir klein Philip. Elke boom wat ons plant, elke mielieland wat ons skoffel, elke skaap wat ons skeer, dit doen ons vir die heer wat met sy gat in Engeland sit en kamstig studeer.”
Weer antwoord sy broers nie. Hulle weet dit, maar het dit nog nie so skerp besef nie.
“Hoe lank moet ons nog die klein stront se slawe wees?”
Samuel frons diep. Hy het wragtig nog nie so daaraan gedink nie. Hulle werk, maar is soos slawe wat enige tyd ‘n skoen onder die agterent kan kry.
“Maar …” Dis Herklaas wat ontsenu aan die gesprek probeer deelneem. Hy kry alreeds daardie koue gevoel op sy maag dat hier ‘n proses aan die gang gesit gaan word wat sy dun senuwees nie kan hanteer nie. En hy weet nie of hy daarvan gaan hou nie. Hy is bang vir nuwe prosesse.
“Dink mooi daaraan. Sodra ons gehelp het om Philip geleerd te kry, kom hy en skop ons van die plaas af. En dis sy volste reg. Hy is die baas van die plaas.”
‘n Stuk naarheid kom sit op die krop van Herklaas se maag. Samuel sê niks. Hy lek net nadenkend oor sy seer hand asof hy dit soos ‘n hond met sy speeksel gesond wil lek.
Chris trek ‘n stokkie nader en begin figuurtjies op die sand trek. Hy moet nou sy woorde versigtig kies.
“Ek stel voor ons vat ons goed en trap voor iemand anders vir ons sê om dit te doen.”
Dit ruk in Herklaas se binneste. Die naarheid stoot in sy strot op. Samuel hou op lek en kyk met ‘n frons op sy voorkop na Chris se stadige bewegings.
“Moet ons nie nou weer gaan inval nie?” Herklaas beduie na die land wat lê en bak in die helder middagson.
“Ons val nie vandag weer in nie. Dis te warm vir ou Dikke om te kom inspekteer. Hy sal ook nie more kom nie, want ek het gehoor hy wil dorp toe. Sondag is ons buitendien weg.”
“Sondag,” stotter Herklaas.
“Ja, Sondag.” Hy het alles al so baie keer deurdink. Die oomblik is hier.
“Jy het ‘n plan.” Samuel het partykeer heelwat insig.
“Ek het ‘n plan. En ons gaan hom nou deurpraat en verfyn.”
‘n Breë glimlag vorm om Samuel se lippe. Hy haat in elk geval alle vorme van plaaswerk. Om daarvan te kan ontsnap!
“Maar ons kan nie sommer weggaan nie, wat van ma se graf?”
Dit is onverwags. Chris het nie daarop vinnig ‘n klinkklare antwoord nie. Toe hulle eie pa dood is, was hulle nog bitter klein. Hy was een van die natrekkers maar is naby Colesberg een nag skielik dood. Hartaanval.
Sy ma moes alles verkoop en in Colesberg in ‘n losieshuis gaan bly. Sy het geen ander familie gehad nie. Met wasgoed en naaldwerk het sy hulle siele aan mekaar geryg. Hulle het bykans niks gehad nie. Op ‘n dag het sy die ryk boer se duur pak klere verstel. Hy het na haar en die jong bulletjies gekyk en diep binne-in somme gemaak. Sy eie vrou is oorlede kort nadat hy die plaas naby Philippolis vir ‘n appel en ‘n ei en ‘n karba drank van ‘n Griekwa gekoop het. ‘n Vrouehand op die plaas was nodig. Ekstra hande ook. Goeie werkers is skaars. Hy het aangelê en sy was verheug want Philip Shaw, het almal geweet, is ‘n ryk man.
Philip Shaw het vir hom vier slawe plaas toe gevat.
Hulle ma het nie baie jare gehou nie. Afgesloof het sy een winter vyf jaar gelede longontsteking gekry. Philip Shaw het geweier om Colesberg toe te ry en ‘n ou Griekwavrou gekry om met kruie te dokter. Dit het nie gehelp nie. Op ‘n stil wintersoggend het hulle haar in die kil grond van die plaas begrawe.
Dis Samuel wat die probleem ewe filosofies oplos. “Ma is nie meer hier nie. Sy is daar.” Hy wys met sy wysvinger lug toe. “Ons kan niks meer vir haar doen nie. Ons sal haar seker eendag weer sien.” Hy kyk in die lug op.
“Maar haar graf,” probeer Herklaas vir oulaas, maar hulle weet dis net omdat die besluit wat hulle moet neem, hom die koue bewerasie gee.
“Jy kan nie die res van jou lewe by ma se graf sit nie. As ou Dikke jou wegjaag van die plaas af, kan jy mos nie die graf saamneem nie.” Chris is bang hy is te kras, daarom vervolg hy versigtiger.
“Ek weet ma se graf is vir ons iets om aan vas te hou en jy was nog klein toe sy weg is, Herklaas. Ek weet dit gaan jou die seerste maak, maar ons kan nie anders nie. En ons het nou die kans.”
Samuel knik sy kop en koes verder onder ‘n yl skaduweetjie in. Hy hou al van die plan al weet hy nog niks. Vir skoffel en koeie melk en skape dip en in die klipharde grond spit en gate maak is hy meer as keelvol. Verder is hy al oor die twintig en lyk die meisies, as hulle een keer per kwartaal op die dorp kom vir nagmaal, elke keer vir hom mooier en droom hy onophoudelik die dae tussenin om met manjifieke, romantiese gedagtes.
Chris krap weer met sy stokkie in die sand. Laatmiddag staan hulle deurgepraat op en slenter stadig in die rigting van die opstal.
Translation - English Chapter 1: The decision
“Fuck it!”
He tosses the hoe away as if it were a poisonous adder. It lands on its handle and jumps through the air landing five yards further.
“Shit!” Samuel moans and carefully licks the blister that has burst open in his hand and from which the salty fluid makes clear lines over his dirty hand palm.
“It is this damn handle. He refuses to buy new handles. See how the rough, homemade thing injured my hand!”
His brothers look at the young giant and laugh at the sudden outburst, but a whirlwind that has, in the meantime, gathered sand, throws it down on them. The sand burns in their eyes and hurts their sweaty faces.
“Let’s rest for a while,” giggles Chris. He looks over the dismal patch of plants that struggles to become mealies in this drought while the weeds flourish in between the sparse plants.
“The mealies must be hoed today,” their stepfather ordered this morning, “after the rain, we won’t be able to contain the weed.”
The ‘we’ of course doesn’t include himself. It is the work of his three stepsons. It is their payment for the goodness of his heart, for the enormous lot of food they devour, for free boarding and lodging.
“Why on earth you want to plant mealies in this arid earth is beyond me,” says Herklaas while they are walking in the direction of a lonely camel thorn tree with sparse foliage and almost no shade.
“You can say that again,” Chris concurs. “But you know it is only a way to pest us.”
“I don’t understand.” Samuel is still licking.
Sometimes Chris becomes annoyed to no end by his brother’s stupidity. As strong as Samuel is, as stupid he can sometimes be.
Enraged Chris speaks; spittle spatters from his mouth.
“Don’t you also fucking be so stupid! He doesn’t grant us anything! We must work like slaves from dawn to dusk and often hear how thankful we should be for food in our stomachs and a roof over our heads. No, he grants us nothing; he and that little shit boy of his who sits with his ass in England!”
The two brothers know it is no time to argue with Chris. He is too furious. They sit down under the scant shade of the tree and drink warm water out of their water bottles.
“Look,” says Samuel after quite a while, “I’m not going to hoe another inch of this damn land with that fucking thing. My hands are chafed raw by the rough wood of the handle!”
Chris eyes them questioningly. Maybe the time is ripe. He has been waiting a long time for a chance like this. Since he had seen the articles in the newspaper of the enormous riches on the diamond diggings, especially New Rush, his mind is in turmoil. Earlier they had known vaguely something about the diggings at the Vaal River, but the article about the guy who dug up a monster of a diamond, worth hundreds of pounds, ignited a fire in him that nothing can quell. Here they sit in misery and work their asses off; over there someone digs up a bright future! Even if they don’t get a big diamond, even if they have to do other work than digging, it can’t be worse over there than here on this damn farm.
“Listen, my brothers, I am going to talk to you in all earnest. How many years have we been on this farm?”
“Almost ten years,” Herklaas answers quickly. He is the cleverest of them. “We came in 1862, June 1862. And it is now January 1872.”
“Correct, and what do we have?”
“Nothing,” Samuel again licks over the sore in his hand. “Nothing at all!” He studies the sore as if it is a jewel.
“That’s right. And do you think we will have anything in five year’s time?”
They don’t understand his question, but he is satisfied. He has got their attention.
“What if he one day tell us to take our belongings and bugger off?”
They don’t answer him. It is true. They have nothing, no share in the inheritance of the farm. The farm belongs to Philip junior, they know that.
“In other words, we are really working for the little shit. Each tree we plant, each mealie land we plough, each sheep we shear; we do it for the lord that sits with his ass in England pretending to study.”
Again his brothers remain silent. They know it, but now the reality hits them distinctly.
“For how long must we be the little shit’s slaves?”
Samuel has a heavy frown. He hasn’t thought so deeply about this before. Chris is right, they are working like slaves but could get kicked off the farm at any moment.
“But …” Herklaas nervously tries to come in. He has already the feeling he will loathe the process which is unfolding here and which his thin nerves won’t handle. He is afraid of new things.
“Think it over carefully. As soon as we have helped Philip junior to finish his studies, he can come and tell us to fuck off. And it is his full right. He is the boss of this farm. It was explained to us many times.”
A nauseating feeling hits Herklaas’ stomach. Samuel remains silent. He is still licking his sore hand absentmindedly as if he wants to lick it healthy like a dog licks his wounds.
Chris gets hold of a little stick and starts to draw little figures in the sand. He must now choose his words wisely.
“I propose we take our things and bugger off before someone else kicks us off.”
It jerks in Herklaas’s gut. Nausea pushes up in his throat. Samuel stops his licking and with a big frown on his face looks at Chris’s slow movements.
“Shouldn’t we get back to work?” Herklaas points to the land that is baking in the afternoon sun.
“We are not going to hoe and inch today. It is too hot for old big stomach to come and inspect. He will even not come tomorrow because he said he wants to go to Colesburg. And on Sunday we are gone!”
“S..Sunday,” Herklaas stutters.
“Yes, Sunday.” He has thought this through many times. Now is the moment.
“You’ve got a plan.” Samuel sometimes can show considerable insight.
“I have a plan, yes. And we are going to talk it through and refine it.”
Samuel grins. He hates all forms of farm work. To be rid of that!
“But we cannot leave just like this. What about mother’s grave?”
It was sudden. Chris doesn’t have an answer ready. Their father died when they were small boys. He was one of the trekkers who followed the Voortrekkers but near Colesburg he suddenly died. Heart attack. Their mother had to sell everything and had to hire lodgings in Colesburg. With washing and ironing for people, she had to clothe and feed her boys. They had almost nothing.
One day a rich farmer brought his trousers for alterations to fit his current corpulence. He looked at the boys, now teenagers, and did his arithmetic. His wife died soon after he had bought the farm near Philippolis for next to nothing and a barrel of cheap brandy from a Griqua. Yes, he indeed needed a woman’s hand on the farm. And extra hands as well. Good workers were scarce. He proposed and she was delighted because everyone knew, Philip Shaw was stinking rich.
Philip Shaw brought four slaves home.
Their mother didn’t last many years. Sick and overworked she attracted pneumonia five years ago. Philip Shaw refused to take her to the hospital in Colesburg and got an old Griqua woman to doctor her with herbs. It didn’t help. One cold winter morning they buried her in the frozen earth on the farm.
It is Samuel who resolves this philosophically. “Mother isn’t here anymore. She is there.” He points with his forefinger skyward. “One day we will see her again.” He looks up in the sky.
“But her grave,” Herklaas desperately tries again, but his brothers know it is about the decision they have to make that frightens him to no end.
“You cannot sit at mother’s grave for the rest of your life. And if old Thick One chases you off, you can’t take the grave with you.”
Chris is afraid he might have been too crass and continues soothingly.
“I know mother’s grave is something we are clinging to and you were quite young when she departed, Herklaas. I know it is going to hurt you the most, but there is no other way. And now is our chance.”
Samuel nods and moves a little back into the shade. He likes the plan even if there is no flesh on the bone yet. For hoeing and milking cows and dipping sheep and digging holes in the hard ground, he is more than fed-up. Furthermore, he is twenty-two, and when they once in a quarter attend church in Colesburg, the girls seem to get prettier and he dreams his days and nights away with magnificent, romantic notions.
Chris again scratches with his stick slowly in the sand. Late that afternoon the plan is refined and lazily they walk back to the farmhouse.
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Retired professor in Linguistics. Many years of
experience in translating Afr>Eng and Eng>Afr, editing, proofreading of
scientific and general texts. Author of academic handbooks and many scientific
articles in Afrikaans and English. Editor of SA Journal of Linguistics; proofreading
and editing many Doctoral and Magister theses; Translation of books: P.Phil in
Theology translated in English and published by German Publisher; Editor and
translator of all contents of The Free Story Magazine/Die Gratis Storie
Tydskrif (https://storymagazine.home.blog; https://storietydskrif.home.blog); the writer of English and Afrikaans articles for The Free Sory Magazine and other magazines
and newspapers.
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