Red Dog

Red Dog
Автор книги: id книги: 1630046     Оценка: 0.0     Голосов: 0     Отзывы, комментарии: 0 2570,4 руб.     (25,7$) Читать книгу Купить и скачать книгу Купить бумажную книгу Электронная книга Жанр: Историческая литература Правообладатель и/или издательство: Ingram Дата добавления в каталог КнигаЛит: ISBN: 9780795708527 Скачать фрагмент в формате   fb2   fb2.zip Возрастное ограничение: 0+ Оглавление Отрывок из книги

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Описание книги

Coenraad de Buys was the most dangerous man around in the Cape of the late 1700s. At eight he crossed his first frontier and left his mother’s house behind. Left his home (the first of many); left the Cape; left civilisation. From the Langkloof, Buys roves – a giant, a legend, polygamist and swindler; the bane of government, father to chieftains and a Buysvolk of his own. Everywhere his wild oats are sown; everywhere renegades and criminals join his band of outcasts. He interprets between Xhosa and English but speaks only his own words. And everywhere on his travels, always there is the pack of dogs and the earless red leader that put Buys on his restless path. In Buys’ tracks, in his head, around his camp fires the slavering jaws snap. He was born in the Langkloof. He died on the banks of the Limpopo. But Buys is not dead. Red Dog is a novel about frontiers and borders. The Afrikaans original Buys was hugely acclaimed in 2014. Now it has been masterfully translated by Michiel Heyns.

Оглавление

Willem Anker. Red Dog

1761 – 1798

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1799 – 1801

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7 − 8 November 1814

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1814 –

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Addendum

Acknowledgements

Table of Contents

Отрывок из книги

Willem Anker

RED DOG

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Saterdag looks at me, then looks away, straight in front of him. Intently I watch the slow and purposeful cruelty until the spider is satisfied that the bee will never escape and, after a last caress over the cocoon of the quiet quarry, hoists itself up a thread of its own creation. I start loading the rifle, pour in the gunpowder and, instead of a lead pellet, a stone. I get up, stretch myself and look down at Saterdag.

Saterdag jumps up, runs. I fire a shot into the air. The sheep scatter in all directions, the herd all of a sudden hundreds of individual sheep. Saterdag does not look around, runs faster. I carefully put down the gun, race after him. Saterdag swerves left and right through the undergrowth. I storm straight through the slangbos and cat thorn, my leather pants soon full of snags. Sodomite Senekal’s Ore charges along, an imbecile frenzy over the sudden excitement. Just before the tree line I plough the Bushman into the ground. I catch up with him at a run and without slowing down I run into him from behind and end up on top of him. Saterdag starts struggling free. I push his hands against the ground until our breaths stop racing. The farm dog comes closer inquisitively to make sure the game is over. The tail is wagging and the tongue is hanging out. The slavering fool tripples around us. I sit up straight and smack the brute across the snout so that it retreats yowling.

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