en
Andre Brink

Rumors of Rain

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Martin Mynhardt seems invincible. Violence surrounds him, yet he remains unscathed: a woman asks him the time, then leaps in front of a train; after a mine riot, he watches hoses sweep scattered body parts off the floor.Just before the shocking violence that brings South African apartheid to an end, Martin decides to return to the family farm for a weekend. A highly successful businessman and Afrikaans Nationalist, he hopes to sell the property to the government in a deal both highly profitable and corrupt. The moment he steps onto the farm, his plans are derailed. The repercussions of a society's endemic violence catch up to him, and shake the relationships that frame his life. His closest friend, a brilliant, idealistic lawyer, is sentenced to prison for his anti-apartheid "e;terrorist"e; activities in part because Martin refused to help him. His son, recently returned from the Angolan war, is in silent revolt against the values of his father and his nation. His mistress, Bea, an intelligent, strong-willed woman who offers Martin the hope of redemption through her own capacity for empathy, is also caught up in the gathering political storm. This is Andre Brink's story of a society on the edge of collapse, spurred to profound self realization.
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549 trykte sider
Udgivelsesår
2008
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Citater

  • Miek Messerschmidthar citeretsidste år
    Ceaselessly, irresistibly, it came down from the dark skies. In a blunted stupor I resigned myself to the thought that it would never stop again. I didn’t care any more. Let it go on, I thought, let it increase and grow worse and worse, a flood to soak the earth and uproot trees and split rocks; causing the red earth to run down the hills, streaming, streaming endlessly, red water as if the earth itself was crying, as if the earth was crying blood. Nkosi sikelel’ iAfrika.
  • Miek Messerschmidthar citeretsidste år
    In our time the notion of an apocalypse need no longer imply actual or active destruction. It is much more subtle. We have our Soweto, we have our Voortrekker Monument, we have thickets among hills on farms: but we no longer have hell.
  • Miek Messerschmidthar citeretsidste år
    After she’d gone, Ma sighed: “Poor old Kristina. What’s going to become of her now?”
    “They’ll stay on the farm even if it’s sold.”
    “Part of the livestock, you mean?”
    “They’ll be all right, Ma. And once the Ciskei becomes independent, they’ll all be free in their own country.”
    “And we’ll all die of freedom in our own country,” she said morosely.
    I decided it was better to leave her alone while she was in that mood.
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