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AANHALINGS/QUOTES
In die tyd van die Esob (Tafelberg, 1996) Afrikaans/ English
Anderkantland (Tafelberg, 1994) Afrikaans/ English
Balkie en die son se slaapplek (Best Books, 2004)
Balkie and the sun's resting place (Best Books, 2004)
Jamie en Sebastiaan (LAPA, 2003) Afrikaans and English
Jamie en Sebastiaan en die storiemol (LAPA, 2008)
Die hart van Zeebak (Tafelberg, 2004) Afrikaans / English
Ek is Simon (Tafelberg, 2003)
Droomvangers (Human & Rousseau, 1997) Afrikaans / English
Babalela (LAPA, 2000) Afrikaans and English
Diep, diep in 'n donker bos (LAPA, 2004) Afrikaans and English
'n Haas moet doen wat 'n haas moet doen (Human & Rousseau, 1995) Afrikaans / English
Storiestraat/Story street (Nasou Via Afrika, 2004)
Skilpad sonder 'n dop
Tortoise without a shell
Die eensame draak
The lonely dragon
Daar's 'n spook in my kas
My cupboard is haunted
Balkie en die woeste virus (Best Books, 2004)
Balkie and the vicious virus (Best Books, 2004)
Maar my magtig, Moesoek! (Tafelberg, 1998) Afrikaans / English
Balkie en die kleurdief (Human & Rousseau, 2004) Afrikaans and English
Afrika vertel (Nasou Via Afrika, 2004) Afrikaans and English
Op die spoor van die lesea-vanger (Juta en Kie, 1997) Afrikaans and English
Die Balkieboek deur Balkie (Human & Rousseau, 2000) Afrikaans and English
My naam is Alexander en wat daarvan? (Kagiso, 1996) Afrikaans/ English
Balkie en die lugrowers (Best Books, 2004)
Balkie and the pirates of the sky (Best Books, 2004)
Jy en die dinosourus (LAPA, 2007)
Jy en Hercules (LAPA, 2007)
Jy en Toetenkat (LAPA, 2007)
Lisa het 'n plan (LAPA, 2001, 2008)
Dit het alles gebeur in die tyd van die Esob.
Ons het almal geweet wie gekies sou word, maar wat ons span style="color: black; letter-spacing: -.25pt">nie geweet het nie, was dat daardie jaar anders sou wees, an-ders as al die vorige jare.
Ek het Daniel en Leonard en Matilda geken. Ek het geweet wat hulle swak punte was. Op slot van sake het ons drie jaar lank saam gebly en geleer.
Die kompetisie in die leerskool was straf. Net die bestes het bo uitgekom. Na die eerste jaar is die aanvanklike veertig kandidate uitgedun tot twintig, en die laaste jaar was ons net tien. En almal het geweet dat ek, Daniel, Leonard en Matilda die bestes sou wees.
Miskien sal dit goed wees om ons storie daar te begin, by die dag toe Zufar en Zandra die aankondiging gedoen het, die dag van die rooison.
(Uit: In die tyd van die Esob, Tafelberg, 1996, bl.9)
Die skrywer sit haar woordverwerker af en staan stram op. Sy kyk deur die venster. Dis laatmiddag; die reën is verby. "Kom, Leonard. Matilda!" roep sy haar twee steekhaarbrakkies. Hulle kom aangehuppel. Sy sit hulle halsbandjies aan. Sy sluit die voordeur oop. Die hondjies storm uit en trek haar agter hulle aan. Sy lei hulle veilig oor die straat. Die promenade is verlate. Die reën het seker die gebruiklike stappers weggehou
Sy stap af totdat sy die branders kan sien breek op die blinkswart rotse. Dan loop sy aan met die breë sementpaadjie. Daar sien sy horn sit. Op hulle bankie. Sy gaan sit langs horn. Hy glimlag. Twee middeljarige mense op 'n bankie langs die see.
"Is jou boek klaar?" vra hy.
"Amper."
Sy dink aan toe sy jonk was en hoe deurmekaar alles gevoel net.
En sy dink aan hoe deurmekaar alles nou nog is. Wysheid en ouderdom loop nie noodwendig hand aan hand nie.
" 'n Mens sien nie met jou oë nie, maar met jou hart," sê sy.
"Is dit waaroor jou boek gaan?"
"Ek wens ek het geweet ... Miskien," sê sy na 'n rukkie. " 'n Mens sien nie met jou oë nie, maar met jou hart," herhaal sy. "Ek dink ek het dit êrens gelees."
Sy kyk na die grys wolke wat swaar oor die see hang en wonder of iemand haar ook uitgedink het.
(Uit: In die tyd van die Esob, Tafelberg, 1996, bl.96)
We all knew that we were the chosen ones. What we did not know was that that year would be different. Completely different from all previous years.
I knew Daniel, Leonard and Matilda well. I knew their weak points. We had lived together for three years. We had lived and learnt.
The competition in die Training School was fierce. Only the best came out on top. In the first year, there were forty candidates, the next year only twenty and the final year, there were only ten and of those ten, it was undisputed that Daniel, Leonard, Matilda and I would be chosen. We were the best by far.
But the formal announcement had not been made yet. Perhaps I should start my story there: on the day that Zufar and Zandra did the announcement: the day of the fiery red sun.
(From In die tyd van die Esob, Tafelberg, 1996, page 9 : Freely translated by the author.)
The author switched off her computer. She was too weary to get up. Her limbs were stiff and sore from sitting too long before the computer. She looked through the window. The clouds had parted; the rain had stopped. It was already late afternoon. He would probably be waiting for her already.
“Matilda! Leonard!” she called her two little grey terriers. “Walkies!” She smiled when they charged into the room. Now she had the energy to lift herself from her chair.
She fitted their leads and they were out in the sunshine. She led them carefully across the street. The promenade was quiet. A determined jogger or two ran by.
She stood still for a moment to watch the waves crashing on the black rocks, and then she walked along the promenade until she could see him sitting on their bench. He was looking out for her and smiled as she approached and sagged down beside him: two middle-aged people. Friends.
“Have you finished your book?” he asked.
“Almost,” she replied.
She thought about being young and how confusing everything was.
And life was still confusing, although she was far from young any more. Somehow, wisdom and age did not necessarily go together.
“One doesn’t see with the eyes, but with the heart,” she said.
“Is that what your book is about?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “Perhaps,” she said after a few moments. You do not see with your eyes, but with your heart,” she repeated the words. “I think I read it somewhere.”
She looked at the heavy clouds that were still forming a thick bank on the horizon. Perhaps she was only a character in someone else’s book, she thought, because sometimes, everything felt so unreal.
(From In die tyd van die Esob, Tafelberg, 1996, page 96 : Freely translated by the author.)
Barbara Tuchman
Ons is inderdaad in 'n hok, een met dik ystertralies, en daar uit die lekkergoedhuisie kom . . . die heks, natuurlik. Ek hoef haar nie vir jou te beskryf nie, want sy lyk presies soos sy in die storieboeke lyk: groot swart hoed, 'n jasserige rok en pikswart stewels. En natuurlik het sy 'n neus soos 'n piesang, gemene, klein swart ogies en vratjies so groot soos paddastoeltjies.
Sy kekkellag en sê: "Aha, ek sien my middag- en aandete het wakker geword."
"Verskoon my," sê ek, "maar hier is êrens 'n misverstand. Ons is nie Hansie en Grietjie nie."
"Wie's hulle?" vra die heks opgewonde. "Kom hulle ook nog?"
Ek kyk haar geskok aan. Wat 'n aaklige ou vrou! "Ek bedoel, in die storie vang jy vir Hansie en Grietjie," verduidelik ek.
"In watter storie?" vra die heks.
"Die storie van Hansie en Grietjie," sê ek.
"Wat van Hansie en Grietjie?" vra die heks. *
"Hulle is in die storie."
"Watter storie?"
Ek kan sien dat ek nie hier hond haaraf gaan maak nie. Dis definitief nie hierdie heks se verstand wat haar beroemd gemaak het nie! Dit verbaas my glad nie dat Grietjie dit reggekry het om haar in die oond te stamp nie.
"Laat ons uitkom," sê ek.
"Hoekom?" vra die heks.
"Omdat ons nie Hansie en Grietjie is nie."
"Begin jy al weer?" vra die heks vererg. "Ek sal jou eerste eet, al is dit net om jou mond stil te kry. Ek sien julle gou-gou weer," sê sy en skarrel mankerig bos toe, "Ek gaan net gou ekstra brandhout kry!" roep sy oor haar skouer en kekkellag dat haar vratjies so tril.
Ek kyk na Niel. "Sy gaan ons eet," sê ek.
"Maar ons is nie Hansie en Grietjie nie," sê hy.
"Sy gee nie om nie," sê ek verontwaardig.
"Jy sal moet wag totdat sy die oond stook en haar dan in die vuur stamp," sê Niel. Dit lyk asof hy die gedagte baie amusant vind.
"Ek stamp niemand in die vuur nie. Dis grusaam. Ek sal nagmerries kry."
"Dis net 'n heks," sê hy met 'n breë glimlag.
"Hekse is ook mense. Shame," sê ek.
(Uit: Anderkantland , Tafelberg, 1994, bladsye 64-66)
“We’ve been captured. We are in a cage!” I tried to rattle the bars. Surely, this was all make-belief? But the bars were surprisingly sturdy. They didn’t budge.
“We’ve been captured,” I said again.
“By whom?” he asked amazed.
“How should I . . . .” And then I saw her . . . the Witch! She was, coming out of her little house., just as if she had stepped out of a storybook: She had the hat, the nose like a banana, even the warts as big as little toadstools. Now this was really ridiculous. Hansel and Gretel’s Witch had captured us?
“Hey . . . you there . . .” I bellowed at the top of my voice. “You cannot do this. Open the door immediately.”
The Witch cackled: “Aha” she said, “I see my lunch and dinner have woken up”.
“You are completely out of your mind,” I shouted. “You can’t do this to us. We aren’t Hansel and Gretel.”
The Witch asked gleefully: “Who are they? Are they coming too?”
I gave her a dirty look, but she was totally oblivious to it.
“In the story”, I tried to explain, “In the story you catch Hansel and Gretel”.
“What story?” the Witch asked.
“The story of Hansel and Gretel.” I tried to remain calm.
“Why is it called that?” she wanted to know. “Why isn’t it called The Witch”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said there was a story”, she answered, fixing me with one beady eye.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It just is. Let us out of here. This isn’t part of the story.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I have to fatten you up a bit, first.”
“You can’t do this.” I was really getting hot under the collar by then.
“I’ll eat you first”, she said and went into her house again.
I sat down on the ground. This just wasn’t possible.
“She is going to eat us and she is going to eat you first,” Neil said, looking pleased with himself.
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a make-belief world. It isn’t real. It can’t be happening.”
Neil touched the bars. “They seem very solid to me,” he said.
“Get us out of here,” I commanded. After all, I had been a princess for several months.
(From Anderkantland , Tafelberg, 1994, page 64-66 : Freely translated by the author.)
Die Balkie haal diep asem (met 'n toe mond) om homself te kalmeer. Hulle is op stuk van sake BAIE kleiner as hy! Hy vee net betyds die gogga van sy neus af, anders het hy hom sowaar ingeasem! " Ek is die beroemde en briljante en beste Balkie,"' antwoord die Balkie en maak hom reg om vir die besies meer van homself te vertel. "Ek bly by die pa en die ma en ek hou BAIE van stories en ek...'
"Nog nooit van jou gehoor nie," val die aavoerder van die bosbesies die Balkie in die rede terwyl hulle met nuwe ywer om sy ore, neus en rondswerm.
"Weg met jou!" zoem hulle in sy ore.
Die Balkie beheer sy humeur met moeite. My VETPLANT, hy het nog NOOIT sulke verpestelike goed teëgekom nie. "En ek het ook nog nooit van JULLE gehoor nie," antwoord hy so ordentlik moontlik nadat hy tot tien en nog tien getel het. En nog 32.
“Ons praat nie weer nie! Gaan weg uit ons bos," brrrrrzoeieeee die eskader bosbesies in 'n v-formasie rakelings by die Balkie se neus verby.
“Ek sal nie loop voordat ek die slaapplek van die gekry het nie," sê die Balkie ferm. Hy het meteens onthou hoekom hy in die bos is. Hy begin warm voel om sy ore. As hulle nie pasop nie, gaan hy hom nou-nou-nou BLOEDIG vir hulle vererg.
“Zoeihahaha," giggel die bosbesies. "Belaglik! Hy soek na die son se slaapplek!"
“Gee pad uit ons bos, ou langneus!" jil die skeeloogtor kwaai en kom sit sowaar weer op die Balkie se neus.
“En julle het GLAD nie neuse nie!" kap die Balkie terug en skiet die bosbesie-aanvoerder van sy neus met sy duim en wysvinger. Dan probeer hy hom weer kalmeer en besluit om tot by 87 te tel voordat hy weer praat.
(Uit:Balkie en die son se slaapplek, Best Books, 2004, bladsye 20-21)
The Balkie took a deep breath (with a closed mouth) in order to stay calm. They were much smaller than he was, after all. Thwack! he swatted the bug off his nose just in time. He didn't want to swallow another one of them!
"I am the famous and brilliant and positively the best Balkie," the Balkie answered and prepared to tell the zingers all about himself. "I live with the father and mother and I LOVE stories. I..."
"Never heard of you before," the zinger interrupted him rudely and joined the others around his ears nose and mouth with renewed energy
Balkie found it difficult not to lose his temper. PORKCHOP! He had never come across such ghastly beasts in his whole life!
"And I'VE never heard of YOU," he hit back in a polite way. But first he counted to ten and again to ten. And then all the way to thirty-two...
“Our final warning! Leave our wood immediately!" brrrrzoiiied the zzzmighty zingers and charged in on the Balkie in a V-formation, nearly grazing his nose.
The Balkie stood his ground. He suddenly remembered why he was in the wood. He started getting hot under the collar. If they didn't zip their lips he was going to lose his temper ANY minute now.
“I won't leave this wood until I've found the place where the sun sleeps," he announced.
“Zoi-i-ha-ha-ha," chuckled the zingers. "Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?"
“Get lost, you long-nosed freak!" yelled the zinger cheekily and settled on the Balkie's nose again.
“Look who's talking! You lot don't even HAVE noses!" the Balkie roared.
He flicked the squadron leader off his nose angrily, but then tried his best to calm down by counting to eighty-seven before talking to them again.
(From: Balkie and the sun's resting place, Best Books, 2004, pages 20-21)
Onbekend/Unknown
"Meneer," begin hy, "het ons nie vanmiddag skaak gespeel nie?"
Die ou man kyk hom uitdrukkingloos aan. "Jong man," se hy. "Daar is baie werklikhede. Hierdie is maar een van hulle." Hy glimlag byna onmerkbaar, steek sy hand uit en streel oor die houtmasker.
Wat bedoel hy? Baie werklikhede? Ferdinand wil 'n halfmiljoen vrae vra, en tog kan hy nie aan een dink nie. Wat is dit met hom? Dis sy. Dis die flippen alien wat hom so deurmekaar het. Hy is meteens doodmoeg, asof hy van baie, baie ver gekom het.
"Ek is nou net op pad bed toe," sê die ou man. "Kom, laat ek jou wys waar jy kan slaap." Hy stap na die kombuisdeel van die vertrek en haal 'n dik wit kers uit 'n kas en druk dit in 'n diep erdeblaker op die kas. Hy loop met die kers na die brandende fakkel en kantel die kers in die vlamme om dit aan te steek. Dit voel vir Ferdinand asof die ou man die een of ander ritueel uitvoer. Hy doen alles so stadig en presies. Dan flikker die dik wit kers onafhanklik van die fakkel. Met 'n kopknik na Ferdinand beduie die ou man hy moet hom volg.
Ferdinand loop soos 'n slaapwandelaar agter hom aan.
Hulle klim op met die wenteltrap, die ou man effens moeisaam - sy een hand sleep oor die reling terwyl die ander die kers dra. Die vlammetjie speel heen en weer soos hulle loop. Dalk is hy soos 'n mot wat homself gaan verskroei in die lig?
(Uit: Die hart van Zeebak , Tafelberg, 2004, bladsy 43)
“Sir,” he said. “Didn’t we have a game of chess this afternoon?”
The old man’s face was expressionless. “Young man,” he said. “There are many realities. This is only one of them.” He smiled faintly, stretched out his hand and caressed the wooden mask he was carving.
What did he mean? Many realities? Ferdinand wanted to ask a million questions and yet he could not think of even one. What was the matter with him? It was all her fault! The girl was playing with his mind. He was suddenly totally exhausted. It felt as if he had come a long, long way since this afternoon.
“I am on my way to bed,” said the old man. “Let me show you where you can sleep.” He walked towards the other part of the huge room and took out a thick white candle and fitted it in a candle stick. Then he walked towards the dancing flame in the bronze holder and tilted the candle into the flame, Ferdinand felt as if he was watching some kind of ritual. The old man’s actions were precise and slow. The candle lit up with its own flame. The old man nodded to show that he was ready and Ferdinand followed him like a sleep walker.
They went up the spiral stairs, the old man going slowly and carefully. The flame danced to and fro as they walked. Perhaps he was like a moth that was going to be frizzled in the flame?
(From Die hart van Zeebak,, Tafelberg, 2004, page 43 : Freely translated by the author.)
Dit was donker teen die tyd dat ek teruggekom het. Die Malteser is veilig by haar huis. Niemand het my gesien nie. Ek het niemand teegekom wat ek geken het nie.
Alles het dus goed afgeloop. Dink ek. Behalwe dat ek niks verder is as wat ek was nie. Ek kan nie my drome laat waar word nie. Ek weet nie hoe nie.
Martin het my besnuif en besnif toe ek teruggekom het. Hy wou net seker maak dat ek my nie bemoei het met nog ander honde ook nie. Maar hy hoef nie bekommerd te wees nie.
Ma het niks gese nie. Net my kos uit die oond gehaal en vir my gegee.
Later die aand het ek op my bed gelê en geluister of ek die skulpies van miss Jackson se droomvanger in die wind kan hoor klingel, maar ek het niks gehoor nie, want hy was nie meer daar nie. Robbie se bakkie het verbygedreun. Ek het gewonder of hy alleen was.
(Uit: Droomvangers , Human & Rousseau, 1997, bladsy 43)
It was dark when I returned. The Maltese was safe with her owner. Nobody saw me. I didn’t meet anyone I knew.
Everything was fine. I think. Except that I was no closer to making my dreams come true than before. I didn’t know how.
Martin sniffed me from head to toe when I returned. I suppose he wanted to make sure that I hadn’t betrayed him with other dogs too. But he needn’t have worried.
Ma didn’t say anything. She just took my food out of the oven and gave it to me.
Later that evening I lay stretched out on my bed and listened if I could hear the little shells of miss Jackson's dreamcatcher tingling in the wind. I couldn’t, because it wasn’t there any more. I had dumped it in the garage. I heard Robbie’s bakkie going by and I wondered if someone was with him.
(From Droomvangers,, Human & Rousseau, 1997, page 43 : Freely translated by the author.)
Ben Okri in A Way of Being Free
"Eina!" skreeu Gerda. Die pyn skiet deur haar hele lyf. Dit is vreeslik seer om aan jou ore opgetel te word. Sy probeer uit sy greep ontsnap, maar sy kan nie. Sy hang magteloos in die lug. "Los my uit, jou groot aap," skreeu sy, maar Pieter sê niks. Hy tol haar net in die rondte en bestudeer haar van alle kante.
Dan druk hy haar onder sy trui in, knyp haar stewig met sy een hand vas en laat vat op sy fiets. Dit voel aaklig. Gerda voel asof sy tussen hemel en aarde hang. Kort-kort voel dit asof sy wil uitval, maar dan druk hy haar weer vas teen sy lyf.
Dis pikdonker onder Pieter se trui. Gerda snak na haar asem. Dit voel asof sy gaan versmoor. Sy trap vas teen sy lyf met haar agterpote en probeer haarself wegskiet, maar sy kan nie. Hy druk haar te stewig vas.
"Haai, Dirk," hoor sy hom roep. "Kyk wat het ek gekry," en hy haal haar onder sy trui uit en gryp haar weer aan die ore vas. "Ek tel hierdie haas in die straat op. Hy sit toe sommer net daar. Hy hardloop nie eens weg nie." Hy swaai Gerda in die rondte. Dis so seer dat alles rondom haar sommer dof word. "Ek gaan hierdie haas gebruik vir my biologieprojek," gaan Pieter voort. "Ek gaan hom opkook totdat al sy vleis van sy bene afval en dan gaan ek sy bene uitstal. Is dit nie great nie? Ek het nie geweet wat ek gaan doen nie - toe kom hierdie haas asof hy gestuur is." Pieter swaai haar nog 'n paar keer in die rondte.
(Uit: 'n Haas moet doen wat 'n haas moet doen , Human & Rousseau, 1995, bladsy 14)
“Ouch!” Gerda shouted. The pain shot through her whole body. It really hurt being picked up by your ears. She tried to free herself, but couldn’t. She was helpless. “Let go of me, you big ape!” she shouted, but Pieter didn’t respond. He dangled her by the ears and studied her from all angles.
Then he put her under his jersey and gripped her with his one hand and set off on his bike again. It felt horrible. It was pitchdark under his jersey. She tried kicking herself loose with her hind legs, but she could not. His grip was too tight.
“Hi Dirk,” she heard him shout. “Look what I found! A tame rabbit. It was just sitting in the street. It didn’t even run away. He held her by the ears and dangled her in front of Dirk. “This is my biology project. I didn’t know what I was going to do – but now I have rabbit bones! I must just cook it up and sort out the bones. Isn’t it a great idea?”
(From 'n Haas moet doen wat 'n haas moet doen,, Human & Rousseau, 1995, page 14 : Freely translated by the author.)
The importance of nonsense can hardly be overstated. The more clearly we experience something as “nonsense”, the more clearly we are experiencing the boundaries of our own self-imposed cognitive structures. “Nonsense” is that which does not fit into the prearranged patterns which we have superimposed on reality. There is no such thing as “nonsense” apart from a judgemental intellect which calls it that.
True artists and true physicists know that nonsense is only that which, viewed from our present point of view, is unintelligible. Non-sense is nonsense only when we have not yet found that point of view from which it makes sense.
Gary Zukav in The Dancing Wu Li Masters – An Overview of the New Physics
"Jy het ge-ENTER," lag Felp. "Ek het GEDINK dit kan werk."
"Ge-ENTER?" prewel die Balkie. "Jy bedoel BINNE-IN die rekenaar?" Hy gaap Felp aan.
Felp knik.
"Is DIT hoe dit binne-in die rekenaar lyk?" vra die Balkie verstom.
"Wel, soort van," sê Felp en hy lyk effens verward. “"Om die waarheid te sê ek was nog nooit hier nie. Eintlik weet ek nie waar HIER is nie," sê hy met ‘n frons. "Maar dis beslis binne-in die rekenaar. DIT weet ek," voeg hy meer selfversekerd by. "Ek het jou trajek gevolg tot hier."
"Huh?" sê die Balkie.
"Jou baan," verduidelik Felp. "Die baan wat jy gevolg het van die stoel voor die rekenaar tot hier," sê hy.
Die Balkie kyk om hom. "Ek was al hier, sê hy. "Ek ken die plek."
"Is dit so?" vra Felp geinteresseerd. "Jy kon nie hier gewees het nie, want dis binne-in die rekenaar, maar as jy sê ..."
"DIE SPELETJIE," gil die Balkie. "Ek is IN die speletjie. Die een van die redder. DIS hoe dit lyk in die speletjie."
"Ahaaaa..." sê Felp. "'n SPELETJIE. Ja. Dit maak sin. Ek het nie veel met speletjies te make nie. ‘n Redder-speletjie?"
(Uit:Balkie en die woeste virus, Best Books, 2004, bladsy 38)
"You ENTERed," laughed Felp. "I thought it would do the trick."
“I ENTERed?" stammered the Balkie. "Are you telling me I'm INSIDE the computer?"
Felp nodded.
"So THIS is what it looks like inside a computer...?" The Balkie was overwhelmed.
"Well, sort of," Felp answered, looking a bit confused himself. "To tell you the truth, I've never been here before. Actually, I don't have a clue where HERE is!" he said, frowning. "One thing I know," he added more confidently, "is that we're definitely inside the computer. I'm convinced of that. I followed your trajectory to this exact spot."
"My what?" The Balkie had no idea what Felp meant.
"Your path, Balkie," he explained. "The course you followed from the chair in front of the computer until you got here," he added.
The Balkie turned and looked around. "I've been here before," he said. "I know this place!"
"Really?" Felp was more than interested now "You couldn't have been here before, you're inside the computer now, it's just not possible..."
"I know!" yelled the Balkie. "THE GAME, I'm INSIDE the game! The one about the knight saving people This is exactly what it looks like in the game."
"Aha..." said Felp. "A GAME. Yes. That figures. I don’t have much contact with games. A knight, you say?"
(From: Balkie and the vicious virus, Best Books, 2004, page 38 )
Martie Preller in Eendag was daar n storie- 'n praktiese storiemaakkursus
" Maar jy kry niks meer roomys voor jy my nie sê hoekom jy dink juffrou Betermeyer is ‘n alien nie," dreig ek.
"En Tee . . ." sê Moesoek.
"En Tee," sug ek.
"Ek sê jou wat," sê Moesoek. "Kom ons gaan vra vir juffrou .Betermeyer of ons haar gras kan sny. Dan sal jy sien. Daardie vetplante in haar blombakke . . . dis haar slawe wat sy saamgebring het van haar planeet. Bedags is hulle vetplante en snags maak hulle haar huis skoon en sny haar gras en doen al sulke dinge."
Ek begin lag. "As die vetplant-slawe snags haar gras sny, doen hulle dit nie gereeld nie."
"Wat verwag jy?" antwoord Moesoek. "Hulle is aliens."
(Uit: Maar my magtig, Moesoek!, Tafelberg, 1998, bladsy 9)
“You are not getting any more ice cream until you tell me why you think miss Betermeyer is an alien,” I said.
“And Tee too ...” said Moesoek.
“And Tee,” I sighed.
“I will tell you what,” said Moesoek. “Let’s go and ask miss Betermeyer if we can mow her lawn. Then you will see for yourself. Those succulents in her flowerpots ... they are actually her slaves that she brought with her from her planet. During the day they are succulents and at night they clean her house and mow her lawn and do all kinds of odd jobs.”
I started laughing. “If the succulent-slaves mow her lawn, they don't do it regulalarly.”
“What do you expect?” Moesoek answered. “They are aliens.”
(From Maar my magtig, Moesoek! Tafelberg, 1998, page 9 : Freely translated by the author.)
Buitendag glimlag. " 'n Grot," sê hy, asof hy dit self gebou het.
Ons bondel dieper in die grot in. Groteske skadu's dans teen die muur. Die grot is redelik groot, omtrent so wyd soos 'n garage. Hoe diep hy inloop, weet ek nie.
Jy hoor net plof... plof... plof... soos almal hulle rugsakke laat val. Ek laat myne ook sak en gaan sit. Die grond is sanderig. Ek sien hoe Louise dit deur haar vingers sif. Sy kyk na my en glimlag.
Buitendag grawe in sy rugsak. Hy sit die gaslamp aanmekaar en binne 'n paar minute sit ons in helder lig en luister na die gedempte gesuis van die lamp.
"Wat van 'n bietjie koffie?" vra Buitendag se vrou. Haar kort blonde krulle klou styf en nat om haar ronde gesig. Nou eers weer huis-huis speel, dink ek grimmig. Sy begin werskaf in 'n rugsak.
Almal begin meteens opgewonde praat en lag. Niks om oor te lag nie, sover ek kan sien. My voete pyn ondraaglik. My tekkies lyk soos modderstewels. Ek kyk op my horlosie. Dis drie-uur. Drie-uur in die oggend! En hier sit ek soos 'n natgereënde hoender met modderstewels tussen 'n spul idiote erens in 'n grot in die middel van die berge. Ek moet beslis my kop laat lees.
(Uit: My naam is Alexander en wat daarvan? Kagiso, 1996, bladsy 28)
Buitendag smiled. “’A cave,” he said smugly, as if he had built it himself.
We shuffled deeper and deeper into the cave. Dancing shadows flickered on the walls of the cave. The cave was quite big, about as wide as a garage. How deep it went into the mountain, I did not know.
The back packs fell to the ground in a series of dull thuds as everyone got them off their backs. I sat down on the sandy floor of the cave. I watched Louise as she sifted the sand through her fingers. She looked at me and smiled.
Buitendag dug into his back pack. He took out a gas lamp and within minutes we were listening to the soft murmer of the lamp.
“What about some coffee?” Buitendag’s wife asked. Her short blond curls clustered around her round face. Now she wanted to play house-house, I thought with growing irritation.
Everyone started laughing and talking. Nothing to laugh about as far as I could see. My feet hurt dreadfully. My sneakers looked like mud boots. I looked at my watch. It was three o’clock in the morning. And there I was sitting like a damp chicken in mud boots with a lot of idiots somewhere in a cave in the mountains. I should be certified.
(From My naam is Alexander en wat daarvan? Kagiso, 1996, page 28 : Freely translated by the author.)
It is the silence between the notes that makes the music; it is the space between the bars that holds the tiger.
Onbekend/Unknown
Hmmm. Hier IS 'n rekenaar wat WERK op die spook! skip. Die beelde vries. Die rekenaar vra 'n wagwoord.
Die Balkie kyk na Polytema.
"BenHekkie," sê sy.
Hy knik net en tik die wagwoord in.
Die rekenaar kirrrr verder.
Die Balkie staar lank na die skerm van BenHekkie se skootrekenaar.
"HOE KAN DIT WEES DAT HIER 'N LAPTOP IS, EN WERK? KAN IEMAND DIT VIR MY VERDUIDELIK?" skreeu hy meteens so hard dat Polytema se grys vere vaal word en haar snawel op 'n knop trek.
"SHNAWELSHNERT! IsH jy nou besHimpeld om sH sHkreeu?" krys sy terwyl sy haar snawel probeer stryk met haar een klou.
(Uit:Balkie en die Lugrowers Best Books, 2004, bladsy 44)
Hmm. Here WAS a computer in WORKING order on GHOST sailing ship ...
Just then the the images froze. The computer was asking for a password.
The Balkie looked at Polytheme.
"BenHacker," came the cue.
He nodded and typed it in.
The laptop whirred on and the Balkie looked long and hard at the screen of BenHacker's laptop. Then he exploded.
"HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THERE'S A LAP' HERE AND THAT IT WORKS? CAN SOMEBODY PLEASE EXPLAIN THAT TO ME?" he shouted so loudly that Polytheme's grey feathers turned a shade whiter.
"BEAKABOGEY, Balkie! Don't scare me like that!"
(From: Balkie and the pirates of the sky Best Books, 2004, page 44)