De Japanse schrijver Kazuo Ishiguro werd op 8 november 1954 geboren in Nagasaki. Zie ook mijn blog van 8 november 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Kazuo Ishiguro op dit blog.
Uit: When We Were Orphans
For the first fifteen minutes or so, Osbourne moved restlessly around my drawing room, complimenting me on the premises, examining this and that, looking regularly out of the windows to exclaim at whatever was going on below. Eventually he flopped down into the sofa, and we were able to exchange news — our own and that of old schoolfriends. I remember we spent a little time discussing the activities of the workers’ unions, before embarking on a long and enjoyable debate on German philosophy, which enabled us to display to one another the intellectual prowess we each had gained at our respective universities. Then Osbourne rose and began his pacing again, pronouncing as he did so upon his various plans for the future.
“I’ve a mind to go into publishing, you know. Newspapers, magazines, that sort of thing. In fact, I fancy writing a column myself. About politics, social issues. That is, as I say, if I decide not to go into politics myself. I say, Banks, do you really have no idea what you want to do? Look, it’s all out there for us” — he indicated the window — “Surely you have some plans.”
“I suppose so,” I said, smiling. “I have one or two things in mind. I’ll let you know in good time.”
“What have you got up your sleeve? Come on, out with it! I’ll get it out of you yet!”
But I revealed nothing to him, and before long got him arguing again about philosophy or poetry or some such thing. Then around noon, Osbourne suddenly remembered a lunch appointment in Piccadilly and began to gather up his belongings. It was as he was leaving, he turned at the door, saying:
“Look, old chap, I meant to say to you. I’m going along tonight to a bash. It’s in honour of Leonard Evershott. The tycoon, you know. An uncle of mine’s giving it. Rather short notice, but I wondered if you’d care to come along. I’m quite serious. I’d been meaning to pop over to you long ago, just never got round to it. It’ll be at the Charingworth.”
When I did not reply immediately, he took a step towards me and said:
“I thought of you because I was remembering. I was remembering how you always used to quiz me about my being ‘well connected.’ Oh, come on! Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten! You used to interrogate me mercilessly. ‘Well connected? Just what does that mean, well connected?’ Well, I thought, here’s a chance for old Banks to see ‘well connected’ for himself.” Then he shook his head, as though at a memory, saying: “My goodness, you were such an odd bird at school.”
Kazuo Ishiguro (Nagasaki, 8 november 1954)
Lees verder “Kazuo Ishiguro, Joshua Ferris, Detlef Opitz, Elfriede Brüning”
