De Amerikaanse schrijver Nick McDonell werd geboren op 18 februari 1984 in New York. Zie ook alle tags voor Nick McDonell op dit blog.

Uit: An Expensive Education

“The shifta, twenty-two of them by Teak’s count, waited for him. They were younger than he expected and rich, with the van and that gate, which they had set up across the track. Might be a particularly shrewd crew, Teak thought. Two men stood directly in front of the gate. One wore camouflage pants and a T-shirt with the D.A.R.E. antidrug logo. The other wore mesh shorts and a khaki safari shirt. Both carried Kalashnikovs. The man in shorts also wore a leather shoulder holster. “Hello,” said Teak, sticking his head out the window as he slowed. Best to use English, lingua idiota. “Checkpoint,” said the man in the antidrug shirt. Teak stopped and let the Land Cruiser idle. He looked off to the sides of the track. He could drive around them but then they might chase him, shoot at his tires, probably miss, but maybe break his windows. Maybe worse. Better to talk. A boy holding a cleaver sat cross-legged on the side of the track, staring at Teak. Strange. Usually no children with the shifta. Teak winked at the child but the child just stared. “Checkpoint?” said Teak, in his best baffled colonial, “on whose authority?” The two men in front looked at each other. Mesh Shorts theatrically drew an old .38 from his shoulder holster. “Authority of General Hatashil,” he said, tapping the rear door of the car with his pistol. “What’s here?” “Shit,” Teak said for their benefit, putting his head in his hands. They opened the doors, pulled the suitcases out onto the dirt, and ripped one open. “You know, there’s a zipper on that you could use,” said Teak. A cheer went up when they saw that grey-green khat filled the case. Teak shook his head. “You have a problem?” asked the shoulder-holster boss. “No,” said Teak, suddenly brightening and extending a hand out the window. “I’m Teak.” “I am Commander Moalana,” said the man in mesh shorts, surprised, briefly taking Teak’s hand in a kind of half shake. Teak smiled at him and Moalana began to stroke his chin. He was almost gleeful, toying with Teak for his men, extremely grateful that this lone man with his bags full of drugs had crossed his path. Moalana’s men had been frustrated that morning. But then, Moalana reflected, they’re frustrated all the time. He could take the car, too, but orders were orders. Restraint, Hatashil had said. After they had killed that last man as a spy, Hatashil had been angry.”

 

 

De Duitse dichter en schrijver Björn Kuhligk werd geboren op 19 februari 1975 in Berlijn. Zie ook alle tags voor Björn Kuhligk op dit blog.

 

Liefde in de tijden van de EU

Zoals een grenswachter weer
een lijn trekt, dat moet, er
mag geschoten worden, dat
moet, er mag worden gefilmd

hoe wereldvreemd dit continent is
met sterretjes op de revers, hoe het
de verdediging opbouwt, mama doet
nog snel de afwas

toen in het zuiden de eerste gymschoenen
werden aangespoeld, later twee drie
tweevoeters werden opgevist, dat moet
er mag worden teruggeschoten

 

Vertaald door Frans Roumen

 

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 18^e februari ook mijn blog van 18 februari 2019 en eveneens mijn blog van 18 februari 2018 deel 2.