Hi – writing my blog then taking the rest of the day off, going en masse to our local pub for a good, belly-stretching lunch. Will regret, I know, but what the hell. Back home, fall asleep in front of the fire with an old movie droning in the background, dream dreams and snore the roof off until my wife’s inbound slipper wakes me up.
Anyway, here’s the threatened bit from Empress Gold; not enough to plot-spoil – a slight taste is all that it is:
‘You’re alive, Mister Goddard.’ Pasviri’s eyes narrowed. ‘In our new Zimbabwe, most men would regard that fact as recompense enough.’ He nodded to his entourage. ‘Leave us. I will join you shortly.’
In the quiet, two men, both of different origins stood just metres apart. Had it been a hundred years previous, rather than the surroundings of a plush office there would have been thick forest and the discomfort of cold guti rain to contend with. Their dress, as decreed by historical circumstance would have been, for Pasviri, fashioned from the skins of jackal and leopard, for Lee, a uniform of roughly woven calico, topped with slouch hat; across his chest would hang a soldier’s bandoliers, loaded with British South Africa Company’s, .44 calibre, Boxer-Henry ammunition.
‘In our grandfathers’ day,’ said Pasviri, ‘blacks were tolerated only under sufferance, the proverbial hewers of wood and carriers of water.’ He took his time lighting another cigarette. ‘Not any more, comrade. Along with your infamous Mister Rhodes, the heady days of white supremacy are well and truly buried – forever.’
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