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Dream Life and Real Life; a little African story By: Olive Schreiner (1855-1920) |
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A Little African Story by Olive Schreiner Author of "The Story of an African Farm" and "Dreams"
Dedication. To My Brother Fred, For whose little school magazine the first of these tiny stories one of
the first I ever made was written out many long years ago. O.S. New College, Eastbourne, Sept. 29, 1893. Contents. I. Dream Life and Real Life; a Little African Story. II. The Woman's Rose. III. "The Policy in Favour of Protection ".
Kopjes In the karoo, are hillocks of stones, that rise up singly or in
clusters, here and there; presenting sometimes the fantastic appearance
of old ruined castles or giant graves, the work of human hands. Kraal A sheepfold. Krantz A precipice. Sluit A deep fissure, generally dry, in which the superfluous torrents
of water are carried from the karoo plains after thunderstorms. Stoep A porch.
I. DREAM LIFE AND REAL LIFE; A LITTLE AFRICAN STORY. Little Jannita sat alone beside a milk bush. Before her and behind her
stretched the plain, covered with red sand and thorny karoo bushes; and
here and there a milk bush, looking like a bundle of pale green rods
tied together. Not a tree was to be seen anywhere, except on the banks
of the river, and that was far away, and the sun beat on her head. Round
her fed the Angora goats she was herding; pretty things, especially the
little ones, with white silky curls that touched the ground. But Jannita
sat crying. If an angel should gather up in his cup all the tears that
have been shed, I think the bitterest would be those of children. By and by she was so tired, and the sun was so hot, she laid her head
against the milk bush, and dropped asleep. She dreamed a beautiful dream. She thought that when she went back to
the farmhouse in the evening, the walls were covered with vines and
roses, and the kraals were not made of red stone, but of lilac trees
full of blossom. And the fat old Boer smiled at her; and the stick he
held across the door, for the goats to jump over, was a lily rod with
seven blossoms at the end. When she went to the house her mistress gave
her a whole roaster cake for her supper, and the mistress's daughter
had stuck a rose in the cake; and her mistress's son in law said, "Thank
you!" when she pulled off his boots, and did not kick her. It was a beautiful dream. While she lay thus dreaming, one of the little kids came and licked her
on her cheek, because of the salt from her dried up tears. And in her
dream she was not a poor indentured child any more, living with Boers.
It was her father who kissed her. He said he had only been asleep that
day when he lay down under the thorn bush; he had not really died. He
felt her hair, and said it was grown long and silky, and he said they
would go back to Denmark now. He asked her why her feet were bare, and
what the marks on her back were. Then he put her head on his shoulder,
and picked her up, and carried her away, away! She laughed she could
feel her face against his brown beard. His arms were so strong. As she lay there dreaming, with the ants running over her naked feet,
and with her brown curls lying in the sand, a Hottentot came up to her.
He was dressed in ragged yellow trousers, and a dirty shirt, and torn
jacket. He had a red handkerchief round his head, and a felt hat above
that. His nose was flat, his eyes like slits, and the wool on his head
was gathered into little round balls. He came to the milk bush, and
looked at the little girl lying in the hot sun. Then he walked off, and
caught one of the fattest little Angora goats, and held its mouth fast,
as he stuck it under his arm. He looked back to see that she was still
sleeping, and jumped down into one of the sluits. He walked down the bed
of the sluit a little way and came to an overhanging bank, under which,
sitting on the red sand, were two men. One was a tiny, ragged, old
bushman, four feet high; the other was an English navvy, in a dark
blue blouse. They cut the kid's throat with the navvy's long knife, and
covered up the blood with sand, and buried the entrails and skin... Continue reading book >>
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Genres for this book |
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Essay/Short nonfiction |
Literature |
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