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55 F-Rage English Podcast - Season Two - Ep.55 - Translating a book from Rus into Eng
THE INTERPRETER
CHAPTER ONE
The Voice in the Dark
Matobo, Africa
The hot sun burned down on the small town. An old wooden sign above the road was shaking in the strong wind. The words on it were unclear now, but it read: WELCOME PRESIDENT EDMOND ZUWANIE.
The car moved slowly down the road. The driver was a black African man. Next to him, a fair-haired white man was writing a list of names in a blue notebook. Another white man with long, dark hair sat in the back seat, holding two cameras.
"She refused to tell me her husband's name," the white man in the front seat shouted above the noise of the wind.
"The names of the dead are bad luck," the driver replied.
"Zuwanie murdered half the town. Can their luck get worse?"
The driver slowed the car. "He can murder the other half."
The fair-haired white man put a gun and a new notebook into his bag.
He and the driver climbed out of the car.
"Stay here," the driver said to the cameraman.
Slowly, the two men walked across the street toward a large, old stadium.
Outside, two boys kicked a ball around the dry, brown grass.
One of the boys shouted to the two men.
"They want to show us the bodies," the driver said.
The boys took the men into a room inside the stadium. There was a
strong smell of death. The men covered their noses and told the boys to go
outside. In the dark corners of the room, they could see piles of bodies on
the floor. "XOLA NOW!" was written in blood on the walls.
They started to check the bodies. They recognized some of the dead and found the names of others from the papers in their pockets. The white man pulled the notebook out of his bag and started to write.
Suddenly, there was a shout from one of the boys outside.
"Somebody's coming!" the white man said.
The two men ran out into the bright sunlight. There was nobody outside - only the two boys. Slowly, one boy lifted a gun and shot the black African in the chest. Then he turned to the white man and shot him in the stomach.
The white man fell to his knees.
"It's OK," he said quietly. "It's OK." It was the last thing that he ever said.
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By Father SurgeTHE INTERPRETER
CHAPTER ONE
The Voice in the Dark
Matobo, Africa
The hot sun burned down on the small town. An old wooden sign above the road was shaking in the strong wind. The words on it were unclear now, but it read: WELCOME PRESIDENT EDMOND ZUWANIE.
The car moved slowly down the road. The driver was a black African man. Next to him, a fair-haired white man was writing a list of names in a blue notebook. Another white man with long, dark hair sat in the back seat, holding two cameras.
"She refused to tell me her husband's name," the white man in the front seat shouted above the noise of the wind.
"The names of the dead are bad luck," the driver replied.
"Zuwanie murdered half the town. Can their luck get worse?"
The driver slowed the car. "He can murder the other half."
The fair-haired white man put a gun and a new notebook into his bag.
He and the driver climbed out of the car.
"Stay here," the driver said to the cameraman.
Slowly, the two men walked across the street toward a large, old stadium.
Outside, two boys kicked a ball around the dry, brown grass.
One of the boys shouted to the two men.
"They want to show us the bodies," the driver said.
The boys took the men into a room inside the stadium. There was a
strong smell of death. The men covered their noses and told the boys to go
outside. In the dark corners of the room, they could see piles of bodies on
the floor. "XOLA NOW!" was written in blood on the walls.
They started to check the bodies. They recognized some of the dead and found the names of others from the papers in their pockets. The white man pulled the notebook out of his bag and started to write.
Suddenly, there was a shout from one of the boys outside.
"Somebody's coming!" the white man said.
The two men ran out into the bright sunlight. There was nobody outside - only the two boys. Slowly, one boy lifted a gun and shot the black African in the chest. Then he turned to the white man and shot him in the stomach.
The white man fell to his knees.
"It's OK," he said quietly. "It's OK." It was the last thing that he ever said.