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Summary English notes Onderwêreld, Fanie Viljoen Chapter 1-10
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- Onderwêreld
Fanie Viljoens Onderwêreld, Chapter 1 -10 is translated into English.
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Pg.14 – Chapter 1I jump out of bed so that the bedding pulls, grab my bathroom bag and towel.
Then I slammed the door of the dorm room open. In the hallway, I almost run my
coffin against someone. Thomas-Jean. TJ in brief. "You're a little late, bro," he
says. "I know. It's Eckardt, the goorgat - he did not come to wake me. Cannot
speak now. See you later, TJ!" Everyone I meet in the hallway is already dressed:
black pants, jackets. White shirts, yellow ties. The school crest with the torch jies'
pockets. Above the coat of arms is the school's name: Lawson College, and below
the bath- do the school's motto: Lux hominum vita. uədem I bump my way open
through the bundling bunch of boys on their way to the dining hall. "Hey, buddy,
sleep well," one called. "Are you not on duty at the eighth grade?" asks one of the
RCLs. This too I forgot. I just hope they did not demolish the place Would this
morning. And that everyone is out of bed. A few more guys tease, But I'm just
mumbling inaudible apologies. The damn Eckardt, I curse softly again. After a
quick shower, shave and toothbrush, I go to get dressed. Then I sat down in the
hallway of the residence, sidestepping a cleaner who looked at me in surprise.
Eckardt's room is just a short distance from mine. I knock quickly, pull the door
open before he can answer. Jerk to a halt. The bed was made up, but it looked
like someone was sitting on it. Window open. One of the curtains had blown up
and now hung over the desk on which Eckardt's laptop stood. Where the hell is,
he then? To the dining room? The easiest is to call and find out. I snatch my
phone out of my jacket pocket, slip through the numbers. others want to say
hello, chat, ask about rugby or something. Eckardt. Call. Moments later, the
familiar ringtone sounds in the room itself. It's an old tune from the Stereo MCs.
,Connected. My body suddenly gets cold. The sound is dull, as if it is closed inside
something. The sound is coming from somewhere next to me. It comes from
Eckardt's closet. Slowly I step closer, the handle is cold under my fingers as I swing
open the cupboard door. There, on the neatly folded clothes, lay Eckardt's cell
phone. The name flashes on the screen: G-4ce. 14
Pg. 15 – Chapter 2
Log File: The day before the last school year begins
The Sterkfontein Dam disappears behind us. We cross the border from the Free
State to KwaZulu-Natal, down the Oliviers corner pass, past Little Switzerland.
There is a legend that a Boer father and his son saw a dragon here; high against
the peaks of the mountain between the clouds. That's where the name comes
from. Drakensberg. But it is also called uKhahlamba, because another legend says
this is the thundering sound that Zulu warriors' spears make when they strike it
on their cowhide shields and return the echoes of the mountain slopes. Back on
Holy Ground, I think that day when my mom and I drove into Lawson College's
school gates. It's months before the day I get Eckardt's cell phone in his closet.
This is the day, in early January, when I first met Eckardt. My last school year has
arrived. You think it never comes. But then, one day, it's there and you realize it
was actually bitter soon. "What are your plans for the final stretch?" my dad's
question from the previous night comes up to me again as I sit there in the 4x 4
next to my mom. Dad's stern eyes. "final stretch?" "Dammit, Greg, you're in the
best school in the country and you do not know what 'final stretch' is?" "I know, I
,pulled my back straight. I actually got uptight.
Pg. 16
"You have no plans for the year." "Will be the same as last year. Dad, you know."
"It's not good enough," he forced the words through his lips. "Last year is over.
What are you doing this year?" "I'm a head boy and -" "And what?" I did not
answer him. "If I do the same at Turret Media this year as I did last year, my
competitors will catch up with me and I can close doors next year." Turret Media.
My dad's mighty media machine. His life revolves around the place, and he
reckons mine should too. I nodded. "I'll have been thinking about it for a long
time. I expected better from you," he told me as if I were one of Turret's
directors. "Spine! Get one! Don't go thinking." Like ... That's when my mother got
up and walked. Dad stopped tormenting. The atmosphere in the living room was
suddenly filled. We all knew what he wanted to say. That was last night.
Fortunately, my father is not here now. It's just me and my mom in the car. I
unbuckle my seat belt and lean my head against the window next to me to look
out the window. On either side of the tarred road is a lane of trees that reach
over us with their low branches. Green lawns, neatly cut, like cricket fields. In
some places there are gardens with red, orange and yellow flowers. Further away
are the school's sports grounds, the modern school buildings and even further,
the residences. All named after the guy that was the forerunner in his time: Pierre
Curie, Albert Einstein, Leonardo da Vinci, Ludwig van Beethoven and Greg Owen.
Okay, I'm lying about the last one. The other residence is named after Le
Corbusier, the French architect who saw buildings as "machines in which people
, live". And as a backdrop for the enormous school grounds lie the peaks of the
Drakensberg: Cathedral Peak, Mnweni Needles, Devil's Tooth, Amphitheater and
many more. Nicole sometimes jokes with me that I'm in the Drakensberg boys
'choir, but the Drakies' school is a long way south-east of here. Lawson is a school
for the boys of the super-rich. A prestige college
Pg. 17
which was started about twelve years ago by an old guy named Thomas Lawson.
(His grandson, TJ, is also in Matric this year.) Grandpa Lawson apparently had
more money than mind or reasoning ability. I mean, why would you come to build
a boys' school here in the middle of a stray hole? But, so the principal, doctor Alec
Pienaar, always says: "Thomas Lawson had a dream: to create a breeding ground
..." (yes, really, those were Thomas' own words) "... the business leaders of the
future can be cultivated. " What he did not say is that the "business leaders of the
future" will have to build their empires with the money their dads inherited,
earned or stole in the past. Smells of corruption that always lie shallow under
some of these business leaders' Italian cutter suits. But we are not talking about
it, just as we are not talking about money. If you have money, you keep your
mouth shut. So, that's where I am now. Lawson College. And the place is relatively
new when you compare it to other schools of its kind: Gray College of
Bloemfontein, Afrikaans Boys' High School of Pretoria, Paarl Boys High. As a
result, the school does not have a terrible history to support. Certainly, a sad fact
when it comes to setting up prospectuses and stuff like that. A rich history
justifies class differences. But despite this, there is a waiting list longer than the
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