Bob Evers belegert Fort B by Willy van der Heide

By Willy van der Heide

Internet als het leven van Bob Evers, Jan Prins en Arie Roos weer normaal (dus saai) dreigt te worden, arriveert er een telegram van Evers sr uit big apple. Werk aan de winkel! Een aantal miljonairs wil weten of hun geld dat ze uitlenen om aan een verlaten smaragdmijn in Columbia nog wat additional miljoentjes te verdienen wel goed besteed wordt. Vertrouwensman Podulka lijkt ter plaatse wat slordig met dit geld om te springen, bijgestaan door de merkwaardige Hollandse ingenieur Rikkers. Vermomd als onschuldige Leidse archeologiestudenten gaat ons drietal een kijkje nemen dat rooster nog lang zal heugen!

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No meal was ever planned or balanced or served. Nor was there any gathering at the table. Pilate might bake hot bread and each one of them would eat it with butter whenever she felt like it. Or there might be grapes, left over from the winemaking, or peaches for days on end. If one of them bought a gallon of milk they drank it until it was gone. If another got a half bushel of tomatoes or a dozen ears of corn, they ate them until they were gone too. They ate what they had or came across or had a craving for.

It was like flying blind, and not knowing where he was going—just where he had been—troubled him. He did not want to see trees that he had passed, or houses and children slipping into the space the automobile had left behind. Macon Dead’s Packard rolled slowly down Not Doctor Street, through the rough part of town (later known as the Blood Bank because blood flowed so freely there), over the bypass downtown, and headed for the wealthy white neighborhoods. Some of the black people who saw the car passing by sighed with good-humored envy at the classiness, the dignity of it.

When the last time I seen that? I don’t even know the last time I seen that. I mean, ain’t nothing wrong with it. I mean, old folks swear by it. ” But his eyes were on the boy. Appreciative eyes that communicated some complicity she was excluded from. Freddie looked the boy up and down, taking in the steady but secretive eyes and the startling contrast between Ruth’s lemony skin and the boy’s black skin. “Used to be a lot of womenfolk nurse they kids a long time down South. Lot of ’em. But you don’t see it much no more.

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