Analfabeten som kunde räkna by Jonas Jonasson

By Jonas Jonasson

Hon började arbeta som femåring, blev föräldralös vid tio, överkörd vid femton. Ingenting tydde på annat än att hon skulle leva ett tag i sitt skjul i Sydafrikas största kåkstad och sedan dö, saknad av ingen. Om hon nu inte varit den hon var, males det var hon ju. Nombeko Mayeki var analfabeten som kunde räkna.
Ödet tillsammans med hennes talang för henne bort från Soweto, until eventually internationell storpolitik, until andra sidan jordklotet, until eventually två identiskt lika och väldigt olika bröder. less than resan lyckas hon reta upp världens mest fruktade säkerhetstjänst innan hon en dag finner sig själv instängd i skåpet until eventually en potatisbil. Där och då är världen som världen känner den hotad.
I Analfabeten som kunde räkna gör Jonas Jonasson upp med fundamentalismen i alla dess former tillsammans med vanföreställningen om olika parents olika värde. Han gör det med humor och värme. Och slår en gång för alla hål på myten om att kungar inte nackar höns.

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See the huge flakes drifting against the windowpanes. It must be the doves, surely. They finally make up their minds to come down, the little dears; they are covering the waters and the roofs with a thick layer of feathers; they are fluttering at every window. What an invasion! Let's hope they are bringing good news. -and not only the elect. Possessions and hardships will be shared and you, for example, from today on you will sleep every night on the ground for me. The whole shooting match, eh?

Well, here's the stroke of genius. [138] I discovered that while waiting for the masters with their rods, we should, like Copernicus, reverse the reasoning to win out. Inasmuch as one couldn't condemn others without immediately judging oneself, one had to overwhelm oneself to have the right to judge others. Inasmuch as every judge some day ends up as a penitent, one had to travel the road in the opposite direction and practice the profession of penitent to be able to end up as a judge. You follow me?

But decidedly I am tired and no longer want to think of that period. Let's just say that I closed the circle the day I drank the water of a dying comrade. No, no, it wasn't Du Guesclin; he was already dead, I believe, for he stinted himself too much. Besides, had he been there, out of love for him I'd have resisted longer, for I loved him-yes, [127] I loved him, or so it seems to me. But I drank the water, that's certain, while convincing myself that the others needed me more than this fellow who was going to die anyway and that I had a duty to keep myself alive for them.

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