Histoire de mon fils

No, the trains on this route were no longer segregated, and there was no
law, any longer, against a man of his kind and a woman of her kind sharing
a bed. The woman at the reception desk had been trained to make guests
feel welcomed with a personal touch. — Weren't you with us here before,
sir?—
He was signing the register with her grandfather's surname, their
pseudonym as a couple. — No.—
— Funny… but so many people come back to us again and again…—
Yes, no law against such a couple, now, but by tradition the combination
continues to be something of a shock, even if it has to be dismissed for
business reasons.
— No— He was aware of Hannah's eyes on his back as he wrote the
date in the register; he felt shame (and the wrongness of feeling shame, as if
it somehow could be read as an apology for being himself) on behalf of
both of them for this lie. Only this lie.

Everything we say to each other has a meaning other than what comes
out. That's what makes it difficult to be in the house with him. Now he was
admitting he doesn't know anything much about me except that I know
about the woman, who she is, where she lives. He has no hand in enriching
my life (as he would think of it) anymore. Although we couldn't be
members of the library when we lived across the veld, I mustn't forget he
bought children's books and read to us.

On ne meurt pour la liberté que s'il y a en perspective l'équivalent politique de la vie éternelle - c'est-à-dire la libération telle que promise par les Ecritures socialistes, et non dans un quelconque compromis avec une économie mixte, des gens avec de l'argent - des Blancs et des Noirs embourgeoisés ! - toujours propriétaires de la terre que les Blancs ont volée par la conquête !