Claire Keegan - Antarctica

"How's the bantam?" is the first thing I say when I meet Slapper Jim. He laughs a big, red laugh that sounds like the beginning of something. He has plump lips and blond hair, and standing beside him is like standing in the shade. He's as big as a wardrobe. I want to open all his shirt buttons and look inside. "Haw" is the word he uses all the time.
"Who's this bantam now, haw?" Sounds like he's talking down a well.
My father sits at the head of the table and rubs a wedge of tobacco between his palms and packs his pipe. He has no teeth to distract the smile away from his eyes.
"Ma says your one is like a bantam," I say.
"Haw?"
"Do ya leave her sitting on the nest all week?"
"Maybe she's not nesting at all."
"Pluck her."
The bantam jokes went on until the end. The hatching, plucking, sideways-looking, gawky jokes carried us through summer and beyond.
Slapper doesn't wear a belt. When he pulls his trousers up, the hems don't reach his ankles. On real wet days, the men stay home and do odd jobs around the yard. They fence, pare sheep's feet, weld bits and pieces. On Saturdays Eugene watches Sports Stadium and bites his nails. I help Slapper split the sticks. I am a girl who knows one end of a block from the other, know to place it on the chopping block the way it grows, make it easier for Slapper. But I don't suppose it would make any difference. That ax comes down and splits it open every time, knots or no knots. Even the holly, which my father calls "a bitch of a stick to split," breaks open under his easy strike. We have a rhythm going: I put them up; he splits them open. With other people, I take my hand away fast, but not with the Slapper Jim. He and I are like two parts of the same machine, fast and smooth. We trust each other. And always he gives his waistband a little tug when I'm putting them up, and that waistband slides down with every swing of the ax.

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První, nejtemnější knížka Claire Keeganové. Musela jsem čtení asi dvakrát přerušit, a začíst se do něčeho jiného, abych se srovnala, její neústupné trvání na tom, že se musím postavit svým nočním můrám, mělo silné následky. Rovnou vám to prozradím, žádný happyend se nekoná, konat nebude. Povídky jsou drsné, ani slovo navíc, a z některých se vám bude ježit srst. Čímž chci naznačit, že je to dokonalá kniha, přes všechno popsané není beznadějná, nebo laciná, hrůza v ní popsaná není samoúčelná.. Zase jedna jen pro odvážné, ale doporučuju bez zaváhání.