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Assignment № 6.
Get ready to discuss the next thems with your classmates and teacher.
Make up a plan
1.
Bruce was a talented writer. Explain why his books were not published.
2.
"There is no reason why a genius must starve in our modern times." Comment on the
phrase. Do you agree with it? Name some unrecognised geniuses.
3.
"People need entertainment". What do you think of it? Is it enough for a person? What
about you?
Assignment № 7.
.Retell the story using 15 sentences
Assignment № 8.
.Retell the conversation of autor and Bruce using direct speech
Assignment № 9.
.Find the irregular verbs from the text and fill the table giving their
forms
Assignment № 10.
Give question to the matched words
1)
Bruce
was not interested
in what people thought
of him or his work.
________________________________________________________________?
2)
After dinner
that evening the author began to read
the scenario
.
100
________________________________________________________________?
3) When they appeared,
he
refused
their first offers
.
________________________________________________________________?
Unit 16
RETURN (THE PATH OF THUNDER) by
P. Abrahams
The action takes place in South Africa. Lanny Swartz, a young coloured man, was sent by
his village folk to study in Cape Town. He has graduated from the University and is now
returning to his native village, anxious to teach his people.
It was early morning when the train pulled into the little station. Lanny stepped into the
fresh morning air and took a deep breath. He was nearly home now. Home! He smiled
because he was returning home; because the smell of the earth was in the air; it was a part
of home; a part of his childhood he remembered but dimly. It seemed as though he were in
another world, familiar, yet strange.
He picked up his cases and walked to the barrier at the far end of the platform where the
ticket collector impatiently waited for him. When he got to the man he put down his cases
and searched for the ticket.
Coldly the man stared at him, looked him up and down.
"Nice day," said Lanny. "I am returning home after seven years." The man stared at him, a
cold stare.
And suddenly Lanny remembered. One did not speak to a white man unless he spoke to
you. It was stupid to forget. He passed the man, feeling those eyes on his back.
Across the way was a coffee-stall. A lorry stood a little way off. Two bronze, muscular
men were drinking coffee. Lanny was conscious that they were looking at him. He could
do with a cup of coffee, but with these white men sitting there...
"Do you see what I see?" one of them asked. The other fixed his eyes on Lanny and looked
doubtful: "I'm not sure. It looks like an ape in a better Sunday suit than I have."
"Perhaps he wears suits like that every day... Besides, you are wrong, he's too pale to be an
ape. That's city bushy."
The second man rubbed his eyes and looked hard at Lanny.
"Bushy?"
The first man grinned: "You know. Coloured, half- caste!" He spat out the word with
contempt.
The other nodded and pointed at Lanny: "He's pretty, isn't he? I bet you a tailor made that
suit for him. And look at his shoes."
101
Lanny reached down to pick up his cases. The best thing he could do was to get out of
here. There was no sense in looking for trouble. He was no coward. He would take anyone
of them, but of course they wouldn't fight fair.
"Hey! You!"
Lanny stretched himself and waited.
"Come here!" It was the first man.
South Africa, Lanny thought tiredly, this is South Africa. He walked across the narrow
road. At least they won't frighten me, he decided; hurt me, yes, but frighten me, no. He
stopped directly in front of the man and looked straight into his face.
The man inspected him closely, his eyes resting on the fountain-pen in his pocket.
“Where you from?” the man shot at him.
“Cape Town”.
“What do you want here?”
“I live here”.
“Have not seen you around”.
“I have been in Cape Town for seven years”.
“School?”
“University?”
“What are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what I say. Have you any fancy titles?”
Lanny smiled. “Yes. I have two”.
Suddenly the man’s hand shot out and cracked across Lanny's mouth. With an effort
Lanny controlled the instinctive desire to strike back. The man saw the move and struck
again. Lanny touched his lips with his tongue and spat. A patch of red blooddropped on
the dust.
“Do not smile at me!” the man hissed.
South Africa, this is South Africa in brutal reality. This man hated him and insulted him
because he showed independence, because he was educated and wore decent clothes. This
was the old struggle for conquest. This man had to dominate him, he was fearful in case he
did not. Lanny saw it all more vividly than he had ever seen it. Not out of books. Not with
kindly lectures talking to eager or indifferent students making notes. No.
“Well?” the man threatened.
Lanny knew that all he had to do was to lower his eyes or look away – any gesture of
defeat would have done – and the man would tell him to go.
He returned the man’s stare. The man raised his fist.
102
I will not give in, Lanny decided, and turned and walked away.
The man cursed, roaring insults.
A pang of fear gripped Lanny’s heart but he kept on. This was the road home. He bit his
lips and held his head high.
NOTES:
1.
folk – people
2.
fancy titles –
(nafratomuz)
ilmiy unvon /
зд. (презрительно)
ученые звания
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