Excerpts from Zwaluwen

Erik's brother doing what he does best: killing innocent birds.With one eye tightly closed Edward aims his airgun, until the swallow that is positioned on a branch of the old oak tree is in a straight line with the barrel of his gun. He pulls the trigger and the swallow falls into the grass below. Edward hurries to the spot only to be stopped in his tracks by astonishment when he sees two birds twitching in agony instead of one. The bullit must have hit one swallow and then strayed into another. Edward throws a fearful glance over his shoulder, dreading his father's presence. He loads his gun and shoots the birds four, five times at very close range. Each time he reloads his gun his nerves are deserting him more and more.'Keep a close watch on dad, will you?' he asks Erik.Erik keeps a close eye on the premises. The disquiet he shares with his brother is for real. Father is devoted to swallows.For the last two shots Edward practically buries the end of the barrel in the feathery chests of the birds. 'Tough little bastards, they are' ,he utters in relief, as he puts the dead swallows in his pocket.'Better not leave them about, don't you think'. He gives his brother a cruel wink'

Erik has just discovered a magazine with an article about Muhammad Ali.

Erik takes a few English magazines from the bookshelf and lays down on the bed. Leafing through one of them he chances upon a full-page photo that draws his attention.The man in the picture impresses him immediately. Only dressed in white sports-trunks the negro poses with both hands on his back, as if bound, with his chest pierced by five arrows. At the wounds a red substance is visible meant to be blood. The meaning of this is lost on Erik. As is the text under the photo. 'No vietcong ever called me nigger'. Boxer turns martyr. For a long time Erik admires the perfectly shaped body