Title: Kindred Passage
ISBN: 978-1-62420-103-5
Author: Gregory
Gourlay
Email: (Does not want it public)
Genre: Adventure/Suspense
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1
In the 1960s while
visiting central Africa, Ken Mallory uncovers intriguing information
surrounding his great-grandfather, Lucas Lindsay, who fought in the Barotseland
Civil War of a century earlier. Delving deeper into the puzzle, Ken begins to
identify with Lucas, setting to rest agonizing problems from his recent past.
Through the eyes of these two young men, different generations of the same
family, Kindred Passage views the native wars of the 1860s, along with Africa's
post-colonial era. Although living one hundred years apart, the similar
dilemmas the Zambezi River country and its people impose on both men underscore
the basically changeless nature of Africa.
EXCERPT
The kudu cow had
just started down the slope when a vehicle hurtled out of the heat haze from
around a bend. She leapt back up the slope in two great bounds. On top, she
settled into a hard run for the cover of the scrub.
"Aw...Jesus!"
The Land Rover swerved, then slid
off the road, heading for a clump of mopani trees. Ken Mallory strained against
the wheel, fighting the heavy sand. Dropping into four-wheel-drive, he churned
back onto the road and stopped.
The antelope had
been beautiful. Mallory relaxed his sturdy shoulders against the seat and fixed
his blue-grey eyes on the spot where the creature had vanished. Lindsay would
have really enjoyed seeing that, he thought, and his mouth tightened. Then, with a
little shake of his head, he reached for the map on the seat beside him.
"Good,"
he muttered, checking the odometer against the map. He'd reach town in a few
hours.
~ *
~
A sun-bronzed
white man with heavy, sloping shoulders turned off the sandy road and headed up
the path to the native village in a powerful, lunging stride. Just inside the
village, he ducked his head under the lower branch of a flat-topped acacia tree
to stand
there in its shade.
"Fuckin'
heat," he grunted, pushing his hat back and using a thick finger to wipe
sweat from his face.
A full-bodied,
young native woman appeared inside the doorway of a hut. The man caught the
movement and, in one quick step, placed the tree’s trunk between them.
Stepping further
away from the door, the girl undressed. Pulling her long, flowered dress over
her head, she used it to wipe perspiration from her body.
The man stared,
his eyes pursuing her as she dipped water from a pot and dribbled it in little
splashes over her body head and
back and arms. Five minutes passed, and still he
remained motionless behind the tree.
He didn't notice
the stoop-shouldered, old woman until she was almost abreast of him.
She was more
startled than he. Visits to the village by Europeans, whites, were extremely
rare. One hand darted to her mouth in surprise; the other flew upwards to
steady the pot she balanced on her head.
"What in hell
are you starin' at?" he growled. "Voetsak—screw off!"
She edged past the
tree with a nervous giggle, clapping her hands politely, empty breast pouches
slapping against her thin body.
A wind sprang up,
swirling in circles and gusting, hot and dry off the plain. Thatch rattled on the
roofs; the old woman and houses vanished as dust rushed through the village.
The man mouthed a
silent curse at the invading clouds of dirt and lowered his big head against
the wind. Then, as suddenly as it began, the wind died, seemingly killed by the
heat.
A film of dust
settled slowly to the ground.
Lighting a
cigarette, he stared after the old woman, focusing on the spot where she'd
disappeared around the side of a hut. He drew on his cigarette, thinking. Apart
from the old woman and the naked girl, there was no movement of any kind. The
village dozed in the afternoon heat.
A gentle humming
began in his head.
The naked girl
arranged some cooking utensils on the dirt floor in front of her, then stopped
again to pour water on herself. As it ran down the crease separating her
buttocks, she twisted her body deliciously.
The man's tongue
crept between his lips and licked the corners of his mouth. He took another
quick look around, then threw his cigarette away.
The humming was
louder now, insistent. He couldn't ignore it any longer.
He was in the hut
and behind the girl before she was aware of him. When she spun around, he
calmly removed the belt from his trousers. Instinctively, her hand darted
between her thighs. He smiled at this and toyed with the belt, listening to the
hum.
Seconds later, the
belt began to sing through the air.
~ *
~
Ken Mallory leaned
over the steering wheel to squint through the dirty windshield. Figures danced
in the heat haze up ahead, near a village.
A group of natives attacked a white
man, a huge, blond fellow well over Mallory's middle height, who fought a
running battle toward the road. He appeared remarkably unruffled, however,
facing the enraged villagers with a strange, calm smile on his face, almost as
though he enjoyed himself.
Impulsively,
Mallory leaned on his horn. "C'mon," he shouted, "run for
it."
No comments:
Post a Comment