Because Blogger's "Adult warning" often goes into a perpetual loop (isn't working properly), I will be making all new posts at my WordPress blog. You can follow it even if you do not have a WordPress Account. There're also my Twitter and my Tumblr blog, my Facebook and my Google+ page and my group.
(Update: Blogger hasn't fixed its problem with the "adult warning". Will go back to posting at my WordPress blog)

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Black And Deep Desires, chapter 6

Chapter 6 uploaded to my website.

"I had an old-fashioned upbringing, Inspector.  My father ran a tea plantation in Nairobi.  I grew up in East Africa.  Africa is a savage land.  The British community was small and closed, and my parents struggled to maintain the sort of standards we were accustomed to.  And of course in many ways it was a wonderful, exciting life.  I was sheltered and protected, but still, inevitably, I was exposed to things no English schoolgirl would dream about.  Youve heard of suicide season?  For weeks and weeks, the weather is hot and suffocating.  The air is still, its like a blanket pressed to your face.  You cant breathe.  The clouds do not move.  Like a ceiling of dullness bearing down on you.  Feelings start to ferment.  It becomes unbearable.  People behave in irrational ways.  The code of behaviour for us was rigid and unbending - it had to be.  Her face became reminiscent; Ill never forget.  When the rains started, youd know.  Thered be wind, a strange, empty, restless, dusty wind.  Then youd smell it.  Long before you could see or feel it.  That smell of water on dry, caked earth.  Wed run outside, and you could see it coming - like a wall, like a great curtain, moving towards you from the far, far away horizon.  Then youd hear it.  Like a roar, a rush of sound.  Wed dance in it, my Ayah and I.  Wed laugh and shriek like mad things.  My mother was too dignified, of course, although shed have loved to dance too.  She and my father would stand on the verandah and watch us, smiling.  My father was such a gentleman, Inspector.  Such a gentleman.  She smiled; The rain was like a hail of bullets, it hurt your head, your back, your shoulders, it was so hard.  And so exhilarating.  She sighed; When the first stirring of the Mau Mau uprising began to be felt, my mother was so strong.  Inspector, our own loved and trusted servants, practically part of the family, were hiding pangas in the linen-cupboard!  Our linen-cupboard!  No doubt theyd had pressure put upon them.  We saw and lived through terrible things.  Eventually my father decided we couldnt stay.  He sent us back to England, meaning to follow later.  He was killed the day before he was due to fly out.  Slashed to ribbons, we were told.  On the floor of his own study.  Her face was fine and resolute; Ive put it all behind me, but I remember the lesson.  She reached for the teapot and filled three cups.  Her movements were graceful and controlled.  Life goes on.  Please, Inspector, let us have the people of the village here.  Let me show them that I can hold my head up, that I can survive this dreadful blow and carry on with my life.  Please, please, close the case on this sad little infant, and give it a Christian burial. 

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