741 Chapters
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Chapter 17

Jim Cohee Indiana University Press ePub

Chapter 17

The man on the rock followed me down—keeping to his side of the Nandhour—and he brought with him some villagers. The world now seemed to shake with the villagers’ drums. In my brief sojourn in this stricken land, I had never heard such drumming. The leaves jumped and convulsed with the sound.

I should like you now to consider my situation in this difficult terrain. On a slope to my left, a slope of perhaps thirty-five degrees, the ears of the curious ghorals twitched above rock ledges. And as I looked up, I noticed a rectangle of dimming sky, calm cerulean blue framed by hell-horrid, black leaf-silhouettes, sharp as spears. Poets’ promises die there.

Night was settling in. The air was redolent of the ipsi­biadrindi flower. Fronds of giant ferns like malevolent hands reached over my shoulders. The narrow sand path I walked turned off to the right, turned back, then vanished behind a large slate rock which stood on the forest floor like an artillery shell. The silence of the woods, with its evil and malignant spirits, unnerved me, and the hair unexpectedly rose on the back of my neck as I approached the rock. A thin puff of air brushed my face. If the Chowgarh tiger were lying in wait, it would keep me downwind. So it was here! The tiger was about to ambush me! Unafraid of the drumming, the tiger must be lying on the sand path behind the rock!

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Medium 9780253019028

Ali Mazrui (1933–2014)

IU Press Journals Indiana University Press ePub

Ali Mazrui. Photo by Seifudein Adem. ©2011

THE RANKS KEEP thinning, bringing sadness both for the individual loss and for the inevitable receding of an era whose seizure owed so much to the intellectual industry of scholars such as Ali Mazrui.

Ali and I were unflagging adversaries. Indeed, it is only by dint of a hard effort of recollection that I find myself able to cite a few areas of absolute concordance on any critical issue that concerned the “Africa Project”! Fortunately, I was able to participate—at his touching insistence!—in the colloquium at Binghamton University to mark his seventieth birthday. He was the perfect host, presiding affably over the multidisciplinary motley of African scholars and Africanists, including statesmen and -women, that he had labored very hard to bring together.

Among these was another adversary of a different kind—General Yakubu Gowon, former Military Head of Nigeria. We were meeting for the first time since my emergence from prison detention in 1969. Gowon was obviously ill at ease, understandably, since he had signed the detention order that had kept me in prison for over two years during the Biafran war of secession. Many knew this already, so the tension was not confined to the General alone; certainly, Ali was on the watchful side, especially as he had seated the two ‘enemies’ side by side.

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Medium 9781574415384

The Good Luck Doll

Jessica Hollander University of North Texas Press ePub

The Good Luck Doll

Claudia’s mother sent the doll in a large yellow envelope that was torn at the top and dirt-smeared. The doll looked familiar: squeezable, dressed in overalls with a white lace-collared shirt adorned with the bright, awkward dots and wavy lines of someone unable to hold a marker properly. A girl with two braids chopped off and a brown smear on her cheek. The note said: You forgot to take your baby with you.

Claudia made up Steve’s king-sized bed and set the doll in the middle, as a joke. She’d moved into the apartment nearly a year ago and still couldn’t think of it as hers. Steve carefully chose his articles. “Hand me my remote,” “Let’s move my dresser closer to my bathroom.” Once he’d said, “My front door’s sticking again,” and Claudia said, “The door might be yours but the stickiness belongs to the landlord.” He ignored her and never got the door fixed. Now with the humidity, she came home and banged her shoulder against the sweet spot in the middle.

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Medium 9780253010476

Chapter 34 Twenty First Year

William Williams Indiana University Press ePub

We buried old Nunnez In the Grove among the rest of our departed friends in the most decent manner our circumstances Would admit, and began the New year after the Old fashion. Now my friend Norman advised with me that he judged it proper we should put Ourselves out of farther suspence by sending Harry And Rory off on a Visit to our friends to gain some kind of intellegence. I jumpt into his opinion at Once and concluded to put the question to them On the morrow. They both agreed with us that the motion was right and concluded to set off. I told them I thought it best that they should go by themselves and not to take women with them as the thing did require dispatch. And as the Women were at this Day so well used to us they were very placid on the proposal, and Off they went, furnished with what they thought proper for their journey, the next day. We had taken care to council them after the Best manner we could devise before they left us.

About 4 days after the Young men were gone We had a sad casualty happened among us, as thus. In the morning Mr. Bell and Owen sat out on a March after Flamingoes with their Guns; and as They went in a Canoa I desired they would stop as they returned at the Old plantation and bring Some large Callabashes with them as the Girls Wanted some for their use. But how was I struck About two hours after with the sound of a Conck, And that of my friend Normans sounding as I knew fulwell by the manner. “What can this be?” Said I to my Wife. Down we ran to the Lagoon and Into the Indian Canoa I got. But I had not gone far when I saw our boat on the return with Only messmate Norman padling without my Son. Therfore as soon as he turn’d the Point I hail’d him. He made me no answer, only paddled the faster. But when he came up, and Seeing Owen on his back in the boat, I cried out, “What is the matter, Shipmate? Speak, tell me at once!”

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Medium 9780861967254

Chapter 20

Tony Grey John Libbey Publishing ePub

Meilin and Gan are in the family suite which has several rooms. Meilin is in hers, thinking about how she should approach her father, desperately worried that he’ll refuse and what she should do if he does. The sun is streaming through her small casement window lighting up the blue silk which covers the roughness of the mud brick walls. She paces up and down, treading heedlessly on the intricately designed silk rugs woven with the famous blind stitch. Each stitch, closely applied to give the surface its sheen, is so tiny that many of the weavers eventually lose their sight. She’s in two minds; should she go to see him now or wait. Maybe something will happen to put him in a particularly good mood. That’s procrastination. She must go now and face the consequences.

With a burst of determination she leaves the room and walks through the stone corridor up to the top of the southern tower where he has his office. It looks over a stand of poplars past the hot cobblestone quadrangle.

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