Tangled Passion

Stanley

Ejingiri

Win a Caribbean Cruise for 2

As a way to show his appreciation Stanley Ejingiri and his Management Team have decided to give away a cruise to the scene of the story in the gorgeous West Indian Island of Dominica. Whoever wins the draw will get the opportunity to visit the island and the breathtaking locations mentioned in the book.

How it works

 After you purchase the book

Go to the website
tangled-passion.com

Complete the form and submit your information.

You will be informed when the draw takes place

The winner will be notified that s/he is a winner and informed of the day of the cruise departure

Meet the author on the cruise and get your copy of the book signed

The access code is:
45356-76846

For terms and conditions of this promotion, please visit the website tangled-passion.com.

We wish you all the luck and hope to meet you on the ship.

Stanley Ejingiri Management Team

Copyright © 2013 by Stanley Ejingiri

Cover/Book design by Janwillem Wiefkers

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Stanley Ejingiri

www.stanleyejingiri.com

www.tangled-passion.com

First Printing: Apr 2013

ISBN 
978-0-9889061-9-8 (Print version)

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As Tom Clancey says, “The name on a book’s cover rarely tells the whole story of its birth.” I would like to thank the following people for their contributions.

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JanWillem Wiefkers, I thank you with all my heart for believing, for your continued support and dedication and for moving the mountains that scared the crap out of me.

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Min Jeong Kim, I can't thank you enough for the sacrifices you made to keep me focused on my writing… Gomawa.

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Theodore Brinette, thank you for your words of encouragement which made me believe and for investing so much time on research.

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Gloria Lavenberg, thank you for your “beautiful” contribution.

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Lovepreet, I thank you my dear friend for coming up with such a great title.

...

Eyes quickly squinched shut, eyelashes locked, and back muscles tightened in fearful anticipation; the devil’s dog was about to descend on one of them. Although none of the slaves knew which one of them was going to be its victim this time around, they had no doubt that it was on its way and that it was better to be prepared. Eyes began to tear, fingers quickly crossed, and hurried prayers escaped trembling lips as the hollow, dry sound grew nearer and louder and then it happened.

“Thwad!”

The devil’s dog collided mercilessly against its target, crashing with all its weight and anger into the sweaty bare back of one of the slaves. Splatters of blood dashed wildly into the air at the same time as a sharp, long, and pain-pregnant cry escaped the mouth of Jonah.

“Hmm!” Slaves nearby could hear Jonah painfully exhale; the sound seemed to come from somewhere deep down the belly of his soul, rushing out through his clenched teeth, his nostrils and the pores of his skin. They knew how his back felt—as if a thousand, crimson-hot coals from hell had been heaped on it, all at once.

“Hmm,” Jonah exhaled the second time, a burst of hot misty exhalation escaping his nostrils as he fought to subdue the pain. He was determined not to give the beast the pleasure of seeing him shed a tear but very quickly, the same pain he tried to suppress spread through his body like a thousand red ants and not long after, his eyes saw a wall of darkness and his knees buckled.

Michael’s hairy hand jerked and swung viciously backward again, sending the cowhide whip wheezing angrily as it slit through the air. When it returned and hit the now blood-muddy surface that used to be Jonah’s back for the fourth time, Jonah’s eyes flew open and his ears got greeted by the unmistakable roaring voice of Michael—The Devil;

“Mooove, boy!” Michael bellowed.

Jonah could hardly understand a single word that flamed out of Michael’s mouth; he was barely hanging onto consciousness. He could see Michael’s lips move rapidly and randomly but even that vision was too blurred to be read; his right eye was bloodshot and his left eye was only half open.

“I said move!” Michael ordered through gritted teeth, as he towered over Jonah with legs spread wide apart. Jonah struggled to gather his trembling and objecting body parts; getting on his knees and palms first and then hoisting himself to his feet, his legs wobbling madly. When he’d managed a fairly stable balance on his feet, his half-open eye shot in the direction where he’d last seen her. Ashana was still standing in the same spot–she was the only slave still standing, her whole body shaking as tears ran down her cheeks to join the river of perspiration on her face and barely-covered chest.

“Get down Ashana...please!” Jonah screamed at the top of his voice but the words barely made it out of his lungs, coming out in the form of a whisper—a whisper that was barely audible to his very own, nearby ears.

The devil’s dog cracked again and Jonah’s back went ablaze with a stinging pain that spread very quickly across his body. His legs gave up and immediately gave way and his body fell with a thud that shook the ground like a mini tremor. When his left eye slightly cracked open, a blurry vision of Michael-the devil marching towards Ashana caused Jonah’s heart to convulse and then stop.

Back at the Fort, rumor had it that the Slave Master's wife and son were on their way to visit from their faraway country across the Seas and Oceans. For this reason, Massa Longstands had instructed that everything be spick and span; thoroughly cleaned for the arrival of his family in two days.

Two new pit latrines had to be dug; one for the Master's wife and the other for their son.  Every hole in the walls of the master’s quarters had to be patched and every grass in the wrong place uprooted. The trees that lined the walkway into the Fort were to be properly pruned and none was to stand an inch taller than another.

The female slaves busied themselves with the cleaning tasks at the Master’s quarters while the male slaves handled the heavier tasks. For two days they all labored to cross tasks off of a long list given to them by Massa Longstands.

It was just at the crack of dawn; the sun was still warming the skies and none of its rays had begun the long travel to earth when continual banging on the door of Jonah’s hut interrupted the sleep of the occupants. The banging was a familiar sound all right but one they hadn’t heard in a long while–it was coming from Edward’s walking stick. “Thud…thud… thud,” the rap came the second time, a little harder than the first. Jonah propped himself against his elbows and his and PaNene’s eyes met in the faint light provided by the lantern with the same question in them–“What could be the problem?”

“Oui?” Jonah responded to the door knocking.

“The Massa needs everyone at the square immediately!” the voice at the door replied—it was Edward, the Slave Master’s translator.

“Now?” Jonah queried. They’d barely enjoyed three hours sleep since they laid down their tools from hard work that began the previous morning and ended only a few hours prior.

“Everyone is to assemble at the square immediately!” Edward repeated and moved on, his tone loaded with finality and the unwillingness to argue or be subjected to the explanation of instructions he had no choice but to carry out. Although it would have been only a few minutes’ difference before it was time for Jonah and the rest of the slaves to get out of their huts on a normal day, they grunted and complained in objection to the mandatory call to appear at the square before their usual wakeup time. This robbed them of a few more minutes of rest, which was a lot, especially after a previous day of the hardest dose of hard work.

“What now?” one of the slaves mumbled, slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the back of his right palm.

“Wake the others up and let’s get going,” PaNene replied stretching his right hand towards his walking cane, which was leaned against the wall to his right.

“How’s your back, Jonah?” he said, turning to his young friend.

“Still hurts badly, it feels like a million sharp needles are stuck all over my back,” Jonah replied. “As you must have noticed, I am still unable to sleep on my back.”

“Remember what the rat told its pups when hot water was poured into the hole, in which they were hiding?” the old man said.

“Yes, I do, Pa,” Jonah replied, nodding slowly. “‘Everything hot eventually cools and nothing hurts forever.’”