Rakabai And The Goddess Felice' (eBook)

Xavier Dakuri (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
354 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-1409-2 (ISBN)

Infos

A Black man travels to a strange land and finds racism is an earthly evil, that envelopes all of earth. He's convicted of crime he's innocent of, but learns to transcend this scar of colonisation. He falls in love with the volcano Goddess and devotes his life to praising her beauty, power, majesty with love poems, paintings. He creates sustainable farm of sprawling orchards, coffee, cacao, exotic fruit trees, all in praise to her, so he can be a part of the quilt shes designing in her dreams.

---

Rakabai, a Black Starbonian relocates to a Pearl island and tragedy befalls him. He realizes how vulnerable he is as a Black male on this planet. Seraphina, his starbone wife, is bipolar and he tries to get her treatment. Her sickness, creates another dimension in his efforts. He's convicted of a crime he's innocent of. He realizes how disconnected he is from the generic native, colonization had a color code, the memo must have been misplaced in their cultural upbringing, or in the elitist flavor of their innocence. He felt disconnected but not alone. Rakabai as a dreamer, poet, painter becomes enthralled with the presence of the Goddess Felice', the volcano Goddess and transcends spiritually into vortex of her spiritual powers. He begins a journey of paying homage to her through the souls of the people he meet. He writes love poems to her, like daily prayers, recreating her beauty, wisdom, blessings as he becomes one with her magical strides. The Goddess Felice', he found solace in her, she is the spirit of this earth, bowels spewing red gold,she answered all is prayers, his humility increased in grain fields.

Textauszug

Chapter 1

Rakabai stood there thinking about all he had endured to get this point, he thought of Serephina, he thought of his kids. He remembered all that happened and how he survived.

“What are you majoring in?” Rakabai asked Serephina. “Child development. I want to teach kids. I worked at a private school for kids for two years. It was a pilot program. They really liked me and eventually made me full time. I wasn’t just a substitute teacher. I loved working with those kids. I really miss them.”

“Well,” she went on, “that’s what we are going to do here. Farming and children’s camp intertwined. Tauren has the little shed above me and is a carpenter and will do our building.”

“Oh, really,” Rakabai smiled, seeing her flap her legs as she pulled back her golden hair. He thought how a gracious breeze had engulfed the two of them, as they tendered their blessings. Water flowed from a entelo-runt a few feet away. It was just a hose with no cut off. A farmer’s hose. The field spoke to them, singing along as they whispered to each other.

“Are you still dating that guy?”

“Oh,no! I do love him, but when he found out about my pregnancy, he changed. I had a miscarriage anyway. He was supposed to visit me this week, but didn’t show up. He wants me to pay his way over. I can’t. I don’t have any money.” Serephina scratched at the soil with a stick.” And then Lucy and my friends don’t like him, so that’s another problem. I like it. I’m looking for a place here.”

“You’re not going back to Ethiepe’?”

“Yes. But I can’t stay. Somatra’s mother is moving in. She doesn’t approve of the black star one relationships. So I have to move on.”

“What a shame.”

“I know. I get along with her father. He’s an awesome guy, lives in Tetra. A retired doctor.”

“I want to go to Africa one day.” Serephina said.

“I had a sister in law that went to Africa. It was kind of funny. She was dating this boxer. He was a middleweight champion back in the eighties. She always said he was the ugliest man she had ever seen but he was nice to her, bought her gifts all the time. Anyway, he wanted her to go to Africa with him. After she got there, she called me, depressed and upset. She said,I called downstairs for someone to fix the faucets ‘cause the water wouldn’t turn on. Someone came up and gave me a bowl of water and said the faucets don’t work! Outside it stinks, I’m getting on the next plane outta here. I’m not used to this shit. Flies everywhere. I can’t believe this shit,’ she told me.” Rakabai paused for a moment. “My second major in college was African literature,” he added, “Achebe and others. There are some awesome writers from Africa.”

Eventually, their eyes were like two doves fluttering in midair. At a standstill. Virtually entranced by the will of each other. Rakabai let it be, and flagged down a thought as he sat before her in her release of her dreams. He read her a poem from his Ethiepe’ selection and within flight she was no more. Her lips were his to have. Her hair, his to braid. Her arms as open as lychee capsules.

They danced within the surrounding fields and found a hill that stood high among others where they could see the other farms laid out in their savory landscape. The corn stalks birthed the colors of her hair. There was a clear spot, bald, like a monk’s pate, a cropping of hay in curls and confused balls before them. The sunlight was kissing the earth as Rakabai kissed the pearls of her neck. Serephina found Felice’’s lava tubes, and the heat was rising in him. She consumed his wealth of love. Her grapes were his, and he beckoned her to promise.

They could hear birds singing their stolen songs as they lay within the virgin softness of the field and partook of her wind. They made love at the four ends of a cross in the field that day. . Rakabai thought that he could die for this. They found their way back to her chiffon tent where she began to give him a massage. “I’m so glad I met you,” Serephina said. “I really needed that, I was so depressed.” “Well, you should cheer up. If he doesn’t want you, I’ll be glad to have you. I have a room at the hotel. You can come and stay if you like.”

“Oh. Really, it would be so good to get away from this field and take a shower for a change. I’ll have to let you know. I’m supposed to be watching the camp.” “Whatever. Let me know.” The mornings came and went like marbles thrown into some distant lake. Disappearing into rainbow shadows and finding time as just another face. Inside, you began to decipher scars. Abdominal scars, facial scars, head wounds, fingers, toes, missing eyes, and they all had a story.

After that day, Rakabai often wanted to ask Mare what had happened, since Boy (his nephew) was working in the laundry. He decided instead to put himself to the test and let time tell him. Damian and Rick bunked in the far corner, one above the other and Boy in the next bunk over. Boy and Damian were moved to B Unit and Rick was reassigned to a bunk directly across from Rakabai’s area. But ever since that “D-day” Saturday morning, he was like a shadow. He didn’t exist sometimes, that’s how silent he became, although one day he said, “I always beat up starbone boys. That’s what I’m known for. Ask Sarge, in the Main anywhere.”

And then along came a redneck with tattoos. He was huge, broad shoulders, german helmet face and head. About five foot ten inches, bald. Rakabai noticed Rick attaching to him like a huge barnacle. It was a scene right out of Uncle Tom’s history book. Rakabai had lived this scene or watch it capitulate itself in his own brethren. Know thy enemy, lest ye be weary, my friend, lest ye be lost. So, this day, like all days, Rakabai awakened early. He had consciously counted the minutes after noticing that the time was 3:15 a.m. when he limped over to urinate. He awakened for his 4:00 a.m. shift. Immediately, the Sarge walked in with the light. Rakabai guessed that he didn’t get a good late sleep in his chair.

Later, Rakabai waited for the start of the engine of Troy’s Rental Truck that went to the other prison on Viti Levu and the Main to feed the other prisoners. He waited for the morning’s light and for the overhead light to come on in the zovaals center, wait for it to shine into the dorm and light up skid row.

He wrote in his notebook. Skid row was the area where the bunks were in the center of the dorm and the Sarge could see everyone from his perch desk. That’s where they put you when you got busted for playing cards, or smoking, or any deviant behavior. You would stay there until they felt it necessary to move you back to the Main. At the Main, there was no freedom, lock down, two bunks and a toilet and in those days, an extra sleeping space under the writing table, on the floor.

When the light came, Rakabai did his eighty sit ups after wrapping towels around his ankles and then forty push ups. He decided to wait for a while to do his usual back push ups off the side of the bed. Luan was watching him, and Rakabai felt his blood boil. Rumblings of his younger days came to mind. But in there, he was in disguise. He had let his starbone beard grow and his hair was also starbone. “Man, you look old,” Rick had said.

But Rakabai didn’t feel old. The others had no idea. His skin would crawl just like when he was a young boy. Crawl for the excitement of the battle. He could size them up just as easily, too. Most of those boys were either heroin addicts, or users of meth, or cocaine or alcohol. He could spot each one accordingly. With alcoholics, he noted the stained skin and blood shot eyes. They seemed to be staggering in and out as if they were struggling to stand. Heroin addicts slept all the time and meth users talked all the time. Incessantly. Would someone please find a way to shut them up, or at least have them turn down the volume, he would swear softly to himself.

“Do you smoke?” “Oh sure. Matter of fact, I have a little piece here. Not much, but I can get more. When I see Jack tomorrow.” “No rush. The massage is just great for now.” She did his feet, his hands and neck. Every inch of him. “You are a professional at this.” “I love to give massages. I give them to Tim every day.” “You do.” Rakabai asked.

So many observations flooded Rakabai between the time of his trial and his incarceration. The day after Christmas, skipped lunch and trailed toward the latrine to take that immaculate pee. The zovaals stand was surrounded by six zovaals, “a pile of envelopes-runts,” Rakabai thought. In the center of that pile of entelo-runts was none other than Sharon, the rudest bitch, from his first incarceration at the Main, five years previously.Rakabai remembered clearly. He had asked what his rights were.

“You want me to put you in the hole, Sarge?” She was twice as big now as she was then. It was the same with Ito. Along with his stripes for arresting Rakabai, he had garnered abdominal stripes too, along with everyone from that period. They had all eaten themselves almost to death. Rakabai grimaced involuntarily. As for himself, he felt like he had achieved something and there seemed to be a grand method in this madness.

While reading Playland the day after Christmas, Rakabai found a passage where the first person narrator was in Khe Sanh in 1968, just as he had been with his unit. During the trial, Rakabai had learned that his lawyer,...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 22.9.2023
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-1409-2 / 9798350914092