AN EXTRACT FROM MY NOVEL- UNTITLED

A free spirit

Agry village in Turannisia.

“The North-easterly wind stirred rings of dust from the parched earth. It brought the stench of death, foul as the Grim Reaper’s breath in its serpentine tail.” She spoke these words in a voice closer to a whisper, walking alongside the men carrying the coffin. Later, fighting her way through the crowd of mourners (all women, most donned in black, some in grey, some in brown; Aunt Laila in scarlet sticking out like queen bee amid the worker bees), she will choose a corner and record these words in her diary -a man- size black leather diary with silver pages. Blue ink, conjoint italic letters like a leisurely smoke ring blown out of the mouth of an adolescent girl: The North-easterly wind stirred rings of dust from the parched earth. It brought the stench of death, foul as the Grim Reaper’s breath in its serpentine tail.

“Did you say something, love?” The young man whom she was walking alongside and whom she was towering over said, freeing one hand to wipe his eyes filled with dust. “No, I was just saying…the weather…I mean it is lovely today.” Emma flinched to face the young man, her face flushing a little.

“Lovely weather for a funeral; so dramatic, so very…dramatic.” An inappropriate voice, which Emma hadn’t recognised as her own chimed in her head. Sweetly, without any irony as if there really was such a day- a fine day for a funeral. As if the voice was an advertisement for the most appropriate day for people to die for. As if death

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was a picnic- an enticing picnic. Lovely weather for a picnic today, wouldn’t you agree?

The young man with dark features probed Emma, “Lovely weather?”

He clearly did not agree with Emma that there was anything lovely about the weather today for he was almost blinded by the dust in his eyes. Lovely weather for a picnic today, wouldn’t you agree?

“I meant, the breeze…it’s nice and fresh today; yesterday… it was unbearable.”

The young man let out an inappropriate laughter, relaxing his blistered hands a little from the coffin. “You call this a breeze! This is called tornado, love. Torn bleeding ado!”

Another man quipped, “Poor, old dear; she must be summoned up by Satan to be a guest of honour at his wedding today.” And tapped at the coffin lightly.

This fellow was tall with thick fair hair; his thin mouth stretched like a rubber band as he uttered these words. “How do you mean?” Said Emma; wrinkling her brow, unable to comprehend the young man’s riddling, loud, elastic words. She had not meant her tone to be so abrupt. The tall man with rubbery mouth replied, “Oh, sorry I forgot. You were still a babe when you left this village, mama says; of course, you wouldn’t be familiar with local sayings on our shores.”

Emma was by no means still a babe when she left the village. In her tall lanky frame, she even looked older than her ten years; though, she was still flat all over and the

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seasonal curse was yet to visit her. She resembled a boy in his late teens, when she was last here; in this village.

“What local saying?” She pressed on.

The tall man halted in his spot; stony faced, beads of sweat forming on his dusty brow, unsure how to respond to Emma.

The other three men carrying the coffin had to also halt.

Freeing one hand and waving it around to gesture apricot coloured fields ahead, the short man with dark features sought to enlighten Emma in just the good nick of time, “There is a local saying over here; in these plains- Satan is taking his wedding vows again we say whenever there is a tornado.”

Then all four men began moving again, with the coffin adjusted neatly under their shoulders. Emma continued walking alongside the men with brisk, purposeful steps.

After a few minutes of silence, “During the ceremony of his latest wedding… it is worth noting that Satan has a wedding or ten a day, all over the world; he blows his nose at his new bride. This…I mean this tornado is what comes out of Satan’s nose. Or at least that’s what the old dears say.” Another man offered further explanation. This one was much older than the other three men holding the coffin; he had a brown, kindly face, Emma noted. “They say all tornadoes and blizzards are Satan’s work.” He concluded, gesturing to other three men holding the coffin to stop there; in a barren piece of land in the overcrowded cemetery. Then, he reached to his shovel with one hand

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and with the other hand he grabbed the cigarette behind his left ear.

All three men followed suit like toddlers imitating their parents, reaching both to their shovels and cigarettes tucked behind their ears.

“Of course, you are still too young to have heard this saying; the old dears… they don’t like repeating such things in the company of a young woman so not to tempt Satan.” He said, lighting his cigarette. “Or else Satan would try luring the young ladies to be his new brides; the old biddies believe…young pretty ladies like you. I myself don’t buy this. Satan… he is no goddamn fool to bother with our womenfolk over here. If he so much spends a night with our womenfolk, he will rush to beg Allah to rid him of these whining biddies. .” He chucklED.

Once again, all three men followed suit; chuckling with laughter.

Then a moment of silence.

Shyly, the short man with dark features was gazing at Emma, “You, my dear; you ain’t like the womenfolk here. You are an angel, a lovely angel. Satan would have much trouble converting you to his filthy causes with his charm.” Following this, the tall man blew a wolf whistle, playfully slapping the back of the short man with dark features.

Emma smiled awkwardly at the young short man, her mind wandering at the words of the old men: “Satan takes a new bride.”

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The absurd, surreal images of her fantasy wedding to Satan flashed before her eyes. Emma was dressed all in black; a tiny black dress, black shades, black shoes. She wore heavy silver chains across her chest with an attitude suiting the modern rappers or bad ass gangster

boys; shamelessly, without a hint of guilt over silver miners all around the world.

Satan is different things to different people, you understand! Her Satan that day manifested in the form of a woman- an irresistible temptress, a flash seductress. She wore a long, scarlet gown; rustling under her pale feet as she walked to the altar, like waves crushing at the rocks, like a dream. Like a dream! Over her dazzling, dark face, she wore a crimson veil which she only lifted to say “I do”, before pulling it down again.

As she exchanged ruby rings with Emma, her rippling laughter filled the room; echoing on the oyster coloured walls.

The guests- they were all sinners; they have to be sinners. Satan was very particular about who to invite to her wedding, you see!

Satan employed many musicians and jesters to perform at the wedding. The food was sumptuous and plentiful. The wine flew like fountains into the golden cups of the guests. The works. The works! The exuberant, shameless, demonic works of Satan.

Afterwards, Emma will lock arms with her lady of darkness-mighty Satan, competiting against her new lover- who would blow the loudest tornadoes from their noses stuffed

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