My Soul to Keep (African Immortals) by Tananarive Due

Author:Tananarive Due [Due, Tananarive]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2011-11-15T06:00:00+00:00

“I don’t believe this. The light doesn’t work,” Jessica said, flipping up and down on the exposed switch built into the wooden wall of the cabin, which was in a woodsy, elevated portion of island. The house was built high on what looked like stilts, probably in case of flooding. They’d climbed twelve steps to get to the unlocked door.

“David, go run and try to catch that Mantooth guy. I can’t believe he left us here without—”

“We have to crank up the generator first, baby.”

David took off his sunglasses and put them in his T-shirt breast pocket, gazing around the tiny room. There was a bed, all right; queen-sized, made up with a tightly pulled brown blanket in the middle of the open room, devouring most of the space. A small pine table for two was pushed against the far wall, and then there was a tiny kitchen space with a two-burner range and small oven, with a miniature aluminum sink beside them. A portable refrigerator stood in a corner adjacent to the oven. The only ornament in the room was a replica of an eighteenth-century musket mounted on the wall above the table.

Jessica sneezed. The room needed airing out. She made her way to the picture window across the east wall, hoping the screen was intact to keep the mosquitoes out. They’d been swarmed with the buggers while their shoes got soggy as they climbed across the grassy shoal to the shore. Through the window, she saw a majestic array of cypress, royal palm, and pine trees; and, in the distance, aqua green of the water surrounding them. This would be a nice cabin, with some A.C.

“Okay. Found it,” David called from the kitchenette, and she heard him fussing with machinery. “Guess we’ll need power for the fridge, mainly. The stove is propane.”

“Do we have any?”

David held up an aluminum can. “Ye of little faith …”

The generator began to whir noisily. Much better, she thought. Some sign of the twentieth century.

Actually, the room was sort of quaint, built completely from wood. It was clean-swept and practical, almost like a lodge. From the outside, they’d been able to make out where the individual logs were secured together to build the walls.

Jessica walked past the bed to the bathroom and flicked on the switch. Wooden walls, a smooth wood toilet seat, linoleum floor. The sink was tiny and makeshift, but she was struck by the old-fashioned porcelain tub on brass legs. Nice touch, she thought, but a strangely sentimental detail in such a spare place.

“Well?” David asked her, bending over to unload the fried chicken and drinks into the fridge.

“It’s cute. Daddy Mantooth had simple needs, I guess.”

“I can’t wait to take a look around the island,” David said, and the cheeriness of the statement made Jessica notice his improved mood. “First, I’m going to find a fishing hole. Rick told me about a marsh near where he dropped us off.”

“A marsh? Which one? It’s all a marsh.”

“Quiet, you. Here’s our plan: I’ll hunt and gather, and meanwhile you can pound our clothes with some stones to wash them.

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