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lili dauphin

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CRYING MOUNTAIN - Crazy Hurricane (Second Edition with foreword by Author)
by lili dauphin   

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Books by lili dauphin
· Golden Soul - Newly Revised Edition
· Write and Publish your eBook in 3 Days
· GOLDEN SOUL
· The Branches of the Soul
· How Not To Die On Monday
                >> View all

Category: 

Family

Publisher:  Miraquest ISBN-10:  0974832901 Type: 
Pages: 

232

ISBN-13:  9780974832906
Fiction

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The crying Mountain depicts a young girl’s journey through a devastating hurricane captured in diary kept when she was 8 years old. She has been writing since the age of five, when she was a little girl surrounded by extreme poverty, superstition, and brutality, Lili’s novel is a story of personal spirit, a story of a childhood lived creatively and courageously, and a story about the human will to persevere against overwhelming odds.

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EXCERPT


It’s a glorious day. The sky is blue and clear. Men, women and children are singing as they carry their goods to sell at the market. I can hear the voodoo drums in the mountains. I can see the palm trees standing strong and noble. I can hear the waves in the ocean mixed with the sound of the drums. It creates a beautiful melody that reaches every ear in the market. I can hear the sound of the children‘s laughter and the gentle murmur of the river nearby. The next moment the scene is replaced by strong wind, water and mud. Dead bodies are everywhere, including Chantal’s. Chantal is my nine-year-old friend and she was just sitting next to me at the market.
I am barely eight years old and filled with guilt for not being able to save Chantal from the fury of the hurricane. I sit on the roof of an old unstable structure being carried away by the raging waters, surrounded by death and despair. Next to me is a dead boy, stiff, eyes wide open, his tummy large and tongue hanging out. I try not to look, but he is right in front of me. Next to the dead boy is Marcelle, injured and holding her dead baby. Suzette is there. She’s pregnant and is also badly injured and maybe dying.
Suzette looks as if she’s in pain. She appears as though she’s going into labor. She keeps on holding her stomach and she is moaning.
“Sove nou Bondye, (Save us God)” she says calmly. “Padone nou. (Forgive us)”
Marcelle glances at Suzette, and then briefly looks at the sky. She turns to me, looking very serious, yet her eyes are smiling, thus leaving me a bit confused. Her eyes leave me for a while when Suzette screams out loud. I feel very relieved, but don’t know why. Marcelle is now paying closer attention to Suzette. I wish I could help Suzette. I am praying for her. Suzette is crying. I am thinking how could I get in touch with God so that He could come down and help Suzette and her unborn child. But before I could think of how to get a hold of God, Marcelle turns to me, except this time there is no smile in her eyes. The beautiful smile in her eyes now is being replaced by grief and despair.
“You are going to deliver this baby!” shouts Marcelle, staring at me with a blank smile, as she looks at her own dead baby and sighs loudly with tears in her eyes.

For a moment there, I keep on thinking that this is all a joke, but who could joke at a time like this? It all looks so real!
Marcelle cannot help deliver Suzette’s baby by herself, her injuries are too great and there is no one else here to help. I begin shaking harder than the wind. Maybe I’m shaking hard enough to create another big hurricane.
I know that I am eight years old because Granny says I am and besides I’ve been counting my years since I was five. Children are told here that most of us will die before we are five, so I believe I’m lucky. If I can make it through the next two years, I will be doing very well, I think. So far, I feel lucky.
I see all the dead bodies, mostly children, being carried away by the flood. My heart sinks. I try to cry, but my tears fail me. I feel as if I’m fainting when I look down on the ground. I feel a huge lump in my throat when I try to swallow. It feels as though I am choking. When lightning lights up the area, I see four tiny babies floating away. Not too far away are women and men and older kids. A stream of people, dead and near-dead seems to run by forever, carried along by the violent, muddy water.
I don’t like lightning. I pray for it to stop. I want it to be dark because I don’t have to face the horror. The lightning lights up everything, and I’m afraid it will attack my soul and mar it with all of its might while inflicting the deepest and most personal pain. The darkness hides the horrors from a tender heart, as if to protect it. I look up at the sky to keep from looking at the horrible sights and search very hard for God amongst the stars and planets.
“You have got to be up there, I know you are,” I softly murmur.
“Sove nou Bondye, pa kite nou peri, padone nou, (Save us, God, do not let us perish, forgive us)” I invoke Him in a whisper so no one can hear me. I think God can hear me. I think He can see me and feel my pain.
“You will save us, I know you will.”
We don’t have much time to be sad. We have to deliver a baby and the mother might be dying. I realize that the roof—our only refuge—could end up in the floodwater at any moment and send us following the other dead people unless we are rescued. But there is no rescue in sight or any hope of one. We are left to the mercy of nature or fate.
The wind is blowing violently. The fragile roof is hardly able to sustain its menacing strength. The flimsy structure looks as if it could end up in the water at anytime. The thought of it simply makes my stomach turn. I look down quickly and see two little girls being carried away by the waters. Marcelle does not seem to worry about the possibility that all of us on the roof could die at anytime or she doesn’t want to acknowledge the risk.
Marcelle orders me to remove Suzette’s panties. I don’t know why and don’t ask because Suzette does not have panties on.
“Open her legs wide, Tilou,” Marcelle orders.
I do it, but I become very confused and frightened. I have never seen hair between anyone’s legs before now and it looks scary to me. I think that either something is wrong with me or something is wrong with Suzette. Suzette is not helping. She is barely breathing. I have no idea where the baby is going to come from. I think that all a woman having a baby has to do is vomit and the baby will come out of her mouth. I put both of my hands under her mouth ready to catch the baby.
“Sa wap fout fe la? (What the hell are you doing?)” yells Marcelle.
When I see a big head coming out from between her legs everything goes black. But not for long because Marcelle kicks me on my side very hard with her left foot, the only part of her body that isn’t hurt.
“You have just begun,” she says in Creole. There is more? I think to myself. “Huh! Huh!” Marcelle responds as if she can read my mind. I am dead, I think to myself. “Not until you are done,” Marcelle answers.
I decide that Marcelle can read my mind so I refrain from thinking, at least for the time being. In the meanwhile I continue praying to God for a miracle. I wonder if Marcelle is able to also hear my prayers.



























































































































EXCERPT


It’s a glorious day. The sky is blue and clear. Men, women and children are singing as they carry their goods to sell at the market. I can hear the voodoo drums in the mountains. I can see the palm trees standing strong and noble. I can hear the waves in the ocean mixed with the sound of the drums. It creates a beautiful melody that reaches every ear in the market. I can hear the sound of the children‘s laughter and the gentle murmur of the river nearby. The next moment the scene is replaced by strong wind, water and mud. Dead bodies are everywhere, including Chantal’s. Chantal is my nine-year-old friend and she was just sitting next to me at the market.
I am barely eight years old and filled with guilt for not being able to save Chantal from the fury of the hurricane. I sit on the roof of an old unstable structure being carried away by the raging waters, surrounded by death and despair. Next to me is a dead boy, stiff, eyes wide open, his tummy large and tongue hanging out. I try not to look, but he is right in front of me. Next to the dead boy is Marcelle, injured and holding her dead baby. Suzette is there. She’s pregnant and is also badly injured and maybe dying.
Suzette looks as if she’s in pain. She appears as though she’s going into labor. She keeps on holding her stomach and she is moaning.
“Sove nou Bondye, (Save us God)” she says calmly. “Padone nou. (Forgive us)”
Marcelle glances at Suzette, and then briefly looks at the sky. She turns to me, looking very serious, yet her eyes are smiling, thus leaving me a bit confused. Her eyes leave me for a while when Suzette screams out loud. I feel very relieved, but don’t know why. Marcelle is now paying closer attention to Suzette. I wish I could help Suzette. I am praying for her. Suzette is crying. I am thinking how could I get in touch with God so that He could come down and help Suzette and her unborn child. But before I could think of how to get a hold of God, Marcelle turns to me, except this time there is no smile in her eyes. The beautiful smile in her eyes now is being replaced by grief and despair.
“You are going to deliver this baby!” shouts Marcelle, staring at me with a blank smile, as she looks at her own dead baby and sighs loudly with tears in her eyes.

For a moment there, I keep on thinking that this is all a joke, but who could joke at a time like this? It all looks so real!
Marcelle cannot help deliver Suzette’s baby by herself, her injuries are too great and there is no one else here to help. I begin shaking harder than the wind. Maybe I’m shaking hard enough to create another big hurricane.
I know that I am eight years old because Granny says I am and besides I’ve been counting my years since I was five. Children are told here that most of us will die before we are five, so I believe I’m lucky. If I can make it through the next two years, I will be doing very well, I think. So far, I feel lucky.
I see all the dead bodies, mostly children, being carried away by the flood. My heart sinks. I try to cry, but my tears fail me. I feel as if I’m fainting when I look down on the ground. I feel a huge lump in my throat when I try to swallow. It feels as though I am choking. When lightning lights up the area, I see four tiny babies floating away. Not too far away are women and men and older kids. A stream of people, dead and near-dead seems to run by forever, carried along by the violent, muddy water.
I don’t like lightning. I pray for it to stop. I want it to be dark because I don’t have to face the horror. The lightning lights up everything, and I’m afraid it will attack my soul and mar it with all of its might while inflicting the deepest and most personal pain. The darkness hides the horrors from a tender heart, as if to protect it. I look up at the sky to keep from looking at the horrible sights and search very hard for God amongst the stars and planets.
“You have got to be up there, I know you are,” I softly murmur.
“Sove nou Bondye, pa kite nou peri, padone nou, (Save us, God, do not let us perish, forgive us)” I invoke Him in a whisper so no one can hear me. I think God can hear me. I think He can see me and feel my pain.
“You will save us, I know you will.”
We don’t have much time to be sad. We have to deliver a baby and the mother might be dying. I realize that the roof—our only refuge—could end up in the floodwater at any moment and send us following the other dead people unless we are rescued. But there is no rescue in sight or any hope of one. We are left to the mercy of nature or fate.
The wind is blowing violently. The fragile roof is hardly able to sustain its menacing strength. The flimsy structure looks as if it could end up in the water at anytime. The thought of it simply makes my stomach turn. I look down quickly and see two little girls being carried away by the waters. Marcelle does not seem to worry about the possibility that all of us on the roof could die at anytime or she doesn’t want to acknowledge the risk.
Marcelle orders me to remove Suzette’s panties. I don’t know why and don’t ask because Suzette does not have panties on.
“Open her legs wide, Tilou,” Marcelle orders.
I do it, but I become very confused and frightened. I have never seen hair between anyone’s legs before now and it looks scary to me. I think that either something is wrong with me or something is wrong with Suzette. Suzette is not helping. She is barely breathing. I have no idea where the baby is going to come from. I think that all a woman having a baby has to do is vomit and the baby will come out of her mouth. I put both of my hands under her mouth ready to catch the baby.
“Sa wap fout fe la? (What the hell are you doing?)” yells Marcelle.
When I see a big head coming out from between her legs everything goes black. But not for long because Marcelle kicks me on my side very hard with her left foot, the only part of her body that isn’t hurt.
“You have just begun,” she says in Creole. There is more? I think to myself. “Huh! Huh!” Marcelle responds as if she can read my mind. I am dead, I think to myself. “Not until you are done,” Marcelle answers.
I decide that Marcelle can read my mind so I refrain from thinking, at least for the time being. In the meanwhile I continue praying to God for a miracle. I wonder if Marcelle is able to also hear my prayers.












































































































































EXCERPT


It’s a glorious day. The sky is blue and clear. Men, women and children are singing as they carry their goods to sell at the market. I can hear the voodoo drums in the mountains. I can see the palm trees standing strong and noble. I can hear the waves in the ocean mixed with the sound of the drums. It creates a beautiful melody that reaches every ear in the market. I can hear the sound of the children‘s laughter and the gentle murmur of the river nearby. The next moment the scene is replaced by strong wind, water and mud. Dead bodies are everywhere, including Chantal’s. Chantal is my nine-year-old friend and she was just sitting next to me at the market.
I am barely eight years old and filled with guilt for not being able to save Chantal from the fury of the hurricane. I sit on the roof of an old unstable structure being carried away by the raging waters, surrounded by death and despair. Next to me is a dead boy, stiff, eyes wide open, his tummy large and tongue hanging out. I try not to look, but he is right in front of me. Next to the dead boy is Marcelle, injured and holding her dead baby. Suzette is there. She’s pregnant and is also badly injured and maybe dying.
Suzette looks as if she’s in pain. She appears as though she’s going into labor. She keeps on holding her stomach and she is moaning.
“Sove nou Bondye, (Save us God)” she says calmly. “Padone nou. (Forgive us)”
Marcelle glances at Suzette, and then briefly looks at the sky. She turns to me, looking very serious, yet her eyes are smiling, thus leaving me a bit confused. Her eyes leave me for a while when Suzette screams out loud. I feel very relieved, but don’t know why. Marcelle is now paying closer attention to Suzette. I wish I could help Suzette. I am praying for her. Suzette is crying. I am thinking how could I get in touch with God so that He could come down and help Suzette and her unborn child. But before I could think of how to get a hold of God, Marcelle turns to me, except this time there is no smile in her eyes. The beautiful smile in her eyes now is being replaced by grief and despair.
“You are going to deliver this baby!” shouts Marcelle, staring at me with a blank smile, as she looks at her own dead baby and sighs loudly with tears in her eyes.

For a moment there, I keep on thinking that this is all a joke, but who could joke at a time like this? It all looks so real!
Marcelle cannot help deliver Suzette’s baby by herself, her injuries are too great and there is no one else here to help. I begin shaking harder than the wind. Maybe I’m shaking hard enough to create another big hurricane.
I know that I am eight years old because Granny says I am and besides I’ve been counting my years since I was five. Children are told here that most of us will die before we are five, so I believe I’m lucky. If I can make it through the next two years, I will be doing very well, I think. So far, I feel lucky.
I see all the dead bodies, mostly children, being carried away by the flood. My heart sinks. I try to cry, but my tears fail me. I feel as if I’m fainting when I look down on the ground. I feel a huge lump in my throat when I try to swallow. It feels as though I am choking. When lightning lights up the area, I see four tiny babies floating away. Not too far away are women and men and older kids. A stream of people, dead and near-dead seems to run by forever, carried along by the violent, muddy water.
I don’t like lightning. I pray for it to stop. I want it to be dark because I don’t have to face the horror. The lightning lights up everything, and I’m afraid it will attack my soul and mar it with all of its might while inflicting the deepest and most personal pain. The darkness hides the horrors from a tender heart, as if to protect it. I look up at the sky to keep from looking at the horrible sights and search very hard for God amongst the stars and planets.
“You have got to be up there, I know you are,” I softly murmur.
“Sove nou Bondye, pa kite nou peri, padone nou, (Save us, God, do not let us perish, forgive us)” I invoke Him in a whisper so no one can hear me. I think God can hear me. I think He can see me and feel my pain.
“You will save us, I know you will.”
We don’t have much time to be sad. We have to deliver a baby and the mother might be dying. I realize that the roof—our only refuge—could end up in the floodwater at any moment and send us following the other dead people unless we are rescued. But there is no rescue in sight or any hope of one. We are left to the mercy of nature or fate.
The wind is blowing violently. The fragile roof is hardly able to sustain its menacing strength. The flimsy structure looks as if it could end up in the water at anytime. The thought of it simply makes my stomach turn. I look down quickly and see two little girls being carried away by the waters. Marcelle does not seem to worry about the possibility that all of us on the roof could die at anytime or she doesn’t want to acknowledge the risk.
Marcelle orders me to remove Suzette’s panties. I don’t know why and don’t ask because Suzette does not have panties on.
“Open her legs wide, Tilou,” Marcelle orders.
I do it, but I become very confused and frightened. I have never seen hair between anyone’s legs before now and it looks scary to me. I think that either something is wrong with me or something is wrong with Suzette. Suzette is not helping. She is barely breathing. I have no idea where the baby is going to come from. I think that all a woman having a baby has to do is vomit and the baby will come out of her mouth. I put both of my hands under her mouth ready to catch the baby.
“Sa wap fout fe la? (What the hell are you doing?)” yells Marcelle.
When I see a big head coming out from between her legs everything goes black. But not for long because Marcelle kicks me on my side very hard with her left foot, the only part of her body that isn’t hurt.
“You have just begun,” she says in Creole. There is more? I think to myself. “Huh! Huh!” Marcelle responds as if she can read my mind. I am dead, I think to myself. “Not until you are done,” Marcelle answers.
I decide that Marcelle can read my mind so I refrain from thinking, at least for the time being. In the meanwhile I continue praying to God for a miracle. I wonder if Marcelle is able to also hear my prayers.


























































































































It’s a glorious day. The sky is blue and clear. Men, women and children are singing as they carry their goods to sell at the market. I can hear the voodoo drums in the mountains. I can see the palm trees standing strong and noble. I can hear the waves in the ocean mixed with the sound of the drums. It creates a beautiful melody that reaches every ear in the market. I can hear the sound of the children‘s laughter and the gentle murmur of the river nearby. The next moment the scene is replaced by strong wind, water and mud. Dead bodies are everywhere, including Chantal’s. Chantal is my nine-year-old friend and she was just sitting next to me at the market.
I am barely eight years old and filled with guilt for not being able to save Chantal from the fury of the hurricane. I sit on the roof of an old unstable structure being carried away by the raging waters, surrounded by death and despair. Next to me is a dead boy, stiff, eyes wide open, his tummy large and tongue hanging out. I try not to look, but he is right in front of me. Next to the dead boy is Marcelle, injured and holding her dead baby. Suzette is there. She’s pregnant and is also badly injured and maybe dying.
Suzette looks as if she’s in pain. She appears as though she’s going into labor. She keeps on holding her stomach and she is moaning.
“Sove nou Bondye, (Save us God)” she says calmly. “Padone nou. (Forgive us)”






































     





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Reader Reviews for "CRYING MOUNTAIN - Crazy Hurricane (Second Edition with foreword by Author)"

Reviewed by Karen Wood 10/30/2008
Great book. It made me appreciate the things I have. It's so inspiring to see a young 8 year old child in poverty stricken Haiti to have such faith and a positive outlook, even during a major hurricane. The book is compelling and inspiring. I couldn't put it down.
Reviewed by Christopher Slifka 2/1/2007
I just finished the book. I love the story, how it is told through the eyes of a beautiful 8 year old girl that is so innocent, loving and caring and always happy and making people smile. It made me laugh, it made me cry. I loved how she becomes a celebrity in the village of Tiville through her writing. I like Moun the dog, he's a great hero and I loved how he gets rewarded. I loved Claire for being so sweet. I was filled with every emotion while reading this story.
Reviewed by Louie Marchese 1/22/2007
Very intrigiuing. Story of a precocious child overcoming adversity will inspire all readers.
Reviewed by Michelle Kidwell Power In The Pen 1/12/2007
Sounds like an intersting book, I will have to look into obtaining a copy, keep writing and be blessed
God Bless
Michelle~



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