Raoul is sent to explore a distant province of the Congo. He faces witchcraft, bandits, malaria and love, as he gets immersed in the mysteries of this dangerous land. Livelier than an African beat, this novel moves with grace and empathy through the perflexing landscape of a people victimized by civil war and political corruption.
Excerpt 1:The holiday season was over, and the office started to feel busy. The new oil company subsidiary, formed only afe month ago, had gradually evolved. There were knocks at Raoul's office door."Yes, please come in," Raoul said with a sleepy voice, while editing several text pages of a progress report he had just translated into French. Raoul didn't expect anyone. It was probably Jean-Claude, the office boy, serving coffee. The door opened and Nicole came in. She was the new secretary hired by General Director Chuck Zampani a few weeks ago. Nicole was a very quiet and serious-appealing lady of some five feet tall."Good afternoon, Mr. Stern," she addressed Raoul in a deep, slow voice."The director wants to see you!""Right now? Is it serious?" questioned Raoul, looking at Nicole, who stood next to the door."Mr. Stern, it looks as if it could be a serious matter," replied Nicole."Mr. Zampani appears nervous today."Raoul stood up and followed Nicole down the corridor to Mr. Zampani's office. Nicole turned back to her office on the other side of the corridor. Raoul knocked at Chuck's door then walked into the office after a grumpy "Yes, please enter." Chuck sat on his leather chair looking somewhat depressed. "Raoul, please close the door, sit down and listen," said Chuck.Chuck's face looked worried. "We have a serious problem. You know BCC, la Congolaise du Commerce? I have learned through my contacts that the bank is bust, insolvent. There will be a bank run tommorrow, possibly today, when rumors start spreading. Last year it was the BIDC, now it is hitting the BCC. Will these Congolese politicians never learn anything? They are on the point of jeopardizing the only functioning bank in the country because of their stupid self-interest. What are we going to do in this country? Carry our money in suitcases? Pay our employees with bottles of beer?"
Excerpt
Excerpt 2:
The tropical day's sultry air made its entry into the office of no fantasy, and conquered room after room. There was no reason to stay. The sound of Raoul's lonely steps reverberated as he walked down the stairs from the seventh floor. Up in the corner of the empty staircase, toward the ceiling, hornets had settled and were building on an uncertain papercomb future.
Raoul left the relatively cool building, entered the scorching parking lot, and looked around. The air trembled; even the tar was melting. The heat of midday reigned above the roofs of yellowish, moldy buildings, decaying leftovers from slightly more prosperous and distant colonial times. Everybody seemed to have run away from the heat. Not a single dog was out on the street. There was no motion, only silence.
Raoul started his car and drove onto the boulevard. 'There is so much heat and energy, but no activity. What happens below the surface of this city? Somewhere deep below the ground the fire dragon sleeps,' Raoul thought as he drove his car into the parking lot.
He sought the shade of his bungalow motel and transferred his office to a plastic garden table. A wet chloride smell originated from the pool and filled the patio. Above Raoul's head a sea breeze played through the lancet finger leaves of a palm tree. He breathed in the air with half-closed eyes. It tasted fresh, with a glimpse of good luck and adventure.
Suddenly, a dark blue silhouette projected itself on the white paper covering the milky plastic table before him. Had the queen entered the stage? Raoul looked up at a young woman in a black bikini standing before him. She had an elongated face, with large eyes and sensual lips. Braided hair fell on her shoulders.
'A prostitute with the torso of a love queen? Raoul wondered. 'Hathor, the goddess of love appearing in the disguise of a whore?'
The woman smiled and asked, "Would you buy me a Pepsi?"
"What is your name?" asked Raoul.
"Esperance."
Raoul had no appetite for cola, silly talk, or pointless games, and suspected the woman felt the same.
Long time oil man turned writer Kessler draws on his long experience in the oil industry and his knowledge of Africa to produce a compelling slice of life read. A satisfactory exploit, writer Kessler has shrewdly blended fiction, passion, enigma, machination and jeopardy in this narrative of dying, corruption and devotion.
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