Initially, my manuscript was eight hundred pages long. My word-count was way too high! In order to decrease it, I had to delete entire scenes and chapters. No publisher would accept to read such a voluminous manuscript. Or so I thought. It was a nerve-wracking experience, for I loved (and still do) every single scene...
Each week, I’ll paste one scene or a whole chapter. They’ll appear in chronological order. For those of you who haven't read the book, what follows won't mean much. Taken out of their context, the scenes lose all meaning. But for YOU who have loved my novel (and I know your numbers - I have the means to know. LOL), well, you're in for a special treat. Oh, and before I paste the first deleted scene, know you this: The first one who emails me at princeselim@bluewin.ch from which PART and which CHAPTER I deleted this scene, will receive a DARK SIDE OF THE SOUL much coveted sur-prize. All you have to do is send me an email with the correct information and your address.
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Upon reaching a flat recess, Nimble Foot makes a halt. For hours, he has been climbing alone in darkness so complete, it seems to cut him off the world, even from his own body. Exhausted, he lets himself fall to his hands and knees, and rolls over on his back. Climbing the mountain alone, feeling his way in the dark, has sharpened his senses. Now, as he lies on the moss carpet, he takes a deep breath and gazes up at the leafy universe—trees beyond number crowded together, a myriad of dark leaves waving in the breeze.
‘Who are you?’ he asks aloud.
As if in answer, a fruit drops in his open hand. He clasps his fingers around the berry and resists bringing it to his mouth.
‘How is it,’ he wonders as he touches it, ‘that distorted by the Jimsonweed, the world appears more clearly?’
‘Life,’ the tall smiling man had told him, ‘is like a great song with each voice in perfect harmony with the others.’ Lying in the grass, alone with Him for the first time, Nimble Foot looks at His face and realizes how true the priest’s words had been, how the wellbeing of each creature depends on the wellbeing of the whole, how the animals and plants give themselves up to become a source of food, clothing and shelter to the people.
At peace and rested, he gathers his strength and rises to his feet. Just then, he hears an eerie howl. He stops and listens.
‘Must be the wind moaning on the icy water,’ he muses, trying to find a sane explanation. Sane? On a night like this?
He is about to resume his quest when something horrible springs out of the bushes, screeching like a banshee. Paralyzed with fear, he stands there with his mouth hanging open, gapes at it and screams. With a blood-curdling howl, the hideous thing leaps at him. Instinctively, Nimble Foot throws his hands up just as it lands in front of him. At the sight of its huge wooden skull, he screams even louder and hides himself behind his hands. Its face looks like an inverted blood-red triangle with a ruff of white feathers and two black crow wings where its ears should be. Brandishing a knife in one hand and shaking a rattle in the other, it leans forward and shoves its monstrous face into his. Then, letting out an awful yell, it tumbles backward and disappears into the undergrowth.
Unable to think straight, Nimble Foot turns on his heels in an attempt to flee, but a black long-billed creature steps out from behind a tree and blocks his way. Arms extended, it walks up to him with broken steps, legs wide apart, opens its excessive beak and slams it shut. Another gargoyle jumps out of a grove. This one carries a torch that it waves about, painting flaming patterns into the night. Turning the burning end to its maw, it blows fire and ashes at Nimble Foot.
Then, emerging from all sides, the rest of the chinde reveal themselves. Howling and dancing grotesquely, handling snakes and stomping foot drums, they eat fire and whirl bull-roarers through the air. In an instant, he forgets the quest as crooked mouths, protruding tongues and scowling eyes dance around him.
Out of nowhere, while he helplessly cringes on the ground, teeth chattering, eyes clamped tight, a voice rises above the din and says, ‘Remain still, Nimble Foot.’
At these words, the monsters are struck dumb. Peeking through his fingers, he notices that they appear to be observing him and, like dirt settling in a muddy puddle when the water is no longer disturbed, he lets the agitated thoughts in his mind settle down. At once, he remembers the reason he is here and relaxes. Confronted with such ordeals, more than one youngster would have given up his desire for a vision.
Nimble Foot knows he can endure the hard task. No matter what obstacles await him, he will get his vision; he will no longer be a boy. Resolved, he sings to Wakanda in a high-pitched voice and feels his strength return. When he looks back at the chinde, he knows them for what they are and laughs. While he still crouches on the ground, he raises his hand to salute a man that was with him in the sweat lodge. To his surprise, the man removes his mask. Smiling, he helps Nimble Foot back to his feet and hands him his mask. Gazing through the crude eyeholes, the boy laughs.
After a while, he gives it back to the man who makes him promise not to reveal this secret to the uninitiated before fastening his mask back on.
‘Mitakuye oyasin,’ Nimble Foot says.
At these words, the false ghouls cry out their outrage and slip out of sight, faking defeat.
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