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Across the Great Divide

by Nora Ryan

193 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0493; ISBN 1-55369-680-8; US$16.03, C$18.44, EUR13.17, £9.22

A novel that takes readers on a journey that probes the quiet recesses of the soul, provoking an examination of one's own response to the human condition. This spiritual love story is a metaphor of hope for us all.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts or Table of Contents      catalogue info

About the Book Set on the fictitious island of St. Georges, Across the Great Divide exposes the divisions caused by race and socio-economic circumstances and explores the ability of the human spirit to bridge the divide. The story chronicles the struggles of ordinary people and their response to the inequities around them. Elizabeth, a recently widowed Canadian school teacher, has come to the small Caribbean island in search of healing. Josef, an impoverished Haitian laborer, is shipwrecked off St. Georges and finds himself struggling to survive in a hostile environment. Their lives become intertwined as they both care for a Haitian woman dying of AIDS. The unfolding drama takes the reader on a journey through the sweeping landscape of Haiti and probes the quiet recesses of the soul, provoking the reader to examine his own response to the human condition. This spiritual love story is a metaphor of hope for us all.

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About the Author Nora Ryan The author was born and educated in Ireland. She immigrated to Canada in 1980 with her husband and two small children. An educator and health promotion specialist, her special interest area is in parenting/mentoring and family life. Nora Ryan currently lives in Sioux Lookout North Western Ontario. Two years living on a small island in the Caribbean, provided the inspiration for her first novel Across the Great Divide." The novel provides a vehicle to expose the divisions caused by race and socio-economic circumstances and explores the ability of the human spirit to bridge the divide. Nora Ryan is a pen name. The author has chosen this name to honor her paternal grandmother who was born in an age when women did not have a voice. She has also written a collection of short stories set on the islands, called Cracked Conch, also available through Trafford Publishing. Please visit Nora's website at www.noraryanbooks.com

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Excerpts

CENTER>ACROSS THE GREAT DIVIDE

Part I

CHAPTER 1

GONAIVES HAITI

Nous ne vivons pas ici - nous existons - nous existons comme les chiens, "We do not live here - we exist * we exist like dogs," observed Josef, more to himself than to the other men as he quietly finished his ten-hour work day. He squatted down to rest, before starting his four-mile cycle ride home.

His lean, muscular body was taut. His ebony skin glistened with the sweat sucked from his pores by the relentless heat and sun that had beaten down on him throughout the day. The beads of moisture had joined to form two rivulets that trickled between his eyes. They slowly followed the outline of his chiseled nose, coming to rest on the up-curve of his lips. He lifted the ends of his T-shirt and wiped his face with slow, deliberate strokes.

Comme les chiens, "Like dogs," he quietly repeated. He thought of his work week - blisters, muscle strain, and a few miserable gourdes. Enough for food, which was plentiful. Never enough to get ahead and rise out of the poverty that seemed to be his lot. His cycle ride home in the dark was filled with anxiety. A meek man who always traveled unarmed, he was prey to the gangs who made their meager living by despoiling others.

Tonight he was lucky and made it home unscathed. He shared the cluster of shanties he called home with an assortment of relatives: his aging mother, a brother and sister-in-law, and their three children. The compound consisted of a jumble of low-slung wooden buildings in a yard fenced with sheets of corrugated iron. He arrived to find the family sitting and chatting around the glowing embers of the charcoal fire on which they had cooked their supper of rice and plantain. They usually ate together outside under the shade of the mango tree that grew in the yard. Josef loved his family, but today his heart was heavy. He barely nodded a greeting as he slipped into his own tiny shanty that held an assortment of worn and tattered books in the small cabinet, his only piece of furniture. He lit his paraffin lamp, and took out a large black-bound Bible, his constant companion for the past five years. Tonight he chose a passage that always salved his weary heart. He sat back on his heels and intoned the verses with fervor.

Le Seigneur est mon berger,
Je ne manque de rien.
Sur de frais herbages, Il me fait coucher;
Près des eaux du repos, Il me mene,
Il me ranime...

"The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
He maketh me lie down, in green pastures,
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth..."

A cockroach scurried across the floor and disappeared under his bedroll. The distraction was enough for him to reflexively lurch forward and slam the bedroll with the palm of his hand, dropping the Bible in the process. He slowly lifted the cotton batting to check his accuracy and found the flattened remains of the cockroach on the dirt floor, its smeared innards impressed on the cotton batting. Josef grinned, picked up the Bible, reverently kissed its outer cover, and put it back in the cabinet. He carefully moved the cabinet to one side and lifted the reed mat on which it had stood. Underneath was a coffee jar, sunk in the dirt. He lifted it out and counted the contents - twenty five hundred Haitian dollars, about five hundred U.S. dollars. After five years of scrimping and saving, he finally had enough to get illegal passage to the States. Tomorrow he would get a tap-tap to Cape Haitien and catch the next boat taking illegal immigrants to the U.S.

* * *

Josef sat at mid-ship, crammed between two large, powerful-looking males and three young women that looked to be in their twenties. Smooth-skinned, high-cheek-boned, good-looking women, with eyes filled with a mixture of fear, hope and resilience. One of them looked pregnant. Down in the hold were twenty other souls who had desperately committed their life savings to the captain. A fellow Haitian, he traded in dreams that had slim chance of being realized. The forty-foot sloop lumbered through the sea. Its clinker-built hull, aged and barely sea-worthy, creaked and groaned with the strain of its human cargo. Josef had brought enough food and water for four days, but the winds had been unfavorable and the seas high. They were now more than six days at sea. Josef was feeling nauseous and thirsty. He was well used to hunger, but the combination of sea spray and constant rocking was starting to make him feel disoriented. Suddenly he heard the triumphant cheer of one of the passengers.

"La terre, Miami!"

A wave of expectation moved through the passengers and many who had retreated down into the hold came out to witness their deliverance. They watched and cheered as a group of low-lying islands came into focus. But the cheers of exultation were quickly quenched by the captain, who had spotted a marine patrol boat about three miles off starboard. He ordered everyone who could fit into the hold to retreat out of sight and continued his course towards the islands. The deep blue shortly gave way to the aquamarine of shallower waters and approaching reefs.

The overloaded sailing sloop was no match for the speeding patrol boat. Josef was now crouched behind a large coil of ropes and tarpaulin on the bow of the boat. As the patrol boat came closer, the letters H.M.S. Caroline came into focus. The captain swung the rudder hard to the leeward side in an attempt to change course and prevent the patrol boat from getting into a position where it could inspect the sloop more closely, but the combination of the wind and the ship*s uneven load caused it to broach. The sea poured over the listing vessel and into the hold, engulfing the terrified occupants. Josef heard the crunching, tearing and ripping of wood on coral as the boat was swept onto the reef. There was panic on the top deck and a sickening silence in the hold. Josef was swept overboard and pulled by the current towards the reef. Others were in the water, swimming towards the patrol boat. The crew were throwing lifelines, but Josef turned from the safety of the patrol vessel and started swimming towards shore, which he judged to be about two miles away.

For an hour he was thrashed about in an unforgiving sea, its only mercy being its buoyancy and warm temperature. As dusk approached, the sea calmed. Josef summoned his energy and will to survive and pushed slowly onward toward the beckoning lights.

Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, aidez moi, je vous supplie, "My God, My God help me, I implore you," he gasped, each stroke now becoming more weary as his waterlogged body became heavier by the minute. He started to lose all sense of time and place, concentrating his efforts on keeping his limbs moving through the briny liquid that threatened to swallow him whole and suck him down into its depths. Finally, the sea heaved him onto a sandy beach. Josef stopped struggling and cried silently, his face pressed deep into the warm dry sand. He rolled over on his back, prayed and gave thanks. He slowly picked himself up and started to walk towards the lights. The silhouette of a man came into sight. As he came within earshot, Josef called out to him.

"Miami?" He pointed towards the lights.

"No," came the reply, "You on St. Georges, man

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Catalogue Information

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