The Black Diamond

By Juan Carden

The Black Diamond is the sixth book in the saga. This time Juan is born in Lesotho, South Africa. As his immortal spirit continues to live on, he is able to vividly recall his eternal past and cannot understand why whites despise men of his race. His father Moshoeshoei, king of the Basotho, instructs him in the art of government and in the subtleties of diplomacy. His mother, offspring of Chaka Zulu, wants to end her peoples suffering and wishes that his son will dedicate his life to save their bodies and spirits. The protagonists principle desire is the same as that of all his other lives - to find the woman that was created with him at the beginning of time. Maluti and Tineke sense each other's existence and recognize that they are a couple of kindred spirits who prowl about the world in search of love; but they never meet.

The novel takes place during a difficult time in Africa. Gold and diamonds are discovered. The descendants of the Dutch struggled to rise from the tyranny of England as the blacks fight to preserve their homeland. The British Empire, which is under the auspices of a brotherhood, appears to be unbeatable as it is filled wealth of the seven continents, usurping the natural resources in the seas by attacking ships of Spain, Holland, China and India. After centuries of ideological conflicts and social, religious and political differences, the nations distance themselves. The weapons become more sophisticated and, although the science improves, diseases decimate men and animals. Gradually the planet is invaded by the human species that threatens to destroy everything in its path, including a variety of almost extinct birds, fish, reptiles and mammals.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477258163

Juan Carden

Juan Carden is a full time poet by destiny, a full time doctor by devotion, and a full time writer by desire. He was born in Quito, Ecuador on October 21st, 1942. After graduating from medical school in 1968, he came to the United States for his training in internal medicine. While rotating through the intensive care unit as an intern, he met his future wife. After completing his internal medicine residency at St. Louis University Hospital, he moved to Houston, Texas to train in Hematology/Oncology at MD Anderson Cancer Hospital. He excelled behind expectations as he orchestrated protocols that improved the systemic treatment for breast cancer. Despite being asked to join the faculty at this prestigious institution, he decided to move back to St. Louis with his family to work in private practice. While he did have his full share of struggles when his wife got sick and having to run a full time practice and raise three children, he has always possessed a very positive outlook on life. His offspring even followed his footsteps and dedicate themselves to the care of cancer patients Juan Carden is a historian, a traveler, a reader, a philosopher, a scientist, a psychologist, and a person that has passion for life. He is described as somebody that analyzes the present and the past, looking for a better future. His has so much love for human kind and nature. When Juan Carden tells stories, we can learn from his credo and from the depths of his soul. His books of fiction are convincing realities. He writes about different topics utilizing different styles, from historical novels to science fiction. All his narration is fascinating and full of quandaries that converge in an amalgam of illusions.

Book preview

TheBlack

Diamond

Juan Carden

US%26UKLogoB%26Wnew.ai

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2012 Juan Carden. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 8/13/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5818-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5817-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5816-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012914248

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Books translated by Jennifer Edwards

To my daughter Elena with love and delight!

I

AB INITIO

They named Maluti, after the great mountain where he was born. He skin was blacker than the darkest night, and as nimble as a deer, as slim as a palm tree and as strong as a buffalo. He grew up surrounded by thousands of relatives, protected by his mother, guided by his father, and nourished by tender rye, fresh meat, and milk. The wind from the heights and the animals from the jungle sharpened his senses.

His ancestors had inhabited the Caledon Valley for over a hundred years, their possessions spread out between the Limpopo, and Yellow Rivers, the desert protected them in the east, and the Drakensberg range in the west. They owned cattle; were skillful metalworkers and exchanged handicraft –iron, copper, leather, wood, and ivory- with neighboring tribes. Due to their wealth and isolation from the rest of the continent, the Afrikaner, the English and countless black tribes of the region, constantly attacked their land. His people migrated to the place where he was born twenty years before his birth, looking for a safer land for their descendants.

After overcoming Queen Manthatesi attacks and fighting his way through cannibal-infested lands, my father, Moshoeshoei, guiding his people, climbed the Lesotho Mountains that the white men had called Drakensberg and, two years later, reached the top of the range. In the middle of that enormous massif, guarded by deep precipices, they found a great plateau, with excellent grasslands, irrigated by several natural springs. His father, an excellent leader and strategist, decided that that land could be protected from their enemies, and that it was large enough for them and their future children. On moonless, starless nights, that plateau was darker than anthracite, so, for this reason, they named it Thaba Bosiu and the mountains, Maluti, for their closeness to the spirit of their Creator.

October 21, 1842, when he was born, was a clear day, devoid of the clouds that so often concealed the tops of the high peaks. Maluti opened his eyes and discovered a beautiful, velvety mantle, adorned by thousands of bright stars. A pair of hands, blacker than pit-coal and more wrinkled than a millenary piece of papyrus, greeted him. He felt how they softly took his tender body and, with magical, skillful, and delicate movements, slid along his skin, almost without actually touching him. The fingers of the albino who was nursing him were long and deformed, covered by an almost translucent skin, under which, veins and arteries slid among bones and joints with difficulty. Her phalanxes ended in sharp, enormous, eagle-like fingernails, blades that, without lacerating his skin, cut off the umbilical cord that had joined him to his mother, during nine long and pleasant months.

Maluti broke off from his source of nutrition and life and proceeded, once again, to seek his destiny in the world. Among the shadows, he caught sight of a smiling old woman; he understood that, thousands of times, she had shared the vitality of the newborn and the agony of the dying. The light from the bonfire allowed him to stare at a toothless mouth and he heard its guttural chuckle, which blended with his wailing and sanctified his fright. His laments made him corroborate the immortality of his existence and realize that his birth was the start of a new life and the beginning of a new death, which would eventually lead him to the end of his process of evolution.

You are born only once, and you die twice: the first time, when you are born, the second time, when you depart, stated the midwife.

A strong whimpering broke out of his small body, enveloping him in an exuberant frenzy, which extended through the dark night, throughout the immense firmament, and blended with the resonance of the jungle and the clamor of the lions. His mother’s blood mixed with his blood and, upon falling into the river that crossed through the middle of their kraal, mingled with the liquid that gives life. Like this, after descending the colossal waterfalls, part of his spirit reached the ocean from the vault of heaven, and expanded throughout the planet.

On taking a deep breath, he perceived a soft, warm aroma, the hot air that entered his lungs made realize, in his child’s mind, but actually older than infinity itself, that life had returned once again to his existence. Maluti stretched out his arms, trying to embrace the cosmos. The newborn child tried to open his arms in order to identify the place where he had been born and he felt the millenary hands placing him on a soft, warm lap. With great pleasure, he discovered that a sweet matron was caressing him, lovingly, as she softly repeated his name, with admiration.

Maluti! Maluti! she murmured.

Gradually fell asleep, knowing that he was loved. Little by little, fell into a deep, pleasant lethargy. Soon enough, he was dreaming that his spirit had returned and become part of the essence of life. Maluti realized that his soul, until not long ago a part of the universe, existed in one sole body. Understood that had come back to Earth again to pursue his destiny. When he will reached adolescence, he would understand that the only reason for his existence was to look for the one that, had been created with him, at the beginning of time, to enjoy together the paradise of their mutual company.

The day after that diaphanous October 21, 1842, his mother took Maluti to the center of the square, completely naked. Walking slowly, beautiful and nimble, like a gazelle, she let everyone admire his masculinity. Mkabayi was the youngest and prettiest wife of the great king of the kraal of the Lesotho people and, Maluti, his first-born son among all his children. As she squeezed tight against her body, he felt the pleasant warmth of her body and the hastened pounding of her heart. From his soft crib, drowsy from the warmth of her breasts, his half-opened eyes gazed at her, amazed. Her face was bright, her deep black hair, short and curly, her features, delicate and pleasant. In the middle of her oval face, over an ample and smiling mouth, framed by thick lips, a small nose protruded, separating her high cheekbones. Maluti admiringly gazed at her big, dark eyes and the radiance of her aura. His mother must have been very tall, since her head rose over her sisters’ and reached the same height as the slenderest warriors.

Mkabayi walked almost completely naked, she was wearing only a short skirt, and beautiful necklaces and precious bracelets adorned her body. Proudly, she gracefully walked through the village, swaying her ample breasts and small hips, wishing to show off the firmness and suppleness her body which had recovered only a day after giving birth, and how childbirth had not dwindled the beauty of her figure, but rather had enhanced that of her spirit. When Maluti arrived at the dais, his mouth clung to her breasts and eagerly drank the delicious junket she gave him thus; he absorbed her feelings, her life, and her genetics. The sunlight, reflecting on her voluminous breasts, made her black complexion shine gloriously, like the lovely velvet that covers January night skies, while her short hair stirred with the breeze, like the sand with the breaking of waves.

The mother and her child advanced between two long lines of tall, enigmatical, elegant individuals, their skin absorbed the brilliance of the glittering sun, and they all smiled, happily showing their ivory teeth and their pendants, full of feathers and jewels. Around them, the rest of the tribe remained silent and eager, wishing to meet the king’s son. They waited quietly, holding back their joy, until they saw his father’s reaction. Not all his descendants were welcome: if the monarch found some kind of imperfection in their body, or if the witchdoctor foretold something wrong in their future, they could die by his sharp dagger, and his mother would be banish from the territory forever. If Maluti was taking as his son, they would celebrate the joy of his birth vociferously, otherwise, on being rejected by the sovereign, his mother and he would suffer terribly.

If Maluti was accepted as Moshoeshoei son, he would become the future heir to the kraal, the fate of those present, their descendants would depend on him, and he would be the one to command any social or political change in their community. In order to decide his future, they must take into account different opinions and criteria. That of the matriarch’s, -the king’s mother- that of witches, sorcerers, high priests and generals, as well as the king’s innumerable wives, and all those who, directly or indirectly, had influence on the nation and their governor’s destiny.

Despite her understanding of all these circumstances, his mother continued walking ahead, apparently at ease. However, his father knew that she was trying to overcome her worries and show her pride, without showing disrespect towards the dignitaries present, especially his concubines, who were laughing nervously, unable to conceal their envy. Many of them had had children before, only a few of them had been males, and all of them had been scarified, simply because of a tiny defect, such as a red birthmark on his forehead, a small harelip, or a deep yellowish skin color. Most of these flaws would be temporary, and would not affect or deform the children’s physical and mental virtues, but they would bring disgrace upon their father and defame the future ruler’s name.

Mkabayi, arrogant and spirited, wanted everyone to appraise the fact that she was mother to a flawless, perfectly healthy, and strong boy. She wanted to prove that her womb would only produce robust and beautiful heirs, who would become perfect warriors, not feeble children. Maluti was transferred from hand to hand, examined by longhaired women, with dry, wrinkled faces, and in whose eye sockets he deciphered clairvoyant omens and the feelings of the millenary spirits that dwelled in their hearts. He saw heads that must have been lovely and majestic in bygone days but, today, were covered by the snow of age and the papyrus of time. He saw prominent temples that framed dull eyes. He entered fully into their spirits and went back to their past. Then he knew that they were all immortal. Some of those souls observed something in his aura and, wanting to find the essence of his being, they searched deeper into the bottom of his small eyes. Nevertheless, they failed to discover the enigma of his spirit and the eternity of his existence. Broad-shouldered young men, with colossal arms, ample chests and firm stomachs, like a rhinoceros’ outer shell, took him into their enormous, rough hands. Witchdoctors and sorcerers examined him, and Maluti danced in their arms to the rhythm of the rattles and the chanting of the maidens, they made him drink bitter purgatives and smeared him with fetid ointments that were supposed to have sublime, magic powers.

Finally reached the center of the village, where Moshoeshoei house rose in the middle of the Great Kraal. His father, the great monarch of the Lesotho people, had just turned thirty-five, he was a husky man, not very tall, but stocky, and had lost a few teeth in the course of the many wars in his life, but was considered to be handsome. Upon seeing him, the child realized that, depending on the circumstances, his features could turn gentle or ferocious. Although, he was exquisitely attired, in beautiful skins, his chest and arms displayed noticeable scars that testified to the battles during which he had defended his life.

Trying to appear indifferent, but obviously eager to meet his son, his father stepped ahead impatiently. He adored his mother, he knew that time inevitably went by and he wanted her to bear him a child he could train in the arts of government, war, and diplomacy, so he would learn to deal with the English who were constantly invading his territory. He wanted him to be clever enough to confront the Boer, who thought of Africa as their promised land, and all the white men, who were persuaded the universe belonged to them, and races of color existed only to serve them.

His father took him by his feet and examined him for a long, anguishing moment. Hanging upside down, Maluti restrained his sobbing, while the rest of the crowd did not even dare to breathe. The wind stopped blowing, the birds hushed and silence spread throughout the village. The child’s eyes met his, a faint smile gradually sketched across his face, and the big man laughed, satisfied.

Suddenly, he lifted Maluti over his head as a sign that he accepted the baby as his son. A spurt of urine came out of his tiny penis, showering his head, and everybody started celebrating vociferously, while his jet-black body contrasted with the blue of the firmament and the whiteness of the few clouds that were traveling in the sky. The warriors hoorayed loudly and joyfully, while his mother walked up the steps and sat at her husband’s feet, they both smiled, he took her hand and helped her to get up. Mkabayi had borne him a son, stealing the monarch’s heart forever. Maluti had been accepted as a descendant of Moshoeshoei, therefore, he would be his heir, and, in the course of time, he would become the monarch of the Lesotho people.

The second night of his new life, he slept in the center of the kraal’s great hall, built on the edge of the most majestic river that flowed through the village. From there, his big black eyes, wide-open, saw the thickness of the jungle for the first time. Maluti smiled when he heard the birds’ chirping, but clung to his mother’s breast when he heard the bison’s bellows, the snake’s sinuous murmur, the lion’s roar, and the earth’s tremors when the elephants approached to drink from its waters. At dawn, blurry and muddled images of other times, other lives, other smiles, and other soft, kind hands reached his mind. Maluti remembered: he had suckled from pale, pink, and yellowish breasts; they had fed him and loved him in other lives, other centuries, and other paradises.

Maluti grew up happily, surrounded by his sisters and loved by everyone. In his childhood, from the highest point of the range, one could see the great Yellow River, which flowed through the immense savanna and advanced deeper into the exuberant jungle. The Afrikaners arrived at its banks, more often every day, those blond or red-haired white giants came in large wagons and brought along a great quantity of cattle and horses. His father allowed them to cross the river, as long as they did not try to take over their own cattle or take away their people to make them their slaves. Then, later on, came the English, with their large guns and long-range rifles, and their missionaries, who wanted to convert the African Negroes to Christianity.

Their kingdom made progress, even though Mfeacanes and Difacanes surrounded them, envied them, and wanted to take over their territory. Before Maluti was born, his ancestors had fought against them incessantly. In 1826, they defeated Queen Matiwane Ngwane, in 1830, Koranna, in 1831, Matabele and, in 1840, the Gigues, however, during the first two decades of his life his tribe managed to keep the peace with both the Negroes and the white men who hounded their territory. His father soon realized that the Europeans would rule the continent for the next three hundred years, so he allowed the English missionaries to settle in their lands and the Afrikaners, perpetual nomads, to stay temporarily in Lesotho. Eventually, Moshoeshoei converted to Christianity, more for convenience than persuasion, so they all let us live in peace and recognized our nation as an independent country.

The men from his tribe were tall and strong, the women were beautiful and graceful. His people were wealthy and powerful. His neighbors respected them. Their large herds grazed in the immense natural grasslands, and their territories extended in four directions, encompassing the infinite. In that magnificent existence, life mingled with death, everything changed constantly, nothing was wasted, and those who died became a part of those who survived. All the species depended on each other, no one went hungry, thus, Nature lavishly provided for all of us. As time went by, our tribe changed. A small village of 4,000 inhabitants, turned into a great nation of over a hundred thousand people, thanks to his father’s cleverness. Their plateau was almost unapproachable, and had all that was necessary to live and prosper, and their powerful army was always ready to defend their population and our herds.

During his childhood, lions and cubs abounded on the outskirts of the village, and Maluti watched them from a distance, with respect and admiration. He knew that, some day, he would have to come face to face with one of them, if he wanted to prove that he was a great warrior, worthy of being a sovereign. Together, with the other youngsters, he observed their stealthy way of chasing the zebras that scattered in large herds, in this way learned to understand their thoughts, respect their great stamina and spot their weaknesses. His father never ceased to repeat that, if Maluti wanted to survive the encounter, he should depend on his not only knife and spear, but -above all- on his intelligence. Maluti soon learned to distinguish among the different animals that lived with them and he noticed the symbiosis that existed between them and Nature. Giraffes, deer, bison, antelope, elephants, and their predators shared the grasslands and the water from the lagoons, all of them possessed instincts that allowed them to survive and multiply. He learned to respect and love each one of them. Understood that the only reason for killing them was to appease his hunger; he had to learn to hunt, in order to survive.

Like any African of his time, their mentality was the same as the native peoples of the Americas. The same as all scrupulous men, described as primitive by the ones who consider themselves civilized. Maluti grew up under his mother’s careful watch, and she instilled in him reverence and love for everything that existed in the jungle.

Animals are your brothers, in spirit and blood.

You will be an animal when you die and are born again.

Their souls carry the same essence you carry in yours.

Your brothers, the animals, harbor your forefathers’ spirits.

If you look into their eyes, you will find the same energy as that of human beings.

You should be like the lion, not the hyena, only kill when you are starving.

The life of all living creatures is precious and sacred, animals live because it is the Creator’s will, care for them, and they shall respect you.

You must cherish all living things and not fear death, those who are gone will always be a part of our present.

Fear! Fear!

Paradoxically, despite the fact that his skin was blacker than night itself, Maluti was terrified of the dark, of the somber and tenebrous caves, of the lugubrious corners of his hut, of the turbid shadows that stalked him from the darkness under his bed. Therefore, at four years of age, he still slept clinging to his mother’s breast. Maluti woke up in the middle of the night, terrified. He knew he was not dreaming, but he did not understand that he was reliving memories of his numerous past lives. He did not know that he was looking at the vicissitudes of the olden days, when he lived in caves, in constant panic, weaponless and defenseless from the countless beasts and predators. Maluti did not yet realize that the human race had managed to survive due to its intelligence, and not for its physical strength. In the depths of the night, in the corners of the room, he searched for those creatures that existed in his mind, but he believed they dwelled under his bed. When the moon disappeared and the nights became impenetrable, Maluti woke up yelling with the sort of fear and terror children feel when they cannot understand their past. He failed to discern his infinite existence, as long as immeasurable time, the immortality of his spirit, he could not explain his absolute memory, and, failing to satisfy his numerous questions, he cried dejectedly.

His mother lived in the kraal, with all of Moshoeshoei wives and children. The females of their tribe were in charge of all manual work, they were skillful farmers and homemakers, supplying all of the necessary food for our daily sustenance and products to trade with their neighbors. They worked incessantly, day and night, yet, they were happy and free. They had his father’s love and affection, and, were heard at the council meetings, where the matriarch guided her descendants.

Mkabayi was sweet, understanding, affectionate, and intelligent. Maluti admired her and tried to mold himself according to her advice and her teachings. Although he did not always understand the metaphors and parables in her poems, he loved to listen to her reciting them at night. Then, lying in bed together, he listened to the roaring of the lions and the howling of all the animals in the jungle.

You came to this life in the spring of my life and the earth’s, said Mkabayi. I was the prettiest of your father’s wives, she went on. You arrived when the just were dreaming and the animals were sleeping peacefully. The moment you were born, you clung to my breast, like the lion’s cubs and were nurtured from my milk, like the calves. Your arrival filled the kraal with happiness, and my heart with tenderness.

"We are the descendants of the beautiful princess, Nandi, the loveliest nymph on earth and my great-great-grandfather’s favorite wife, she continued. From their union, Michoni was born. He was the greatest Basotho warrior and the most powerful monarch of the African kraals. In order to unify our brothers, he fought against hundreds of tribes, and came from the great northern lakes."

From his mother, he also learned that the white men had come from the sea, from the torrid northern lands. They are evil and heartless, she said. They don’t work with their own hands, to make the land yield, they use and enslave us, the children of God and the Night.

They kill our brothers, the animals, for pleasure, not for hunger, she added.

His mother did not know that he already knew them. Maluti had seen them in his dreams, he had felt their souls, and he was sure that his spirit had dwelled in their bodies.

On full moon nights, sitting by the bonfire, the village children listened to Mkabayi stories. That was how the history of their people was passed on. In this way, they learned about the wars of the past, the gradual expansion of the kraals throughout the immense African territory, and the greatness of their race.

We migrated from the northern area of the great lakes looking for better land, she said. We always traveled with the constant fear of being attacked by the white men and the Difacanes. When she spoke, he imagined his ancestors crossing the jungle, harassed by the beasts and the savages that inhabited it.

One thousand eight hundred fifty-four arrived. Maluti turned twelve. His nation was making progress, benefiting from the European influence and the lavishness of the land. Soon, cities were built with schools and hospitals, and the railway that would link them with the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic was in progress. In order to plan its construction, Maluti traveled to Tungela with his father, where he met the cannibals, anthropophagous due to custom, religion and hunger, rather than evilness. They believed that all creatures were equal, children of the same god, all living in the same universe. They thought that both the flesh and essence of a dead animal, human or not, became a part of themselves, increasing their conscience, assimilating what the humans they ingested had learned during their lifetime. Those people practiced the same customs the American and European races had practiced during other periods of history. As Maluti meditated upon these matters, perhaps he dreamed, or found, in the farthest bends of his infinite memory, the days in his remote past, when human beings, albinos, yellow or red devoured the flesh of their fellow men.

During his childhood, he did not know how much he would suffer for having been born black, nor did he realize that, in the time when he was born, his fellow men of color were always rejected. Maluti did not foresee that his black skin, dark, curly hair, and somber eyes would be so important as to affect his conscience, his happiness, and his destiny.

His father had big, sturdy legs that looked like walnut tree trunks. When there was a celebration, he adorned his prominent ankles with lion and crocodile fangs, and beautiful bracelets hung from his strong arms. A small tiger skin loincloth hung from his waist, and a large knife rested on his hip. A cape, made of tiger skin as well, covered his shoulders, almost as formidable as that of orangutans, and multicolored feathers decorated his hair. However, when he had a meeting with the white men, or attended to government matters, he wore a three-piece black suit, a white shirt, a bow tie, and leather boots. A large, velvet cloak covered him, a top hat rested on his head and his right hand leaned on a long cane, with an ivory handle. On those occasions, his stern face remained impervious, and he only smiled at Maluti, showing his bright, pearl-like teeth, when were alone.

When Maluti was a child, and he walked with his father, shepherding their cattle, their source of wealth and material ease, and his father used to suddenly lift him by the waist and throw him up in the air, catching him afterwards, with his strong arms. Full of laughter and pride, his mother used to watch them from afar, feeling happy and content. His parents wanted Maluti to learn all about the art of cattle breeding but even more so, how to deal with the missionaries and their bellicose neighbors: Zulus, Newels, Boers, and English.

Cows and human beings are very similar, his father used to say. "If you learn to handle cattle, you’ll learn to rule your people