The Hidden Hatred

By J. Mairy Dietch

Two peaceful African parents discover the hardest way (watching TV) that four of their five children are homosexual. A dreadful and devastating storm in their social environment that sweeps everything away and leaves Jean-Noël, their last son, filled with an anger beyond words. For this barely twenty-year-old boy, the responsible cause of h

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Mar 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643672915

J. Mairy Dietch

J. Mairy Dietch’ studied literature and graduated from Yaoundé University with a bachelor’s degree in private law. She always loved writing, but life contingencies delayed the actual expression of her passion. She currently lives in Alexandria, Virginia, with her two children, while accompanying her husband around the world in his missions as a consultant in the oil industry. J. Mairy Dietch’ speaks English, French, and Spanish.

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The Hidden Hatred

Copyright © 2019 by J. Mairy Dietch’. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of URLink Print and Media.

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Published in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-64367-292-2 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64367-291-5 (Digital)

Fiction

19.02.19

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER IVX

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER I

In the plane that was taking him to Africa, Rocky relaxed. He had just finished his lunch and was thinking with anticipatory joy about his upcoming vacations deep in the equatorial forest. After the long months he had spent writing the scenario and shooting his last movie, he had no doubt that this destination would provide him an ideal environment for the rest he longed for. This would be a quite different place compared to Los Angeles where he had lived for more than twenty years, writing best-sellers and magnificent scenarios for the film industry. He produced a lot of them, and he was an actor in some others.

Rocky was forty-five years old. He was tall, with an athletic build. His large eyes, abnormally far one from the other, shrank on the edges. They were as blue as his hair was black. They enlightened his face, which shape could be described as a combination of hexagonal diamond and inverted triangle types. He could be said to be a handsome man, and his singular features were intriguing.

Being a single at his age never bothered him; he spent his whole time working. Therefore, he saw no room for a wife and children. He ran from a film stage to another around the world to make movies. However, he had never traveled to Africa. He was very enthusiastic about all he would discover there. He grabbed the guide book he had bought in preparation of the trip and started reading it. But his eyelids got heavy in minutes. He was exhausted. Never mind; I will discover everything when I get there, Rocky said to himself. He pressed the button on his right side, and his seat turned into a comfortable bed. He spread the pure wool blanket he had just removed from its plastic bag on his body. He sighed with pleasure as the softness touched him. Instantly he fell asleep.

Rocky did not feel any of the strong turbulence that shook the plane during a large portion of the flight, nor did he see the stewardess who moments ago struggled to pass his seatbelt around his waist. He was so tired that he simply forgot to fulfill this requirement. When the stewardess returned to wake him up after the multiple landing announcements that had been made, he stared at her with a dazed look.

Where am I? he asked.

You are in a plane, sir. We have arrived, the woman answered.

Oh, I am sorry! I forgot myself.

Don’t worry, sir; there is nothing we can do against tiredness. Here is your jacket.

Rocky took the garment she was handing to him and put it on, then passed his well-manicured fingers across his beautiful mop of hair. Afterward, he quickly gathered his belongings.

He looked towards the window and discovered a clear sky, a bright green landscape, and bunches of uncontrolled houses and buildings rolling past under his eyes at full speed. Contrary to the jerky flying, the Boeing 777 landed smoothly at Donlyeu City airport. The passengers, who a while ago thought they had gotten to their final hour, jumped from their seats when the plane had barely stopped. Rocky understood nothing of their attitude but gave the way to all his business class companions, who rushed as if they had seen the devil himself. The good manners he had noticed from them at the beginning of their journey had vanished; they showed no more the slightest gallantry and just wanted to reach de doors as fast as possible. Incredulous, he starred as them as they pushed and shoved their way out.

When he was finally able to make his own way out, he walked phlegmatically toward the immigration and custom officers. Strongly shocked by the state of dilapidation of the premises these men and women were working in, he yet felt greatly moved by their wide smiles, full of warmth, and the cheerfulness contained in the welcome words they directed to each traveler. This was such a huge contrast with the moroseness of the place!

Outside, a man was waiting for him, holding a sign with his name on it. He was certainly the guide the travel agency had told him about. The man was tall and slim. He seemed to be in his thirties. His large mouth was the pure opposite of his fine face, and his dark skin looked as smooth as a woman’s. He wore a bronze pendant around his neck, and his right wrist was adorned by a tightly fitted bracelet, also made in bronze. His frizzy-haired head turned briskly from one side to another; it was obvious that he did not want to miss his guest’s exit. He looked energetic, which pleased Rocky. He walked close to him and introduced himself.

Hi, I am Rocky Butten, Rocky said.

Welcome, Mr. Butten. My name is Jean-Noël Ndengbe. I will be your tour guide during your stay in my country, the man answered.

"Nice to meet you, Jean-Noël! When shall we go to Mampoka?

Immediately, if you want. We still have enough time to get there before the nightfall. But I assume that you feel tired after your long journey. Thus, you can spend the night here in Donlyeu City, our beloved capital and tomorrow, if you have no objection, we will drive to Mampoka very early in the morning, Jean-Noël suggested.

Don’t worry about me, Jean-Noël, I am fine. I slept the whole trip long. I would prefer us to leave now.

Then, let’s go, Mr. Butten! Jean-Noël concluded.

The two men headed to the parking lot. Jean-Noël put Rocky’s luggage into the trunk of a luxurious 4x4 car, and they got inside. Among Rocky’s belongings was a metallic suitcase he had filled with his filming material. Though his trip’s primary goal in Africa was to rest, he had no intention of leaving without storing the greatest amount of images possible from that place. He knew he wouldn’t come back anytime soon.

After leaving the airport on an asphalt road, they entered a lateritic coastal road lined with luxuriant vegetation. This was July, which corresponded to the beginning of the raining season in the region. The trees, the tall grass and the incredible variety of flowers gave the landscape an amazing colorful touch, and the biting heat that prevailed before had given way to a gentle freshness. The dampness which often caught people unaware when arriving in Donlyeu City for the first time, had disappeared; and Rocky, who had rolled the car window down, enjoyed the local smells. Not all of them were subtle or pleasant, but they were so new to him.

The freshly caught fish just being smoked around the huts along the sea shore, the seafood cooked with typical spices, the abundant plant species’ fragrances; in short, there was a mix of very special smells that Rocky could well have perceived as repulsive. But if it couldn’t be said that he was enjoying them, it was clear that the visitor was trying his best to grab each of them. He was so absorbed doing this that he totally forgot his driver; he was entirely dedicated to the landscape and the surrounding smells.

Jean-Noël who for already a good while was wondering inwardly how he could catch his passenger’s attention, increased the volume of the music. From his long experience, he knew that music was the most unfailing topic to initiate a conversation with his clients. But to his great surprise, Rocky did not react. So, quite disappointed to notice that the successive national hits he has unrolled had no effect on his companion, he decided to go and get him out of the place he seemed to have enclosed himself.

Mr. Butten, in what area do you work? he asked.

Rocky jumped with surprise and turned toward the guide with bad grace. He was busy filling himself with the environment he would be living in during the weeks to come and did not at all appreciate being interrupted in such a manner. This guide is rather ill-mannered, Rocky thought angrily. Yet, he responded.

Excuse me Jean-Noël but I didn’t hear you

I was asking you in what area you worked, the latter repeated.

I am a writer, Rocky replied.

You are a writer! Jean-Noël exclaimed. And what on earth do you write that has not yet been written, dear Mr. Butten? There are tons of books all over the world that have been written since the dawn of time. Yes, Mr. Butten, I’m really wondering what you can still be writing about. The guide had spoken with an incredulous tone of voice, but the filmmaker returned to his landscape screening without adding a word. He wasn’t in a talkative mood, and far less interested in getting into a polemical discussion.

Very wisely, Jean-Noël stopped talking. Thus, the two men drove silently until the marina where they were supposed to take a boat to proceed with their trip to the island where the natural reserve of Mampoka was located.

The thirty minutes crossing went on with no mishap. The guide was talking with the captain of the small but luxurious boat, when Rocky kept exploring the surroundings with his beautiful blue eyes. As the night fell, he squinted as if he wanted to pierce the darkness. He was so eager to discover everything! Not long after, he noticed some lights and guessed that they almost arrived.

They had barely berthed when a swarm of employees rushed towards them. Two young men wearing uniforms stretched out their hands in order to help him exit the boat. A column of beautiful girls, also dressed with beautiful uniforms of several patterns, warmly welcomed him with flowers, sea-shell necklaces and coconut juice. Their deference was such that he feared that they would carry him to take him to his bedroom. Even though due to his work and his more-than-comfortable financial position he was used to be served, he felt annoyed by the ongoing excess of consideration.

Rocky was escorted to his bungalow at the entrance of which was another squad of hostesses. Without asking, one of them took the coconut pod from his hands when he barely had the opportunity to try its juice. Two others, also not bothering to ask for permission, firmly stepped in his accommodation right after him. While the first one introduced him the premises down to the smallest details, the second one corrected her straightaway whenever she happened to forget a coma of their well-learned speech. They repeated over and over information he could have easily read inside the thick black leather brochure that lay on the table in the midst of dozens of advertising leaflets.

At that juncture three porters entered. The last of the three only carried Rocky’s backpack, which has been literally snatched out of his hands earlier and which barely weighed two poor kilograms. He asked himself why it hadn’t been simply hung on his wheeled suitcase handle. Their male colleagues’ arrival interrupted the two bungalow presenters, who thought they were forced to start their talk from the beginning again. Rocky could hardly stand it anymore but he forced himself to remain polite. He sighed with relief when the welcome caravan left but dreaded that they would burst in once more under the pretext of a forgotten tiny trifle. Luckily, this didn’t happen, so he started with his own exploration of the place with serenity.

The bungalow consisted of two rooms with desperately white painted walls. In the living room, a nice initiative had been taken: an attractive animal fresco livened up a portion of the bar that stood in a corner. Rocky thought that if to this were added some touches of the surrounding nature, the place would be much warmer. However, except of the color of the walls, he loved the place as a whole. It was entirely furnished with high-quality rattan furniture, including the bedroom and bathroom. Even the sanitary ware was nicely fitted in receptacles which combined rattan and fine logs. Rocky sat in an armchair covered with a robust canvas he guessed was from this very region; it was comfortable. His trained eyes also noticed the huge chiseled log that served as a coffee table, on the top of which the unavoidable welcome tray had the pride of place. On it were a bottle of wine and a bunch of fruits, among which he only recognized the oranges; all the rest were totally unknown to him. With delight, he bent to smell them. When he lifted his head up, the nicely interlaced palm- tree straw the ceiling was made of caught his attention and conquered him for good. It was so beautiful – surprisingly original and authentic, Rocky thought.

However, a minute later, he started worrying whether this esthetical subtlety could resist the torrential rains that were said to rage throughout the rainy season. What would happen to his filming equipment if one night his room were drowned under the waters? But immediately, Rocky said to himself that the architects who built this hotel complex surely hadn’t waited for him to think of providing an effective sealing system. He reproached himself his unjustified critical reflex, which was not characteristic of him. Generally, he trusted people.

After having a shower, Rocky went to the restaurant. Contrary to when he arrived in Mampoka, the welcome there was serene–only a smiling waitress, who took him to his table with kindness but no zeal. He felt relieved. The huge dining room was already quite full. Despite the raining season, the months of July to September were still the most popular here because they coincided with school holidays. Thus, a lot of families coming from Europe or America choose this well-renowned natural reserve as their baptism of fire on African soil. Located in the heart of Central Africa, Mampoka was a site classified in the world heritage of humanity.

In spite of the great display of mouthwatering dishes, Rocky carefully avoided giving into temptation. Having heavy dinners prevented him from sleeping, so he decided to order light food from the menu. He ate while watching people around him. There were a lot of foreigners, most of them wealthy, judging by their outfits. Even if they were dressed in a casual way, their clothes brands and their jewels gave unfailing signs of this. In addition to the families were many couples who, based on the burning looks they exchanged, could only be newlyweds on their honeymoon trip or lovers from the far side of the world who came to shelter their sinful relationship in the very depths of the equatorial forest. But not only foreigners were in such situation. Not far from Rocky, a potbellied sexagenarian man was busy stroking his very young ladylove’s braids–a ladylove who could have been the same age as his own daughter. Considering the snatches of conversation Rocky overheard, the man was a rich local businessman and the pretty girl was a university student. Rocky smiled. This was the same old story since the beginning of time.

Although he has ended dinning a long while ago, Rocky had fun watching the scenes of life going on around him while he sipped a hot home-made drink. Named Mampoka-beverage, it consisted in a mix of ginger and lemongrass and the waitress had insistently recommended it to him in replacement of the after-dinner usual coffee. Rocky acknowledged how similar the waitresses were in all the corners of the earth when it came to tactfully convincing their guests to do what they planned not to do. I always have my coffee at the end of my dinner! he exclaimed of his own intention, not very proud of himself. This is when he saw Jean-Noël who was walking toward him.

Good evening, Mr. Butten! The latter greeted him. I am sorry to disturb you, but I would greatly appreciate if you could tell me how you would like to spend your day tomorrow so that I can organize it, he explained.

You are not disturbing me at all, Jean-Noël–on the contrary! What do you propose to me? Rocky answered.

"Well, if you don’t mind waking up early and skipping your breakfast, I would suggest you to take a walk in the core of the reserve at dawn. Observing the sunrise standing in the middle of the barely awakened fauna is worth the effort. If so, I will prepare some snacks.

What a great idea, dear Jean-Noël! At what time do you want us to leave? Rocky asked.

By five o’clock in the morning, if you have no objections. I will pick you up in front of your bungalow with our small off-road vehicle, the guide replied.

Perfect! I will be ready, the film maker agreed.

Then, I only have to wish you a very good night, Mr. Butten.

Thank you Jean-Noël; you too have a good night. See you tomorrow!

The film maker swallowed the last drop of the beverage and went back to his bedroom. He put his pajamas on, grabbed the guidebook he had barely tried to read in the plane then slipped between the sheets. Surprised by the coldness, he shivered. The sheets were rather icy. Quite obviously, his suite two powerful air conditioners had been switched on long before he arrived in Mampoka. Rocky said to himself that the hotel staff was so eager to avoid any kind of contrariety to their wealthy customers that sometimes, they did a little too much. Nevertheless, he immersed himself in his reading.

As depicted in the guidebook, the reserve was a heavenly place. But the man decided not to show an anticipated excess of enthusiasm. In only a few hours, he would be able to judge by himself if the so-boasted marvels actually corresponded to the reality.

Truly, today I am seized by an authentic fit of distrust, Rocky mocked himself, thinking back to his fright at the idea that his equipment could be drowned by the tons of water supposedly rushing into his bungalow through the beautiful but so fragile straw ceiling. He smiled and closed his book. Cradled by the rolling of the nearby see, he sighed with delight and fell asleep immediately. Nevertheless, he vaguely thought that the reason for his current well-feeling wasn’t only the proximity of the ocean; the Mampoka-beverage advised by the restaurant waitress had certainly had something to do with it, he decided.

The next morning Rocky woke up without effort, even getting up ahead of his alarm clock. After reviving his body with a cold shower, he made himself a robust coffee and enjoyed it slowly. And when Jean-Noël parked in front of his door, he put his filming material away inside the car trunk and jumped briskly next to him, not even bothering to use the footboard. He felt alert! Afterwards, the two men disappeared into the morning darkness, which the early rays of the day were trying desperately to break through.

CHAPTER II

With the headlights on, Jean-Noël drove at moderate speeds. Seated next to him, Rocky was surprised by the small 4x4 wheel car’s silent engine. Since it was a diesel-powered car, he would have expected more noise.

As they moved away from the beach where Mampoka hotel complex stood, the path narrowed. Branches entered the vehicle through the opened windows, tickling their faces. At times, they found themselves wading through the muddy waters of a river or avoiding a tree-trunk thrown across the way by the wind. When this happened, they got out of the car, removed the obstacle, an drove on. The weather was fresh, and darkness still prevailed. They were surrounded by incredibly high terraced-shape trees. Many of them reached some seventy meters in height. Rocky suddenly felt oppressed because the vegetation’s extreme density. He breathed deeply; the air was really pure! Then he tried to forget about his feeling of oppression. All