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    Father, Son, Holy Ghost
    Father, Son, Holy Ghost
    Father, Son, Holy Ghost
    Ebook70 pages47 minutes

    Father, Son, Holy Ghost

    By Jennifer Armstrong

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    About this ebook

    Tom travels back to the primeval roots of Africa to find himself but the power of Christianity takes control instead.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLulu.com
    Release dateNov 9, 2014
    ISBN9781326075743
    Father, Son, Holy Ghost
    Author

    Jennifer Armstrong

    Jennifer Armstrong is the author of numerous award-winning picture books and novels. Her works include Hugh Can Do, Chin Yu Min and the Ginger Cat, The Dreams of Mairhe Mehan (a BCCB Blue Ribbon Book), and Black-Eyed Susan. Her first novel, Steal Away, was an ALA Best Book for Young Adults, an ALA Notable book, and a Golden Kite Honor book. Other titles include Pockets, Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World, Magnus at the Fire, Photo by Brady, and Once Upon a Banana. She lives in New York state.

    Read more from Jennifer Armstrong

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      Book preview

      Father, Son, Holy Ghost - Jennifer Armstrong

      Father, Son, Holy Ghost

      Father Son & Holy Ghost

      Copyright

      Copyright 2014 by Jennifer F Armstrong

      All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

      First Printing: 2009

      ISBN 978-1-326-07574-3

      1

      By the entrance of the kraal was a fallen, sugared yellow fence. Torrential rain had killed its substance,

      and the straw and grass that made it were now shattered into fragments.

      Cutting through dreams as a knife cuts through cheese --softly, steady, and silkily -- The boy could do with some cheese

      right now, for He was hungry -- Tom felt the momentary twitch of pain as if a horrible instrument of death had just this minute sliced

      this minute right the way through his vertebrae: -- In fact, he realised he was entirely Alone.

      In this state of torpor, Tom mechanically propped his bike up hard against the fence, and thought for just

      a while. Right there, a stray black cockerel pecked, mindlessly, against the spindled turf, and there

      proceeded to mash it with its feet. But, apart from the cow and the bell, there was no sign of any human

      life there, or anywhere to be found.

      Without thinking, Tom said a prayer, and smoked the last remains of his dried-out cigarette -- he had

      saved half just in case--. The invigorating taste of nicotine spread rapidly throughout his lungs and found

      its way into his body. However, as if by a violent twinge, it alerted him to his particular plight: he was . . .

      entirely alone.

      The ash-weary smell of Africa, of pot-dust smoke funnelling up around him was more than a wisp. A now

      salient odour of some dead, decaying meat, in a winds' gust, gained a more pungent edge. The urge to

      get away, to go back home, became more prominent -- Tom plucked a spindle-leaf from a nearby bush,

      and crushed it -- then paused - and reconsidered his position, for a second . . .

      He knew he was a long long way from home, wherever that was...

      He remembered how . . .The very first fall had been a mystical one. Gold and amber oak leaves had

      fallen all round the college grounds and little specks of dust had gathered up inside the breeze of an

      impending winter storm. And in those months that followed, his old ways had been forgotten -- so he

      thought. Then he found some friends, who went to the same school, and he lengthened out his tone of

      speech into a common drawl.

      At 15, Tom had been taunted often, for his pains, and yet he only wanted to please everybody. And even

      now as a grown man, he wanted to be good, in future--

      But his good was different from that which had become his father's -- and that much was certain.

      His father laughed-- just as if it had nothing but some weird, secret, joke.

      Don't worry, son, this is your home now -- ain't nothing in wrong in this system that can harm you!

      His father had faith in the Land. Perhaps that was easy for his father, who was quite the doctrinaire

      Christian.

      Thomas did not believe in God.

      At least, he had now seen how his father would wipe away his guilt-sins, joking along, with the parish. He

      tried to make out about how bad racism really was, and how George, (he himself) would be their

      strongest armament against it. It was hard to believe that things should come to this -- the lying and

      hypocrisy.

      That was the 'real' George, his father, who could do all things with God's divine strength. Now that his

      mother was in The Lord's good hands, this

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