The Roving Tree. Elsie Augustave

The Roving Tree - Elsie Augustave


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      This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. The characters in this novel are imaginary, though references are made to historical people, occurrences, places, events, and issues to add realism. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      Published by Akashic Books

       ©2013 by Elsie Augustave

      Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-61775-165-3

       eISBN: 9781617751738

       Library of Congress Control Number: 2012954507

      All Rights Reserved.

      Akashic Books/Open Lens

       PO Box 1456

       New York, NY 10009

       [email protected]

       www.akashicbooks.com

       Table of Contents

      ___________________

       Prologue

       Part One

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Part Two

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Epilogue

       Acknowledgments

       About Elsie Augustave

       About Open Lens

       About Akashic Books

      To wander through this living world And leave uncut the roses Is to remember fragrance where The flower no scent encloses. —Langston Hughes

       For Sébastien

      Prologue

       From whatever place I write,

       you will expect that part of my “Travels”

       will consist of the excursions in my own mind.

      —Samuel Taylor Coleridge

      As I approached death hours after giving birth to Zati, my hospital bed floated above blue water. My body felt weightless, my head light and airy. The salty freshness of the sea penetrated my nostrils; foamy waves swallowed the pains in my womb. A woman stood above the sea, her smile as bright as the colors that crowned her.

      “Iris,” she said, leaning toward my bed, “I am here to grant you your last wish.”


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