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 This
Novel is dedicated to Rosenda T. B. and Gabriel B.
Brief
Description: Rod
goes to the Philippines where he discovers his aunt's secret of
how she witnesses the murder of the man she loves. From
flashbacks of war times that must be resolved in modern day, Rod
and the woman he loves find themselves in a similar situation as his aunt.
“What
Can You Tell About This Gold? is excellent! I couldn’t quit reading it.
What a great, original story.
You are to be commended and congratulated for such a
great novel! What
an excellent job of describing things.
I could just picture the landscape and the action that
was happening. It
was great reading material.
I was glad I read it!” --Paulette
Lyman, Dallas,
Texas, plyman @
sbcglobal.net
Excerpt
from CHAPTER
ONE
Sometimes, Rod felt that receiving mail was a curse, and today
was no exception. Having
arrived at his apartment after work, he wanted to ignore his mailbox,
but unlocked it anyway. Inside
his apartment, he rummaged through his mail.
Any thoughts he might have had about a restful evening ended
after finding a letter from his aunt.
He opened the envelope and inside was a note which said:
“Go to the salamagi tree.”
He wondered what the note meant.
It didn’t detail the flowery weather in her hemisphere of the
world like in her previous letters.
Maybe his aunt was losing her mind.
Again, he looked over the note:
“Salamagi”—His aunt was referring to the tamarind tree in
the village where she lived. “Go
to”—The last time he read a note similar to this was when he was
still wearing bell-bottoms, children’s size, of course.
“Go to?”
He
hadn’t played that game since he was ten.
He was thirty-one. Did
she expect him to take the note seriously?
To drop everything and go to the salamagi tree?
Maybe she was really going “ahg-kah-bahw,” the local term for
senility in her village.
He walked down the hallway to his bedroom, removed his wallet
from his pocket, and threw it on the dresser.
The wallet struck the lampshade which crashed to the floor. He snatched the lamp and smashed it on the floor.
His work, these days, was having that kind of effect on him.
Seven years in engineering, which consisted of many overtime
hours, made him consider giving his two-week’s notice.
Feeling better after throwing the lamp on the floor, he wished he
could disengage the burden of his family as easily, especially his aunt
who was sending a vague note. He
picked up the lamp and returned it to the dresser, making a mental note
to put off buying a new one.
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