The Slave Dancer (Laurel-Leaf Historical Fiction) Tapa blanda - 1997

Primera línea

In a hinged wooden box upon the top of which was carved a winged fish, my mother kept the tools of her trade.

Extracto

An Excerpt from The Slave Dancer

        I heard one piercing scream. My teeth began to chatter.

        Then a very small brown face rose above the rail as though it had flown
        up from the sea. It continued to rise slowly until its brown bare chest
        was visible. Then I saw dark hands around its waist. The hands lifted,
        the little girl's legs flew out, and I saw the head of the young man who
        had been carrying her.

        For a second, she sat on the deck, looking all around her, her eyes huge
        with amazement, then she crawled and jumped toward the rail but was forced
        back by the forward propulsion of the man who tottered over the rail,
        unable, it seemed, to bring his body any further. The child hugged the
        young man's neck frantically and buried her face in his hair. At that
        moment, Nicholas Spark bent his thin length and gripped the man's back
        as though he were gathering up cloth, and yanked him altogether over,
        the chains around his ankles striking the deck with a violent clanging.
        The clanging never ceased as one after another the captives struggled
        over the rail and were dropped or dragged onto the deck. How long did
        it all take? I'll never know. None of us moved.