Raji
Book Three: Dire Kawa
by
Charley Brindley
[email protected]
www.charleybrindley.com
Edited by
Karen Boston
Website https://bit.ly/2rJDq3f
Cover art by
Charley Brindley
© 2019
All rights reserved
© 2019 Charley Brindley, all rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition February 2019
This book is dedicated to
Tatta Marie Brindley
Some of Charley Brindley’s books
have been translated into:
Italian
Spanish
Portuguese
French
Dutch
Turkish
Chinese
Ukranian
and
Russian
The following books are available in audio format:
Raji, Book One (in English)
Do Not Resuscitate (in English)
The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry (in English)
Hannibal’s Elephant Girl, Book One (in Russian)
Henry IX (in Italian)
Other books by Charley Brindley
1. Oxana’s Pit
2. The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry
3. Raji Book One: Octavia Pompeii
4. Raji Book Two: The Academy
5. Raji Book Four: The House of the West Wind
6. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl
7. Cian
8. Ariion XXIII
9. The Last Seat on the Hindenburg
10. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book One
11. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book One
12. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book One: Exploration
13. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Two: Invasion
14. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Three
15. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Four
16. Sea of Sorrows, Book Two of The Rod of God
17. Do Not Resuscitate
18. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl, Book Two
19. The Rod of God, Book One
20. Henry IX
21. Qubit’s Incubaator
22. Casper’s Game
Coming Soon
23. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book Three
24. The Journey to Valdacia
25. Still Waters Run Deep
26. Ms Machiavelli
27. Ariion XXIX
28. The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry Book 2
29. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl, Book Three
See the end of this book for details about the others
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Raji
In the fall of 1932, Fuse and I walked through the near-deserted campus of Theodore Roosevelt University, in Richmond, Virginia.
We were third-year students in the medical school and would have been at the top of our class–had there been a class. Two days earlier, the two of us sat in the rigid wooden chairs in front of Dr. Octavia Pompeii’s desk. She was chancellor of the medical school, and she looked as if she carried the weight of the entire university on her tiny shoulders. Her beautiful red hair was thinning, and during the past two years, streaks of gray had crept into the curls from her temples. Dark circles saddened her eyes.
Dr. Pompeii took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Raji, Fuse, I have bad news.”
Fuse and I glanced at each other. We knew the university was in dire financial straits, just as all the schools were. Faculty and students had been drifting away ever since the crash of 1929.
“We’re closing the medical school,” Dr. Pompeii said.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Why?”
She toyed with a yellow pencil for a moment. “We’ve lost seventy percent of our funding and enrollment for next semester is next to nothing.”
Fuse was quiet, but I knew he was in shock, just as I was. We had talked about this very event over the past semester, but I don’t think we really believed it would happen. No one spoke for a while.
“Dr. Pompeii,” Fuse finally said. “What will you do?”
My old pal Fuse, always thinking of others first.
“Strangely enough,” she said, “I’m going back to school.”
“That’s wonderful, Dr. Pompeii,” I said. “Where will you go?”
“Cornell University. I’m going to study ortho-pedics.” She looked through some papers on her desk. “I’ve prepared a list of ten schools where I want both of you to apply. I’ve mailed letters of recommendation, along with your transcripts, to all of them. I have no idea what the scholarship situation is, but you have to try.”
“Dr. Pompeii,” Fuse said. “I don’t think…” He paused to look at me. “I don’t think any of them have money for scholarships.”
“You don’t know that. If none of these ten will take you in, then we’ll find ten more. There’s no one in this country more deserving of scholarships than you and Raji.”
I took the list of schools. “Thank you so much, Dr. Pompeii,” I said, then stood. “We’ll get right to work on these.”
Dr. Pompeii rose from her chair and reached across the desk to take my hand. “I wish both of you all the luck in the world.” She held her other hand out to Fuse.
“Thank you, Dr. Pompeii,” Fuse said. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”
* * * * *
I don’t know why, but our rambling walk took us to the nearby campus of Octavia Pompeii Academy. I thought about that day in August 1926, when I had joined the junior class. Fuse didn’t finish the competition in the top fifty, but he was invited to attend when one of the other students had to leave due to a death in his family.
Now the once lively academy was a depressing sight, with the windows and doors boarded up and weeds overgrowing the sidewalks and tennis courts. We stopped in front of Hannibal House to watch a trio of crows pecking at the disintegrating parapet above the door.
