Following is the first excerpt from Carol A.N. Dunn's novel, The Mountain of Inheritance, a gold medal-winning book in the Jamaica Cultural Development Commission Writing Competition. The series continues tomorrow.

The last time Joel had encountered feelings of such intensity was back in 1966, when he returned to Riley's Mount after a 12-year exile. At the time, Laurie had known nothing of the circumstances under which he had left home. And he had told her nothing about the boy.

When he had come back that time, the boy was standing at the bottom of the fence that bordered the front yard of the property, rubbing the back of his head against one of the posts. His shoelaces were undone and he would pause occasionally from his unsteady motions to pick his nose.

"Who's that?" Laurie asked him as the vehicle made its way up the brow of the hill towards the house.

"Don't know," Joel mumbled. But he lied. He did know who the boy was although he had never laid eyes on him before.

Papa scrambled down the steps towards them and Joel tightened his fists as he regarded the man with whom he had barely exchanged a dozen words in as many years. Something that felt like a cold lead pipe started forcing its way down his throat, all the way to the pit of his stomach.

When the elder man reached Joel, he shamelessly threw his arms around him. "Thank you, Jesus, my son come home at last."

Joel winced as he felt the coarse hairs rubbing against his cheek.

"Why didn't you tell me William was your brother?" Laurie asked him later, when they were alone.

"Him is not my brother."

"Joel, you shouldn't deny him just because he's ..."

"A baffam?"

"Joel!"

"Then is not true?"

"I don't know how you can say something so thoughtless about your own flesh and blood."

"What you don't know bigger than you," Joel said cryptically.

"Joel, if I'm going to be your wife, you can't keep shutting me out like that."

"All right; you want to know? Fine," he said harshly as his mind moved fast and recklessly on a path on which he'd swore never to return ...

It was the summer of 1952 and J.J. was 14 years old. Mingling with the crowd at the social and intoxicated by the illicitly acquired Red Stripe he and his sister Lois had taken turns sipping on the sly, he heard someone call his name. And then he saw her. She was wearing a pale yellow sleeveless dress with a frilly collar, and white, open-toed shoes. Her rich black hair, shine and almost blue from pressing, was curled to frame her face.

"Elaine?" He said the name with wonder.

That was the summer of his first love.

They passed the time down by Old Fisherman's Pier and when he finished swimming, J.J. sat in the sun till he was dry. This he had done unabashed countless times when he went swimming with Lois, but the first day he caught Elaine looking at him in a way that made cold bumps come out all over his body.

But after summer was over, their friendship waned and J.J. was deeply hurt.

Early one Saturday morning, not long after this, J.J.'s attention was drawn to the sound of astrident voice coming from outside the house. He peeped out from behind the front door and saw Papa with a man he recognised as Elaine's father, who was speaking heatedly: "Jesus help you if me girl don't get look after. I can't 'low me daughter life to mash up just so."

"Don't I tell you already?" Papa was saying. "Me and Annie will take the child when it born."

J.J. immediately sank to the floor. It was in the cool of the morning; the sun had not yet risen; yet he could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead ...

"You mean William is your son?"

"No, sir! Nothing like that never go on between me and Elaine," Joel said firmly. "But that is what Papa did think. A few day after that him say him was sending me to England to stay with my Uncle Phillip. I was him son, Laurie; down to him very name me have: I was Joel Junior. But is like him make up him mind that him couldn't bother with me no more and wan' get me out o' the way before I cause him any more trouble."

Joel spoke quietly, through his teeth. His words sliced the evening like a razor blade as he looked out into the dying daylight. His heart slowed in its beating. His eyes had grown cold.