Emptiness Ripped curtain with one leaning shoulder. The house has been empty for days. The mirror is flat in its denial to reflect emptiness, or the yellow blanket, or the memory of that body enlarged in the moonlight of that August, touch after touching the flesh, nails, teeth, lust, the red. The flat of the mirror, nothing. Only the nails in the wall, from fallen-off pictures, still gloriously, insist on being a little golden from the last reflection of the twilight, to appear in a second depth, always expecting to hang an umbrella, a hat, a wreath or two carton wings you had put on that busy night among the crowds, and you were raised towards the balcony of the tower, where they lit the colourful fireworks over the metal coffin.
History’s Omission Oen he went down to the basement or climbed up to the attic, ordinary things, of course, but he had different opinion and he was always regretful, until the doctor gave him an old pyjama, gesture that remained, alas, in the shadow of history because he never wore it but he held it so tightly on him and as it occasionally occurs, suddenly, at night in the small garden.
Ari found a special friendship in Grey Wolf, once Grey Wolf learned from Ari that he had been avenged for the loss of his ear. Grey Wolf and Leaping Water expected their first child before the end of the next summer. Throughout the winter, Rordan and Ula created a deep special connection with Running Deer and the other camp children, teaching them simple songs in the Celtic of his own childhood. They called Ula, Aira, meaning Of The Wind, because she could run like the wind and beat almost anybody in a race. She was expert at throwing a knife and could hit a target at twenty paces. Ula didn’t mind the new name because both names sounded so similar and she loved the acknowledgment of her prowess and strength. The Natives gave Brother Rordan the name Mountain Thrush for his pleasing voice and happy laugh, though many of the elders referred to him as Ominotago, Beautiful Voice. The children were also fascinated with his blonde hair, almost the colour of the cotton traders brought from the Lands of Winter Sun. For the first time in many years, Brother Rordan had found his niche as a singer and teacher of song among the Natives. Finten regarded the transformation from surly boy to happy Brother as a miracle and didn’t object that Rordan and Ula seemed to spend all their time together. Perhaps this was God’s country after all. He often thought that if singing were praying twice, the singing of the children would surely bring conversions. Music contains a power stronger than many medicines and Brother Rordan’s chanting was healing Ula’s sadness but she still remained wary, especially toward Father Finten and Bjorn, both so much older than she or the Brothers. It took a period of fever, when Ula had to be nursed by Chochmingwu Corn Mother, Brown Bear’s wife, for Rordan to reach a new closeness with Ula. It was then that he saw her vulnerability, as she revealed her childhood suffering through fevered ravings and as he witnessed her tears. Since her daughter’s murder by Illska, Corn Mother had dedicated herself to healing the village children and young people. It was a testament to her loving heart that she nursed one of the white strangers. She also appreciated Rordan’s commitment to the children and so she reached out to his constant companion. Corn Mother’s herbs worked their magic. Ula began to speak to Rordan of her past as she recovered from the fever that had racked her for two weeks, and as she saw the relief and warmth in Rordan’s eyes. “How did I come to be a slave? No, I wasn’t taken by Vikings. My parents weren’t killed in an awful raid. I didn’t crawl out of the flames. My pigshit mother thought I’d make a good nun and sold me to a convent. A good nun, ha! Could you see me in a convent? “My father? I had three fathers. All of them were my father. None of those assholes was. I was traded to the convent for six chickens and a pig. A pig! My mother got the better of the deal: She got the pig; they got me. “I was there a whole bloody year. Thought they’d rescued me from a life of shame following my mother’s trade. I was their prisoner, more like it. Stale straw and kitchen slops and prayers, prayers, prayers, morning, noon and night. So I ran off dressed as a boy. Then they were going to hang me up for a loaf of stale bloody bread. The sheriff sold me to a Norseman instead.
Relinquishing The willow shatters glassy myth of lake and naked hemlocks etch the crest of sky in turquoise leaves diving in handling roots of your wounded heart just once How deep the knife dove when they took your left breast? Your eyes stare silent between two of his mumbled words you balance the dry stick in hand before throwing it amidst the water’s despair How long he waited by your bed until you opened your eyes? Your wounded voice gnaws your smile describes the loss willows weep above you carry your song flattened on the glassy lake mastectomy: describer mastectomy: your breast given away
Two adolescents joined them. The boy bounced a basketball, oblivious to the vista. The girl leaned against the car, gyrating to head-phones. I moved to the edge of the property for a better look. House hunters, I presumed; the Project, gentrified now, was crawling with them. But when returning to the car, the man glanced my way. There was no mistaking that stain. It covered one eye like a splotch of paint. He seemed to recognize me, although I can’t be certain. He appeared to nod his head, but that also might be interpretation. I could have made some calls and verified his identity, but I didn’t. I preferred to believe it was him. Returning to a place that had meant something once. Because it’s what I did. It’s who I had become.
That was just like Infante, to find a way to turn the tables. So I was being accused of insensitivity, failing to honour the memory of my slain friend. “Exactly what I was trying to do when you interrupted me, Infante,” answered Losada. “It is not the place of Friar Salvador to decide the security of this city,” Infante said. “That is my job. I am sure, Friar, you would take equal offence if I was to start leading us in prayer.” There was a good deal of chortling at this remark. I was appalled by Losada’s lack of control. What was going on? Why did Losada accept such a tone from his subordinate? “Friar Salvador, please tell us why are you so sure they are seeking peace and not our demise?” Losada said. “I told you. Their morale has been shattered. I can assure you they are convinced they cannot win. They want to secure the survival of their people. Some have opted for peace. Others are staying away.” “Where? Away where?” “I told you I didn’t come here to lead you to their villages. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t know where they are.” “But you know their language, I presume,” Infante intervened. “I do.” “I, in the captain’s boots,” Infante said, turning to the others, “would interrogate the caciques with Friar Salvador’s aid to secure the safety of the people in the city.” A murmur of approval spread among the onlookers. “I will do as I must, don Infante,” answered Losada, indicating his leniency for insubordination still had its limits. I didn’t like Infante’s obsequious tone or Losada’s conciliation to it. There was something going on between the two. “We are sure you will, don Diego,” Infante conceded. “Our lives are in your hands.” Infante bowed and the others followed. It was mockery rather than respect. This bode ill. I left Losada disappointed and afraid. Not one day among the Spaniards, and already I smelled unshed blood.
Leader from Western Libya In general, Alexandria liked the Prince from Western Libya Aristomenis, the son of Menelaos, who stayed there for ten days. Like his name, his attire is fittingly Greek. He gladly accepted the honours, but he did not seek them; he was modest. He bought Greek books, mainly historical and philosophical. Above all, he was a man of few words. He was profound in his thoughts, people said, and for such men, it is natural not to talk a lot. But he was neither deep in his thoughts nor anything else. Just an ordinary, funny man. He took a Greek name, dressed like the Greeks, he learned how to behave like a Greek, more or less, and his soul trembled as if he would to ruin the somewhat good impression he made by speaking Greek with a few barbarisms, and the Alexandrians would make fun of him, as it is their habit, those awful people. For this reason, he restricted himself to a few words, being careful with the conjunctions and pronunciation, and he was so terribly bored having all those unspoken words piled up inside him.
Letter Thought of writing you a letter to say that I loved you but soon I recalled people don’t write letters anymore and grabbing the mobile phone I texted that I wanted to see your playful eyes when you turned on your phone and you appeared on the screen with your laughing eyes and you laughed, and laughed and said that I was a student of the old school and I agreed and sent a kiss to you from the other side of the planet
With the help of the two constables they placed the body in a plastic bag and carried it to their car. Soon they drove away to the lab. The two constables left in their cruiser after Ron promised to come back next day for a more detailed examination. They still had to find the knife in question. Soon as they left Sister Gladys with the help of Mary cleaned up the floor off the blood stains. Father Jerome advised everyone to go and lie down it was a very hectic day full of sadness and the unexpected passing of Father Thomas at the hands of a brute. George the cook reached Anton’s house in five minutes of a fast walk. Not wanting to risk waking up Anton’s parents he walked to the back and knocked at the basement door. Anton opened. He looked at the cook with surprise written on his eyes. The cook walked inside and in one breath, as if he had recanted in his mind the whole sentence many times he informed Anton about Father Thomas’ killing and who the killer was and where he along with his sister were this very moment. Anton was dumbfounded. He knew the youth, Marcus, would someday take revenge on the misfortunes and abuses him and his sister suffered under the rules of the Residential School, however he didn’t expected it to happen so soon. George told him the youth had thrown the knife he took from George’s kitchen in the water of Thompson River and asked what they could do for the two youths. Anton didn’t know what to do and looking at George he realized he didn’t have a clue either. Then as if an epiphany struck Anton he said, “Let’s go; I know where to take them,” and with that they both got in Anton’s truck and drove back to George’s place. They found the two youths who looked scared and cold.
‘Oh I’m in for the long haul, Caitlin. I’ve signed up for twenty-five years. Army life suits me.’ ‘You won’t go back to the fishing then?’ ‘No,’ Tom replied. ‘The Drumard Maid, your father’s old boat, the one my father bought, she has long since gone. Sold for scrap and probably did her bit for the war effort. No, I’m going to stay in the army.’ Then he turned to his companion. ‘Do you remember Gerard Sweeney, Caitlin? I know you do, Seamus.’ ‘I don’t know if I would have recognised you, Gerard,’ Caitlin declared. ‘You’ve been in America a long time.’ ‘Not too long,’ said Gerard. ‘Ten years. I was eighteen. Finbar got the farm, and I got sent out to the colonies.’ ‘Better not let any Yank hear you say that,’ Seamus warned light-heartedly. ‘You wanted to go to America, if I remember rightly.’ ‘Best decision I ever made, Seamus. I love it out there. Married a beautiful woman. I’ve a son aged six and a daughter aged four, a house, a car, a good job when I go back. I’m one lucky guy.’ ‘Gerard likes that chick that Michael’s dancing with,’ Tom said. ‘He wants an introduction.’ ‘You’re married, Gerard Sweeney,’ Caitlin scolded mockingly. ‘And so is she.’ ‘And she’s here with her husband,’ Seamus added. Tom slapped his friend on the back. ‘Too bad, Gerry, old sod. You’ll have to wait till you’re back in California.’ ‘Lots of time, Tommy, my bold soldier laddie,’ Gerard said. ‘As Caitlin has pointed out, this party could go on all night, and what chick can resist a man in uniform?’ ‘You’re a reprobate, Gerard Sweeney.’ Tom looked at Caitlin. ‘Don’t listen to him, Caitlin. He’s big-headed like most Yanks. They think they’re God’s gift to humanity.’ Tom paused to pull a swig from his bottle of beer. ‘Well, we just came over to say hello. I’ll call up to the house, Caitlin, before I leave. Have a chat with you and Michael, if he ever let’s go of that girl. And I want to see Nora as well.’ ‘She’ll be happy to see you, Tom. And bring Gerard with you.’ ‘I don’t know if I should introduce Gerry to Nora. She’s much too pretty.’ ‘She’s married too, Tom. Remember.’
Manolis Aligizakis 