He Rode Tall

Excerpt

6
was 8500 dollars and the average for geldings was 7300 dollars.
Seven stallions sold for an average of 11,000 dollars, with one
four-year-old stallion going for 35,000 dollars. Top seller for the
day was a twenty-one-year-old palomino mare sold by Joel
Hooper of Willow Springs, Montana, for 75,000 dollars. The
mare is an own daughter of the legendary Doc Bar out of a Peppy
San bred mare and she went to Bud Hankins of Salt Lake City,
Utah . . .”
Did he hear that right?
Did they say 75,000 dollars?
With caffeine-fueled lightening speed that surprised even Joel,
he sprang to his feet, raced for his wallet that he left sitting on the
coffee table and took out the check that he had folded and placed
there as he spoke with Cindy Jones the day before.
“Seventy-five thousand dollars” Joel mouthed to himself. Well
it wasn’t quite 75,000 dollars. Of course, there was the five-percent
commission that had been subtracted, but any way you
counted it the old mare was a 75,000-dollar blonde.
In a stunned zombie-like daze, Joel reached for his
sweat-stained Levi’s jacket and pulled on his Stetson. Calling for
Buddy the Border Collie, Joel headed out the door and up into the
solitude and serenity of the hills. Smiling to himself as he strode
across the yard he couldn’t help but think that with all of the
money he had spent on blondes in his life, the events of yesterday
probably had at least got him a little closer to breaking even.
Breaking even on the ranch and breaking even on blondes.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

Savages and Beasts

Excerpt

“Hey Dylan, after lunch come for your sweet,” George
addressed the old man.
Dylan agreed with a movement of his head and grabbing
a tray he showed to Anton it was time for them to pick their
serving of food.
“He’s a good man,” Dylan said while they were eating, “A
stroke of fate brought him here, like everyone else, I guess…”
“What brought you here Dylan?” Anton’s voice sounded
full of curiosity.
The old man turned his eyes in various directions, from left
to right, even above towards the ceiling before he decided to say, “I
was a fisherman once, back east, in Halifax, when my craziness told
me to go west, to come to the West Coast and go salmon fishing.”
“What happened? Did you ever do that?” Anton wondered.
“No I never made it to the coast…” his voice was interrupted
by the stern voice of the Sister Helen who was on duty
along with Father Thomas; one of them supervised the boys and
the other supervised the girls while they were eating.
“There are no seconds,” father Thomas said to a boy of
about fourteen years of age who looked very tall and skinny.
“But I’m hungry,” the youth protested.
“Stand up and pick your things,” the priest said to the
boy who got up and taking his tray was ready to start walking
towards the counter when father Thomas gave him a hard hit
with his strap. The leather strap hit the boy on the left shoulder;
he abruptly leaned a little to his left and turning toward the priest
one could see his anger on his clenched teeth and fiery eyes; he
was almost ready to hit the priest when the hand of the priest
swung again and the strap hit the arm of the youth once more.
His tray fell on the floor. Noise was heard by all the children who
turned to see what was going on.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Ithaca Series # 721

Solitude

The solitude knocked at the door

to my room—number thirty-three.

The boredom entered my bed

like a big dull cloud—silently.

The sheets were blank pieces of paper.

No one was there to care about me.

I didn’t have a single person to call.

I was just a stranger in this country.

I asked my reflection in the mirror:

“Why do I need my lips and eyes

this long and beautiful hair

that nobody caresses and touches?”

ΜΟΝΑΞΙΑ

Η μοναξιά χτύπησε την πόρτα

του δωματίου μου, αριθμός 33.

Η πλήξη έπεσε στο κρεββάτι μου

σιωπηλά, σαν μεγάλο ανιαρό σύννεφο

Τα σεντόνια, άγραφτα κομμάτια χαρτί

κανείς δεν ήταν εκεί να με προσέξει.

Δεν είχα κανένα να καλέσω

ήμουν ξένος στη χώρα αυτή.

Ρώτησα το είδωλο μου στον καθρέφτη:

Γιατί να `χω χείλη και μάτια

κι αυτά τα μακριά ωραία μαλλιά

που κανείς πια δεν χαιδεύει;

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Irma Kurti (Albania-Italy)

Βύρων Λεοντάρης, από την “Ψυχοστασία”