I The lucidity of rose petals suffuses as the wind ripples and caresses the dunes of praying sunlit trees dressed in their primeval innocence and abundant feeblemindedness as the creeks lovingly murmur songs to one another and Heaven whispers lullabies to virgins not yet kissed other than in dreams, when one buries his forefathers under the big oak at the forlorn edge of the village abiding with nature’s peace commanding the birth and death in one breath, all creatures crawl eastward, life lingers in light the greater the number of peaceful days the higher the oak of death irresistibly climbs and the first ode swings in transparency.
Ken closed his eyes, his lids like coarse sandpaper scraping against his eyeballs. Opening them was worse. The woman tied a piece of soft hide over his eyes and all he could do was bear the agony and wait. For days, he travelled as a blind man, in pain and nauseated from the gentle rocking of the sleigh. When the pain eased, he took off the hide, and the old woman gave him a pair of goggles with a small slit, explaining that he would have to carve them to fit his face. He carved with great care so they barely touched his skin. Close contact would freeze them to his pores. They had been travelling a long time, when a golden glow appeared on the horizon. As they drew nearer, the golden fire resolved into a large group of igloos. The dogs heralded their approach, and people streamed out of the igloos to welcome them. The first questions were about food. The caribou had not crossed their path this season. Did the new people have caribou? Yes, they had much caribou and it would be shared. A feast was prepared for the newcomers, who entered the largest igloo in the centre of the village. In the anteroom, they took off their parkas and beat them vigorously before entering the main room, where layers of caribou hides were spread on ice benches that circled the room. Kidney shaped seal oil lamps provided warmth and light. When they had eaten and told stories, people dispersed to their own igloos. Ken and his people crawled under many layers of hides and slept. The old woman had told the people that Ken was a quiet Kabluna. “He is a friend,” she had said. “He is now Inuk.” The next morning while the men built igloos, Ken pulled out his roll of sketch paper and drew them, as they searched for the right sort of snow by poking deep into it with a knife or a long sharpened piece of bone. When they found the right spot, they drew a circle and began cutting out uniform chunks of hard-packed snow, beginning at what would become the entrance. They lifted the blocks into place, bevelling the edges, and chinking the spaces between with loose snow. Ken was invited to accompany the men on the next hunt. For the Inuit, hunting is the essence of life. The animals must be revered and not offended. Kablunat don’t understand this, the old woman told him, but Ken was now Inuk – no longer a Kablunat. She convinced the hunters that Ken was an exception. They set off onto the frozen sea that was covered with a thin layer of transparent ice that moved in front of the sled teams like a rubbery wave. Underneath them, thousands of air bubbles bounced and rolled. When they spotted a seal in the water beneath them they searched for the beast’s breathing hole and waited. When the seal was forced up to gasp for air one of the men heaved a long spear and the water stained crimson.
As she and Michael drove down Fourth Avenue in the beater car they had just bought at a used car lot and had not yet fully paid for, she fell in love with the area. It was August under a cloudless sky and her window was rolled down. Chestnut trees hung over the street. A man in a bright serape and sandals was juggling vinyl pins in front of a health food store. Another man was handing out copies of what appeared to be the local newspaper, The Georgia Straight. Music blared from speakers in a record shop. Crowds of tanned young people roamed the streets carrying radios and backpacks. No one seemed in a hurry and everyone smiled. “Peace, peace,” one man called out to her holding up his fingers in a V as they drove by. “Let’s live here, Michael, not in the student apartments. They’re so god awful concrete and gloomy.” As usual, Michael’s reply was brief. “Maybe.” He’ll come around as soon as he lives in Vancouver a while, she thought. Maybe he and Paul will become friends. But that faint hope, borne briefly as they got out of the car and entered Paul’s building, was quickly dashed. “Isn’t this great?” Paul said right away, hugging her and spreading his arms wide to take in the wicker chairs, battered sofa, tiny kitchen and a balcony with a glorious view of the ocean. “It reminds me of California, you know, where I grew up. I love it here.” He seemed so relaxed, so laid back, as they said out in Vancouver. He shook hands warmly with Michael who returned the handshake but stared at him as if he were a lab specimen. “It’s great to see you here, finally, Jennifer. And Michael, too. Let me show you around.” They examined some of Paul’s nicer possessions including a collection of Russian literature and a brightly polished samovar, with Jennifer ooohing and aahing periodically. “We’re quite close to the Russian community centre here,” he told them. “It’s cool to visit.” “It’s perfect,” she cried. “Isn’t it, Michael?” Paul relaxed. “Just about. The only thing that would make my life complete here would be a girlfriend. Sue and I broke up.” Immediately Michael’s expression changed from one of puzzlement to repugnance. He began to bristle, Jennifer thought later. It had to be jealousy. But why? Paul had always been her good friend. Michael knew that, accepted it, or so he had said. Men, she thought with exasperation.
Taxi I caught the taxi driver’s glance falling on us, questioning we didn’t look as relatives and I winked at you to pay attention to his glance and you detected his light smile as if he was saying lucky man and since you got the meaning of his smile you turned and gave me your most promiscuous kiss and the brakes weren’t heard albeit the echoes of the city and the sigh of the driver who could have given all he had to trade his place with mine
The Second Person A kind of floating, as I stand. Blood-drenched agony, In front of you, as I am reborn. First, my habits fall away, And eventually my personality Shatters into infinite pieces. A deathly reflex, as You drift past me. History.
For A Young Man Who Took His Life For who was chased by a ghost in the dark extensions of his life his joys, his commitments in a flash turned into pretenses for his ardor. The beautiful books, his mind a starting point, some moments violent lover then his face turned mysterious nothing next to him would match a strange man who stayed around us with a distorted face he wouldn’t accept our suspicion that something horrible was coming to him he was strangely beautiful like those who Death had already marked he gave himself to every danger as if someone had already claimed him. They found him with a single mark on his temple, he was a total victory like the light that sheds around it darkness. He was simple and serene a smiling reborn face as if he had become a thank you logos on the cross hairs of evil.
Eyelids Tightly Shut Her hungry lips, if you feel deleting your days her spine if you sense squirming at your demise warrior, remember to keep your eyelids shut tight her thighs if you feel entwined around your waist and her soft-spoken words sweet against your tympanums fingers and nails if you feel writing on your skin warrior, remember to keep your eyelids shut tight the glance of the Medusa demands your death
Eteo dialed Susan’s number. “Hello sweet Susan.” “A sweet hello to you too, Eteo,” she replied. “Want to hook up for lunch?” “Sure. Are you very hungry?” “Extremely. And you?” he asked, teasing her. “I am.” “Hungry for what, though, sweet Susan?” She laughed into his ear. “And for that.” “I’ll make sure you’re fed, my love,” Eteo promised. It was the first time Susan had heard him call her that. She felt her cheeks redden, and a sweeter feeling ran down her spine and over her whole body. “What time is your lunch break today?” Eteo asked. “In twenty minutes. Can you wait for me?” “Twenty minutes, yes, but not a single minute more. You’ll come down here?” Susan assured him she would be there on time “See you in twenty, baby,” Eteo said, putting down the phone. A quick check of Platinum Properties showed it trading at 55c with his orders lower than the market. He called Logan into his office. “Raise these two orders a little higher. From 49 and 51 cents to 53 and 54. We’ve been sitting too low. I don’t see us getting any shares otherwise.” Logan quickly changed the prices of the buying slips and went to the trading desk to instruct the traders. By the time he got back to his father’s office, they were first in the line of purchasers and within a few seconds they had secured almost twenty thousand shares in a couple of transactions. Eteo smiled. “Stay at this position until the end of the day. John might decide to take some of his profit and walk.” Logan agreed, seeing what was happening in the market as another seven thousand shares came to them at the same price. Almost as soon as Logan had gone back to his desk, Susan arrived. Eteo got up at once, took her by the arm and walked her out. Susan was still flushed and warmed up from his earlier words today.
I managed to push him off and he sauntered away, seemingly satisfied he had not only taught Tamanoa a lesson, but me as well. I looked at Tamanoa’s mutilated face. He was choking on his blood. turned and threw the nose at my feet, then disappeared into the night, whistling. I helped Tamanoa up and tried to guide him by the shoulders, hoping perhaps to take him to see Pedro Montes, but he shook me off and refused to speak to me as he walked towards the river. And who could blame him? I was a Spaniard after all. It was for me to prove that Spaniards were not all the same. I found where Josefa had been sleeping. Gregorio had found her, too. They were seated near one another, but not talking. Gregorio drew shapes in the dirt with a long stick and glanced furtively at her and me. I wanted to tell them both what Pánfilo had done, but I knew it would not make any difference if they knew. Nobody cared about the half-breeds. It was dusk and pleasantly cool in the mountains. Wesat around a fire. Josefa’s eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, a sign of the depth of her weariness. The experienced conquistadors had ignored Josefa, but now that she was widowed, Losada came by to offer his sympathy and put himself at her disposal to arrange her return to El Tocuyo once it was safe to do so, if that was her wish. Infante followed, bowing deeply and kissing her hands. He expressed his concern about her delicate situation and asked her permission to inquire after her welfare, so that he might be at her service in the future. Gabriel de Ávila, Camacho and others, although modestly, also showed interest in her that night. Josefa received them graciously, while Gregorio watched in sullen annoyance. I hoped she might find a husband among all these men.
Hierodules Past midnight in the cloyed atmosphere of the casino’s underbelly things were not as they seemed I sat at a slot machine trying to synchronize my mind to the machine’s rhythm brain balancing precariously between mild intoxication and growing inebriation alcohol consumption evident on limbs and a loose mind chasing the elusive hit as I heard an alluring, sultry voice. “Hi, baby, how are you?” Young blonde hooker passed by me brushing her voluptuousness languidly against my back voice as sweet as honey dripping with innocence and I, in my mid-sixties took this as a compliment even though it came from the promiscuous and cunning lips of the young blonde hooker my brain reeled in the clutches of alcohol philosophical thoughts and unexpected comparisons The young hierodule for a few dollars could provide my sexual release the casino for a fistful of dollars sold me the ephemeral joy of machine combinations the luck of the draw and hope and the other hierodule the greatest which for a few dollars more sells to its innumerable Johns the safety of Heaven.
Manolis Aligizakis 