In Turbulent Times

excerpt

had been told what to do if Nora Carrick took one of these seizures. Yet they all stood back along the grey walls, and the children ran to a safe distance and watched with eyes and mouths wide open while the young girl’s legs jerked up and down, and her head struck the ground, and her mouth opened and closed expelling a kind of froth like a rabid animal. Joe saw what was happening as he reached the square on his way home from the harbour. He rushed forward, wrapped Nora in his jacket and placed his pen-knife between her teeth. He remembered Dr Alexander’s saying she could bite her tongue during this stage of her fit unless something like a fountain pen was thrust between her teeth on one side of her mouth. With one knee on the ground, Joe held Nora against the other while her convulsive movements began to subside. He wiped her face clean with a handkerchief. He had seen that face so many times before but never till that moment did he notice how pretty it was. Her eyes below the straight-cut fringe of hair were closed. She had rather prominent cheek-bones and a dimple at each side of her mouth when she smiled. She was not smiling then. Her cheek rested against his dark-blue jersey as if she were listening to his heartbeat. Her black hair smelled sweetly with a soft fragrance as if freshly washed with a scented soap. That smell lingered in his nostrils for days, and each time it came back to him it brought exciting new feelings, like those he used to feel in his stomach at the approach of Christmas or a birthday or at the prospect of an outing. And yet different too. More subtle, more gentle, and somehow infinitely sweeter. And he would recall the pale, round face framed in its black, shiny, scented hair pressed against his heart, and the eyes flickering open, so dark and deep and troubled those young, serious eyes. Joe could not remember if he had felt then the same exquisite feelings he had had later when, unbidden, the picture of Nora’s face returned to fill his mind for days on end. Nor could he remember if he had noticed then the rounded outline of her young breasts which he later recalled as having been in contact with his heaving chest.
How momentous those few minutes had been for him, and yet how many of the minor details he had been oblivious to at the time. Perhaps the significance of the scene had been a later invention. He remembered how the crowd had closed in around him, and everyone looked at the peaceful body in his arms as Nora awoke from her frightening ordeal. Had she taken his hand and held it till Dr Alexander came and led her to his car? Joe thought she had but now he wasn’t sure. He remembered standing in the square with his jacket hanging over his arm, watching Dr Alexander’s car drive away …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Small Change

excerpt

The Best of Friends
ALL I KNEW ABOUT ETERNITY in those days came to me through the agency of its little cousin, boredom. It was Friday and it was spring. The big windows on the left side of our second floor classroom had been lifted as far as the old paint in their grooves would allow. All afternoon, an intermittent breeze came through the protective metal grill carrying coal gas and bus fumes and the oddly fishy odour of soap from the Colgate factory down by the river. It wasn’t much, but it was news from the world and I sniffed it with a perverse pleasure.
We weren’t allowed to look outside, but as often as I could I snuck a peek at the vacant lot with its bottle chips, rusty concrete, patches of crabgrass, and minute particles of coal that lay in thin drifts where the wind had blown them from the smoke of locomotives that passed all day on the elevated tracks across the street, beyond the wooden fence of the Delaware-Lackawanna coal yard.
Sister Violeta, with her lugubrious monotone and her black visions of life before death, seemed connected somehow to the nearly purple hills (piles, really) of pea coal, which I had a privileged view of at this height. They looked like black sand blown up into dunes in the desert landscape of an alien planet. I used to imagine she had been hatched there.
Father Brackendorf, who came every Friday to teach us religion, was fond of looking out toward the coal yard and explaining that our souls were like the snow before a train went by. Once we were born, the soot came down. Scrubbing did no good. You had to let confession melt the snow, and let the sin fall to the bottom. (The bottom of what, I wondered). Then a blast of grace would freeze it white again. This is what he was saying now. It made me feel empty and restless. The clock above his head, round and white and edged with black, was soft-clicking back and hard-clicking forward, minute by minute. And then the minute hand hit twelve and it was three o’clock, and we were free.
But there was this debt I owed to Danny Amoroso.
He was three or four years older than we were, but he was slow. And he seemed to enjoy it. Being slow, I mean. He was a titan among …

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

Long-listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

MANY of us couldn’t ever recognize him, some things
remained forever unknown, however as we slowly started
forgetting we brought him near us; years went by; it was
beautiful and him, they said, owner of old treasures since
he oen stayed in foreign houses into which others entered
only from the street, “then, why you ask me?” I said to him;
thus people retained good memory of the family, especially
during the evenings; in fact they found the bed-sheet
the old women used to wrap him, since his difficulty was
which direction to take and since darkness was slowly
falling I thought I had to save him so I went to the garden
where I sat quietly.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

Fury of the Wind

excerpt

which Will had taken up his position at the desk. Only the monotonous
tick of the pendulum clock on the waiting room wall, and the
occasional tap tap of telegraph keys disturbed the quiet. And once
in a while Will Andrews cleared his throat.
Try as he would Will could not keep his eyes off her. His curiosity
grew with the minutes but he did not think it his place to ask
who she was waiting for. He just wished the tardy individual would
hurry up and get there. He didn’t think he should leave the young
woman alone to go to his quarters, although his feet now screamed
to be released from his boots, and his throat felt parched just thinking
about Molly’s lemonade.
He pulled his watch from the fob pocket of his trousers. Half past
four. Half an hour since the train had passed through town, and its
passenger – who had expected to be met – still waited.
A faint sound startled him and he looked up to see the woman
crossing the room towards the wicket. She appeared cool and composed
but Will could see the lines down her cheeks where rivulets
of sweat had streaked her face powder.
“Excuse me, Mr. ah ….”
“Andrews.”
“Mr. Andrews, I wonder if you could tell me if the train was early
today.”
“Nope, right on time as usual.”
“Oh … I see … thank you.” She bit her lower lip and turned away
but suddenly she swung around to face him again.
“Mr. Andrews, would you mind placing a telephone call for me,
please? It would be a local call.”
“Sure. Who to?”
“Fielding. Mr. Benjamin Fielding.”
Will’s mouth dropped open. “Ben Fielding?”
She brightened. “Yes. Do you know him?”
“Ben Fielding ain’t got a phone.”
“Oh.” She said it so quietly he scarcely heard her. Her lips trembled,
and the hand resting on the counter, still gloved, began to
shake just a little.
Again she turned to go but she stopped when he said, “Can I get
my missus to bring you a glass of lemonade? I was just going in for
some.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530