Rained
Bronze statue peels off
night rain
is portico to sparrow
roosted, looking up at
colossus he shivers
waits for shard of sun, he will pop up
take charge of the plaza call mates
as you lift your fork
before you carve flesh
of potato I stare at your
smiling lips and daydream
of the magnificent ‘o’
they’ll form on my
hardened penis
excerpt
Six people crowded the car as it sleeked through the night, climbing into the mountains on winding, unlit roads. Nora sat in the back between Susan and Ian. Ian smelt her perfume, and it tantalised him. He pressed closer to her in the shadows. His left arm rested along the top of the seat. Nora, leaning her head back with a contented sigh, touched Ian’s arm and sat up straight again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘That’s all right. Lie back if you want to.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said disingenuously.
Clifford slowed the car almost to a stop, then swung it to the left down a steep, stony, track not much wider than the car, its headlights illuminating the constricting dry-stone walls. He eased the car round a corner into a grassy yard in front of a small, two-storeyed, white-washed, slate-roofed cottage.
‘Home from home,’ he said. ‘Country style.’
Clifford cut the car’s bright beams, plunging the passengers into pitch darkness. Then the interior lights came on as the Bentley doors opened. Ian took Nora’s hand and helped her out.
‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She bobbed him a little curtsey. Even in the gloom Ian caught her captivating smile.
The cottage was dark. Everyone stood in a huddle inside the door till Clifford located and lit an oil lamp. Then they moved into the room and looked around at the white-washed walls; the old, dark-toned, wooden table; the dresser; the chairs; the big, deep, well-used armchair beside the hearth. In the spacious fireplace a fire was already set. All it took was a dash of paraffin oil and a lighted match and the flames and sparks were leaping in a crackling frenzy into the large, blackened chimney. On the mantelpiece an old pendulum clock stood at rest between two creamy china dogs. On the dresser shelves an array of blue, willow-patterned plates and cups and large, stout mugs with blue rings gleamed in the light of the fire and the lamp. Fiona lit a second lamp.
‘This is just heavenly,’ Susan exclaimed in a high, excited voice. ‘John, wouldn’t you just love to live in a place like this?’
excerpt
The door to Millie’s hospital room opened. Tyne came to with a start
and realized she had been dozing. The book she had been reading
clattered to the floor as she got unsteadily to her feet. Two doctors,
still in surgical scrubs, came into the room which had grown dim in
the fading light from the window. But she could see that Dr. Dunston
led the way, his face grim. Tyne’s heart thudded against her chest wall
as she stood rigid, waiting for him to speak. But when he stood aside
and motioned his companion forward, she thought her heart would
totally stop.
“Tyne … uh … Mrs. Cresswell, this is Dr. Osborne, the surgeon
from Medicine Hat.”
He stepped forward with his hand out. “I believe we’ve met,” he
said quietly, his eyes riveted on her face, “a long time ago. We both
worked at the Holy Cross. I’m Peter Osborne.”
“Of course,” Tyne said as she shook his hand. “You were Cam
Tournquist’s friend.”
“That’s right, we were both surgical interns.” He took a deep
breath. “Sorry, I’m sure you’re not feeling up to small talk right now.
You’re anxious about your aunt.”
“Yes,” Tyne whispered, “how is … is she all right?”
“Please sit down, Mrs. Cresswell, and rest assured that she came
through the surgery. She’s just waking up in the OR.”
Tyne’s sigh of relief stopped short when she realized both doctors
looked too serious to be announcing good news
excerpt
“Then, go where your heart takes you and don’t worry about a thing, my
darling. It is your path; take it. I’ll be very happy and proud of you.”
Cathy stands up with her last words and hugs Emily.
“Oh, Cathy, I still wonder sometimes whether I’m doing the right thing.”
“Of course you are, darling! What are you supposed to do, sit back and be a
widow? That’s not your style; then again, look at it from this point of view. No
matter what happens down the road, you cannot look at yourself in the mirror
when you are old and say, ‘Pity I didn’t have the guts to take the chance when I
had it.’ You just go where your heart takes you and make the best of it.”
“Yes, and no regrets, okay?” Emily laughs with delight at Cathy’s way of
thinking.
“Never regret anything; just make the best of life and that’s it.”
Manolis Aligizakis 