Despite it all, I felt gratified to be useful. Rats were a frequent nuisance on ships; they woke us up at night, walked on us, dug their teeth into our flesh. Many sacks had holes, and in some the rats were still feeding. What to do? Benjamin was wiggling a stick in his hand. He snuffled repeatedly while throwing me a similar weapon. We took the hideous fruits of our slaughter to the upper deck, spilling them overboard. The bodies of the rats floated on the surface until two small sharks appeared and devoured them. “Do what’s bad and expect it back,” Benjamin said, waving an accusatory finger at the rats. I couldn’t tell whether he was joking. Normally he was laughing. His eyes turned into a glittering line whenever he laughed—but for several hours he had seemed almost despondent. “Something bothering you, my friend?” I asked. He shrugged. “I’ve been from here to there and back all my life, not knowing where night would find me. I thought life at sea would be better, but . . . I should never have come.” Our work together below decks had brought us together. This was a different sort of confessional than I was accustomed to hearing. I felt the solution was not necessarily in God’s hands. “Why don’t you come with me to join the expedition? I’m sure they will need a strong man like you.” He looked up, eyes brighter, then his shoulders slumped again. “I’ve signed on for five years with the captain,” Benjamin said. “I have to stay.” “You leave that one to me,” I said. And so devised a simple plan, knowing I would soon be losing my brother’s companionship. Although I felt I did not need my older brother as a protector, I knew Bartolomé liked to feel he was necessary to me in that way. Therefore, if Benjamin went to Bartolomé and volunteered to act as my guardian in the New World, my brother might allow Benjamin to leave the ship to accompany me, for my benefit…
The tour wound up at the fairground’s major landmark—an impressive communications tower. Natasha launched into her set speech. Several of the group yawned. “Excuse me, Natasha,” interrupted Ted. “In Toronto, we’re just now building a free-standing tower like this one—for telecommunications. It’ll be the tallest in the world.” He beamed proudly, removing his baseball cap and flicking one hand through his curly hair. For a split second Natasha’s face twisted in rage. Colour rushed to her cheeks and she drew up her chin. My god, I think she’s going to explode, thought Jennifer. Several of the students backed away hurriedly. “How many metres?” Natasha snapped. “Oh, well, I’m not sure…” “Ah.” Recovering, Natasha smiled triumphantly. “But this one has a restaurant at the top…that revolves.” Ted smiled and shut his mouth. “I thought she’d lost it that time,” Paul muttered to Jennifer. “Have you noticed how touchy the Soviets are when you criticize—or even make a suggestion that anything could be wrong in their country?” “Yeah, they’re pretty defensive.” “I’m too tired to take in any more,” Paul continued. “Let’s zap over to that ice cream stand and sit on the grass for a while.” The two slipped away and were not surprised to see Lona and David following them. “Whoo,” David shuddered, sprawling beside the others to suck on a strawberry cone. “You have to have the constitution of a bear to see this country right.” “I hear we’re going to visit an elementary school tomorrow,” said Lona. “I think I’ll pass and go to the Trediakovsky Art Gallery instead. I must see the Rublev icons.” She rearranged her cream linen suit and settled gingerly on the grass. “I’d like to meet the children,” Jennifer said mildly, dusting off her faded blue jeans. She was aware that she was supposed to be supervising this unruly crowd, but she was torn. In her opinion they were over-supervised between Natasha’s military command and Chopyk’s academic requirements. Fortunately, this morning the professor had dashed off on his own errand, putting her in charge. Surely the students could be allowed to explore at their own pace? That’s what immersion in a country was all about, wasn’t it?
these images oen came to his mind when he walked the seawall along the Dundarave to 22nd Street. When he reached the dock, he would go to the end, lean over the wooden structure, and gaze at the sea bottom, at the sea life around the big wooden piles full of barnacles, on which the small fish fed, at the crabs visible from above where he stood. He remembered all the times he and his brother would chase and try to outsmart the small crabs on the rocks of his homeland, and how they would get soaked by the waves crashing against the same rocks where they hunted the crabs and sea snails their mother could turn into tasty meals that he devoured eagerly every single time. The sea’s familiar aroma filled his lungs. He looked around at all the people standing and admiring the skyline of the University of British Columbia across the bay or gazing out at the open sea toward Vancouver Island, which was clearly visible in today’s sunshine. His ears picked out a strongly accented voice behind him saying something about the size of the university campus across the water and the number of students that went there, and then a similar voice answering him. The people talking were Iranians. He knew the accent. Having an accent himself, he had learned to discern the accents of others during his twenty years in Canada. He leaned over the wood fence again and looked down into the water. It had a fascination that attracted his eyes every time. He couldn’t imagine himself living in the interior, in a place far from the sea. The restless, changeable sea with its serene, glassy surface or its rough waves when the winds ran amok. It was too important to him. Eteocles Armenakis from Crete, had worked for a while for CP Rail when he first came to Canada. The other yard men, his co-workers, couldn’t handle the name Eteocles, so they had renamed him Eteo. This prompted Eteocles to file for an official name change, and he became Eteo Armen, simplifying both his first and last names. Eteo raised his body up from the edge of the dock and felt the tears filling his eyes. The images of those early days would remain forever in his memory. They would always bring tears to his eyes. He started walking back toward Ambleside Park. His phone rang. It was Herbert.
Carol Ann tossed her head. “I can’t think of anything better.” Tyne grinned and glanced at her watch. “Hey look, gang, it’s getting on to dinner time. I’d like to go have a peek at the roster before we eat. So hurry up and change, then we can get to the cafeteria before the rush. I’m starved.” A few minutes later, as they hurried along the corridor, Tyne said, “Did either of you see the menu board? What’s for dinner?” “It’s Sunday. Need you ask?” “Oh no, not beef stroganoff on my first day back?” Moe poked her in the ribs. “No, sorry to disappoint you, kiddo. Not beef stroganoff. That’s just their fancy name for it. It’s plain old beef stew.” Tyne groaned. The house mother, having overheard their comments, looked up and scowled as they passed her desk. As they spilled out the door onto the street, Tyne murmured under her breath, “Oh, Mom, I sure miss you now.” Tyne stood at the nursing station on St. Francis and listened intently as Sister Mary Louise assigned the graduates and student nurses their duties for the day. Six of them gathered around the desk, two of them third-year students. Joan Farr from the September class looked nervous. She had just attained her third-year status, and probably did not feel quite ready for the private patients on St. Francis, many of whom were professional people, two of them doctors. Tyne remembered Moe’s words as the three roomies ate breakfast in the dining hall that morning. “It doesn’t matter how much money they have, Tyne. Just remember that in bed with nothing on but a skimpy nightshirt, they’re just the same as you and me.” Tyne repeated the words to herself as she made her way down the corridor with a tray of medications.
Wings Obstinate swallow wings spread open merciless windbreakers pronouncing elegance against dictum’s profanity, legs tucked away unlike a statue’s yearning in awe for his own feathery propulsion must stand durable instead on firmness, while blue heaven consoles loneliness with puffy clouds whiting the distant shore where everything someday will adhere to excellence
She’s a pretty lady. Talal thinks that if he didn’t have difficulty following her Australian accent he could easily fall in love with her. He smiles at that thought and she detects what he is thinking. “What are you smiling about? Is it one of those delusions of yours, again?” Helena jokes with him. He doesn’t mind her at all because he knows she means no harm. She’s always playful and full of fun; as a matter of fact, he enjoys her more than other girls he has met, because this Australian girl with the beautiful contours is someone whom Talal has gotten to know very well by exploring and touching and getting excited and satisfying. But suddenly his mind travels to a woman older than himself with whom he had such a great morning yesterday. Helena recognizes something from his glowing face and his faint smile, a smile that a woman can easily see is the smile of a man thinking of another woman. She says, “Thinking of her again, aren’t we?” “Thinking of who? What do you mean?” He suddenly gets defensive. They are interrupted by Ahmed as he comes back to the table. She turns to Talal. “I’ll leave you boys on your own. Don’t forget to pick me up about three on Saturday.” “No problem, beautiful. I’ll be there.”
Joel wasn’t sure what it was, but somehow he had connected with the peace and tranquility of the land. He was wondering if there wasn’t some way he could make a go of the Circle H. Joel knew that he had lost his soul a lot of years ago, but now, maybe just maybe, he had found his soul in the hills. “So who is this Smith character?” inquired Joel. “Big rancher. Moved in about ten years ago and hasn’t stopped buying since. Must control almost the entire county. Between what he has already put his hands on and what he has tied up in first right of refusals he pretty well owns Sweetwater Country. They say he runs over 5,000 head.” Even Joel knew that 5,000 head was a lot of anything let alone cows. Anyone who has enough land to feed that many cattle would be just about as close to a king as you could get in this dry country. By now, Harry had run out of chores to do and things to tinker with so he slowly turned to face Joel. It was then that Joel clearly saw the withered, weather-stained face of the man he was speaking with. Joel couldn’t help but think that Harry’s head was too big for the size of his body. His tiny frame carried maybe 140 pounds, none of it fat. With a thirty-inch waist, this ranch hand of fifty or sixty, or was it seventy, years appeared to be in excellent condition. His face featured a big nose, ears the size of tea saucers, and an abundance of thick black hair. And his hands. His hands were those of a worker and his big head seemed out of proportion to the size of his lithe body. “Lives over there,” offered Harry. “Over where?” asked Joel, almost forgetting who it was that they were talking about. “The Buck Smith Ranch Corporation Headquarters are just over those hills. Maybe a mile across.” “Then we are neighbours.” “Might say that. A mile across the hills but must be ten miles around on the roads. Don’t see much of them over here. Just their cows all over the hills.”