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.
slowly-slowly he pressed the woman’s lips until they opened, her tongue suddenly was licking his finger, her body started swaying upwards and down, erotically, sensually, provocatively, full of desire. He smiled, let his hand travel under the bed-sheet, he touched her body slowly, methodically like a master in the field he enticed her until she opened for him and let him explored all her secret coves. She moaned now, her body was in exhilarating mood, ready to be used, taken, to be enjoyed. He pushed the bed-sheet away. He knelt on top of her bed. He pulled her up on her fours. He violated her, crashing in from behind in a beastly, rough way. She just let go. She was his. Sister Gladys was a woman who could do anything to please him. She loved him, she knew. He knew that too. All his life Jerome, liked to be on top of things; from a young age growing in a family of five children, in Gatinaeu, Quebec, he always competed with his four siblings for who would be up front when it came to sports activities, to studies, in both elementary and high school classes; His parents certainly loved education, his dad, a notary public and a very successful one insisted on education and three of his other siblings, two boys and one girl got high education, either in college or university. His youngest sister decided early after high school that she didn’t want to carry on with her studies and devoted herself to volunteer work for various charity organizations. Jerome, a shy person by nature, loved the books and when time came to decide, this was very important to his father who demanded timely decisions and results thereof, he chose to become a priest. He followed religious Studies at the University of Toronto he conscripted himself in the Canadian Diocese, the head of which sent him to British Columbia. After a few years in Vancouver, he was sent to the Kamloops Indian Residential School where he was truly on top of things from day one.
Epode (chorus of Freemasons) Go away curses, don’t come close, Corazon from cradles to the stars, from the womb to the eyes, Corazon where sharp rocks and volcanos and seals Corazon where a dark face with big lips and white teeth Corazon let the phallus stand let the celebration start with human sacrifices and dance Corazon amid the revel of the flesh to the glory of ancestors Corazon so that they shall sow the new generation Corazon
Old Items Collector He passed every Thursday, right after dawn, one could hear his voice awakening most villagers, the young refuge collector with his wide muscly shoulders and sweet smile who bought anything the villagers wanted to discard everything they’d give away or sell to the young man with the sweet smile, one man’s refuge the other man’s treasure, the saying went and the collector was paying fair money for any item: pieces of steel, rusted, bent, and useless or the worn-out desk of the crazy poet, who passed a few weeks earlier. Who would care to keep a desk of the fool who wrote poems no sensible man could understand?
Tyne wondered if she should show them her gift, but decided against it. She knew Aunt Millie would admire it, but her mother might appear less than pleased. She hoped to spare Morley, and herself, that embarrassment. Today, of all days, people should be joyful and of one accord. Tyne picked up her handbag, and smiled at the two older women who stood watching them. “Bye for now. I’ll see you both later. I’ll be home in time to help with dinner.” Tyne hoped, but did not expect, that her mother would invite Morley for lunch. She saw Aunt Millie glance expectantly at her sister- in-law, but Emily did not take the bait. Tyne kicked off her slippers in the entrance way and pulled on her fur boots. Then they let themselves out into the crisp winter morning. Morley’s parents were already seated when the young couple walked into Emblem Evangelical Church. The usher, a man Tyne recognized as an employee of one of the three grain elevators in town, greeted them warmly and led them to the pew where the Cresswells waited. Mr. Cresswell, a stocky man slightly shorter than his son, stood and shook hands with Tyne. Mrs. Cresswell also stood to welcome her. She, too, was stocky and short, and Tyne had to bend from the shoulders to return her hug. She turned towards Morley’s father. “I’m pleased to see you looking well again, Mr. Cresswell.” He nodded and smiled. “The Lord is faithful,” he said simply. “We’re so happy you could come, Tyne,” Mrs. Creswell said quietly. “Come, sit beside me, dear, and Morley can sit on your other side.” The warmth of Morley’s parents, and their obvious pleasure at her presence in their church filled Tyne with ambivalent feelings. How different their attitude towards her than her parents’ attitude towards Morley. Their acceptance pleased her, yet at the same time made her heart ache for the rejection Morley must feel from her parents. She hoped that Aunt Millie’s acceptance – and Jeremy’s as well – made up somewhat for her parents’ lack of grace. As soon as the service began, Tyne became caught up in the joy of the congregation. They sang the beautiful Christmas carols with passion and enthusiasm.
IV Uniformity appears as the troglodyte receives darkness soluble shivering like a leaf blown by the wind to every corner of the cave and blackening his mind; two cows drinking water, raise their eyes to stare at the sharp blade of the butcher and the insatiable teeth of hunger, while the first earthly ownership, dangling residential, first subdivision of the troglodytes appears as he puts aside leftover meat. Fireflies slide in mid-air embalming the unction of disease a hard day’s hunt justified, first harkening bank, virgin new concept and tomorrow’s multinational a swath commences, and the fourth hymn as lightning divides the sky plowing a bright course when here springs forth the menace of death
stands that were crowded with all kinds of people visiting and catching-up with each other since the last show. At the canteen, Joel ordered a large coffee and then found an empty table at the edge of the eating area to sit at and ponder his dilemma. He sure didn’t want to sell to that no-good Buck Smith, but maybe that’s what it would have to come down to. Joel thought that he should have talked to Tanya sooner about the money problems, but it was his pride that held it tight inside him. It wasn’t fair to her the way she found out. She had done an exceptional job training the pretty little palomino and he knew that she had high hopes for the filly. There had to be something he could do to fix the situation. “Joel.” It was Tanya, and her tears had been replaced with a fresh smile. “I want you to meet my friends Morgan, Jesse, and Sue Ellen. We are going to head into town and catch a movie or something. Want to come along?” Joel was relieved to see that Tanya had recovered so quickly. She was obviously pleased to have connected with old friends from the rodeo circuit. “Well, do you want to come?” Tanya repeated. “Oh no, you kids go. I want to hang around and make sure that the horses are all bedded down for the night. But hey, have fun.” Tanya and her friends hurried out of the arena. Joel couldn’t help but think what a special person Tanya has become. His feelings were nothing romantic—now, don’t get silly. She was just a real good friend who happened to be female and nineteen years old. Oh yeah, she was one heck of a horsewoman. They had only been friends for a couple months, but now, their first meeting seemed so long ago. He still remembered when she had asked him on her first visit to the ranch, “Are these horses just pretty, or do they ride too?” He was sure he would never forget that. Harry and he had been proud of the good schooling they were giving the three-year-olds, but that afternoon when he first saw Tanya ride one, then another, and finally a third horse, he recognized that she was taking them beyond where he could even dream of, into another dimension.
never been a connection between those people and the Inuit and yet here was an original seminal idea being spoken by a woman in a completely different time and space and place. All these things were like jolts hitting me. Here I was living with an ancient people that were speaking to me directly. This was not something being told to me by a teacher or a relative. I was getting the original story and it affected me very profoundly. When the old woman finished her story, silence enveloped the igloo like a down blanket. Quietly, Ken stood and walked outside. The sky was filled with as many stars as Ken’s mind was filled with thoughts. In one instant, his life had changed. Knowingly or not, the old women had answered his question about his role in this place, and in the lives of the Inuit. She joined him, and he linked his arm through hers. Together they stood gazing at the sky. Icy crystals of thought invaded his heart, while an avalanche of ideas roared through his mind. This was that crystal moment when everything that had happened before made sense. I now had a clear purpose. I had gone to the Arctic because of the stories that had been told to me in that cave in Portugal, but now, I felt an urgency to gather as much information as possible – and to disseminate it. It was clear to me how brilliantly I had been prepared. From this moment on, I was no longer pursuing childhood dreams. I had a white-hot fire burning inside me. One day, the sun reappeared over the horizon and Ken felt as though he was awakening from a dream. For a seemingly endless amount of time, he had lived in darkness, listening to stories and legends, and the line between waking and dreaming had blurred. And now the sun – a cause for celebration – a reason for feasting! Feasting also served to remind them of their great good fortune. They had food, warmth, and clothing. Even more important, others had been helped and they were grateful to have been able to help them. The young man who had amputated his toes had survived, and that was even further cause for thanksgiving. As the days grew longer, the polar bears came out of hibernation. One had been spotted nearby and men quickly prepared for the hunt. Once again, grandmother prevailed upon the hunters to include Ken. When the dogs picked up the scent they were released from their traces, and the men followed their high-pitched howling. When the dogs found their quarry they surrounded it, darting in close, and then running back, staying out of reach of its lethal claws. Finally, overheated and exhausted, the bear collapsed. The hunters fired at the downed body until it lay still in a pool of blood, and then they began the enormous task of skinning and butchering it. The oldest hunter stood back. “In my day, that’s not how we hunted bears,” he said. “When we hunted, it was one man with a spear and one bear with his claws.
Eighth Canto Voice of unrelenting clock and cry of the wind nothing but an orchestra of the undefeated as I turn to the west glimpsing farewells of sailors long gone sunk in waters of enmity when the glide of the partridge interrupts the path of the hottest shot from the well-designed double barrel insignia of Death emblem of resurrection on its polished handle what is one to say when the industrious world consumes divine energy to spit out divine instruments for slaughter? Heart of the sparrow struggles in glory of an evening mirage when one more cannon like an unfortunate soldier snaps off a blast through the soft plumage of the bird across the great need for wanton killing as the last star fades seen through the kitchen windowpane I uncork the wine bottle fill two glasses for our meal of sweet potatoes and roasted chicken breast and the absurd intention of a host changing attire to the new devouring clown donating extracts and using means few can decline or afford as the blown feathers of the limp partridge begs the same question and high trembling poplars answer: we can do better
In any case I was the only servant in this mourning house and I had met the other house master under the stairway though the waking up was totally different, I had to take care of the old sick women who, when young, swore to die young and the trees had listened to so many love words that during the night they walked in a strange way in the garden; they all said that that night I placed the mask on the table, among the foreigners, as if to live once more; they, motionless, looked at me going down since I had no other way out except the carpet which I folded slowly and in such a way that I covered the worst. And while they all demanded an answer I left them in their delusion which was the only music.
Manolis Aligizakis 