Tag: Books

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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excerpt

…grandly feted and on another day, he and Marsha visited the village that
had been his home. They walked up the Avenue of Princes and stopped
in front of number twelve – his home. In the garden, he saw a couple
talking with the gardener. Ken leaned over the garden wall, introduced
himself, and asked if he could look inside his old boyhood home. The
couple frowned, turned their backs on him, and walked into the house,
locking the door behind them.
The gardener said, “You’re Ken.”
“Yes.”
“I’m Francisco’s nephew.”
“How wonderful to meet you. But why are they so upset?”
“They think you’ve come back to claim the house.”
Ken laughed. “I just wanted to go inside and look. I thought it might
be very nice.”
“Oh no. People have been wondering when you would return to take
back what is yours.”
“I’ve never considered it mine,” he said.
They walked on through the village and then down to the beach. Nothing
had changed. The wall he and Francisco had built was still there and
still trapping the sand to create a beautiful stretch of beach. Even the
remains of Francisco’s cabin still clung to the cliffs.
They drove to Peniche, the home of their friend, the Count. Even here
Ken was recognized, not so much for himself, but for his father; a saint
according to the owner of a restaurant, who closed the café in celebration
of Ken’s visit and served up a feast for his honoured guests.
Back in Toronto, Ken settled into a routine that was continuously interrupted.
When he was not working on Isumataq he painted canvases
for the gallery and for the financial company’s new collection. His biggest
challenge was that the media liked him too much. They wanted to know
why he was meeting with presidents in Europe; they wanted to know his
plans – what was next? Too much good press was boring so they sought
out the malcontents – those who had accused him of appropriating a
culture that wasn’t his. He needled them until they fired back. He had
come back from his latest Arctic trip with letters from the grandmothers,
written in Inuktitut and translated into English, stating that they not
only approved of his art, but had also asked him expressly to do what he
was doing. The letters were tucked in a file that Ken suspected might be
useful one day.
Bad press was interesting but outrageous press was better. He had
about twenty unfinished paintings, stacked in a corner of the studio, that
he would likely never complete. He spread them out on the floor and
paced between them.
“What are you doing?” Diane asked, poking her head into the studio.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

…was smashed on the back of a pew. As Liam approached, he saw Padraig’s body lying against the altar at the end of the chancel. With heart pounding from fear at the sight of the still body, Liam rushed to its side and knelt down.
“Oh my God. Oh no. Not Father Padraig.” Liam stretched his trembling hand towards the prostrate body, but drew back. The blood on the chancel floor below Padraig’s head frightened him, as did the cuts and swelling bruises on the side of his face. Liam knew that two fingers placed somewhere on the neck could feel if the pulse was beating but he didn’t know where exactly.
“Father Padraig,” he said, as if trying to rouse the priest from sleep. “Father Padraig.”
He looked around helplessly, wishing that someone with more experience than he had would enter the church. Then he looked again at the inert, bloodied body of the priest. Padraig wasn’t moving; he didn’t appear to be breathing.
“He’s dead. Oh my God, Father Padraig is dead.”
Liam rose and ran outside. “Home, boy,” he shouted to the dog as he bounded down the steps. Followed by his old dog, Liam ran all the way to the main street of Corrymore. At the head of the street, the first house on the left was the home of Dr Starkey. Not only would the doctor be able to confirm if Padraig was alive or dead, his house had a telephone by which he could summon the police from Lisnaglass. Frantically Liam pounded on the door until a dishevelled Dr Starkey, wearing a plaid dressing gown, opened it.
“Liam,” said the doctor in surprise. “What’s wrong? Is it your father?”
Ciaran Dooley was known to have a bad heart.
“No, it’s Father Padraig,” Liam replied. “I think he’s dead. I think he’s been murdered.”
“Murdered?” cried the doctor. “Father Padraig? No. It can’t be.”
“I’m afraid it may be so, Dr Starkey. Father Padraig is lying in a pool of blood in the church and he’s not breathing. The pulpit has been knocked over, and I don’t know what other vandalism might have been perpetrated. Can you telephone the RIC in Lisnaglass and then go and see to Father Padraig? If he’s alive he needs help urgently. But I fear he’s dead. Murdered in his own church.”
Liam recalled the glimpse he had caught of the figure fleeing from the church. Could it really have been Michael Carrick? Yes, he was sure in his own mind that it was. But why would Michael do such a terrible thing? Liam troubled himself with questions as he walked down the still-deserted street to his home. Was it because Padraig was preparing Caitlin for the…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

The Circle

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excerpt

Emily cannot see where his eyes are looking, but she knows men well; they are all
the same, most of the time. Yet, now a younger man with sad eyes has made her
heart melt; this younger man has managed to make her feel like a young woman
again. Talal is the man for Emily; Talal is her man and she’s willing to go anywhere
he wants to go because she’s so much in love with him.
Talal turns to her side and opens his eyes. Emily is on her back and the gardener
walks to the other side of the grounds. Talal leans over and puts his hand on her. She
squirms for a bit as his touch awakens her flesh to the warmth of his palm.
She turns her head to him, smiles, and says, “You are awake; for a while you
looked like you were asleep.”
“What a beautiful, warm day; pity we have to go and leave it behind,” Talal says.
“I know. Back home, right now it’s getting colder.”
“Well, we can always hope to come back here some time soon; what would
you think of that, my love?”
Silence falls between them for a few moments. Emily feels the warmth of the
sun on her back and sees the brightness all around; the birds are very busy
singing in the beautifully kept yard. These are all things she would like to have
around all the time, and her answer comes at the right time.
“I would love to come back here sometime soon, honey.”
“What if we stayed here for a longer time next time, sweet Emily?”
“I would love to come here with you, my love, and stay as long as you like; a
week, a month, two months, however long.”
He smiles back at her; he leans closer and kisses her lips softy.
“Do you mean you could go wherever, as long as we were together?” he
whispers to her.
“Yes, I could, my sweet Talal,” she says, kissing him.
The rest of the day goes by in peace and serenity and sunshine. They have a
light lunch with Ibrahim and Mara and later in the afternoon come back and
sit to enjoy the warmth of the sun a little longer before getting ready for the
party.
Ibrahim and Mara take their customary siesta for an hour. Then they get
involved with the last preparations for the party; they want everything to be
perfect for when the guests start arriving.
Rassan is the busiest person of all. He has to coordinate the shopping, the extra
cooks hired for the night, the servers, the coat-check people, and everybody else
who will help make the party flow smoothly. He enjoys doing all this, and since he
has been with Ibrahim and Mara for a long time, knows exactly what they want
and what is expected of him. He never disappoints them.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

Straits and Turns

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excerpt

…and ailing mother before she’d let her last breath go up in the air of
a stifling hospital room, in old wrinkled bed-sheets, white and pure
as the fire of Purgatory, cleansing, purifying, absolving all sins, and
others had to go to the front line of defence in one border, there where
the souls try to find a single justification for the lunacy that harasses
people when they firstly grab the rifle and shoot and then they think
that perhaps they should talk to those infidels on the other side of the
border, yet these were the moronic ways people did things these days
and these were all within the parameters and conditions of life in a big
country like Spain and in a big city like Madrid while this afternoon I
and my wife were sitting on the sidewalk table of this small cafe where
we had a bite and enjoyed our regular glass of beer for me and a regular
glass of red wine for my wife when I raised my eyes and stared at
the grandiose Atocha which brought to my mind that blonde woman
yesterday, on our way from Valencia, the pretty blonde woman sitting
opposite me and my wife, that pretty blonde who constantly had
her feet between mine and occasionally moved one of them against
mine, as if to tell me she was here and somehow she had to count as an
important part of my day to which I paid attention as the opportunity
allowed me and as if not to disturb the peaceful afternoon while we
were travelling at the speed of 310 kilometers an hour on the famous
high velocity AVLO train of the big RENFE Spanish train company.
Then the unexpected occurred when the ancient Minoan goddess
appeared, Ariadne incarnate, with her black curly hair falling
lower than her shoulders, with her dark skin complexion, the olive oil
skin complexion, with her black eyes and full lips which suddenly gave
me goosebumps, she appeared from the right of my wife and walking
in the most sensual way she made her way to the table just three meters
in front of me and on my line of vision towards the Atocha Train Station;
this woman of average height, well lined body, obviously a body
that had experienced all the possible erotic pleasures from the soft
and delivering to the rough and wild apexes, from the slow and long
moments enduring consummations to the fast and fiery encounters
which leave nothing but exquisite delight to every inch of a woman’s…

https://draft2digital.com/book/4250839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763866

Water in the Wilderness

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excerpt

Tyne did not know what to say. If Morley were here, he would know how to respond to Ruby’s outrageous suggestion. She lowered her head and mouthed a silent prayer. “Oh God, help me say the right things. Give me wisdom, Lord, because I’m scared. I’m scared for Morley because I don’t know what’s happened to him. And I’m scared for these children you have seen fit to bring into our lives. But God, I’m not ready for all this; too much has happened too fast. Please keep Morley safe and send him to me.”
She looked up to find Ruby staring at her. Tyne shook her head. “I can’t give you an answer, Ruby. You know I’ll have to talk to Morley about it.”
Ruby nodded. “Yeah, sure I know. But I also know I can’t take him back, Tyne. I’m just dreaming when I say he has to come home.” She burst into tears.
Tyne jumped to her feet. Crossing to the sofa, she sat down beside the distraught woman and put her arms around her. “Hush, it will be all right, I promise. We’ll work something out.”
In a few minutes Ruby dried her tears and stood up. “I have to see Ronald again before it’s time for my bus. I have to go home tonight.” At the door she turned with a half smile. “Thanks for listening.”
Tyne watched her leave, her thoughts in turmoil. Another promise … she had just made another promise that she didn’t know if she could keep. Her life was spinning out of control. She and Morley had been married for less than half a year when their world was rocked by that first promise she had made the night Lydia Conrad had come to the nurses’ station in Emblem Hospital. As a result of that brief encounter with her patient, she and Morley had known the joy of loving two small children; they had known panic when those children went missing; and they had known the heartache of losing their own unborn child.
And now, Morley was missing after going on a mission of mercy to find the children’s father and bring him to them.
What more do you want of us, God? Tyne cried in her heart. What more do you want us to do?

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562884

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Redemption

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excerpt

“I like the dean’s offer. I believe it will be quite a job, and I
should take this opportunity. Of course, there is the fact that I must
go abroad for a couple of years, but that is the way the cookie crumbles,
as the saying goes. I cannot avoid that: it is part of the Hermes
package. When I return, I will be hired, no questions asked. The dean
assured me of this. Of course, I need to talk to my parents, who I’m
sure won’t like the idea of two years in a foreign country. I’d like to
hear your opinion, though. From both of you. You two have been my
second parents for so long, and you understand this a bit more than
my father and my mother could understand.”
His aunt sat there, silently looking at him with great affection,
this child who made her feel so proud.
Demetre cleared his throat, “This is a very good offer, a position
which many others would love to have. It’s a lot better than being
hired as a clerk at some bank or a government position, although that
would perhaps be a steadier career. Still, this is better for you because
it will open quite a wide field of action for later. Of course, the disadvantage
is that you need to go away for a while. It is, after all, a serious
thing to go so far away and be a stranger among strangers, with no
friends, and all that. On the other hand, if that is what it takes, that
is what a man does.”
Hermes smiled at the last part of his uncle’s comment,
“Yes, there is always a way where there is a will. I believe in what
I can do, and I know deep inside that after the hardship, I’m going to
be where I like to be and among the people I like the most.”
“We know you well,” his uncle says, “and we know that we
cannot go against what you want to do. Besides, you are in many ways
exceptional, and you owe it to yourself to achieve great success.”
Demetre was right: he saw in this young man the soul of the
eagle who lived near the mountain peaks, unconquered by time.
He will remind him of this at every step of his way. Hermes realizes
clearly now it is his duty to try, and it is his duty not to fail, although
the word fail is one he never had in his vocabulary. He now knew
clearly that he owed this to his destiny, because it was no less than…

https://draft2digital.com/book/4172538#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763858

In Turbulent Times

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excerpt

‘Whatever. Who knows what’s true and what isn’t? But you know Flynn Casey. Always the rebel Republican. Loyal follower of James Connolly, his hero. His socialism got him involved with the IRA in strikes in Belfast in the Thirties. In fact he was shot in the leg during a march in the Lower Falls area that led to clashes with the police. Three years ago he was interned in Crumlin Road jail after that IRA campaign of protest against the arrival of the American forces.’
‘I remember that,’ said Seamus. ‘De Valera considered the arrival of the Americans an intrusion on Irish territory. And he was born in America himself. New York, if I remember rightly. And his father was Spanish. What a mad world we live in, Caitlin.’
‘Let’s hope the real madness is over now, Seamus.’
‘Amen to that. So what’s Flynn doing in Belfast? Apart from stirring up trouble.’
‘He’s managing a pub on the Falls Road, though he longs to be back in his Drumard hills. But he has Dermot in Belfast, and a grandson, if you can picture Flynn Casey as a grandfather.’
‘Happens to most of us,’ Slattery declared. ‘A grandson’ll keep him anchored in Belfast.’
‘Dermot married the youngest Sweeney girl, didn’t he?’ Michael said, without taking his eyes off the dancers.
‘And carried her off to the big city,’ Seamus replied. ‘They’re very happy there, so I’m told. Dermot has his own business as an electrician.’ Seamus paused momentarily. ‘Now there’s another good man gone. Ignatius Sweeney. Got out of bed one morning and dropped dead. And he hadn’t a grey hair in his head when he died. Still that short hair that stood straight up on his head. What your father described as the unravelled end of a rope. Good old Ignatius. I think he ate himself to death.’
‘That’s a terrible thing to say, Seamus Slattery,’ Caitlin chided.
‘Oh you know I didn’t mean it. A poor joke, Caitlin, and I shouldn’t have said it. Though old Ignatius might have enjoyed it. Violet, of course, went to Belfast to live with Dermot and Maire after Ignatius died, but I hear her health is not too good.’
‘I don’t think she ever got over Ignatius’s death,’ Caitlin said. ‘It was so sudden and unexpected.’
‘And Joe Carney’s another one,’ Seamus continued in his vein of In Memoriam. ‘His heart let him down. And young Joe. Joe-Joe we used to call him. Remember?’ Seamus leaned forward. ‘Remember the day you pulled him out of the harbour, Michael?’

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

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

Straits and Turns

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excerpt

…the moment if they didn’t interfere with his driving them to their destination.
On the other hand, could he ask them to stop? Why, could
they answer, and what could he say to such a question?
Strange beast, the human mind, as it went from one thing to
another, like a crazy monkey who jumped from one branch of a tree
to another, just like Costa’s which ran to his good trip back at the
Four Seasons to which he was eager to reach on time, so his customer
wouldn’t get impatient and take a different cab to the airport. He
looked at his watch: his time was just fine; finally, he arrived at the
Cypress Bowl, and he realized that his customers in the back were half
dressed and half not, such was their erotic oestrus during the trip…
upon realizing that they had arrived at their place they quickly fixed
their clothes, the man paid the driver and taking his half-dressed
sweetheart by the waist they walked to the front door of their place.
The driver said goodbye to them and started his return to the
city of Vancouver and to the Hotel where he arrived earlier than the
time we had agreed with the smoker. However, Costa saw his customer
waiting in the lobby. Costa walked over, grabbed his bag, put it in the
trunk, opened the back door for him, and started the trip to the airport.
Around the sixteenth and Granville, they started the usual little
talk, “Where are you from? How long have you been here? Etc. Costa
informed his customer that he came from Hellas and had lived here for
six years. The customer mentioned that he was a Turk, from Ankara,
on his way to Los Angeles for business. Oh, God, what just happened?
The earth started swirling around like a wind vane, like a top on a flat
surface. And all this buzzing noise was like a swarm of bees in Costa’s
head, as if desperately looking for honey. Endless pounding against
his two temples turned that buzzing noise into a thundering hatred.
In which school have they taught him to hate this man so much? In
which church have they turned him into such a fanatic? How many
eons of anger and hatred has he lived, and why is he in such a dreadful
condition? How was it possible that all his ancestors had resurrected
and stood before him demanding revenge? Why all this hatred today,
and why have all his ancestral parents, brothers, and sisters awakened…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763866

Fury of the Wind

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excerpt

He threw his head back and laughed. But it wasn’t a mirthful
sound. “In Nimkus? That’ll be the day.”
He gulped his coffee, pushed his chair back roughly and went
out. Sarah stared after him, unaware that two tears were sliding
down her cheeks. O
The road to the neighbours proved to be little more than a cow
trail across the adjoining farms. Flicka’s hooves scattered yellow
petals of black-eyed Susans as she trotted over the dry pasture land.
Due to Ben’s warning, Sarah became especially cautious when they
reached the path along the ravine. But she need not have worried,
because Flicka navigated it with a sure-footed gait, and ignored the
brush covered bank that fell away to the gully a hundred feet below.
Only a thin ribbon of murky water was visible at its base, but Ben
said that after a heavy rain it became a gushing river.
Another quarter mile along the path, after rounding a poplar
bluff, Flicka came to a halt at a barbed wire fence that obviously
divided the Fielding and McNeill properties. Sarah dismounted to
open the prairie gate. The farm site was now visible, and she could
see that they were approaching it from the back. A country road ran
close by the front of the two-storied white frame house. The house
itself stood in the shade of a grove of maple trees.
A windmill stood sentinel between the house and the outbuildings,
and Sarah felt a pang of envy when she realized that their
neighbours had electric lighting. This farm seemed a sharp contrast
to the ones she had seen on the road from Nimkus. Every outbuilding,
from the smallest shed to the imposing hip-roofed barn,
sported a dark red coat of paint.
They came to another gate and, as Sarah prepared to dismount,
she saw a man wave to her from where he had been bending over
the engine of a red tractor.
“Hold it,” he called, “I’ll get the gate for you.”
As he walked towards her, closely followed by a brown and white
mongrel dog, Sarah could see that this was not Dave McNeill. Although
tall, he appeared shorter than Dave, and his curly hair was
darker although definitely auburn. But when he grinned up at her
where she sat astride Flicka, she could see the features were …

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

The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

…his eyes bulged with anger, and his lips curled back like a snarling dog’s. His right hand swung from his side and slapped Padraig so hard across the face it seemed to smash every bone. Then back the big hand swung. The knuckles smacked Padraig across the cheek and nose. The nose spurted blood. Padraig felt the hot stream on his lip and chin.
“You sneaking, cowardly lecherer!” Michael roared. “You guttersnipe priest! You bastard son of Satan! I’ll kill you.”
He burled his fist and crashed it down on Padraig’s face and head and shoulders. Then he pushed the priest away from him with a snarl. Padraig stumbled backwards and fell against the chancel steps. Michael rushed forward, roaring like a bull. With both hands he picked up the priest’s limp body and hurled it the full length of the chancel. Like an empty sack Padraig hit the floor and slid forward. His back struck an upright of the altar-rail, and his body swung round and stopped with a crack of his head against the altar.
Michael’s chest was heaving up and down, pumping his anger. He threw himself against the pulpit; it keeled over and crashed like a felled tree. In a frenzy he could no longer control he turned and ran to the opposite wall, tore down the picture of Christ walking on the water and smashed it against the front pew. Then he raced out of the church.
Michael knew that Caitlin had taken the shore path homewards. He had seen her wend her way through the graveyard and head westwards along the cliff-top. She had pulled her shawl tight around her against the coldness of the bright, clear dawn. He followed her, walking quickly, almost running. He reached the end of the line of low cliffs. The path slithered down a steep hill to meet the shore. Pausing on the lip of the hill, he saw Caitlin ahead of him, hurrying homewards like a cat. He left the path and ran straight down the grass-covered hillside. A few sheep bolted in front of him, then swung away to one side or the other. A couple of gulls rose from a rock in the grass, wheeled in a wide arc through the air and settled again. Michael was blind to them. He saw only the lonely figure in the white shawl to which he was drawing closer. He rejoined the path near a patch of brambles. Caitlin was barely a hundred yards away. Michael chased after her. The chumpf of breaking waves and the roll-rock chinner of the backwash sounded in his pounding ears. Then Caitlin’s head jerked round. She stopped and turned to face him. Fear and guilt froze in her eyes.
“Michael,” she cried, but more in a plea than a greeting.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203