Tag: fantasy

The Circle

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Excerpt

with Hakim the next morning or early afternoon. The Admiral, who is also ready
to go, stands up. Matthew escorts them to their limo, which has been parked in
the street, and shakes hands with Ibrahim.
“Thank you very much for coming over. I hope everything turns out well
with your tests. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Then turning to the
Admiral, he adds, “I’ll see you Monday, Bevan. Thank you for coming over.”
“See you on Monday, Matt. Thanks for everything.”
Night arrives with her dark colors to replace the light of day and to inspire
the poet’s stanzas once again. Helena wants to go; she has a few things to do
before going out on Saturday night, and she wants Talal to take her home.
Peter and Rose have already gone. Hakim would like to go as well; however,
Jennifer keeps him for a while as her mom starts cleaning up from the party.
Matthew is eager to talk to Emily again about Hakim and he can’t wait until
everyone is gone. Talal has enjoyed the commotion of the party and exchanges
looks with Emily, who is still in seventh heaven just having him around her all
afternoon and evening.
Talal sits next to Hakim for a while in the living room when Hakim says to him,
“You won’t believe what my uncle told me.”
“What?”
“You know the company I work for. A year and a half ago he put up the
money and we bought shares when the company did a small financing. The
shares trade these days at more than ten times the investment. When I
mentioned the value of the stock to him, he said I can do whatever I want with
the money. He says all the money is mine. He wants me to keep it for myself.”
Talal looks deep in Hakim’s eyes and says, “You don’t even know half of what
Uncle Ibrahim has for you. I have a small number of the same shares and
Ibrahim paid for them as well. How do you think I pay my bills without a job? I
sell shares here and there to get by.”
It’s not that Hakim has never thought of what would happen to Ibrahim’s
money when he dies. He has thought of it a number of times because he knows
Ibrahim and Auntie Mara have no children of their own. He knows his uncle is
worth a lot of money, and now he has confirmation even from his buddy, Talal.
But today’s news has still caught him by surprise, and suddenly he realizes he’s
not a poor man anymore, but a millionaire.
“What else does Ibrahim have; what do you mean?”
“What is important is that you take care of yourself here in the United States
and make sure you get ready to take over for him when the time comes. Never
forget where we come from and where our loyalty lies—to Ibrahim, to our
homeland, to our people, to our future. Everything will fall into place sooner or

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

Arrows

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Excerpt

“I’ll talk because the time for our farewells is near,” I said, “and I
don’t want us parting like this.”
“Try me.”
He turned to look at the ship. His aftershave aroma of lavender
and storax, mixed with our sweat, filled my nostrils and sharpened
my senses. Watching him reminded me of my own looks, a sort of
discovery. Over the years, although he was four years older,
Bartolomé and I had become more alike, despite the inequality in
weight and his hooked nose. The main difference was the ripple of
his strong muscles visible under his shirt. Sometimes it was like
watching the movements of a powerful horse.
When I had come to board the ship, we were shocked to see each
other again. We always wrote and knew everything about the other,
but six years had passed since our last encounter. He took me by the
shoulders and looked me over from head to toe. Apparently
satisfied with my growing into manhood, he patted me on the
shoulder and grabbed my tonsure, shaking me softly before
squashing me in a bear hug.
Now we would soon be taking our leave of each other, and only
God knew when we would be reunited. I realized I was staring at
him and turned to face the sea.
Illuminated by the rising moon, the ship swayed, two lanterns
glowing on the castle decks. I watched the white spume of the waves
breaking, their hissing claim on the beach. The breeze carried the
voices of the men still sitting around the fire.
“Why the hell did you flog yourself?” Bartolomé asked.
“To purify my heart.”
“Purify your heart? Salvador, you haven’t done a bad thing in
your life!”
I snorted, shaking my head and reaching back to pull at my habit
and detach it from my wounds.
“I beat him,” I said. “I beat Pánfilo. He was having his way with a
girl. She wanted to resist. I don’t know what came over me. I
couldn’t believe my eyes, and before I knew it I was beating him up.
I didn’t mean to.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Swamped

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Excerpt

“Okay.” He glanced back at his cooling sauce. “Are you fine with
penne, or would you prefer spaghetti?”
“Penne, please.”
“Penne it is.” Eteo smiled at his son, who was already heading
upstairs again. “Dinner at seven, okay?”
“Yes, Dad,” Alex called from the floor above.
Eteo went back to his chair. He absentmindedly scanned the
space around him, registering the familiar, steady sounds of the
house. Normally they were like the heartbeats of a healthy person,
regular, unhurried, relaxed, almost unnoticeable, but now, with Eteo’s
attention focused on them, they began to sound more like loudspeakers
in a plaza. The map of the earth on the far wall, made of sheets of
copper, was still as shiny as it had been earlier today and the fireplace
sat ready to be lit whenever he wanted that cozy ambience. He
thought about what he needed to do to organize those he wanted to
get involved in Herb’s deal. It looked like a winner, and Eteo knew
that when you have a winner you take care of clients who haven’t
done so well lately. Spiro and Michael, and Angelo too. They had lost
a bit of money on Eteo’s last recommendation, so he owed them a
piece of the action on this one. He also had to work in some of his
personal accounts. Yanni would buy anything Eteo recommended,
as would Nick the hairdresser and Kenny Wong and his friends. The
market, Eteo had learned, was a beast that no one knew how to tame.
Investing in penny stocks wasn’t much different than betting on
horses, except that at least you could look at the horses and, if you
knew horses, separate the strong ones from the weak. Penny stocks
all looked alike, yet each ran on its own terms and no two ever got
exactly the same results. All the more reason why when you get a
loser for a client you better find a winner soon. Yes, he had to include
Spiro and Michael and Angelo in this one.
Logan arrived home while Eteo was still on the phone organizing
his first three clients and explaining to them what he had in mind for
the next few days. Logan, who stood almost six feet, smiled down at
him. He knew who his father was talking to and exactly what he was
doing. Apart from his height, Logan looked a lot like his father.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

The Circle

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Excerpt

He gets the Admiral a beer and, for Ibrahim, a glass of water as he requested.
Emily is obviously surprised with the arrival of Hakim’s uncle, as she had
thought only Bevan was coming. Bevan’s was the first invitation she sent out.
“I decided to surprise you with an extra guest. This is a very good friend of
mine from the old days. I met Ibrahim in Baghdad many years ago,” Bevan says
to Emily.
Hakim takes his uncle aside because he needs to be with him for a few
minutes alone. Jennifer catches them as they walk away.
“Hi honey, are you going to introduce me to your uncle?” she asks.
Hakim smiles and introduces them. His uncle takes Jennifer’s hand and, the
same as with her mother, kisses it politely.
“I’m quite happy to meet you, Jennifer. I see my nephew has made a very
good choice.”
“I’m very happy to meet you, too, sir,” she replies. Her cheeks blush.
The three stroll around the yard for a few minutes. Hakim is eager to
know more about his uncle’s health, but he knows it will be hard to find out
surrounded by people at a party, that will carry on for the next few hours. He
goes along with the old man who wants to sit down for a while. Jennifer
brings a chair for him from inside the house and places it in the shade of the
big maple.
Ibrahim smiles at her and Hakim, and says, “Young lady, you are an angel,
thank you kindly.”
She smiles back at him and takes Hakim’s hand. He doesn’t object and all
three sit by the big maple tree talking about the non-serious things that keep
this world going around without getting bored. The ever-watchful eyes of the
maple keep them company, and before the feelings of revenge that enter and
exit Hakim’s mind became a thorn on the stem of a beautiful rose, the
watchful eyes of the maple turn and the tender sight of Ibrahim softens his
thoughts. The pleasant, warm afternoon, and a light breeze coming from the
Southeastern horizon, along with the flowers’ scent from the beds of the
garden complements the area around the guests with the fragrance of lilac and
honeysuckle.
Ibrahim turns to Hakim.
“How is your work going, my son? Are you happy here? Would you like to try
something different? There are ways, you know.”
For the second time, he’s caught unprepared for this questioning, as if his
uncle knows things that are happening or are about to happen, of which Hakim is
not yet aware.
“Why are you asking me this, my uncle?”

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

Arrows

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Excerpt

Bartolomé let him go, patting him on the shoulder. Pánfilo bent over
and coughed, hand on his throat as though choked instead of rattled.
I crouched beside Antonio and tilted the flask. I wasn’t sure how
much would suffice; a few drops would have to do as more would
kill him. I concentrated on balancing against the movements of the
ship and tilted the flask just a little more until a few droplets fell into
Antonio’s limp mouth. The potion squirted between Antonio’s lips.
He coughed from the bitterness and tried to sit up.
I gasped and tried to clean the excess with a rag, but it was too
late. Antonio had swallowed it all. I uttered unconfessable
commentaries under my breath and glanced at Bartolomé. He
looked at me, and I shrugged helplessly. We took our positions in
silence. I buried my nostrils in my armpit while positioning my
hands on Antonio’s chest, bewildered by the stench.
Benjamin knelt beside me, arms straight down, squashing
Antonio’s good leg. I was sweating, we all were.
Bartolomé produced a leather bundle and carefully spread it on
the floor, revealing a number of surgical instruments. Rag strips
were neatly folded in a small pocket. In the monastery, Fray
Bernardo had taught us to cure wounds. A few times we saved the
life of one of the animals by cutting an infected limb. We had always
proceeded faster when we placed a board underneath for support. I
found one and put it under the leg with a subtle nod to my brother.
He acknowledged with the sharp knife, ready to cut.
“Lord, have mercy.” I said.
In the uncertain light given off by two candles, Bartolomé crossed
himself and began cutting with long swift movements. Antonio’s
drunkenness and my potion failed to stop him from becoming a
struggling, swearing beast, but finally he passed out when
Bartolomé began sawing the bone.
We loosened our grip. Pánfilo gawked at the wound. Better he
keep his mouth shut for, whenever he talked or breathed, the foul
odor of his remaining teeth made me want to vomit.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Swamped

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excerpt

these images oen 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.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

Jennifer suddenly realized she was the hostess. “Listen, let me order some drinks or coffee. Tell me about yourselves. Do you live here in Moscow?” She moved to the phone then realized that room service might be a foreign concept in the Soviet Union.
“No need,” said Misha, pulling two tall bottles of fizzy water from his satchel. “We cannot stay very long and we have brought some drinks. May I pour?”
“Yes, please.” She picked up the two cups that sat beside a metal teapot on a corner table, and Misha poured and passed the drinks to his wife and Jennifer. He took a swig from the bottle.
“We live in Tula,” Marta said. “It’s about 60 miles south of Moscow. You know about it?” Jennifer shook her head. “The traditional samovar town—we make the finest samovars for all of the Soviet Union there. It’s also close to Tolstoy’s estate, Yasnaya Polyana. You are a language student, correct? Surely you will be visiting the home of such a great author?”
Misha cut in, “You must come to visit us. Tula is 100 kilometers east of the village where my father and your mother were born.”
“Yes, I’d like that,” Jennifer replied. She had so many questions. “When my mother got to England and met my father it was the start of a whole new life. She wouldn’t have known that her brother was still alive. Did he go back to the village after the war?”
“Only to find everyone gone: father and mother dead, sisters missing,” Misha replied. He fell quiet for a few seconds. “He said it was the saddest moment of his life.”
Misha continued to describe their family background, Marta chipping in occasionally and smiling fondly at Jennifer. Even little Nadya left her magazine and put her arms around Jennifer’s neck, calling her “auntie.”
I could grow quite fond of these people, Jennifer thought.
“We have applied to leave the country,” Misha told her. “As you know, Jews are allowed to leave—some of them. We will go to Israel.” He looked about uncomfortably. “But perhaps it’s best not to speak of these things here.” He nodded at the wall indicating a grating with a tilt of his head. Of course, microphones. They had been told that the hidden spying devices were in all the hotels that catered to foreign tourists.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

The Circle

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Excerpt

“Are you okay? You look like something is bothering you.”
“Hakim, do you ever think about home? Do you miss home?”
“Yeah, I think about home, why?”
“For a long time now I’ve been having these dreams. I’m losing sleep because
of nightmares.”
Hakim’s eyes get cloudy while he browns the prawns in a pan. He turns and
looks deeply into Talal’s eyes and asks, “Why do you have nightmares? What
kind of nightmares?”
“Things from back home in Falluja, the war, the destruction,
things like that. I have nightmares about my parents when they died in front of
our house, their bodies badly burned. I see them in my dreams all the time.”
Hakim becomes agitated when he hears Talal’s description of his dead
parents. He finishes cooking the prawns and checks the rice in the cooker; it will
be ready in a few minutes. He knows very well about nightmares—he has his
share of them. He has had his own nightmares for a long time now, and hasn’t
said anything to anybody, not yet. Not even to Talal, who opens the discussion
about nightmares as if they were his monopoly. He knows too well the
devastating images from home, during those dark days of the war. He has seen
himself under the rubble of his house, covered by pieces of cement blocks and
broken furniture, the night when the American bombs fell from the sky like lava
from heaven and destroyed most of Baghdad. He takes his wine glass and raises it
to Talal’s glass.
“Don’t worry, bro. Don’t let these nightmares control your life. Here’s to
you!”
Talal doesn’t answer. Instead, he goes to the fridge and takes out the lettuce
for the salad. He starts to cut the lettuce, “I see the images of my parents over and
over in my head, as if they are in front of me, like the day it happened.”
“Tell me how your parents died, Talal.”
“It was that offensive; I think it was 2004, at the beginning of the war, when
the Americans fought against Falluja, against what they used to call insurgents.
Do you remember?”
“Yeah, those were the days of hell. I remember well. I was with Uncle Ibrahim
during that time. By then, our house was already destroyed.”
“Well, in our case the Americans tried white phosphorous against the
insurgents. They used chemicals that burned the bodies like fire. That is how my
parents died, because they didn’t leave their house. So much damage was done to
the people who stayed behind instead of leaving as they were advised to. People’s
flesh got burned up right on the spot. That’s how my mom and dad died. We
were a couple of kilometers away at my grandfather’s house,

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

Arrows

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Excerpt

We threw together in a childish competition
that entertained not only us but also the lads kneeling in groups of
four holystoning the deck.
“Hey!” I turned and saw the weather-worn face of Pedro Mendez,
the ubiquitous bosun, obscured by the sun at its zenith, as he
glowered down at us from the quarterdeck. Already, everyone
knew better than to provoke him.
“Ballast is for ballast,” he snapped. He marched toward us, bare
feet turning inwards, glared at the bucket, snatched the stone from
my hand and shoved the bucket at Bartolomé’s page, a boy
nicknamed the Canary for his constant whistling. As the bosun
returned to his duties, my fellow passenger chortled, half-covering
his mouth with his hand. He took a big step back and bowed with
one hand on his belly, the other on his back.
“Gregorio de la Parra, at your service.”
I had seen Gregorio a couple of times before but had never talked
to him. To my surprise, I quite liked him. He was different from the
man who stood apart with a haughtiness around his jaw and neck
that went all too well with his inquisitive brown eyes.
“What did you do back in Spain?” I asked.
“I studied Canon Law in the University-College of Santa María de
Jesus in Seville,” he said. “But my godfather, who lives in Havana,
wanted me to join the next expedition to the land of the Caracas
Indians.”
“Why, God must have something in store for us, my friend!” I
said, “I was sent to join the same expedition!”
I assumed we might become friends but instead he briefly
frowned and looked me over as though for the first time.
“Did you finish your studies, then?” I asked, changing the subject
but keeping the smile in place. He pulled at his leather doublet to
make it fit more comfortably.
“No,” he muttered, straightening his back and looking away.
“Are you planning to finish them?”
I was mystified by his sudden solemnity. His eyes took on a
piercing intensity.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Water in the Wilderness

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As she entered, she could see the night staff hurrying along the corridor which stretched out before her. They were in the midst of morning care, preparing the patients for breakfast. She picked up her pace as she headed to an alcove to leave her handbag and retrieve her nurses’ cap.
After pinning the cap in place in front of the one small mirror in the cubbyhole that passed as a staff cloakroom, she returned to the corridor and hurried to the nurses’ station where report would be given to the day staff in less than five minutes. She saw Inge Larson, the matron, walking towards her with a grim look on her usually pleasant features.
“Mrs. Cresswell,” Miss Larson said quietly when she reached Tyne, “I would like to see you in my office. Never mind report. You can catch up later.” She turned and led the way.
Tyne’s heartbeat quickened as she followed. What have I done wrong? Did I do something on my last night shift? Frantically, she tried to recall exactly what she had done that night, and which patients had been ill enough to require extra attention. Had she messed up? She remembered that she had been preoccupied with thoughts of Morley alone with the children, and Bobby’s fretting at bedtime. She also remembered she couldn’t wait to get off duty so that she could go home.
“Please close the door, Tyne, and sit down,” the matron said as she seated herself at her desk.
Tyne found some reassurance in the friendly tone, and the fact that Miss Larson had called her by her first name. She sat in a chair facing the desk, and waited.
Inge Larson placed her arms on the desk top and folded her hands which Tyne could see were not entirely relaxed. “Tyne, I have bad news, shocking news really.” She took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “Lydia Conrad died last night.”
Tyne did not know how long she sat in stunned silence, staring at the woman who seemed to recede into a fog in front of her eyes. Finally, she choked out the words, “Why? How? What happened? Oh, dear God, no.”

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