Tag: history

Still Waters

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

to the look on Morley’s face. He looked down at her with a frown,
clearly bewildered. The expressions on Mr. and Mrs. Cresswell’s faces
showed that they simply had no idea what was going on. Tyne
could not see Aunt Millie until she turned her head. Then she almost
gasped at the look of outrage on the older woman’s flushed face.
“No,” Tyne said stiffly, “I didn’t know. Cam and I have no reason to
be in touch. But I can see how pleased you must be, Mrs. Tournquist,
that your son is coming home.” She then turned to her mother with a
forced smile. “I’ll probably be going closer to home myself now that
graduation is over. I think I’d like to work in a small hospital.”
Emily Milligan’s mouth curved in a sudden smile; then she glanced at
her husband and quickly sobered. He wore the same expression of outrage
as his sister had a moment earlier, but for quite a different reason.
The remainder of the evening became a blur to Tyne. She barely
remembered thanking her host and hostess, and saying goodnight to
her family as they left for their hotel. She remembered Aunt Millie
whispering in her ear as she hugged her, “Good night, sweet graduate.
We’ll see you in the morning before we leave.” 


Morley drove his dad’s car through the city streets with uncharacteristic
silence. Mr. Cresswell, sitting in the back seat beside his
wife remained strangely silent, too. Only Rose Cresswell seemed not
to be affected by the events of the last few hours. She did her best
to keep the conversation flowing, and Tyne found herself answering
mechanically. At the entrance to their hotel, Morley helped his parents
out of the car while Tyne got out to shake hands with them, and
thank them for coming to her graduation.
Back in the car Morley drove for several blocks in silence, concentrating
on the unfamiliar city streets. Finally, when she no longer had
to direct him, Tyne chanced to speak.
“Is something the matter, Morley? You’ve been very quiet. Did
something at the Tournquists’ upset you?”
“I think you know, Tyne,” he said quietly.
“Do you mean that business about Cameron Tournquist coming
to the Holy Cross to intern?”
He nodded, grim-faced.
“But Morley, that has nothing to do with me. I personally don’t

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

We followed the river until it converged with the same river
Guaire which ran the length of the valley.
We were one mile from our destination.
We crossed the Guaire from south to north, following the path of
those who had survived one of the two previous expeditions that
had made it this far. The Guaire was not deep, but, having lived all
my life near rivers, I knew how mighty it could become with the
proper amount of rain.
Soon after, we crossed a creek called Catuche, along which
soursop trees grew by the hundreds, hence the creek’s name, which
in Carib meant soursop. Tamanoa brought me one of its fruits and
ripped it open beforemyeyes. It was white, succulent and aromatic.
As the sun descended, the deep green of the cordillera mingled
now with soft blues and yellows. We had turned north and were
ascending the slope of the piedmont when Losada’s voice
resoundingly gave the order to stop. We had finally reached a
destination: the charred remains of what had been the settlement of
San Francisco, half-buried in the vegetation.
Francisco Fajardo had fled the settlement five years ago when he
knew the reinforcements he had pleaded for had been wiped out by
the Arbaco Indians of Terepaima. After painful losses, Fajardo had
divided his forces into two and fled in canoes and pirogues.
It was eerie being in that deserted place. The air smelled strongly
of rain, damp earth and plants. The howling monkeys, chachalacas,
parrots—they were all quiet. That night, as a full moon shone
through thick clouds, the ubiquitous night-song of frogs and
crickets was overridden by the deafening buzz of cicadas.
Losada paced nearly beyond range of the firelight, five strides to
the right, five to the left, hand combing his beard and moustache,
eyes fixed on the ground before him, his grizzled hair reflecting the
silvery moonlight. He anxiously awaited the return of the troupe led
by Diego de Paradas, who finally arrived after midnight, looking
seriously bedraggled.
“What happened?” asked Losada.
Diego de Paradas was wounded. Pánfilo spoke for him.

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

Poodie James

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

His mother’s elderly cousin and his wife were
the last in the succession of foster parents. They resigned themselves
to raising the boy in their drafty little house at the water’s
edge. Then illness sent the old man to his bed. In a panic, his wife
arranged for Peter to enter the state school for the deaf, a collection
of brick buildings in the fog on a bluff at the edge of a forest of
dripping firs and sodden undergrowth. In seven years at the school,
Poodie learned to read lips and use sign language. He studied
Latin and French and spent hours each week in the library. He
learned shoe repair, leather working, carpentry and printing. He
swam on the school’s team, stroking endless laps up and down the
big pool in the natatorium. He was one of the happiest children
ever to have lived at the school, and one of the most independent,
so hard-headed that he countered all efforts to channel him into a
vocation. Other students went off to jobs in shoe shops, apprenticed
themselves to carpenters, found work with printers. After he
was graduated, Poodie used part of his stipend to buy a ticket east
to the dry side of the state, fleeing the drizzle and mist. The train
came out of the mountains into the valley lying in the spring sun
under apple blossoms as under a snowfall. The river ran broad and
gleaming past the town. He turned to the other passengers,
laughing and pointing out the window.
“He must be home,” he saw a woman say.
“Home,” he repeated, the only word they could understand in
his stream of sounds as he got off at the depot. He walked around
the town with his canvas suitcase, smiling at everyone he met.
Home, he thought, home.
Poodie slept on a bench in the depot. After three nights, the station
master gave him a note. He would have to stay somewhere
else, it wasn’t a hotel. Struggling through the scrawl of Poodie’s
reply, the station master saw that he had nowhere to go and only a
little money for food. “Home now,” the note said. “This is my place
now,” it said, and “Need work.”
“Ruthie,” the station master’s brother said to his wife that evening,
“that young fella out there is Poodie James.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

The days and nights blended one into another, and long
periods of quiet contemplation were interspersed with intense bouts of
hunting. Ken learned to breathe differently. Taking in great gulps of the
frigid air would have burned his lungs, so he inhaled slowly and measurably
through his nostrils, calculating each breath.
One day another group of people arrived at their camp with several
dog teams. Among them was a boy in his early teens. He too had recently
come from a residential school and was sullen and spoke to no one.
The group brought word that the caribou had not come their way and
they were here to join Ken’s group and hopefully share in what they had.
Ken’s group agreed to travel together and to share their abundance. They
planned to move further east, to where they hoped to find enough seals
and walrus to provide meat for the long winter.
One day before setting out, the troubled youth was particularly disrespectful
to one of the elders and was quietly chastised. He walked away
from the camp and had gone only a short distance before several people
went in search of him. No one could survive long in this cold. The wind
began to howl picking up ice crystals and blowing them across the land
and the searchers hurried back to the tents. Within minutes the world
was white; taking even one step outside the tent was certain death.
They waited in silence and Ken found himself feeling both disconcerted
and exhilarated by their patience and lack of anxiety. He was unsettled
because he had lost all sense of reference and elated because each moment
was perfect. He was alive in the now and nothing else mattered. The
long hours of silence gave Ken only one point of focus – himself. He was
meeting himself for the first time and the self he was meeting was neither
good nor evil – he just was – and Ken embraced that self with his mind
and heart, quietly blessing every event that had led him on this journey
to this place.
The white storm lasted for several days and when it ended, the people
left their tents to resume the search. There was no sign of the dogs,
just small mounds of snow scattered around the tents. When the people
nudged the mounds, the dogs emerged from their igloos, shaking the
snow off and wagging their tails furiously. They untethered several of
them to assist in the search, and their acute sense of smell led them to
another mound of snow under which they found the frozen boy.
There was no crying or wailing. They wrapped him in caribou hide
and with great effort moved rocks, that the wind had swept bare, to form
an oval. Gently, they placed the boy in the oval, placing some of his possessions
with him. Then they walked away. They had eaten animals all
their lives; in death, they completed the circle and returned their bodies
to the beasts.

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

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

The day of our departure came too soon. Entire families gathered
at the plaza to bid farewell to their most respectable sons. After a
year of preparation, don Diego de Losada had managed to convince
one hundred and fifty men to take their chances with him. No small
achievement, considering their prospects for survival.
Our expedition was bound for the province of Caracas—where
the town of San Francisco had briefly existed—and we were
destined to rebuild it in the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ for our
most gracious king, His Sanctified Catholic Majesty, Don Felipe II.
Less than five men out of each of the previous two expeditions into
the area had been left alive to tell the tale.
I had heard stories about battles, about how I would be lucky to
be killed at once. Cannibals liked to tie a Christian to a tree while
they danced in circles, possessed by the devil, chopping pieces out of
him every time they came about, cooking his parts under his nose or
even eating them raw, shooting arrows at him until his blood had
drained, blood they would collect in little bowls and drink as they
danced, smearing it on their bodies, spitting it on the ground.
One chief in particular, Guacaipuro, who commanded the Indian
forces of the valley of Caracas, put the fear of God into Spanish and
tame Indians alike, for it was said he had no mercy for either. All of
the other chiefs pledged their allegiance to him. On the land of one of
these, the settlement of San Francisco had been established almost a
decade ago, but Guacaipuro had burned it to ashes. It was to that
place we were heading.
Dressed in their feathered morions, coats of mail and cloaks,
twenty men on horseback under don Francisco Ponce’s command
melted stoically like butter in the sun, to be accompanied by fifty
harquebusiers with their pouches heavy with stone munitions,
eighty men on foot, eight hundred servants, two hundred beasts of
burden, several thousand pigs, four thousand sheep—all intended
to secure the beginnings of a new city.

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

Water in the Wilderness

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Thank goodness for that.” She took a sip of coffee then put her cup down and sighed. “Working for Dr. Merkel has been good for him. He came home two days ago more animated than we’ve seen him since Barry died. He’d help deliver a calf that was coming backwards, he said.”
Tyne smiled. “We could have used him on the farm the other day.” And she related the details of Jezebel’s ordeal to her mother, not neglecting to mention her part in it, and how Morley had gotten after her for foolishly entering the pen.
“Well, I guess you deserved it. I’m glad someone is looking out for my headstrong daughter.”
Tyne wrinkled her nose, and they both laughed, but Tyne quickly sobered.
“How is Jeremy then? Do you think he’s getting better?”
Emily looked beyond Tyne to the living room, and took a deep breath. “I think so; that is, I hope so. The trouble is, your dad doesn’t have much patience with him. He thinks Jeremy should just snap out of it.”
Tyne toyed with the muffin on her plate. Oh yes, that was so like Jeffery Milligan – just buck up and get over it. But she wondered if it was simply her dad’s reluctance to show any weakness on his part – stiff upper lip, and all that. Lately, she had been inclined to allow him the benefit of the doubt.
She looked up. “Morley would like Jeremy to help him with the harvesting this weekend. Do you think he will?”
“Oh my yes, I think so. At least, he certainly enjoyed it last year, and it will give him a lift. Tell Morley thanks for thinking of him, dear.”
“I will. And Mom, I want you to know that Morley and I have been praying for Jeremy.”
Emily smiled and squeezed Tyne’s hand where it lay on the table. “Thank you, Tyne. I knew you would be.”

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

Savages and Beasts

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Three months went by. July came with mischievousness and playfulness
from the hot afternoons that kept the city boys running
behind the ice cream truck to the stuffy nights that kept most
Kamloops residents awake and sweaty. And it was a stuffy place,
Kamloops, when the winds rejected every request for a blow
and the clouds refused to appear from the west where they came
most of the times; it was a stuffy place, Kamloops, with the nuns
and the priests waging their war against the savages while they
tried to teach them what they thought was necessary and useful
to them, alas they didn’t know that when you try to wash off the
black of a man trying to turn him into a white you only waste
your soap.
This was a celebratory Kamloops morning with the sun
half way up the invisible staff of nature’s flag when Anton imagined
it rising in tune with the joyous anthem of nature and all
the earth creatures stood in attention, from the tiny ants which
raised their antennae to the orcas in the pacific which raised their
dorsal fins straight up in the air as if slicing it in two pieces, from
the immense wings of the condors spread in salutation, to the
tiny wings of the hummingbirds balancing themselves in midair
as they gazed at the marvel of a fuchsia, and from the raised
tusks of the elephants in glorification of the rising flag to the
salutation of the injured soldiers in the muddy hutments of war,
such glorious was this morning in Kamloops when Anton drove
his GMC pickup towards the Indian Residential School before
seven o’clock.
He passed the quiet Thompson murmuring indecipherable
secrets to the shrubs and verdure standing on its two banks,
certainly in attention too, and soon he was parked at the School
parking lot. His glance went through the gap the big oaks were

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Swamped

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Asians, every kind of European and Latin American, Africans, and
of course the original First Nations people, the victims as Eteo considered
them. The First Nations people whom the ruthless Europeans
of two centuries ago, with their rifles and guns and chicken pox and
diphtheria and polio and alcohol, almost exterminated, slowly and
methodically. The Europeans who came with their tall ships ready to
carry out whatever barbarisms suited their purposes, all while proselytizing,
yes, the Europeans who wanted to turn the First Nations
people into good Christians such as themselves only to exterminate
them tribe after tribe, only to ostracize them clan after clan, only to
enclose them at the peripheries, closely guarded by the always repressive
word or sword, whichever worked best.
Eteo kept walking, now with a fire in his chest. His steps led him
to the familiar dock at the end of 22nd Street. He reached the edge
of the dock and leaned against the framed barrier, letting his gaze
travel over the shiny water. It at least reflected a natural balance, unlike
the human world, its natural balance permeating everything, part
of the balance cosmos has invented and into which even the unbalance
of people blends and gets absorbed. His eyes encompassed the
gleam of the water and the green background on the far side of English
Bay in the university neighbourhood, where more rich Vancouverites
lived, where houses sold in the millions and one wondered
why. Who had induced such lunacy in the housing market while
thousands in East Vancouver were homeless or paying half their meagre
incomes on rent? Whose game was being played in the Lower
Mainland housing market to favor one area against the other?
Eteo let his attention dive into the shallow water under the dock
where small crabs went about their business on the sea floor and the
small perch fed on the barnacles of the dock’s piles. A few starfish
decorated the sandy floor while seaweed floated left and right like
orchestra that a conductor directed its myriad violins in this naturally
balanced world beyond human influence, a balance suddenly interrupted
by his mobile phone. Yannis was ringing him.
“Hello, John.”
“Hi, how are you?” Yannis asked

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

The Circle

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Silence takes their thoughts and the surrounding area like when you stop before
the blooming hyacinth and your eyes become teary, or when you stare at the
orange sun at dusk before the sea takes him into her watery embrace, like when
the little chick chirps in the nest and its mother tries to teach it how to grasp the
worm from her beak and your eyes become teary, and you don’t know the
reason. It’s like that. The disappointment is obvious in Hakim’s face.
“When did they find my parents and what did they do with them?”
“The next day when I found out about the bombing, I ordered the search.
They found your father and mother in the rubble, and you as well. Your parents
were buried according to tradition, and I took you into my home.”
“What else happened on those days? Please tell me more about my parents,
about their property, what happened to it, how did the Americans manage to
bomb our home instead of someone else’s.”
“War, my dear boy, is a terrible thing. It brings out the worst in people. It’s
incredible to imagine what people do in times of stress, in times of fear, in times of
desperation. That’s what war does: it affects people in the worst possible way. You
see a brother killing a brother, you see friends who suddenly become the worst of
enemies, all for what, you may wonder, and there is no answer. It is unbelievable
what a person can do in the stress of war, when they don’t have means of feeding
their family, or when they are afraid for their lives, when one finds a rifle thrown to
the side of the road and takes it in his arms. At that moment, he becomes an enemy
of someone else, a killer capable of taking a life. This is why you see civil wars
erupting in every country after an event like this. The whole system is gone—the
security, the police, the courts, the justice system, all the apparatus of the country is
gone. In our case, even today after all this time, there are bombings and suicide
bombers killing people in the hotels, the plazas, even in the mosques. This is what
war creates, my dear boy, and you can only hope war won’t come your way ever
again. As far as what happened to your parents’ house, it’s still there, uninhabited,
still standing half-way; one day we have to address the issue of what to do with it.”
Hakim remembers now what he wanted to ask his uncle since yesterday.
“My uncle, how have you come to know these people, the Admiral and
Jennifer’s father, Matthew?”
Ibrahim laughs lightly.
“When you reach my age,my dear boy, you’ll understand I know a lot of people,
because I have met so many over the years; it is as simple as that. To satisfy your
curiosity I met the Admiral in Baghdad when he was a young officer at the American
Embassy before the days of the first Gulf War and Saddam Hussein. Matthew I met
yesterday, but I know he works for Bevan, who is Matthew’s boss.”
“What job do they do?”

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

He Rode Tall

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

the way that they were groomed, he guessed all of the stock in
this sale were show horses or show-horse prospects.
Rounding the corner of one aisle and starting up another to
continue his inspection, Joel saw a growing crowd of people forming
outside of the old mare’s stall. Joel was feeling pretty good
about this turn of events. With that kind of interest, he might
even get the three- or four-thousand dollars that Harry predicted
she would be able to attract. That was a lot of money for an old
mare, but darn, she was a real good looker. Joel wandered past the
group of admirers but wasn’t able to pick up on any of the
conversation.
Once the sale got started, time seemed to fly by. After reading
the rules and regulations of the sale, the auctioneer, a gravelly
voiced man in a big Stetson, rattled the numbers off. After a while
a pattern started to emerge. The auctioneer would call for a while
and then a man beside him in the auction booth would stop the
sale and take a few moments to go on about the breeding and performance
record of the horse in the sale ring. The auction would
then continue for maybe another minute or two, depending on
how the bidding was going, before the auctioneer would call out,
“Sold!” As the sold horse exited from one end of the ring another
horse would be led in from the other end and the process would
start all over again. But while the system remained consistent,
the prices didn’t. Joel could see that most of the horses were
going in the five- to ten-thousand-dollar range with the odd one
going over ten. This was encouraging to see, but these were
prized, well-bred show horses or talented show prospects of superior
breeding, and none of them were twenty-one-year-old mares.
In fact, other than the twenty-one-year-old mare, the next oldest
horse in the sale was twelve.
Even at the fast clip of the auctioneer and the efficiency of the
helpers moving the horses in and out, it was the end of the afternoon
when the crowd of 500 or so horse enthusiasts were reminded
that, despite what the catalogue said, there really was one more
horse. Number fifty-one, the old blonde mare was led in.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955