Tag: isolation

Redemption

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excerpt

…dedicated themselves to the benefit of the people’s lives. Ah, my poor
motherland…”
“Yes, I know. But we’d better go now.”
“Yes, let’s go. We might take the other road over the small
marsh, and hopefully we could come across some ducks, then we
could go by my father’s greenhouse and see what he has accomplished.
Sounds okay?”
“Yes, let’s get going then.”
They followed the road to the marsh. There were a few dark
clouds on the north horizon, clouds that lingered in the sky, indecisive
clouds, unsure of where they’d like to run; there was light wind
blowing from the north, and the weather could change very quickly.
A fierce storm could come from the north, which will drench everything
in a matter of minutes.
“We’d better be quick, Uncle. I don’t like the looks of those
clouds.”
“I don’t think this weather is going to change any time soon,
Son. Why are you so concerned?”
But his nephew repeated,
“We must be quick, my uncle. I don’t like these clouds.”
As they entered the olive grove, Hermes caught sight of a wild
dove at the top of a tree. He aimed and shot, quickly and with confidence:
he succeeded. He reloaded and ran to pick up the bird, which
was still fluttering its wings on the ground. The dog reached the bird
first. He approached the bird to pick it up with his mouth, but when
he came close to it, the bird fluttered and scared the dog away, barking
and wagging his tail.
Hermes bent down and reached for the fluttering bird; he could
see the huge pain in its eyes. Suddenly, the strange shudder overtook
his body again, like when he was aboard the ship. “What is it?” he
wondered, and suddenly, he didn’t feel like hunting anymore.
The wind started blowing stronger now, and Hermes convinced
Demetre that they should head to his father’s greenhouse.

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Poodie James

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“From the standpoint of the police department,” Mr. Stout,
“things are well in hand.”
Spear waited for the crowd to settle down. “Now we come to the
matter of the train derailment and fire a while back.” For the first
time, Engine Fred thought, Spear seemed unsure of himself. “It
has been suggested that hobos from the jungle interfered with the
train and had help from someone in the neighborhood.”
Whispers coursed through the room. Albert Swan cleared his
throat. Clever of Torgerson, Spanger thought, to plant that notion
with Spear and let his political enemy make it public. “I’ve heard
the theory,” he said.
“I know you investigated personally, Chief. What did you find
out?”
“The railroad’s investigator told me the accident was the fault of
poor track maintenance. He said there was no evidence of sabotage.
We’re waiting for his formal report, but that was his finding.”
“And what do you think, Chief Spanger?” The question came
from Stout.
“I think that the head accident investigator for the Great Northern
knows his job. There is no reason to doubt him. Besides, why
would a hobo who depends on trains for his transportation want to
wreck one? Doesn’t make sense.”
“It might,” Stout said, leaning forward, “if the hobo and his
accomplice wrecked the train so they could come to the rescue and
be heroes.” He shifted his heft to the back of the chair. A buzz ran
through the audience.
So that was it, Sam Winter thought, the crackpot scheme to
draw Poodie James into the mayor’s campaign against hobos was in
the open without Torgerson’s having to spring it himself. He
looked over at Clarkson. Engine Fred sat staring at the front of the
room.
Spanger’s voice took on an edge. “That is a serious charge of
criminal activity, Mr. Stout. There is no evidence to support it,
none whatever.” Stout shrugged and gave Spanger a faint smile.

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Redemption

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…when he took it in as though he were touching the Bible. The mayor
examined it with great curiosity while fellow villagers looked over
his shoulder to get a good look at this piece of paper, too.
“So, this is a diploma,” said the envious mayor when he handed
it back to Hermes.
“Yes, this is the diploma and here is my award.” Hermes showed
him another piece of paper with golden letters and official stamps
honouring him for his excellent standing in the class.
“You also received an award, Hermes?” The mayor’s eyes widened,
“Bravo! My congratulations once again!”
He looked at the paper more closely and asked.
“So, what are you going to do now, young Dragakis? Become an
economist? What does an economist do?”
Hermes gave them a brief explanation of what an economist
was and how he had a scholarship to study abroad for two years and
then would be teaching at the university. The mayor and the others
had a hard time understanding what all these meant.
“Scholarship to go to another country and study,” the mayor
said as if talking to himself. “Which country are you heading for?”
“Canada.”
The crowd turned to look at one another, with awe written upon
their faces. They felt quite proud of the son of George Dragakis; not
many young men from the area got the chance to go to the city and
study, never mind accomplishing what Hermes had, this far, this fast.
Demetre’s cheeks blushed thinking of this young man who had
brought their family and ancestors this honour of achievement.
Smiling, Demetre took Hermes away from the crowds.
“Time for us to go to my brother’s place.”
So, they said their goodbyes and started their walk to the house
at the other end of the village. They followed a narrow pathway and,
in a few minutes, arrived at the house. As they approached his father’s
dog, the hound started to bark. The uncle and his nephew were not
even inside the fence when his mother, as though by instinct, came
out of the house and saw them.

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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He was making his way to the bar when a stranger blocked his
advance.
– What you want? the man said. One eye had been inexpertly
sewn shut. Dis a private establishment, pilgrim.
Redman’s muscles twitched. He enjoyed a good row, it was a
Yukon sport, but on his first night out? Besides, the fellow had
shoulders broad as a linebacker. His fists were the size of five-pin
bowling balls.
– You best turn around, mon.
Redman feigned resignation, retreated a few steps — but then
pushed into the crowd. Convinced he’d lost Cyclops, he slipped into
a vacant seat and ordered a beer.
A few drinks later a girl approached his table and began dancing.
Her plump black thighs glistened with perspiration. She had breasts
and lips women like Marge would pay to replicate. Her hair was a
tangle of dreadlocks.
Ace jumped to his feet and began to move.
Boom-boom-ba-boom . . .
Oh, yeah.
The girl led him deeper into the crush of dancers. And then he
was being nudged into the washroom, its only exit blocked. The girl
was waved away.
– What I tell you, mon, huh? Dis place not for your kind.
There were machetes and at least one pistol tucked into a waistband.
All attached to four very large and fierce Caribes. The Cyclops
appeared to be their leader.
– You a crazy motha, know that, pilgrim?
The heat and the booze had caught up to Redman. He was out of
gas and the odds were against him. So he approached the man with
one eye squeezed shut and played his only hand.
His name, he said, was Johnny Cool, and you bet he needed a job. It
seemed most able-bodied men on the island did. He was in the lobby
sucking on sugar cane when Redman stepped from the elevator the
next morning.
– The dancer, she yours? he asked.
– Dey all mine.
– Have her checked out. I’ll want to see the certificate.

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Straits and Turns

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…protocols and ways that all members adhered to, which was to slow
down and do things the way others have done them before since here
no one did things to impress the boss. Therefore, after Mike had finished
his cigarette, he decided to go to the can, although he didn’t feel
an urgent need, to give Luigi enough time to do his part of the job.
He sat on the toilet and suddenly the same image of his hero
came to his mind when he frantically searched his pocket, into which
lucky enough, he discovered the pencil he used to write down the
number of gallons that filled the occasional engine tank, to make sure
that later in the day, he didn’t enter the wrong number on the official
logs of the company. With the pencil surely in hand, he took a piece of
toilet paper and, folding it in two just so the pencil wouldn’t poke holes
in it, Mike started unfolding the image he had in his mind. He had
plenty of time, according to Luigi, who preferred things done slowly;
suddenly, the image changed, as if in a revelation, and became a new
one which he described as softly as he could so he wouldn’t pierce the
soft paper. Mike knew he had to rewrite it sometime later, yet he slowly
unfolded it on toilet paper, and when done, he folded it in two and
placed it in his pocket.
He went out only to realize that Luigi had finished his work
and was standing at the side of a bench, talking to another Italian,
Giovanni, an engineer, who was on the afternoon shift like them. One
could understand, that here in this big corporation for which Mike
worked, there were men of different backgrounds, Italians, Hellenes,
Chinese, and other nationalities, however, the Italians were just like
the Hellenes, Mike remembered that back in Athens we used to say,
una fatcha una ratsa, meaning that Hellenes and Italians were so much
alike, just like one race and they never talked about the war of 1940
when the Italians attacked Greece.
Luigi then informed Mike that it was time to go for their coffee,
so all three headed towards the small coffee room out in the yard. It was
a pleasant afternoon to the point of making Mike feel nostalgic. The
sun was passing the west horizon slowly, just like Luigi liked things
to be done, towards Stanley Park to the west of the city…

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Redemption

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They travelled in silence, tired. Demetre couldn’t find a way to
take him away from his thoughts, although he surely wanted to talk
to him about Magda. But the young man was in a melancholic mood,
just like the overcast sky over them and the monotonous light rain
of Crete. The monotony that overburdened a heavy heart or a wandering
mind that only knew how to find disturbance and make it its
own, that only found imbalance and made it its own, as was Hermes’s
mind and heart this fine cloudy evening.
And it was that certain heaviness on his chest as his mind travelled
to the years he’d be faraway from this land he was born into and
raised, this land with its poor people for who Hermes had strong feelings
of understanding and empathy, these people for he felt he had
to work his best to alleviate their daily burden by making sure one
day they might carry a lighter burden and they might be able to have
a decent living comparing them to the citizens of other European
countries, since he had spent many hours studying and educating
himself with regards to the standards of living in some European
countries and he knew things could change to the better if the proper
legislature was passed and if new and modern rules were put in place,
he had many thoughts of the how and the when, yet he also knew it
was very difficult to change things people had been doing for eons,
but he also knew he had to try nonetheless because he truly believed
that when the going gets tough, the tough get going, as a familiar saying
went.
When they arrived at his parents’ house, he had in mind to
show them the graduation papers which he had brought along and
which were resting inside his small briefcase. He wanted them to feel
pride for his diploma, something many people would love to have,
yet he had this unbearable weight on his heart and he could see it
with the eyes of his soul, a soul big enough to take in the whole world,
the world with its poverty and disease, with its wars and disasters…

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Poodie James

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“Is there anything you’d like to add?” Spear asked.
“Just that something ought to be done to control these hobos.”
Spear banged his gavel to quiet another outbreak of chattering.
Pearson avoided looking at Torgerson. He felt the mayor’s gaze
follow him when he made his way to a seat in the audience. Those
eyes, Engine Fred thought. That man’s eyes are as cold as ice.
The next man at the lectern said, “I am Richard Brown, counsel
for the Great Northern Railway, here at the request of Mayor Peter
B. Torgerson. I have a short statement, Mr. President.”
“We don’t have a president, Mr. Brown,” Spear said. “I’m just
the man in charge today. Go ahead, please.”
“The Great Northern Railway prohibits passengers on its
freight trains and trespassers in its rail yards and rights of way.
Railroad detectives who apprehend violators hold them for local
law enforcement agencies and file appropriate complaints. That is
company policy in a nutshell. I am happy to answer your
questions.”
Spear looked up from the briefing paper he had begun to read,
his eyes wide.
“You said you are a lawyer, Mr. Brown?
“By training and license, yes, sir.”
“That is the shortest speech I have ever heard from a lawyer.”
People in the chamber chuckled.
“My question is this,” Spear said, “what does your railroad do to
keep hobos off the trains in the first place?
Brown appeared to be studying the air above Spear’s head.
‘’As I explained, our detectives regularly pull transients off the
trains, run them out of the yards and have the police arrest them.
Vagrancy convictions don’t put hobos in jail for long, and they’re
soon back on the road.”
Frank Stout strained himself upright in his chair. “So, what will
your railroad do to help us get rid of these bums? That’s what the
people of this town want to know.”
“The Great Northern, sir, is not authorized to interfere in local
policy or local law enforcement, nor do we wish to do so.

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Redemption

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It seemed that the dean had learned this
speech by heart and repeated it like a parrot, irrelevant what was the
country’s current situation.
Hermes sat next to Eleni, feeling bored and angry: under the
junta, things were not good at all, and they wouldn’t get any better
any time soon; and the graduates were not going to do better than
the previous ones. If nothing was done, things were only going to
get worse. Hermes tried very hard to be attentive, and when his name
was called, he got up and walked slowly to the dean, who smiled and
shook his hand before handing him the “holy” paper.
Hermes nodded his head and smiled politely at the dean and
the rest of the officials, as well as his professors. Deep inside him,
Hermes felt the urge to stand up in front of them and give them a
real piece of his mind, but he knew it was not his time yet, so he went
back to his seat. His head throbbed from the tension, which Eleni
sensed as she also sensed that he was absorbed in his own world, so
she asked,
“Are you okay? You look like you don’t like being here.”
“I have this bad headache. My head is really hurting.”
“This thing is just about over. We’ll go soon.”
He nodded, and indeed the ceremony was quickly over, and
the people started to disperse. He and Eleni rose from their seats and
walked toward the exit.
At the door, George, a clerk from the secretary’s office, stopped
them.
“Again, congratulations, young man,” he said to Hermes.
“Oh, thank you, George.”
“The dean would like to see you before you go.”
Surprised, Hermes left Eleni and followed the secretary in the
long hallway to the dean’s office. He knocked at the door and entered.
The head of the university welcomed him and praised him for all the
good work he had done. After all, Hermes was the student with the
highest marks in his class.
Hermes waited for the dean to get to the point.

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Redemption

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insisted, so his uncle and auntie said their farewells at home. Eleni
and Hermes met in a nightclub a couple of years ago on the island of
Ios, where they were both vacationing. Hermes loved to play with her
blonde hair, and he mostly enjoyed letting his eyes dive deep into her
blue eyes.
He walked toward the deck bar, passing by the pretty tourist
girl sunbathing. It was not easy to walk along with all these people
sitting or lying around on the deck.
He ordered a cold coffee and glanced around. Next to him was
an old man drinking his lemonade: tough features, wrinkles on
his face, white hair, black circles around his eyes. The old man felt
Hermes’ glance and turned toward him:
“And where are you from, young man?”
“From around here, Uncle,” Hermes answered, imitating the
old man’s accent. It was customary to address an older man as “Uncle”
when one didn’t know his name. Whenever coming to the island,
Hermes liked to talk with an accent close to the locals to conform to
their ways as much as possible.
His coffee was brewed, and he took a slow sip to check it out.
The old man observed his ritual manner, satisfied.
“Could I ask you something, Uncle?” Hermes felt the need to
kill the silence between them.
“Sure. What is it, my son?”
“The island, why is it called Crete?”
The old man raised his eyebrows. Not many people asked this
kind of question.
“We call it Crete because it means wines and meats.”
Hermes was surprised. He never knew. Did this mean that this
island used to be fertile and fruitful, and the people never had to
worry about their food?
The old man turned and asked him.
“What do you do in Athens, my son?”
“I attend the university, Uncle. I am graduating this year.”
“Oh, you are a sand pebble then.”

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Poodie James

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Sam thought about the trajectory of his own career, the comfort
of his retirement, the adventure of his new work on the bench. He
wasn’t sure that he could trust words to say what he felt. He offered
his hand to the big man sitting in the coppery sunshine on the
stoop of Poodie’s cabin. Engine Fred grasped it and smiled.
“I talk too much,” he said.
As Sam backed his car around and headed down the lane,
Engine Fred shambled up the path through the bunch grass
toward the jungle. Poodie hefted the three boxes of reds into a
stack next to the cabin. He would put them on the wagon and take
them to Ralph Gritzinger at the market. With his apple money,
ten or twelve dollars a week from newspapers and bottles and what
he made stocking shelves and doing odd jobs for Gritzinger, he
was all right, he thought. He had a place to stay and people who
helped him. The YMCA let him swim laps in the indoor pool now
that the city pool was closed for the season. He wondered what
would happen to a man like him in another country, another time.
What would the Egyptians 4000 years ago have done with an
undersized deaf man whose talk was hard to understand, who
walked badly? Would the Pharaoh’s master builders have wanted
him to work on the pyramids? Maybe, he thought, if he was lucky.
Most likely, he would starve. He walked out into the field where
the orchard used to be and turned to face his cabin and trees. If he
was from a nice neighborhood in town, wouldn’t he think the
cabin was too small, too run down and dirty for anyone to live in,
with no running water and no bathroom? If he were an Egyptian
slave from 2680 BC, wouldn’t he think that living in such a place
would be a blessing?
He was blessed, he told himself; a lucky man. He would hate the
jobs the school for the deaf wanted him to take, fixing furniture,
repairing shoes, inside all the time, stuck in a routine. Poodie
thought about how hard most folks in the valley worked to pay for
their houses, buy their cars, raise their children. He thought about
Dan and Ruth Thorp losing their orchard and their house.

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