Tag: literature

In Turbulent Times

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‘Not capable enough, Clifford. Caitlin needs a doctor. Mother Ross says so herself. She’s worried. Mrs Starkey says she’ll give you anything you need from the doctor’s surgery.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ said Clifford. ‘I have everything I’m likely to need here.’ He dithered. Then he drew a deep breath and said, ‘Very well, Michael, I’ll come right away. Let me get my stuff together and put my rain-gear on.’
He climbed back upstairs to his room.
Hurry, Clifford, hurry, hurry, Michael kept saying to himself. For God’s sake, hurry.
At last Clifford came down again, buttoning his raincoat. He carried a black bag in one hand. He shouted down the hall, ‘Timmins, we’re leaving. I’ll be back in an hour or two. Don’t lock the gates.’ Then he turned to Michael and said with a levity lost on the distraught father-to-be, ‘Now, let’s be off to the rescue of this fair damsel in distress.’
He followed Michael to the main road and climbed into the trap. The shafts tipped up, the harness jingled and creaked, the pony snorted and tossed its wet head. Michael jerked the reins a couple of times and shouted. He turned the pony and trap around, and off they went, slowly at first, until the pony found its stride.
God, what a miserable night to be born, Clifford thought. He was nervous. He had already delivered three babies, but they were easy, straightforward births, the first two under supervision. This one sounded difficult. A breech birth at least. Perhaps a Caesarean. He would rather have kept clear of this ordeal but found it impossible to refuse. He had a reputation in the village where many already regarded him as the best new doctor in Belfast. The village was proud of him. This birth would enhance his reputation or shatter it like a dropped mirror. Clifford was worried in case it might go badly. As the rain-beaten cart bounced and swayed towards the MacLir house, Clifford frantically recalled everything he ought to know about breech births and Caesarean sections. By the time he and Michael arrived in the yard behind the house Clifford was confident he could handle any complication. His reputation was assured. It was not the village that was looking on, he thought with typical self-importance, it was the world.
As he rushed across the farmyard to the back door, Clifford slipped on a wet, muddy cobblestone and almost fell. He only just reached the door in time to check his forward fall with his free outstretched hand. That frightened him. Tonight he could not afford to be clumsy.

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

Poodie James

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heat of friction on his backside, and his spine raked over the door
jamb. He tried to raise up, but they jerked him backward down the
step and onto the ground. The clubbing began. He wrapped his
arms around his head and tucked into a ball.Two of them straightened
his body by pulling his hands and feet while the biggest man
alternated kicks with blows from a length of wood. The clubs and
boots battered his arms and legs, his torso, his shoulders. The pain
was like fire on his skin. The ache went to the center of his bones.
They let him go, then knocked him off his feet when he got up,
laughing at his contortions when he twisted and thrashed to evade
their clubs.They were killing him, he thought.He was going to die.
Suddenly, the big man was on his back and Engine Fred was on
top of him with a forearm bearing down on his windpipe. Poodie
sat up and saw the other two running down the lane. His head
throbbed. Three more hobos came down along the path from the
jungle. The man on the ground got an arm free, knocked Engine
Fred off balance and was up and running away. He disappeared
into the orchard, headed toward the river. Two of the hobos ran
after him, but came back shaking their heads. It all happened in the
space of a few minutes. The Thorps slept through it, but Engine
Fred told Poodie that he heard a scream. Poodie didn’t know that
he was capable of screaming.
Dan Thorp called the police the next morning. By then, the
hobos had hopped a freight. Poodie could not identify the thugs.
The bruises on his face and body took weeks to heal. Thorp put a
lock on the cabin door. The attack was the worst thing that had
happened to Poodie since his mother died. He lived it over in his
dreams night after night for months. Years later, he still awakened
in fear that the men would come back.
Alice Moore looked up to see Poodie James’s face floating just
above surface of the checkout desk, a stack of books next to it. She
had never seen that face without a smile. She looked at the books;
Howard Carter’s The Discovery of the Tomb of Tutankhamen, three
books about whales, a collection of de Maupassant stories.

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

Arrows

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amazement, our eyes locked often, for my face was in darkness and
my eyes half-closed. She somehow sensed my gaze. My heart
rushed a little every time, as if some strange and invigorating
connection had established itself between us.
The men had been tied around a tree, including the boy who
had fought to free Apacuana. I wondered who he was, likely her
brother.
Losada, along with Gregorio and Pánfilo, had entertained himself
in pacifying the Indian boy, but the youth’s courageous rejection of
every kindness didn’t amuse Losada long, and he had ordered him
tied up with the men.
My head throbbed. I was feverish again. I lay with my back to
the fire, concentrating on the frogs and crickets singing their night
song, hoping their music could distract me from my growing
queasiness. The fire crackled as sap pockets exploded, sending
fiery dots into the sky.
The moon was full, though there were some clouds. I was still
learning to read the signs of the sky in this new land. The rainy time
had just begun, and I was surprised at how suddenly the water
poured from the heavens and, just as suddenly, stopped and the
skies cleared.
My head felt ready to burst. I put a hand to my head. A moan of
agony and desperation stuck in my throat, and I sat up, closing my
eyes and swaying with dizziness. My breathing had gone from
heavy and deep to shallow and fast.
I crawled on all fours to the nearest tree and puked bile that made
me shudder with its bitterness. I had nothing in my stomach in the
way of food. A temporary moment of relief came over me, and I sat
with my back against the trunk, blinking owlishly, until I
remembered Apacuana again. What would become of her?
A head popped up in front of me, silhouetted against the fire. It
was Tamanoa. “What is the matter?” he asked. “You are sick again!”
“I’ll be all right in the morning. Don’t worry, I know these pains. I
get them occasionally.”
“What pains? Where does it hurt?”

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

Jazz with Ella

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It was to one of these, the park on Mamaev Hill, scene of a prolonged battle, that the combined tour group, accompanied by Natasha, arrived by bus. This time Natasha was quiet; there was no need for her to whip up enthusiasm. The spectacle of Mother Russia—a behemoth of a statue brandishing her sword and poised on the hill overlooking the city—excited the visitors.
“That’s got to be taller than the Statue of Liberty,” exclaimed one of the Americans to Jennifer as they shuffled along with crowds of Russians winding their way through a memorial park up to the statue’s base. “It’s really impressive.”
She smiled. “It’s a commemoration of a siege that no one here has forgotten; nothing could be too big or too dramatic for that.” So far the Americans had not admitted that anything about the Soviet Union was bigger or better than the good old US of A. This was a first, she reflected.
“Where are you from?” the man asked her, and when she replied, he nodded. “Y’know, that’s near Seattle where I’m from,” he said. “I’m Bert, by the way.” He extended his hand and Jennifer introduced herself. “You Canadians know all about Russia, don’t you?” Although she began to protest, he continued. “See, we weren’t told much before we came. I don’t know if you’ve heard of the cold war… yes? Well, it’s pretty hard to visit this country right now without everyone at home thinking we’re reds. We’re probably being investigated by the CIA for even coming here.”
“Wow, that’s frightening,” Jennifer said, amused at his naïveté—an attitude she might have shared just a few short weeks ago. Little does he know that he’s probably being investigated by the KGB at the same time.
“You know, the people in our group just want to find out more about the real Russia,” Bert went on. “We don’t want to believe everything we read in the papers about the ‘evil commies.’ You think that way too, don’tcha?” Jennifer nodded agreement.
“This is all real swell,” he continued, marvelling at the faces of warriors etched in marble around him. The slowly moving line of visitors advanced up the hill towards the statue and then indoors into a tomb-like memorial chamber at the top of the hill. Once inside, an illuminated path spiralled downward around the chamber, and they gazed at the names of the fallen soldiers and citizens inscribed on every available inch of the walls. Jennifer noticed that Bert had tears in his eyes.
“It’s very moving,” he told her. “All these people…” He shook his head. “It makes you think about the ugliness of war.

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

Swamped

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The law firms made a ton of money

too, charging the shell company thousands of dollars in fees, and the
brokerage and the accounting firms got their share filing all the financial
statements. Yes, the shell game meant a lot of money for
downtown Vancouver, and everyone knew it, even the regulators,
who had never wanted to shut the game down completely. It was only
pressure from the newspapers and the George Gains type of reporters
that made them squeeze the practice occasionally, just tightly enough
to ease the pressure without ending the game.
Every time the regulators changed something, the brokers only
had to modify their model to accommodate the change, nothing
more. When Eteo became a broker, the minimum seed stock price
was ten cents and the minimum price of prospectus shares was fifteen,
but later these were raised to twenty five cents for seed stock
and forty cents for prospectus shares. The shell companies were put
together in the same way. Only the numbers were different and the
commission rates changed. The creation of shell companies of course
depended a lot on the business cycle. In good times a lot of new companies
were listed while in rough times only a few went through.
Everything depended on the investing mood of the public, nothing
else.
Preoccupied with these thoughts, Eteo drove to Horseshoe Bay,
parked his Jaguar, and walked into the lounge of Sewell’s to find
Robert already waiting. Robert O’Leary, an Irish-Canadian, also lived
in North Vancouver, in fact at the top of Lonsdale Avenue in a thirtyyear-
old house with the most beautiful views of downtown Vancouver.
He was married to Donna and they had two daughters. Robert,
originally from Saskatchewan, had grown up in Vancouver and had
spent most of his career working for Kodak, but with the invention
of digital cameras he had found himself in an industry that was
quickly going down the drain. Rather than wait to be laid off, he had
taken early retirement, with a golden handshake, and started getting
involved in VSE deals, slowly in the beginning and more daringly as
they days went by and as he learned the tricks an investor should
know.
“Hello Eteo. How have you been?” Robert called out as soon as
Eteo stepped through the door.

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

The Unquiet Land

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“He’s a kind, good-natured, generous big cratur,” she said. “He’s hard working and dependable and he’s straight as a die. He’d make a good husband. I’m sure of that.”
“And yet you hesitate,” said Padraig. “Is there someone else?”
“No one who’d have me,” Caitlin replied modestly. She smiled—ruefully, Padraig thought—and placed her free hand on his. “I’m glad you’ve come back to us, Padraig.”
“I doubt if everyone in the village will be saying that.” Foreboding flickered in the priest’s eyes. “Many, I am sure, are not too happy to have me, above all people, back among them as their priest.”
“Your task won’t be an easy one, Padraig, I’ll grant you that. But you have that streak of MacLir defiance in you that is our family’s greatest protection against malice.”
“And how is Finn MacLir these days?”
“As much of an old rogue as ever. He gets even worse with age, if that’s possible.”
“I am looking forward to seeing him again,” Padraig said, but with a tinge of apprehension in his voice. Slowly he released Caitlin’s hand. “And Mother Ross? How is she?”
“Hail and hearty. Same old Mother Ross.” Caitlin gazed intently at the pale face of the priest, at his long, thin body. Mother Ross always said that her greatest disappointment in life was failing to put an ounce of flesh on Padraig’s spindly rack of bones.
“And Nora?”
“Doting wife and mother. She and Flynn are very happy in their wee house. Little Dermot is the spitting image of his father. Curly reddish hair and all.”
“How old is Dermot now?”
“Two and a bit.”
Padraig paused, then pensively he said. “How time flies. And yet it seems like no time at all since I went away. Caitlin, I have been looking forward so much to seeing all of you again. Looking forward to coming home. Looking forward to being in the village again. I want to gaze at the hills and the sea, to walk the beach again at midnight. I have been so long away. I have missed you all so much. Missed you more than I can say. It is good to be home again, Caitlin. But it is not going to be easy.”
Padraig stood up. Then he leaned forward, kissed the woman on the forehead, and picking up the lamp, quietly left the room.

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

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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Perils of the Sea
As if the wind heeded Finten’s prayer for a quick return to Ireland, a stiff breeze
blew the tiny craft steadily southeast, along the coast of Mull. By noon, they were
in sight of Colonsay but the wind died before they came close to Islay. Now they’d
definitely not reach Kintyre before dark when the North Channel currents would be
most treacherous.
Rordan felt miserable that Finten had chosen to sit next to him as if to make sure
he said his prayers aloud with the other Brothers. Why can’t we just pray silently
on our own. I’m not up to all this chatter when we’re cramped together like this. In
chapel it’s different, I don’t have someone breathing down my neck. He tried shifting
away from the priest but Father Finten just seemed to lean in closer.
As evening approached, a chill wind whipped up waves and enclosed the craft in
clinging fog. The monks bobbed around until they lost all sense of direction. For a
few brief moments, the moon appeared through the mist and, by her position, the
seamen knew they were heading north instead of south.
Keallach exclaimed, “My God, we’re sailing in the wrong direction.” He pulled in
the sail while Laoghaire manoeuvred the side rudder to bring the currach around.
The turn took all of fifteen minutes, an eternity in the choppy sea.
The moon hid behind a black cloud as the sky darkened. Chilly sleet drifted over
the huddled crew and icy rivulets seeped down their necks. Finten crawled between
furs, shivering violently, praying his Pater Nosters and Ave Marias. Brother Ailan slid
a cover loosely over his cauldron. He had just gathered the uneaten supper from
wooden plates to be saved for a later meal and had secured the supplies in leather
bags against the mounting storm. The currach began to be walloped by waves, as she
moved up one side and down the other of each mounting swell.
The dizzying lift and drop made Finten nauseous. Soggy bread that had slipped
from its package swished about in the seawater among smelly slices of semi-preserved
whale meat and kippers. All that and the stench of the dying hermit priest
were more than Finten could stand. He grabbed the wooden bucket knowing he
was about to throw up before he could reach the side. “Out of my way.” He knocked
Rordan from his seat as he leaped up dropping the bucket. “Lord, Lord of the Seas.
Ohhh! My churning gut.”
Father Finten stumbled to the leeward and heaved his stomach contents to the
sea. Swiftly, Brother Ailan moved and grabbed his priest to save him from being
washed overboard. He led him gently back to his seat amidst the furs next to Brother
Rordan who turned his head away to avoid the sickly smell of the priest’s breath.
“Brother Rordan, for the love of Jésu, what have you in your bag to soothe this
wretched sickness?” Finten groaned.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763106

In Turbulent Times

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Mrs Starkey was unaware of this. When Michael returned about an hour later, she thought it was her husband. She rushed to tell him not to take his coat off but to go up to the MacLir house, the name the large stone house still bore from the family of Caitlin Carrick, whose ancestors, the MacLirs, had built it in the nineteenth century.
‘Michael, it’s yourself back again,’ she said in surprise. ‘Is Dr Starkey at your place?’
‘No, Mrs Starkey, but we need him up there badly.’ Michael’s voice was trembling. A look of distraction agitated his face. ‘Something’s wrong, Mrs Starkey. Caitlin’s yelling and screaming, and Mother Ross says the baby isn’t coming out right. For God’s sake, where’s the doctor?’
‘I don’t know, Michael.’ Mrs Starkey was worried now herself. ‘He should have been here ages ago. Wait and I’ll phone again.’
All Michael could hear was Caitlin’s screaming. It pierced his ears like a torture. It made his heart pound and brought sweat to his forehead, mingling it with the rain. He moved his weight from one foot to the other. He clenched and unclenched his huge fists. ‘Please come, Dr Starkey. Oh my God, please, please come.’
Mrs Starkey appeared at the inner door again. ‘Something’s happened to the doctor, Michael.’ Her voice too quivered with worry. ‘He was visiting the Collinses in Carraghlin and he left an hour and a half ago. They haven’t heard from him. They suggested that I phone the police in Carraghlin, but even before they finished talking, the phone went dead.’
‘Must be a line down,’ Michael said.
‘Could be there’s trees down too,’ said Mrs Starkey. ‘The road’s probably blocked.’
Fear speared Michael’s heart. He felt the blood gush out. It filled his stomach, and he felt nauseated. ‘Mrs Starkey, I must get help for Caitlin,’ he shouted. ‘She’s in agony. This birth is going to kill her, like her own birth killed her mother.’
‘Calm yourself, Michael. Calm yourself. That’s no way to be talking. Caitlin’s in good hands with Mother Ross. Dr Starkey himself hasn’t delivered more babies than she has.’
‘But Mother Ross is frightened now herself,’ cried Michael. ‘She can’t handle this. She told me so. Where does Dr Chapman live?’
‘He’s in Ballydun usually,’ Mrs Starkey replied. ‘But he’s away in England till the New Year. Dr Murray in Lisnaglass is looking after his practice. It’ll take you an hour or more to reach him on a night like this. And I can’t telephone him.’

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

The Circle

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have to do now is carry on one day at a time. I’m sure we’ll manage. If you are
concerned about money, don’t worry, we’ll find our way.”
“I don’t worry about money, mother—not at all. I’m just trying to see life
without Dad from now on. It will be hard to adjust.”
“We’ll manage, you’ll see. Just be careful and take care of yourself. Hakim
appears to be a very good man and I know he’s to come into a lot of money. Your
father told me all about it.”
“Why did Dad look into Hakim’s life, Mom?”
“Well, honey, that was your father.”
Later at around six, Hakim tells Jennifer he wants to go see how his uncle is.
The limo will take him to the Sheraton Hotel and from there, when he’s done
with Ibrahim, the driver will drive him to his apartment. Cathy gets up also and
says goodnight to Emily.
“Don’t forget to call anytime, remember?”
Helena also says goodnight and leaves.
“I’d like to go with Hakim, Mom. Are you going to be alright?”
“I’ll be just fine, honey. Go, I’ll be just fine. Talal may stay for a while to keep
me company. You just go.”
Hakim is ready to go, when Talal whispers in his ear, “I’ll stay for a while to
keep Emily company, okay?”
“Are you going to be okay?” Hakim asks, looking at Talal.
“We’ll be just fine. You guys go and see Ibrahim. Say hi to him for me.”
They walk out to the limo and Rassan sits in the front with the driver and
Hakim with Jennifer sit in the back. Fifteen minutes later they arrive at the
Sheraton. They find Ibrahim in his suite happy because he’s out of the clinic and
because the chemotherapy hasn’t given him any negative side-effects, so far.
“Hello, my uncle, how are you?”
“I’m fine, my dear boy. What is this about Jennifer’s dad?”
“He is dead, sir. The police are doing their work now; we’ll hear from the
medical examiner in the next little while,” Jennifer says.
“Oh, my dear, oh, I’m so sorry,” he opens his arms as if ready to hug Jennifer.
She takes the opportunity and falls into his arms. Ibrahim is a bit surprised by
this; however, he knows that this is customary for North Americans, and he hugs
the young woman. Hakim smiles. His uncle is very fond of Jennifer, and that
pleases him a lot.
Ibrahim is already prepared for his return home and Rassan is making the
flight arrangements for as early as tomorrow. Mara will be most happy to have
him home with her.

https://libroslibertad.com/2016/11/09/the-circle-a-novel-by-manolis/

Arrows

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Gregorio, mounted on Babieca, joined half a dozen riders who
were pursuing the runaways. Several of the riders were herding the
natives with the points of their spears. There were older men among
the natives, but no warriors.
In the distance, Gregorio chased a young woman who refused to
stop. He took his foot out of the stirrup and landed a kick on her back
that sent her flying. She fell head over heels in the tall grass. When I
saw Gregorio leap off Babieca and throw himself upon the girl, my
legs began moving before I had time to think.
I could see Gregorio’s back in the tall grass and I feared he would
rape her. Beneath him, the girl shrieked. From a distance, I could not
see her face. Losada had explicitly forbidden any harm to the
natives, as the king had forbidden their enslavement, apparently to
the same effect.
I could see them struggling. I called him again and again, still
forty long paces away. He fumbled at his breeches, while keeping
her down one-handed, and pushed against her. Again she shrieked.
Damn his soul. He was not much better than Pánfilo. I came from
behind and kicked him in the ribs, which thudded like a broken
drum. I tumbled over him. He fell on his side. I scrambled away and
got a glimpse of his disgusting member besmeared with blood.
Gregorio stood up, furious, and grabbed a handful of her hair. He
raised her by the hair, and I beheld her face as she threw up her
hands, her eyes round with terror. A dead weight sank inside me.
Horror, mixed with a shameful joy, gave way to a surge of wrath as I
took in what had happened. It was the girl by the river, the girl with
eyes like the setting sun.
Something moved in the grass at her feet, something with
grey-brown fur. The monkey. My hands curled into fists. As I fought
the urge to punish Gregorio, the monkey clambered up his side and
bit him on the ear.
With a swift motion, Gregorio let go of the girl and grabbed the
monkey by the feet. He swung it against the trunk of a massive
rubber tree as it howled and whined, eyes unfocused but terrified.

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