Tag: literature

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

We hobbled jerkily, as directed, like some pathetic, three-legged
creature, until gradually we learned to swing our shared leg in
unison. In this humbled manner we were brought before the war
council of caciques.
The caciques were seated in a circle, with Guacaipuro given no
special place of honour. I was surprised to find Baruta among them.
Apacuana later told us that he had recently been made a cacique and
his body still bore the scars of the tests he had completed.
These were men who exuded confidence and authority, not the
kind of men one would cross unnecessarily. Their reputation for
bloodthirstiness coloured my apprehensions. I wondered if perhaps
we were meant to be slaughtered before them, as some sort of
ceremonial prelude to war.
I knew as well as Tamanoa that these Caribs were warriors,
conquerors in their own right. For generations, they had moved
from the south of the mainland to the northern coast, fighting their
way and conquering the gentler Arawaks.
Caribs fought among themselves, too, and made trading
incursions to the islands north of the mainland from which they
obtained not only goods, but also women. Not surprisingly, such
men were not inclined towards plans for surrender.
Though most of these men wielded authority over vast expanses
of land, Guacaipuro was chief of six other villages besides Suruapo.
Consequently it was the military strategist Guacaipuro who had
summoned the caciques of seven neighboring nations.
Whispering, Tamanoa quickly explained the gist of the
situation: Losada had founded the city of Santiago de León de
Caracas upon the settlement of San Francisco, and for the natives,
this had but one meaning: war.We were present because a cacique
called Mamacuri from the coast was arguing in favour of using the
shaman of the white men to obtain inside information about
Losada and his party.
Other caciques, like Paramaconi, great chief of the Toromaynas
from the valley where the new city had been founded, were more
inclined to kill me. Catia agreed with Paramaconi.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562848

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

Jazz with Ella

On By vequinoxIn Uncategorized2 Comments

excerpt

“Who knows?”
Paul and Jennifer locked stares. “You still want to do this, don’t you?” she asked him.
“Yes,” he nodded. A minute passed.
Finally David spoke. “So Paul, if you’re really going to leave, can I have your leather jacket?”
★
Breakfast was chaotic. At first, Ivan Nikolaevich announced to the diners that their departure would be delayed while they awaited the delivery of food supplies. Almost immediately following his speech, the riverboat moved away from the dock and waiters appeared with an adequate spread of hard-boiled eggs, bread and sausages for the buffet table. Ivan Nikolaevich appeared untroubled by this contradiction, and after fourteen days in the Soviet Union, the guests also treated it as normal. Jennifer, Paul and David helped themselves to the breakfast and sat together, saying little, distracted by their thoughts. There was no doubt in Jennifer’s mind that Paul would do what he wanted. Apart from anything else, she realized how much she would miss him—and not just for his jacket, like David.
The jacket. Huh. It’s very distinctive, thought Jennifer. She visualized the maroon and white leather college jacket with the appliqued letters “UV” for University of Vancouver on the sleeves. Her thoughts were already leaping ahead to the day that she and the others would have to cover up the fact that Paul had left the group. If someone else were to wear that jacket—someone, for instance, like that American, Frank, there—with the same haircut and height, he could be mistaken for Paul from the back. David glanced up at that moment, caught Jennifer’s look and also stared at the young man from Tennessee. Thoughts swirled, cascaded, in Jennifer’s consciousness: the jacket, the view of the haircut, something she had to remember, something she had promised in a dream. What was it?
“You know,” David spoke, his mouth full of toast, “that pretty boy from Tennessee is a real nice guy. I think he’s got his eye on you, Jennifer.”
She silenced him with a glare and went on with her breakfast.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

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

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

Eagle Talon and his son, Honiahaka Little Wolf, emerged from the forest with a
magnificent buck slung from a sapling pole between them. The two men paused to
rest and massage their aching shoulders. Below them stretched the mighty water,
birthplace of the sun and home to the great creatures who blew fountains into the
air. It was also home to the friendly man savers.
As Eagle Talon looked far out to sea, he remembered how his youngest son, Kosumi,
was washed out of his canoe by a savage wave. He thought he’d lost his son to
the sea, but two man-size sea creatures, those who blew fountains of water into the
air, came to Kosumi and swam him safely to shore.
From that day forward, the Nation declared these man-savers Friends of the First
Light People. Never again did they hunt them for food. Since that time, the sea mammals
leapt from the water to greet the young men whenever they sailed out to spear
the white fish or to dive for the clawed sea-cleaners.
Eagle Talon whispered his thanks once more for his son’s life. Then he whispered
his thanks to all the creatures of the sea that fed his family and his people.
Little Wolf saw it first and crawled on all fours to the edge of the embankment for
a better look and beckoned his father to join him. On the beach below was a great
canoe, big as a longhouse. Strange, white-skinned men with hairy faces shouted at
one another and banged at boards of split pine, inside. Outside, men were painting
the frightful beast whose head was a double serpent totem of scarlet, blue and green.
Eagle Talon and his son watched in awe. They must return quickly to the village.
Surely the sachem, White Eagle, would have an answer to the appearance of such
strange visitors.
Since Eagle Talon and his tribe greatly respected White Eagle as a wise elder, a
confederation of villages elected him sachem. He governed the people of his district,
upheld the law, allocated farmland according to the size of each family, collected
tribute, provided for widows and orphans, and taught all boys up to the age of sixteen
the arts of manhood. He also acted as arbitrator, whenever war threatened.
White Eagle sat erect. His grey hair flowed unadorned in long shiny strands to
his lower back. He wore a beaded doeskin jacket, pants and moccasins. The sachem
raised his hand to call for calm and addressed the gathering of braves.
“My brothers. These strangers have surely come in peace. Let us welcome them
with gifts of food, as is our custom. We will honour them with song and dance at our
Lodge Fire and celebrate Broken Wing’s success in the hunt. If they allow us, we will
help them repair their strange craft that they may soon be on their way.”
The gathered braves turned to one another in discussion. Then they voted by a
show of hands to follow the sachem’s advice.
White Eagle continued. “I will approach the strangers at their camp. Broken
Wing, Crow Foot and Eagle Talon will bring sweet corn, the gift of the gods, and
fresh salmon. I go to prepare my face and body with red earth as a sign we are men
of the earth.”
Freki, ever on the lookout, was the first to see the four Natives approach the fire.
They wore only tan breechcloths. Three of the Natives wore crow and turkey feathers
in long braids. They had their heads shaved except for a long strip of stubble…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562826

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

Still Waters

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

“I know, but I suppose because he’s a classmate’s big brother I
thought of him as a brother, too.” Moe spooned cocoa powder into
a mug and turned the gas on under the kettle. “Enough about me.
How was your evening, kiddo?”
“Unsettling.”
Moe jerked her head around to stare at her roommate. “Why?
What happened?”
“He proposed.”
Moe, her mouth hanging open, plopped onto a chair facing Tyne.
“Wow! And?”
“And what?”
“And what? You know and what. What did you say? Did you ….”
Tyne put her mug on the table with a definite thump. “Oh, come
on, Moe. We’ve only been seeing each other for what – four months?
I hardly know him. Besides, I’m not ready to make that kind of commitment.”
Moe raised her eyebrows. “I see. You hardly know him, do you?
Four months of dating at least four times a week, dinners at his parents’
home, picnics in the park, walks by the river, long drives in the
country, dinner in classy restaurants ….”
“And not so classy restaurants.”
“Okay, sometimes not classy, but dinner nonetheless. Late night
coffee, early morning breakfasts, lunches in the hospital caff. I estimate
you’ve been together, let’s see … four times four times four … at
least sixty times.”
“You make it sound like we’re practically living together,” Tyne
huffed.
“Pretty close.” Moe got up to pour boiling water into her chocolate.
“Tell me to mind my own business, if you like, but do you have
that kind of a relationship?”
Tyne looked up, fully alert. “If you’re asking if we’ve slept together,
Moe, the answer is a definite no.”
Moe shrugged as she stirred her chocolate. “Well, if you like being
a twenty-two-year-old virgin, I guess that’s up to you.” She turned to
the door, carrying her steaming mug. “Well, goodnight, kiddo, I’m
off to bed. But if you want my advice … and you probably don’t …
think seriously about Cam’s proposal. You sure could do a lot worse.”

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

Poodie James

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

to the surface and throwing columns of water into the air. He
thought about being water, whipping into froth, rising to ride in
clouds above the world, dropping onto hills and fields, roaring
down mountainsides, lazing in lakes, plunging over dams and falls,
spreading to meet the ocean, enveloping rocks and logs and sunken
ships, fish swimming through you, sunlight playing on you.
He wondered if the world was alive and all of its plants and creatures
lived on it, as funguses and bacteria live on animals and people.
Poodie lay on his back in the sunshine and watched a hawk
circle in slow turns above the valley, soaring on updrafts. The only
effort he could see was a tilt of the wings now and then as the hawk
drifted up. It rose so high that wings and body blended into a speck
against the blue, then regained form as the hawk wheeled down to
float up again. He tried to imagine wind pushing against wings,
rushing over feathers, the thrill of the downward spiral, the elation
of being lifted atop a column of air. He wondered what the hawk
saw as it hung above the hills and orchards, the streets and houses,
people, the river. One of the books at the library said that hawks
and eagles could see a mouse from high in the air. He waved, in
case the hawk could see him. He wanted to know the currents of
the river the way the hawk knew the currents of the air. Swimming
the river, he had to work against the flow and eddies of the water
and fight his way across, as if the river didn’t want him there.
Sometimes it lulled him in its embrace, but the river’s power
frightened him. The air welcomed the hawk and bore it like a
mother carrying a child.
September 17
Swam the river today. Maybe last time this year. Air cold, water warm.
Very tired when finished. Getting old? Found a man looking in the
window when I came back. Showed me a card from the health department.
Said he had to inspect my cabin. Showed him inside. He took
notes. He wanted to look at the outhouse. More notes. Showed him my
apple trees, ready to pick. I gave him apples. Wrote my name for him. “I
know,” he said. Nice man.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

Ken Kirkby – Warrior Painter

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

I’m aware that you are frequently faced with idiots and liars and
scoundrels but, in telling this story, I hope to explain that I am none of these
things. You need to know there are people in this world who actually do
give their entire lives to something bigger than themselves.”
“We have an hour,” she replied.
Fifty-nine minutes later, Ken had told the story of Isumataq and of the
cause of the Inuit. “That’s the preamble—now here’s the paperwork,” he
said, sliding neat folders of material across the table to her. “Here’s how the
money came in and here’s how it went out. For myself, I’ve always lived a
Spartan life. I’ve no real interest in possessions or material things. Money is
simply a necessary tool, like a hammer or a screwdriver—or a paintbrush.”
Some time later the Judge looked up and announced, “You don’t owe
a penny, Mr. Kirkby.”
“I know. If I did, I would pay it.”
When he emerged from the meeting, Ken felt as though his feet were
gliding above the rain-washed pavement. It had been worth the battle and
his sense of justification made him giddy. Karen was out of town again, but
when he phoned to share the good news, her bitter response was “Well, I
guess rules just don’t apply to you.”
He spent the evening in company with his long-time friend and fishing
buddy, Ron Gruber. Since Ken’s return to Vancouver, Ron had watched his
friend’s relationship deteriorate. He was increasingly concerned as he saw
Ken slide steadily into that solitary and dark place from which there seems
no escape. Ron was one of the few people in the world Ken could talk to
about personal matters and he told him of his concern that Karen seemed
determined to alienate her colleagues. As he put it, “It’s like watching
someone you care for deeply move dangerously close to the edge of the
cliff, and there’s no way to save her.” He harkened back to earlier situations
when Karen had set herself on collision course, and then dragged others
with her into disaster.
It was not Ken’s nature to give up without a fight, and it took several
months more before he would accept the end of their relationship. He’d
committed to change his life for Karen and he meant to do everything
humanly possible to retrieve the closeness he’d once had with her. But even
that steely resolve wilted when, before leaving on another business trip,
Karen voiced her opinion that they had nothing whatsoever in common…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG

The Circle

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

“We can do a lot better if we change our direction and if we stick together,
Robert,” Peter says.
Robert Major, who has somehow got the picture and who cares only for
himself, asks, “Alright, you guys want to take it and drive it, where do you think
you can take it? How far do you think you can go without Lorne? What tells me
you can do better than he?”
Peter sips his beer, “We have a group of financiers on hand to bring in a good
chunk of fresh money. We have a public relations company ready to work with
us and we can get much more attention for our stock price. We can achieve a lot
more than what Lorne can; it’s as simple as that.”
“Alright boys, then tell me who is going to eat up all the stock that Lorne and
his pals have on hand? Are you going to let it float out in the market? If you do
that, you sign a death warrant for the price of the shares for a long time, you
know that,” Robert insists.
Hakim listens to their comments, and knowing this moment would have
come sooner or later, turns to Robert and lets him know that Lorne is not a
stupid man and has no ego problem. He tells Robert that Lorne will simply try to
get the best under the circumstances because he knows he and Ibrahim have a lot
more shares than all the others combined, and because he also knows he cannot
get into a proxy fight with a billionaire. He’ll simply stick around for the longest
time and try to grab the most shares possible from the market. That’s how Lorne
is going to play and they all agree on that. On the other hand, Hakim suggests
they can always offer him a golden carrot.
“Yes, but Lorne is not one who will take a carrot, Hakim. He knows the game
as well as you. Would you do what you expect him to do?”
“Yes, I would. There’s always another car coming down the tracks, as the
saying goes. But Robert, you have to understand this is a course we’d like to take,
no matter what it’s going to cost. The money is available and time is on our side.
The financiers Peter referred to are our people and money from them comes
only if and when we run the show. The public relations company is our reference
and they sign with us only when we run the show. We have the ability to take this
company to the shareholders’ meeting in a month and a half. However, if you
come along we don’t even need to call one; we can speed up the process and save
a tonne of the company’s money, in the process.”
Robert realizes that the blood is ready to be spread and wants to have his
share of the spoils. He can always play hard to get for a while and try to squeeze
them for something extra.
“In other words, you have to have me along. Okay then, what are you offering?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

A painting that goes in hockey arenas, that is toured across the country
from one end to the other, telling the story.
Then a whole flood of ideas and memories came into my mind crystal
clear. Grandmother doing her dance and her song in the winter – becoming
mesmerized and overcome by heat and emotion – going outside and the
Northern Lights roaring overhead – and she came out and stood beside me
and put her arm in mine and told me that those were the spirits of her ancestors
dancing. And she sensed the difficulties I was having over the loss of the
two women that I had loved so profoundly. She had said, “It’s a good thing
to let them go and dance”.
During her song and her story, there had been the need of an Isumataq
– a person or an object in whose presence wisdom might show itself. The
painting would be called Isumataq. And the dream driving all of this was
Nunavut.
That was the moment in which the whole thing exploded in one clear vision.
It must have been working quietly in my brain all this time and now
here it was – all together. Now it poured out and it all came together like a
jigsaw puzzle – every piece moved into its proper slot.
Covered in sweat, Ken’s body shook with nervous energy. His whole
being thrilled and he felt himself to be outside his body – completely
outside space and time. The vision was so clear, so compelling, that it
possessed him. He knew it would come to own him – night and day – and
he didn’t care. He gave himself up to it. He paced back and forth, details
of Isumataq whirling in his mind and dropping into place like numbers
on a slot machine.
He drove home that night with a new excitement coursing through
him. When he told Marsha he was going to create a giant painting on
the scale of the Sistine Chapel, she smiled and shook her head. In the
morning he told Diane who began to plan a studio renovation to accommodate
such an enormous painting. While they were hunched over the
sketch, Salvador appeared in the doorway, a bottle of brandy in his hand,
and a smile on his face.
“I have the equipment, the idea, the staff, and the availability of rock.
How would you like a giant Inukshuk in your studio?”
Three days later, Salvador pulled up in a new Saab, followed by a flatbed
truck – groaning under the weight of massive blocks of granite – and
two extended cab pickups loaded with burly men. At two in the morning,
after hours of heavy labour, a seven-foot tall Inukshuk towered over
the studio. Salvador waved his arm at it like a magician wielding a wand.
“There. Is it to your liking?”
“It’s perfect,” Ken said.
Salvador’s next project was an Inukshuk at the Columbus Centre!
Dragging Ken and Joseph Carrier to the lobby, he gestured grandly…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

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

In Turbulent Times

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

had been told what to do if Nora Carrick took one of these seizures. Yet they all stood back along the grey walls, and the children ran to a safe distance and watched with eyes and mouths wide open while the young girl’s legs jerked up and down, and her head struck the ground, and her mouth opened and closed expelling a kind of froth like a rabid animal. Joe saw what was happening as he reached the square on his way home from the harbour. He rushed forward, wrapped Nora in his jacket and placed his pen-knife between her teeth. He remembered Dr Alexander’s saying she could bite her tongue during this stage of her fit unless something like a fountain pen was thrust between her teeth on one side of her mouth. With one knee on the ground, Joe held Nora against the other while her convulsive movements began to subside. He wiped her face clean with a handkerchief. He had seen that face so many times before but never till that moment did he notice how pretty it was. Her eyes below the straight-cut fringe of hair were closed. She had rather prominent cheek-bones and a dimple at each side of her mouth when she smiled. She was not smiling then. Her cheek rested against his dark-blue jersey as if she were listening to his heartbeat. Her black hair smelled sweetly with a soft fragrance as if freshly washed with a scented soap. That smell lingered in his nostrils for days, and each time it came back to him it brought exciting new feelings, like those he used to feel in his stomach at the approach of Christmas or a birthday or at the prospect of an outing. And yet different too. More subtle, more gentle, and somehow infinitely sweeter. And he would recall the pale, round face framed in its black, shiny, scented hair pressed against his heart, and the eyes flickering open, so dark and deep and troubled those young, serious eyes. Joe could not remember if he had felt then the same exquisite feelings he had had later when, unbidden, the picture of Nora’s face returned to fill his mind for days on end. Nor could he remember if he had noticed then the rounded outline of her young breasts which he later recalled as having been in contact with his heaving chest.
How momentous those few minutes had been for him, and yet how many of the minor details he had been oblivious to at the time. Perhaps the significance of the scene had been a later invention. He remembered how the crowd had closed in around him, and everyone looked at the peaceful body in his arms as Nora awoke from her frightening ordeal. Had she taken his hand and held it till Dr Alexander came and led her to his car? Joe thought she had but now he wasn’t sure. He remembered standing in the square with his jacket hanging over his arm, watching Dr Alexander’s car drive away …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

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

Small Change

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment
excerpt

The Best of Friends
ALL I KNEW ABOUT ETERNITY in those days came to me through the agency of its little cousin, boredom. It was Friday and it was spring. The big windows on the left side of our second floor classroom had been lifted as far as the old paint in their grooves would allow. All afternoon, an intermittent breeze came through the protective metal grill carrying coal gas and bus fumes and the oddly fishy odour of soap from the Colgate factory down by the river. It wasn’t much, but it was news from the world and I sniffed it with a perverse pleasure.
We weren’t allowed to look outside, but as often as I could I snuck a peek at the vacant lot with its bottle chips, rusty concrete, patches of crabgrass, and minute particles of coal that lay in thin drifts where the wind had blown them from the smoke of locomotives that passed all day on the elevated tracks across the street, beyond the wooden fence of the Delaware-Lackawanna coal yard.
Sister Violeta, with her lugubrious monotone and her black visions of life before death, seemed connected somehow to the nearly purple hills (piles, really) of pea coal, which I had a privileged view of at this height. They looked like black sand blown up into dunes in the desert landscape of an alien planet. I used to imagine she had been hatched there.
Father Brackendorf, who came every Friday to teach us religion, was fond of looking out toward the coal yard and explaining that our souls were like the snow before a train went by. Once we were born, the soot came down. Scrubbing did no good. You had to let confession melt the snow, and let the sin fall to the bottom. (The bottom of what, I wondered). Then a blast of grace would freeze it white again. This is what he was saying now. It made me feel empty and restless. The clock above his head, round and white and edged with black, was soft-clicking back and hard-clicking forward, minute by minute. And then the minute hand hit twelve and it was three o’clock, and we were free.
But there was this debt I owed to Danny Amoroso.
He was three or four years older than we were, but he was slow. And he seemed to enjoy it. Being slow, I mean. He was a titan among …

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157