Tag: literature

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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Excerpt

Ken put his pencil down and slowly came back to the room. “Come
and take a look,” he said.
She stood beside him and silently gazed at the picture. “I wish I could
do that,” she whispered. Then she placed a hand on his head, “My god,
you’re soaking,” she said. Ken’s hair was as wet as if he had come in from
a spring shower. His shirt clung to his body in damp folds.
Still gloriously naked, Jessica sat beside him on the couch and told him
what it was like to be an Indian. She and her sister had been fortunate.
They had escaped much of the pain that so many of her race had lived
through. The girls had attended a public school but Patrick had been sent
to a residential school and refused to talk about those years.
The Indians had been chased from their land again and again. She expressed
no anger or resentment. Her voice remained gentle and soft –
that gentleness fanned the flames of Ken’s anger. Wars had been fought in
Europe over territory and land. Why had the Indians not fought back?
“It’s not in our nature to lash out and hurt others,” she said. “When we
get hurt, we hurt ourselves. It seems to be something that is rooted deeply
in our cultural background.”
She said that she and Patrick and her sister belonged nowhere. They
were not white and yet by Indian standards, they were not natives either.
They belonged to no tribe and did not live on a reservation. They were
completely free and had no wish to be involved in any part of the political
or racial battle. “We’ve managed to make a very good life for ourselves,”
she said. “We work together, we are partners and we help each other.”
Jessica was describing the life he wished to live. His story was different
but it was also the same. He too had no desire to be categorized or pigeonholed.
He too wanted to unfold and allow life to happen rather than
force any particular direction.
Jessica turned down the lights, leaving one kerosene lamp glowing in
the dark. Then she took Ken’s hand and led him into her bedroom. Like
everything else about her, her room was also unexpected. It was as spare
and sparse as her manner. To still his turmoil, Ken forced all his concentration
on studying his new surroundings. He slipped under the goose
down cover and Jessica lay opposite him, her face cradled in her hand, her
eyes unblinking, gazing deeply into his. “I’ve never slept with a man,” she
said. “I’ll bet you can’t say that.”
“Actually I can,” he said grinning.
“You know what I mean,” she smiled back at him.
“Yes, I do.”
She waited and when he didn’t reach for her, she asked, “Is there something
about me? Maybe, you don’t like me?”

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

Water in the Wilderness

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Excerpt

Rachael giggled. “You’re silly,” she said as she hurried to the chair that Tyne indicated.
Five minutes later, Rachael ran over to where Bobby sat on the floor plowing an imaginary furrow with his new tractor. “Look, Bobby, look at my new shoes. Aren’t they beautiful?”
Bobby glanced up with a puzzled frown. “They’re just shoes.”
Tyne laughed as she lifted the boy to his feet. “Come on, you two, we have to pay for all these things.”
While the clerk, a young married woman whom Tyne knew only as Doreen, sorted out the purchases and rang the prices into the till, Tyne tried to ride herd on Bobby. But Rachael stood at the counter, gazing at the new shoes, making sure that Doreen didn’t overlook them.
From a few feet away Tyne heard the door open, followed by a female voice demanding, “Rachael, what are you doing here?”
Tyne swung around to see Ruby Harrison bearing down on the startled child at the cash register. Then Rachael squealed and launched herself at her aunt. “Auntie Ruby.”
Ruby bent to give Rachael a brief hug, then straightened her back and looked at Tyne who now held the hand of a recalcitrant Bobby.
“Hello, Ruby. How are you?”
Ruby ignored her, focusing instead on the clothes and toys that the clerk was placing in brown paper bags on the counter. Her eyebrows raised, she looked at Tyne. “New clothes?”
Tyne nodded. “Yes, they both need play clothes and Rachael has to have something decent for school.”
“I’m sure my sister had plenty of clothes for them at home, if you’d bothered to look.” She walked to the counter and fingered a pink wool sweater. “These look expensive. Who’s paying for them?”
Two immediate responses sprang to Tyne’s mind. It isn’t any of your business, and I defy you to find anything expensive in this store. But she forced herself to say quietly, “Morley and I are buying them for the children.”
Ruby lifted her chin. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I spoke to Corky, and he’s going to sign over custody to me and Bill.

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

Jazz With Ella

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Excerpt

They sneered like rival dogs and bared their teeth. She could not catch their mumbled conversation. Abruptly the current was broken. Volodya leaned back in his chair, innocent, fresh-faced. The newcomer looked over his shoulder repeatedly as if someone might see him in this den of decadence.
“Dance with him,” Volodya ordered her.
Surprised, she stared. The stranger’s fingers were already on her wrist. He opened his mouth in a grin, revealing several black teeth and a large gap in his smile. His breath smelled like sour milk. Dance. Just a two step. One-two, one-two, and back again. Twirl. He pulled her around the dance floor, breathing heavily, then closer, tighter, until his belt buckle pressed uncomfortably in her abdomen. She pretended not to understand his language when he spoke to her. “Krasavitsa, beautiful woman,” he said.
Just smile and twirl, she thought.
When the music ended, he returned her to the table. Volodya’s eyes were on her. Thank you, they told her. The man sat with them, uninvited. There was more vodka, toasts to Soviet-Canadian friendship—this from Black-Teeth. A toast to Jennifer, the beautiful, amazing woman from Canada! This wish was from Volodya and a slobbering drunk from the next table who smiled an elastic grin. More dancing. This time with Volodya. Black-Teeth left without saying goodbye.
Then someone was suggesting a toast to the cosmonauts, another was toasting his mother, another cheered a black-eyed seductress called Masha, who was not present to hear her toast.
Someone passed a bottle of vodka up to the band. The musicians handed it around, took swigs, became more animated. The ugly bass player took four steps to the front of the stage, four steps back and the piano player flashed spasmodic smiles in between frowns of concentration. The band broke loose on a popular modern song; the crowd roared approval. Only the waiters were unsmiling, weary.
In a brief, lucid moment between drinks, Jennifer looked around her in surprise. She had been in the Soviet Union what?—eight, nine days? “It’s all part of the Russian experience,” she murmured. Then there were more stomach-turning toasts, the pungent sweat of bodies that shared bathrooms, the rigid motions of the jazz band. Volodya and Jennifer laughed, danced. By the time they left, bursting into the street, it was empty of people. His arm rested lightly on the back of her waist. She knew they would make love that night.

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

Still Waters

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Excerpt

Tyne fought back a wave of anger. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.
Her mother’s voice followed her up the stairs. “He said he’d call back
after supper.’’
In her bedroom, Tyne threw off her damp clothes, grabbed a light
dressing gown and headed for the bathroom. That boy, she muttered
under her breath. That Cresswell boy. Her mother was beginning to
sound just like her dad. At twenty-four Morley was hardly a boy.
That boy, indeed.
She bent to turn on the bathtub faucet, and jumped when her
mother suddenly appeared in the doorway. A small woman, Emily
had mousy blonde hair pulled back severely into a bun at the nape of
her neck. Tyne often thought that her mother must have been pretty
as a young woman, but the years had taken their toll. Deep frown lines
creased her forehead, but no soft laugh lines appeared around her
mouth and eyes as there should have been in a fifty-year-old woman.
“If you persist in seeing this boy, Tyne,” Emily said, “you know
what it will lead to, don’t you?”
Tyne straightened her back. “Yes, Mom, it already has. Morley and
I are planning to marry.”
As soon as she said the words she wished she could take them
back. She had not meant to drop such a bombshell in this way, especially
to her timid, anxious mother.
Emily’s hand flew to her mouth, too late to hide the trembling of
her lips.
When she spoke Tyne could barely hear her over the running bath water.
“Oh, Tyne, how could you bring disgrace to our family like this?”
“Disgrace? Disgrace? Is that your word, or Dad’s?”
Emily’s face tightened. “Be careful, Tyne.”
“I only mean … Mom, I can’t believe you would think that by marrying
a good Christian man like Morley I’ll bring disgrace on the
family.”
“He’s not our kind of Christian, Tyne. You haven’t been raised that way.”
“What way? Are we so special? Why should this be an issue between
us? Morley is a good man and a fine Christian. There is no
issue.”
Emily’s voice rose. “I won’t stand here and listen to this. You’re not
my daughter anymore. You’ve changed. That boy has changed you
already.”

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

He Rode Tall

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Excerpt

Maybe it was more fun trying to guess. All they knew was
they were blessed to have him. From the time he locked up his
one room classroom and left town at the start of summer until he
returned a day or so before the start of the next school year, there
always was plenty of speculation on where he went every summer
and whether or not this very strange and very private man
would return.
Joel had developed his own theory about why no one asked Mr.
Johansson why he was doing what he was doing when he could
obviously be employed in some more prestigious task. The way
Joel had it figured, the teacher was on the run. On the run from
who knows what. Maybe himself. Maybe the law. Maybe his
family. And people in the community didn’t ask for fear of chasing
away the man that had become recognized as the best teacher
this part of the country ever had. What they didn’t know was that
Mr. Johansson was actually Dr. Johansson, PhD, and yes, he was
on the run. On the run from an east coast college and his appetite
for eighteen-year-old freshmen girls.
Mr. Johansson had provided a great start for young Joel. Right
from the tenth grade, when the teacher first arrived in Willow
Springs, he had given Joel some very special attention. Not one to
comment on anything other than those of scientific or mathematical
significance, the teacher did mention to Joel toward the end of
his final year in high school that he had been an excellent student
and would do very well in university. When Joel indicated that
university probably wasn’t in the cards for him, with the cost of it
being what it was, Mr. Johansson made a point of phoning the
ranch and asking to meet his parents. Both his mother and father
were amazed when Mr. Johansson visited their home and suggested,
very strongly, that it would be a crime if Joel did not go to
university. The money issue raised its head and the meeting took
a bad turn when the teacher suggested to Joel’s dad that if he
couldn’t afford to send Joel to university then he would most likely
be able to get some help from the government or some kind of a
special foundation for talented, underprivileged children.

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

Swamped

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Excerpt

“What do you have for me?” he asked as soon as Richard answered the phone.

“Hi, Eteo. What do you mean? I haven’t heard anything since we talked earlier today”

“That’s what I was afraid of, Richard. Think about it. They would have been on the phone day or night if they had any news. It tells me they lost the hole, that’s what it tells me.”

Richard was silent for a few seconds. Finally, he reacted, almost shouting.

“You always think negative, Eteo. Look, as soon as I have something, I’ll call you.”

“I talked to the middleman, Richard,” Eteo replied. “He confirmed it. They lost the hole.”

“Why didn’t the assholes answer my calls then?”

With that, Richard put the phone down, leaving Eteo with a broad smile on his face. At least he wouldn’t hear anything more from him for a while.

Just as he was getting ready to go out to meet Mario for lunch, Helena rang to say Frances was there again to see him. She came in, closed the door, and without any words, embraced Eteo, and put her lips to his. After a long, sensual kiss, she handed her card to Eteo, said, “Later today. Don’t say no,” turned, and left. Eteo looked at the card. She had added her home address in purple ink. She lived in an apartment block on West Georgia just south of the Bayshore Inn Hotel.

Eteo went for lunch with Mario, and as soon as they finished, around two thirty, Eteo rang Frances’s doorbell. The door was unlocked at once, and as soon as he exited the elevator, he saw her standing by her open door. Below her short blonde hair and blue eyes, her plush breasts and delicate body trembled in a light robe that felt very soft to Eteo’s hands. She quickly made it clear there was an erotic fire in her body that wanted nothing else but Eteo inside it. And he did indeed let himself be guided by the sexual hunger of the young blonde woman with her roots somewhere in Wales. She was still a true Brit but now with extra North American zest and bodily exuberance.

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

Water in the Wilderness

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Excerpt

As the others tried to hide their smiles, Morley bit his lip to hold back the laughter. “No, we have to wait for Auntie Tyne.”
“Hymmph,” Bobby mumbled as he stopped chewing, his little cheeks puffed out like a squirrel.
This time no one could disguise their amusement.
The weekend passed too quickly, the late summer days perfect for long walks around the farm and picnicking at Emblem Lake. On Sunday morning Tyne went alone to the Catholic Church while Morley took their guests and the children to his church on the outskirts of Emblem. The night before, as she helped the young ones prepare for bed, Tyne had asked Rachael if her family attended Sunday morning service.
“Nope,” Rachael said briefly as she pulled her pajamas on.
“Then would you like to go to church with Uncle Morley and the Halls tomorrow?”
Rachael shrugged as if it didn’t make any difference to her one way or another. But Bobby jumped up and down and demanded to know where they were going and if they could get ice cream like they had at the lake that afternoon.
Tyne recruited Morley to explain it to the children, and left him sitting on Bobby’s little cot in the room the boy shared with his sister, in serious conversation with the two of them. As she returned to the porch to rejoin their guests, she felt sad that these revelations had to come from a virtual stranger rather than from the children’s own parents. But, at the same time, she felt thankful that she and Morley had the privilege of sharing these things with them even for this short time.
On Sunday afternoon the children were playing outside, and the men had gone to have a last walk around the farm before Moe and Ken had to leave for home. Tyne sat with her friend on the porch, looking out at the cosmos and snapdragons growing in profusion in the shade of a large maple in the front yard.
“It’s been wonderful, Tyne,” Moe said, “I hate to leave. And it’s been good for Ken to get away from the city. He takes work far too seriously and the bosses take advantage of him.”

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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Excerpt

It might have been dropped into the harbour
directly from the China Seas. Ken explored the floating palace and then
stood on the railing leaning over the side, his eyes growing wider as they
passed under the Lions Gate Bridge and chugged into the open waters
of Georgia Strait. The sheer immensity of the snow-capped mountains,
forested islands and vast ocean staggered him. Gulls swooped by, eagles
soared overhead, seals and sea lions dived into the water.
After docking in Nanaimo, Ken drove north on a narrow gravel road,
badly rutted and peppered with potholes. The TR2, with its worn shocks,
rattled up the road that lay at the bottom of a canyon, its sides covered
in giant firs. When he arrived at Nile Creek and found the little cottage
he had been directed to, he knocked on the door and handed his letter of
introduction to the elderly couple who greeted him.
“We’ve heard a lot about you,” they said. “Monsieur Desjardines wrote
to us a number of times; telling us about you, and the wonderful times he
had with you in Portugal, and about how you want to be a Canadian.”
They took Ken out to the mouth of the creek where the water was so
thick with salmon it presented a solid wall.
The next morning they launched a rowboat and rowed out to the kelp
beds, that lay several hundred yards from shore. After tying up to the
outer rim of the semi-translucent mass, they cast their lures along the
edge of the kelp bed. The moment the lure hit the water a fish struck.
Then, miraculously the fish leapt into the air, dancing on the water. Listening
to the old man’s shouted instructions, Ken learned how to handle
Pacific salmon. They pulled in one fish after another, each cast of the line
producing another salmon. When the big box in the bottom of the boat
was almost filled they tossed them back, keeping two for their supper.
Ken spent the rest of the week fishing, and drawing fish – particularly
the cutthroat trout that fascinated him even more than the salmon.
His next trip was to the wild country near Kamloops. As he drew close
to Merritt the countryside grew arid with rugged rolling hills and tall
ponderosa pines, which gradually gave way to a vast grassland covered
with scrub.
He drove up the Nicola Valley, drinking in the smell of sage and basking
in the golden autumn sun. Bees buzzed lazily, half asleep in the golden
fields. Eventually he found the gravel road he was looking for that
climbed up and up into the mountains. He drove through the Stump
Lake Ranch and past the sign that said, “Peter Hope Fishing Camp”. He
drove on through mud puddles so deep that the water seeped through
the floorboards. When he could drive no farther, he parked and walked
across a small creaking bridge to an island with a tiny log cabin wearing
fresh golden logs on one side, and old weathered logs on the other.
Ken knocked on the door.

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

He Rode Tall

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Excerpt

Not many came to the funeral. Some said it was because
of the time of the year—calving and all. Others recognized that it
was because not many really knew Edward Hooper. He would
have turned ninety later that summer and the reality was that
there just weren’t that many ninety-year-olds around this country
any more. It was almost as if he was the last man standing.
Maybe he was, in this part of the country anyways.
A few of the nieces and nephews from the city came for the
funeral—not that the old man would have recognized any of
them unless they had introduced themselves, and that certainly
wasn’t happening that day. And there were a few Native American
riders who had worked for him on and off over the years,
especially in the early years when he had more cattle and actually
needed cowboys for something other than just company. It
was a small group of maybe a dozen or so who congregated on
that lonesome knoll to pay their respects and say goodbye to
Edward Hooper.
And that is why Joel Hooper was making his way on horseback
through the lush pasture this beautiful morning—to pay his
respects to the man he knew as his father. Their lives together
had been both brief and hard. Especially hard. It was difficult for
Joel to even see the man as his dad. As Joel rode along the ridges
to the corner of the pasture where the family graveyard stood, he
knew that he was just as much going there to pay his respects out
of his concern as he was for what others would say if he didn’t.
The way word traveled in the hills, sooner or later someone
would hear that he hadn’t visited his father’s grave. Then what
would they think of him? And who were they anyways?
Eventually, Joel arrived at the family plot—a small knoll set
back in the hills sheltered on the backside by the even higher hills
and with an open view to the vast valley floor far below. After dismounting
the orange gelding and being unable to find a place to
tie the horse, Joel realized that he could simply drop the reins;

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B006QG9MOM

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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Excerpt

“It’s true.” Francisco explained that she had fallen ill while visiting her
family in the north. She paid no attention to her illness, and by the time
she returned and went to the hospital, it was too late.
Ken tore out of the shack and ran to the hospital, Francisco following.
If he talked to the doctor, surely he would confirm that Miloo was alive.
Someone had made a terrible mistake.
The doctor explained that Miloo’s appendix had burst and she had
died of acute peritonitis.
At that moment, Ken’s world ended. He staggered to his feet and
opened the door to the corridor. Francisco was waiting for him. He took
a few stumbling steps and a nurse rushed up to him. “You bastard,” she
hissed. “You killed her.”
Francisco grabbed Ken’s arm and began to push past her.
“What do you mean?” Ken asked.
“She was pregnant!”
Ken’s legs wobbled. He turned, braced himself against the wall and
groped his way back to the doctor’s office. “She was pregnant?” he asked.
“Yes, she was,” he said. “But in the very early stages of pregnancy.”
“How early?”
“Perhaps a month.”
“Was this the cause of her death?”
“Absolutely not.”
“How can I be sure of that?”
“You can consult any doctor you wish and he will tell you that. Her
pregnancy just happened to coincide with this.”
The days and nights blended into one another. Ken wouldn’t talk and
he couldn’t eat or sit still. He could not bear to be inside his own body –
a body with an enormous empty, echoing cavern where a heart used to
be. He walked, pacing endlessly up and down the beach, on the village
streets, and on the sidewalks of Lisbon.
The emptiness of his body lay on him like a massive stone. He could not
swallow past the obstruction in his throat. It blocked the emptiness where
there used to be a stomach, lungs, kidneys – there was nothing left inside
him and since he felt nothing, he thought about ending his own life.
One minute he was numb and then a wrenching sadness swept over
him, threatening to drown him in its endless ocean. A minute later white-hot

anger engulfed him and flared into a murderous rage.
When the stone moved from his throat long enough to let air through,
he talked to Francisco but even that led to despair. He knew that nothing
Francisco could say could ever bring her back.

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