Tag: literature

Savages and Beasts

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excerpt

…flowing in his veins. Marcus knew well he could graduate from
this school tonight he could take his diploma tonight he could
put the Kamloops Indian Residential School behind him and
behind his sister by just learning how to kill. This was the lesson
he had to learn tonight and the power of such a lesson kept him
quiet in the closet just behind Sister Gladys’ desk.
Suddenly footsteps were heard. A door opened and a man
walked along the long hallway going towards the sleeping quarters
of the girls. Marcus moved the closet door a bit open enough to
discern Father Thomas going his regular direction. Marcus walked
out of the closet and twelve steps further he hid behind the door
leading upstairs to the rooms of the priests and nuns. Moments
passed, moments that felt like eons when suddenly Marcus stopped
even his heartbeats as he felt on his body the back of the door opening
slowly. Two persons entered: a girl, his sister Deborah, held by
the hand by Father Thomas who was right next to her.
Marcus charged like a thunder and before the priest turned
to look he had wielded the knife twice up and down striking the
back of the priest in two places. The priest, struck by surprise,
tried to turn and look who was doing the killing when he received
two more strikes on his chest. With a loud cry Father Thomas
stepped backwards and losing his balance he fell on his back and
his head hit the wooden post of the stairs and with a noisy thud
he collapsed on the floor.
“Let’s go,” Marcus said to his sister and taking her by
the hand the priest was holding a few seconds earlier he led her
towards the main entrance door which they found locked. They
ran to the basement and to the carpentry shop, Marcus climbed
on a short ladder and opened one of the two windows. Deborah
first then Marcus crawled out of the building and, running as fast
as they could distanced themselves from the mausoleum.

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

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

Ivan Nikolaevich, the second rate agent. Still, she wanted the director to know that she had been correct in her suspicions.
“Da, da, yes, of course,” nodded the functionary, pawing through his desk drawer searching for something. The man’s an idiot, she thought. This is the quality of worker who stands guard over the country! Saints preserve us, as my old grandmother used to say. Finally, the man produced another form, this one on blue paper. “In order to use the official phone line, you must fill in this form.”
“Phone him now!” Natasha raised her voice in hopes that the supervisor would hear her and look out his door. “I’m not filling in one more form!”
The man’s expression did not change but this time he abandoned the new form, picked up the receiver and asked her for the number. After some dialling, waiting and dialling again, he announced that he could not get through. He replaced the receiver quietly. “The supervisor will attend to your complaint tomorrow,” he told her.
Natasha struggled to control her breathing. “Tomorrow WILL BE TOO LATE. She’s passing through the line now; I can see her from here.” Indeed, Lona had already slipped through the passport control while they had been on the phone. The young man’s face creased in a troubled frown. “Very well, comrade. I will take the name of the tourist and her flight number and pass it on to the customs officials myself.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, Natasha thought. “I’ll go with you,” she said aloud. She took a certain perverse pleasure in being in on the moment of discovery. Of course the poor fool Chopyk would be angry with her…
“I’m sorry, comrade, that will not be possible,” the guard replied. “It is not permitted to pass through that door into the airport again. You must leave by the fire exit.” He gestured at a door on the far side of the room. “It is a regulation. Thank you and good day.”
Natasha drew herself up to her full five feet, four inches, cast one more withering glare at the man, and stalked toward the fire exit and out of the lives of the tour group from Canada.
“Documents, please.” Jennifer watched as Lona, standing in front of her, tensed at the command. She could feel her own apprehensiveness growing as she waited, her toes behind the yellow line. This first barrier marked Passport Control was a preview to the inspection room.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

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

Redemption

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excerpt

“Would you like to have a drink?”
“Thank you, Dean, a coffee would be great.”
The dean’s wife walked in, greeted Hermes politely, asked what
he would like in his coffee, and discreetly left them alone.
“Well, Hermes, I would like to get directly to the point, so let
me start by asking how you like this offer from the school. It is a great
position for a young man, don’t you think?”
“Once again, Dean, I would like to thank you. Yes, indeed, it is an
excellent position, and I am quite inclined to say yes to you, although I
still need to know a few more details before I make my decision.”
He was quite clear in his words, and the dean appreciated it.
“I see with pleasure that you like to walk on steady ground,
Hermes. I couldn’t expect anything less than that; it is a bold move
nonetheless,” the dean said as his wife came in with the coffee.
“I hope it is to your liking,” the wife said after serving Hermes.
“I’m sure it is, Madam. Thank you.”
She walked out, and the dean carried on with their conversation,
which all women usually did in this country and in others
around the globe; however, Hermes noticed certain disguised hurt,
some concealed disturbance that had occurred, perhaps lately, and
which was evident in the mannerisms of the lady. Surely it wasn’t his
issue, and he let it be at that as the Dean started,
“Things will unfold like this. You need to go abroad and specialize
in a subject of your choice for two years. The assistant of the
previous professor currently occupies the chair of economics, and
we look forward to having a new professor there.”
“You have talked to the Minister of Education, Dean?”
“Of course, and I’ve mentioned to him that I consider you the
best for this position right now.”
“Thank you so much, Dean. You mentioned last time that you
have also taken care of my expenses for two years of studies abroad.
Could you elaborate a little?”
“Don’t worry about the financial part of this, Hermes. I have
investigated every detail. The scholarship funds will be enough…

https://draft2digital.com/book/4172538#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763858

The Circle

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excerpt

It’s evening in Baghdad and Ibrahim is in his study talking to Rassan about what
they have to attend to the next day. Ibrahim is not feeling his best since the morning
and wonders why. He has finished taking the new drugs, it’s not the
side-effects that are bothering him, but he has not been his regular self since this
morning. Something is bothering him and he doesn’t know what.
The week has gone by. Talal and Emily have taken another trip to Falluza,
where Talal visited his family once more as promised and met with Aesha’s
fiancée and his grandfather. Emily had the opportunity to see the condition of
his family home; Talal showed her exactly where he found the charred bodies of
his mother and father in the spring of 2004, and she now has a better
understanding of what it means to lose both parents at the same time and Talal’s
reason to hate. She knows it comes to everybody quite naturally when they get
hurt. She loves Talal dearly and loves the idea of helping him in whatever way
possible, but she doesn’t know how. She only knows she wants to stay with him
as long as it lasts, no matter what.
They don’t plan to go anywhere for the next few days unless they go with
Rassan when he goes to do his shopping for the party Ibrahim has arranged for
Wednesday. They’re to leave for Los Angeles on Friday afternoon. Most of their
time is spent relaxing in lounge chairs in the sunshine, gathering rays, as Talal
says, or getting some tan, as Emily calls it. She looks forward to showing off her
tan to Cathy when they return home. She’s already a bit brown; somewhat darker
than the day she came to Iraq. Talal has warned her several times not to stay in
the sun too long, but she doesn’t listen to him; fortunately, the sun is not as
strong this time of year.
They have had their dinner a couple of hours earlier and are sitting on the
balcony enjoying the peaceful sounds of the night which is approaching slowly
like a dark shroud, covering the plains and sand dunes one by one. A feeling of
peace takes over the whole area; this is the peace that everyone wishes for and
wants to keep for the rest of their lives.
“Well, my sweet Emily, what’s on your mind?”
“Oh Talal, this has been the most beautiful holiday of my life. It truly has
touched me in a variety of ways; it is a different world here and a different way of
life. I just cannot express it in words.”
“Then you are happy we took this trip?”
“More than happy, I’m elated. I love you so much.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

He Rode Tall

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excerpt

“That may be true, but we have to be at the top of our game.
We won’t have a chance to do much training in Oklahoma City,
you know.”
“Tell you what, Joel. If you think this horse of yours needs
training by the time you get to Oklahoma City, then you are riding
the wrong horse, cowboy. This horse has every move in it
right now that it will ever need in Oklahoma City. The only question
is about your ability to draw those moves out of the
horse—how to ask for the right maneuver in the right way at the
right time. And none of that has anything to do with constant
rundowns and long slides. It is all about being in tune with your
horse. You have never seen me mad, but if you don’t take that
horse out to the pasture for a nice gentle ride, you are going to see
one very upset horsewoman. Do you understand me, Joel
Hooper?”
It was Tanya saying his full name that really got his attention.
He knew she was speaking from the heart. But he was the mature
adult here, and up until a few months ago, she was a struggling
teenage horse trainer, but he knew she was right.
“Tanya, you just amaze me. So much wisdom and so much
power in one young woman. I can’t wait to see what happens to
you when you grow up. Whatever it is, I know that it is going to
be something very special. And I am going to be able to say that I
knew Tanya way back when she was a nineteen-year-old just out
of high school.”
“Get out of here, Joel Hooper. Go ride your horse.”
And he did. Not only did he take it easy for the rest of the week
but also for the rest of the month as they prepared for the show.
Sure, there were days when he would run the patterns on the big
buckskin gelding, but even then he was only going at three-quarter
speed and saving the extra for when it was really needed.
For Tanya, it was pretty much the same: she would work hard
some days, but most days Tanya would lope a few circles with her
horse, work on something specific, like a spin or a lead change,
and then head straight for the hills.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562862

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

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

Ivan Nikolaevich, the second rate agent. Still, she wanted the director to know that she had been correct in her suspicions.
“Da, da, yes, of course,” nodded the functionary, pawing through his desk drawer searching for something. The man’s an idiot, she thought. This is the quality of worker who stands guard over the country! Saints preserve us, as my old grandmother used to say. Finally, the man produced another form, this one on blue paper. “In order to use the official phone line, you must fill in this form.”
“Phone him now!” Natasha raised her voice in hopes that the supervisor would hear her and look out his door. “I’m not filling in one more form!”
The man’s expression did not change but this time he abandoned the new form, picked up the receiver and asked her for the number. After some dialling, waiting and dialling again, he announced that he could not get through. He replaced the receiver quietly. “The supervisor will attend to your complaint tomorrow,” he told her.
Natasha struggled to control her breathing. “Tomorrow WILL BE TOO LATE. She’s passing through the line now; I can see her from here.” Indeed, Lona had already slipped through the passport control while they had been on the phone. The young man’s face creased in a troubled frown. “Very well, comrade. I will take the name of the tourist and her flight number and pass it on to the customs officials myself.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, Natasha thought. “I’ll go with you,” she said aloud. She took a certain perverse pleasure in being in on the moment of discovery. Of course the poor fool Chopyk would be angry with her…
“I’m sorry, comrade, that will not be possible,” the guard replied. “It is not permitted to pass through that door into the airport again. You must leave by the fire exit.” He gestured at a door on the far side of the room. “It is a regulation. Thank you and good day.”
Natasha drew herself up to her full five feet, four inches, cast one more withering glare at the man, and stalked toward the fire exit and out of the lives of the tour group from Canada.
“Documents, please.” Jennifer watched as Lona, standing in front of her, tensed at the command. She could feel her own apprehensiveness growing as she waited, her toes behind the yellow line. This first barrier marked Passport Control was a preview to the inspection room.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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excerpt

His scaffold was built, ladders leaned against the walls, tubes of paint –
by the carton – were stacked in the studio, and alarm clocks ticked beside
his narrow cot. He was ready to begin painting.
I felt very, very much that things had now solidified. This was now a fact,
and for the first time in this entire campaign, I actually knew that I was going
to make it – not only the painting, but also my fight for Nunavut. This
was it. It was now only a matter of physical labour to complete the vision.
There was a different feeling now. The desperation was gone, and there was
only a huge engine driving me. Now, there was only confidence. Now, I had
access to politicians, business people, media – an infrastructure so massive
and on such a personal level that I would be able to get this story through
and by hook or by crook it would come into being.
It occurred to him is his newfound euphoria – “We need to celebrate!”
He announced the “First Brushstroke” party and invitations went out in
the shape of artist’s palettes that hit the desk of every media contact in the
city. Every couple of days a new invitation in a different colour, embossed
with an Inukshuk, went into the mail. He called Keith and told him to
fill a plane with choice Arctic food. Bob Engels, the North’s most famous
bush pilot, volunteered to fly the northern contingent to Toronto. On
an evening in early September 1986, Ken climbed up on a ladder, from
which he made a speech to a roomful of people, and then splashed a giant
brushstroke across the towering, white canvas.
Then he settled into a routine that was to last for almost a year. He
painted the sky for several hours, slept for two hours, went back to work,
and then slept for two hours. As he painted he had a sense that this was
what he was meant to do – to paint on this scale. Every other painting
seemed too small – even the giant canvas that hung at First Canadian
Place was undersized. How could he ever go back to painting something
on a lesser scale? What he really wanted to do was buy Saskatchewan and
paint it from helicopters.
One day a woman, wrapped in a fur coat, swished in on stiletto heels.
She glanced around the studio and waved her arm at some paintings leaning
against the far wall. “I’ll have that one, and that one, and that one.”
“Madam,” Ken said from his perch on the scaffold. “I don’t know who
you are. I suspect you know who I am or you think you do. I would invite
you to go outside, take a walk around, come back in, and say – ‘Good
morning!’”
She took a step back. “Well! I have never been spoken to that way before!”
Ken waved his hand. “Go on! Go. Shoo… Shoo.”
She stalked out, and returned ten minutes later. “Good morning,” she said.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

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

Redemption

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excerpt

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.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4172538#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763858

The Circle

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excerpt

The next morning they wake to a knock on their door around nine. It is another
very bright, warm morning with the sun up on the horizon, setting the sky on
fire, like the fire they shared last night. Birds of various sizes and colors fly over
the area chirping and speaking erotic words and sighs as if suddenly an abundant
peace has spread over the world, as if everyone has forgotten about the war
games and their aftermath.
Emily puts on a pair of shorts and t-shirt; she’s still under the spell of the
previous night’s excitement with the pleasure of being on top or on her side or
under Talal, and all that rocking of the boat all night long every time another
boat went by. But it’s this brightness that mostly amazes her, and she cannot
believe her eyes which are shielded behind sunglasses, not only to protect them
from the sunshine but so that they won’t reveal the secrets of what happened the
previous night beneath the spell of the waves. Could anyone live here for a long
time? She wonders when she remembers the exchange between Talal and
Ibrahim yesterday. Yes, she would love to live here for a long time, with Talal
going up and down the gulf seeing all this beauty and enjoying one another the
same way as last night. Then a new voice comes to her and encourages her with
the statement: you can be happy any place on the globe as long as you are happy
with yourself and with the man you love. The one who dreams of a paradise far
away in a dream location has never enjoyed lovemaking the way you did last
night. Yes, she could live here for a long time, as long as Talal would like, because
her life and happiness are close to this man with the sad eyes and the sweetest
voice.
Ibrahim and Mara are already at the small table at the stern. Talal and Emily
join them for coffee and toast.
“Good morning to you,” Ibrahim says, smiling.
“Good morning, good morning,” Emily and Talal say.
“How was your sleep, my dear?” Mara asks Emily.
“It was wonderful, thank you, Mara.”
Mohamed has started cruising along the smooth water of the Gulf, taking a
southerly direction. Rassan and Abdul sit back and relax while Surnia serves
them breakfast.
They travel for an hour until they come to a place where a couple of small
bays provide plenty of area with smooth, quiet water, away from the rush of
other passing yachts. Mohamed turns off the engine and releases the anchor.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

Fury of the Wind

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excerpt

Sarah smiled. “Oh surely, Ben, they wouldn’t ban movies in Nimkus
because they thought they were sinful. I think you’re exaggerating.”
“Yeah? Well, you don’t know them yet, do you?”
She shrugged and got up to clear the table. “Can we go to a movie
in Bradshaw sometime, Ben?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.” He got up to fill his pipe.
She could hardly wait until he went back to work. Finishing up
the dishes quickly, she shoved her feet into a pair of old runners and
went to find him.
In the yard, almost bare of vegetation between the house and the
horse stable, the dust swirled and danced in the incessant wind.
What few patches of grass remained were being uprooted by the
chickens that scratched happily in the earth all day long. She paused
for a moment when she passed the chicken house, a building as
dilapidated as the others around it. There had once been some sort
of wire mesh fence to contain the fowl, but it had long since rusted
and fallen apart. Now the chickens had free range of the yard. No
wonder the coyotes came so close to the house, especially with no
dog to run them off.
A grey tabby cat, sunning itself in front of the cow stable, looked
up at Sarah’s approach then skittered through the door which hung
on one hinge. Inside the stable a calf bawled, but she resisted the
urge to go in to see it. She wanted to find Ben before he got too far
away.
She found him behind the buildings, hitching an old tractor to
a sickle mower. She stood and watched for a few minutes before he
glanced up and saw her.
Sarah shouted above the roar of the motor, “I’d like to see Flicka.
Can you tell me where she is?”
“I haven’t time to be bothered now. I want to start cutting hay
over yonder.” He nodded towards what Dave McNeill had called
the north pasture.
“I don’t want to take you from your work, Ben. If you’ll tell me
where she is, I’ll find her.”
“Over there in the field.”
She followed his gaze to where three horses were standing near a
small dry slough bed in the shade of a stand of poplar trees.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530