Tag: love-story

Jazz with Ella

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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

The Circle

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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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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

Redemption

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…most were ordinary-looking housewives of the gossip circle,
and of course, a few were the ones usually found in the aristocratic
bars and lounges, ladies with housemaids and black chauffeurs, with
small bedroom dogs and a gigolo on the side. Hermes always looked
down on the so-called upper class; a degrading and pathetic life, he
thought they were like snakes. Those people had all the money they
needed, with their luxurious cars and drug addictions or similar
kinds of crap, and they blindly followed whatever is “modern,” a certain
mania to do as the foreigners did, just to be part of the trend.
According to Hermes, this way of living did nothing to
improve a person’s life. He didn’t belong to the idealists and skeptics,
either, who ignored reality and lived in the clouds of their isolation
with the hope that the world would change on its own volition on
some fine morning and everything would just be splendid. What he
wanted was a major change in society, a change that would make the
commoners’ lives better and the upper class more decent and more
confident people.
What else he wanted to help achieve was to unhook the populace
from the iron fist of the church that had grasped the people’s
lives and orchestrated their comings and goings according to the
dogma of an eastern religion that forbids them from letting go and
adopting a freer mindset, Hermes believed was the inherited treasure
of the Hellenes.
That was the psycho-spiritual hold the church had over the lives
of people, which exerted such power that no one ever had stood opposite
to, from the days of their liberation from the Turks, beginning
of the 19th century. However, how that could be possible and which
method could be applied to get the desired outcome was unknown to
Hermes. Yet he hoped that that would appear to him at some time in
the future. A smile came to his face as if he had already been affected
by such a change.
He walked as he disembarked the ship. His uncle, Demetre,
was among the others on the dock, lordly as always, waving his hand.
Hermes beamed a big smile and walked to him.

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

The Circle

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“Come on, sweetheart, you need to see all this; don’t forget you won’t have
this opportunity again anytime soon.”
She perks up a bit and looks at the immense horizon on her right side with all
the sand and light; the brightness blinds her. The sun is definitely something they
have plenty of in this part of the world.
“Everything looks so bright, honey. I can’t look at this for too long because
my eyes get tired, even though I’m wearing sunglasses.”
“I know, Emily, yet you must try to see all you can,” he insists.
They’ve driven halfway to their destination when Rassan stops the car at a
small town where they’ll have lunch and the chance to stretch their legs before
they carry on. They find a small restaurant. Rassan and Abdul go inside and
check things out; when they come back appear pleased the place looks good, the
women and Ibrahim with Talal go inside. The small restaurant is filled with
travelers and there are a few other women.
Ibrahim lets Rassan order food and wine from the menu. The food will be
shared by everyone as they don’t order individual plates. Emily likes this way of
ordering as she doesn’t have to ask Talal to order things for her.
They are served on big platters and the wine comes in a carafe; Rassan fills
their glasses and they toast the health of everyone.
To Emily’s surprise, the food is very tasty, although she doesn’t know what
everything she eats is. Talal leans closer to her and asks, “Do you like the food,
sweetheart?”
She smiles at him and nods with her mouth full of delicious, creamy pate,
and her wine glass raised, ready to take a sip.
They arrive in Basra by mid afternoon when the heat of the day is at its peak.
Basra is the second largest city in Iraq with a population of 1,700,000; it’s the center
of the oil-exporting facilities in the south. There are substantial petroleum resources
and many oil wells in the area. They pump out about 150,000 barrels a day. The
fertile land around the periphery of the city produces a variety of grains, such as rice,
wheat, barley and corn. They also produce many meat and dairy products here.
During the war, the British stationed themselves in Basra and the city experienced
few effects from the war. Now, the city is completely rebuilt and in full swing with
the export of oil. In fact, most Iraqi oil wealth passes through this city.
Basra was first built thousands of years ago and was considered the cradle of
the Sumerian civilization. These days it’s called the Venice of Iraq because of its
elaborate system of canals and waterways leading to the open waters of the
Persian Gulf. The canal system is a lot more visible and functional during the
high tide, than at low tide.

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

Swamped

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Without pushing their luck any further, they went to the café and
had a soothing bowl of chicken soup, then said goodbye to the casino
hall and went up to their room to rest.
In the morning Eteo phoned home to see how the boys were
doing. Jonathan assured him they were all fine. Then he called Logan
at the office and got an update on the market, after which, satisfied
that everything was under control, he went downstairs with Ariana.
They strolled from one casino to the other for most of the day, stopping
here and there to gamble for a while, taking a break for coffee
and then for lunch, relaxing by the pool for an hour or so, and then
gambling some more in the afternoon.
For Eteo the most enjoyable thing about Las Vegas was the
chance to observe other people and their interactions and reactions
to all the sights and sounds of the place. He loved to just look around
him while Ariana played her slot machines in whichever casino they
went to.
On Friday night they went to the famous KA show at the MGM
Grand. It was the most elaborate and amazing show either of them
had ever seen. The story line was a simple fairy tale, but the presentation
was spectacular, mainly for its technological innovations and
the gymnastics of the actors. What impressed Ariana and Eteo the
most was when the stage turned completely vertical, huge levers and
axles moving it slowly from horizontal to vertical while the actors
continued to perform their elaborate choreography standing on arrows
shot on the stage. It was a combination of artistry, acrobatics,
and athleticism all at the same time and to a musical score that was
a phenomenal combination of modern and classic mixes that created
a unique atmosphere. As they left, Eteo could not resist buying a CD
of the music to enjoy at home.
There were thousands of visitors in Las Vegas, and everywhere
they went they were always among crowds of people coming and
going, laughing and drinking, partying and teasing drinking and eating
as they walked, as they sat on a barstool right on the strip, as they
entered one hotel, or as they exited from another. People drank and
partied everywhere: in the streets, the hallways of the hotels, the casinos,
the restaurants, the bars, the blackjack tables, the baccarat hall.

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

Jazz with Ella

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The galley kitchen was utilitarian and old-fashioned with a two-burner gas stove, a scarred countertop and a tiny porcelain sink. Marta peeled cucumber and kept her back to Jennifer, her posture erect.
“May I help you?” Jennifer asked. There was no answer. Suddenly Jennifer knew exactly what to say. “Is that cabbage rolls I smell?” she asked. “Mom used to make those—were they ever good.” The shoulders relaxed slightly and Marta turned, wiped her hands on a dishcloth and said with a wan smile, “Yes, they are Misha’s favourite, too.”
The conversation was polite but not warm over the dinner table although Nadya recovered some of her childish energy and rattled on to Jennifer about her school work and her friends. As soon as the dishes were cleared away, Marta directed Volodya and Jennifer to Nadya’s room, hastily vacated for the night in order to accommodate the travellers. The single bed had been made up with clean sheets for one person and a series of cushions had been placed on the floor with a quilt on top.
“I’m sorry we don’t have more beds and another room for you,” Marta said coolly. “But I think you will be comfortable in here.” Marta closed the door behind her, leaving Jennifer and Volodya staring at each other wordlessly. She turned away, wanting only to sleep and too exhausted to challenge his behaviour. He began undressing with no further comment. But as they prepared for bed, a knock on the door startled them. Misha’s head appeared around the door.
“Can I see you, Zhen? I’ll be in the living room.” Wrapping her robe around her, she glanced at Volodya and left the room.
Misha was sitting on the uncomfortable sofa. “This is where we should have started—right when you arrived, Zhen.” He patted a worn, leather-bound album. “Forgive me that I did not show you this sooner.”
Family photos, thought Jennifer. How will this help? Misha opened the album lovingly, smoothing the pages. She sat beside him. Most of the pictures had been taken in the last few years and they showed the couple at their wedding, traditional photos posed in front of the war memorial, some scenes from their trip to Sochi and many of Nadya’s childhood. Flipping through the book quickly, Misha opened it at a page of older, grainier photos. He pointed at one dog-eared print. Jennifer gasped. The picture depicted two teenagers standing together solemnly, kerchiefs around their heads, their faces forming weak smiles, their arms linked.

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

Fury of the Wind

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Back in the Saddle
Two weeks after her marriage Sarah Fielding had a visitor. She
was cleaning and rearranging cupboards in the pantry when she
heard the thud of a horse’s hooves in the backyard. Through the
window she could see that it was not Ben as she had expected, but a
stranger dismounting from his horse.
He stood for a moment and looked towards the stables before
walking to the back door. When Sarah opened it, the young man
removed his hat to reveal a head of curly auburn hair. His smile
reached to his eyes and lit up his face.
“How do you do, Mrs. Fielding? I’m Dave McNeill. Live over there
about a mile.” He jerked his thumb in a south-westerly direction.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. McNeill,” Sarah said cheerfully,
“you’re the first neighbour I’ve had the privilege of meeting.”
“It’s Dave, please. Is Ben around?”
“Yes, I believe he’s gone over to that field behind the stable.” She,
too, pointed.
“Oh, the north pasture. Thanks, Mrs. Fielding, I’ll see if I can find
him.”
He replaced his hat, and was turning away when Sarah, surprising
even herself, said quickly, “But won’t you come in? I was just
going to make a cup of coffee. Would you like one? And,” she added
stepping aside to let him enter the kitchen, “I’d be pleased if you’d
call me Sarah. I’m not used to Mrs. Fielding yet.”
“Right, Sarah it is then. We’ve been anxious to meet you, Penny
and me.” At Sarah’s questioning look, he added, “Penny’s my wife.”
Sarah bustled from the pantry to the kitchen and back again,
anxious to get the coffee started before her visitor should become
impatient and decide he had to go. But he seemed in no hurry.

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

Redemption

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these voices of the innumerable people, pagans as they were called,
the ones who had died under the knife of the first Christians, who
exterminated thousands and thousands, as the scholars claimed,
perhaps even millions, to establish the new religion? It was written
in certain books, not of course in the regular books taught in
schools, that millions of Hellenes were eliminated so Christianity
could spread over the lands, and perhaps these voices and groans
Hermes was hearing coming from the depths of the earth were none
other than the pain those millions of Hellenes suffered.
He stood motionless as if to listen to a discourse coming from
somewhere deep under the floor of the monastery, groans of people
killed and buried under the soil of this church, when unexpectedly
a thought came to him: did the purpose justified the means when a
man is condemned to death for the success of a movement, did the
death of a man in the hands of another was rightfully approved by the
system which always craves to retain power over the people? And what
about the killing of a brother by brother, only for the killer to gain the
approval and help of a superior? Such thoughts overtook Hermes to
the point of feeling sick, indeed he felt the need to run away, far away
from this place, which he had visited with all the positive intentions of
looking into the monastery correspondence. He felt suffocated. He put
the papers away, he walked out of the church, he didn’t stop to thank
the monk who helped him, he just walked out at a fast pace as if to distance
himself from voices and images he wanted to forget.
Then, when far out, he felt his heart had calmed down as he
climbed a short hill since he wanted to change his route and followed
a narrow trail towards the top of the hill to reach his village on the
other side. He surely felt a lot better, and quite unexpectedly, a tune
rose from within his essence to his lips, and he started singing a local
tune; soon, he reached the top of the hill and found an old man on a
donkey right ahead of him. He greeted him and then asked,
“Are there any partridges around here, Uncle?”
“I have seen a couple of flocks over that mountain,” the old man
pointed to the other side of the horizon.

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

Jazz with Ella

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It was delicious and she washed it down with a sip from a tumbler full of what appeared to be neat spirit. She was sitting in the family’s combination living and dining room where the ornate, antique table was laden with small plates of food. Wise in the ways of Russian dining from having partied with Ukrainians and Polish, she knew that these were only the zakuski, the appetizers, and that a more substantial meal would follow. “No, really, now I’m full up.” At least the food is dampening the effects of the vodka, she thought. “How about you, Paul?”
The man referred to as Paul looked up from a plate of bread and sausage and smiled shyly. “Thank you. You are good hosts,” he murmured.
“Your Russian is so good. Did you study long in university?” asked Marta of Paul while Misha seemed distracted and regarded Jennifer solemnly. Paul-Volodya did not reply right away and Marta was interrupted by the sound of something bubbling on the stove. The afternoon so far had been wonderful, full of affectionate hugs and cheerful toasts toward Jennifer, friendship in which she reciprocated and in which Paul had been generously included. Their daughter, Nadya, was at school but the couple promised that she would return home very soon.
After refreshment, the cousins had spoken of their own hopes to leave the Soviet Union and live in Canada. The nervousness with which they raised the topic and the intensity with which they spoke made Jennifer realize how important this move was to them. They would need help and support in Canada. She didn’t know much about Canadian immigration laws, but wouldn’t they need a sponsor? Someone from within the country—a relative who would vouch for them, promise to provide for them? She thought at first of her mother as the closest relative but had an uneasy feeling these two were grooming their newfound cousin for the role.
Yet nagging questions persisted. Were they truly related to her? She wondered at their eagerness. They seemed to have everything here: a private apartment of their own, not too big but with a balcony that gave a view of the playground opposite. Their daughter enjoyed school and Young Pioneers, they said, and they were both working, he as a technician and she as a bus driver. This last gave Jennifer pause as she tried to envision the dainty, polite Marta in the driver’s seat of a soot-black, fume-spewing bus, but she knew that the Soviet Union was ahead of the west in ensuring women joined the work force in many non-traditional jobs. Marta worked shifts so was off-duty right now…

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