Tag: non-fiction

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

“I’m interested in one gemstone,” he said.
“Which one?”
“If you let me see them, I’ll pick out the one I’m interested in.”
In his father’s den, he looked through the collection and chose one.
The next day he gave it to Miloo. She put her arms around him and held
him tight, shivering and crying against him.
“This is only a minor token of the way I feel about you,” Ken said. “I
love you beyond words and this is only a symbol of that love.”
“I’m so frightened of the feelings I have,” she cried.
“I’m going to ask you not to be,” Ken said. “Don’t be frightened. It’s
fear that kills us. I’ve been talking with the Canadian ambassador about
going to Canada and I want you to come with me.”
“Canada? It sounds so far away. It sounds so dangerous.”
“Yes, it is far away, but how could it be any more dangerous than where
we are right now? Look at what’s going on here. There are more people
disappearing every day and everyone is pretending that nothing is happening.
No one is doing anything about it. Everyone goes home at night,
looking around corners and holding their breath – wondering if they’ll
get a knock on the door at three in the morning and disappear too. I
won’t live that way.”
“What can you do about it?”
“There are always things you can do if you don’t let fear get in the way.
If you stop thinking you shut the door on fear. When you start to think
about things you get fearful. You just have to have the simplest of plans
and stop thinking. Carry it out. For instance, these people who are informing
– what on earth are they informing on in a village like this? What
could the local people be doing that could possibly be of any danger to
anyone? This is corruption beyond the imagination. This is madness. My
grandmother told me one of her Spanish sayings – not all those who are
in the madhouse are mad and not all those who are out aren’t. From what
I see, I think that the lunatics are out and they’ve put us in the asylum.”
He took her hand. “Will you come to Canada with me?”
“I’d have to leave my family.”
“You and your family don’t get along.”
“But, they are still my family.”
“Would you like to live in a country where we have the freedom and
the right to be who we are?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Would you like to live with me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Enough to come?”

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

The idea of moving to Canada became more and more exciting. Oh, to
live in a country that was huge, and sparsely populated, and that seemed
peaceful. You never heard stories about this sort of thing going on in Canada.
I tried to spend even more time with the Canadian ambassador and, given
his passion for fishing, it wasn’t too difficult.
Miloo was the brightest light in his sky. He didn’t know if he was in
love with her – he didn’t know what “in love” meant. He only knew that
some powerful emotion had taken residence inside him that was unlike
anything he had ever experienced. It wasn’t only lust, although that too
played a large part – it was simply that, with Miloo, he found a comfort
that was like coming home. Miloo, had a fire inside her that burned as
bright as his own. When he was with Miloo, he felt as though there was
one other soul on the planet who understood him completely.
Their relationship gradually changed. Miloo told him stories of her
life. She explained that her limp – such a minor impediment – was considered
significant. In Portugal, only the men were allowed to have flaws.
The women had to be perfect.
Ken raged, his anger, as always, flared when he encountered an injustice.
They held hands when they walked and sometimes they stopped
walking so that they could stand with their arms wrapped around each
other. She protested that society would not allow them to be together and
yet she searched him out and welcomed the intimacy.
Then one night, when the tide was low and they walked along the
beach where the water was still warm from the heat of the sun, she suggested
they go for a swim. They took off their clothes and plunged into
the still, moonlit pool. Finally they came together in an embrace and Ken
was lost – they were both lost in each other.
Over the next two years the political situation in Portugal began to deteriorate
rapidly. Secret police, informers and spies were everywhere and
no matter how careful you were, someone was watching and talking.
Ken’s father was unaware that he had a mole in his own office. He had
hired a gem cutter from Antwerp, in Belgium, the world centre of diamond
cutting. His background was a bit shady, but he was an expert in his
craft and Ken Sr. had not inquired too deeply into his background. Lisbon
was the kind of centre that attracted unusual people: the brilliant, the demonic,
and the nefarious – they all gravitated to Portugal’s magic city.

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Ken did as he was asked and came back to his grandfather’s side. He
rearranged the pillows and as he settled the old man back, he noticed that
his hands had become still.
“Come close,” Don Hymie said, wrapping his arms around his grandson
and holding him near. Then he gently pushed Ken back and held him
at arm’s length. “I want you to listen to your old grandpa,” he said. “And I
want you to listen very carefully.” His eyes, that only an hour before had
been hazy and clouded, were wide open and shining.
“Look at me,” he said. “I’m going to make a prediction for you and I
don’t ever want you to forget it. You have to keep it inside you – don’t
tell it to anyone. You’re going to have a very bright and beautiful life. It
won’t be an easy life but it will shine. The gods favour you. You are one of
destiny’s creatures.”
He gave Ken’s shoulders an almost imperceptible squeeze and lay back
against the pillows. Ken held his hand, wondering what his grandfather
had meant. Were these just the ramblings of a dying man? Did he have a
vision? He noticed that the old man smelled different. “Is this how you
smell when you’re dying?” he wondered. And then the old man’s hand
became limp and his face changed. Ken listened, but the sound of his
grandfather’s breathing was no longer present in the room.
He sat by the old man’s side while time stopped and his thoughts stilled.
Then he wrapped his arms around him and held him close and felt a large
weight lift – a shadow disappeared and peace settled on him.
When he left the room to join the others he told them that Don Hymie
had died. He left the house and walked aimlessly up and down the streets
of Miraflores for hours, feeling as though he was floating just above the
cobbles, his mind suspended in a place that thoughts could not penetrate.
When he returned he found his grandmother in the garden. She came to
meet him, put her arm through his and walked with him down the street.
“Did you have a good talk with grandpa?”
“I did.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Why?”
“Grandpa knows things.”
Don Hymie’s body was taken to Valencia where the funeral took place.
An enormous throng of people crowded into the huge cathedral and lined
the steps and sidewalks. Everyone came: the powerful and the peasants –
and perhaps the peasants grieved more than the ruling elite. Seeing the
tears of love and loss and listening to the heartfelt tributes these people
paid to his grandfather, Ken thought how strange it was that this outpouring
came upon death. How sad it wasn’t done while he was still alive.

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Ken wanted to know how one could have a political system that worked
when society, even on the smallest scale, was dysfunctional. He pointed
out that even in their own household they had servants, all of them women,
most of them young and illiterate, who were paid a pittance. In most
households the servants were treated like animals. In a country where this
was going on, how could there ever be a fair political system?
“Just between you and I, that is my interest,” Ken Sr. Said. “But, you
can’t go into the street with guns and mobs behind you – it just doesn’t
work. What we need to do is bring the wages of the people up so they will
have something to lose. People who have nothing to lose are the most
dangerous people on earth.”
He explained that it was because of this reasoning that he paid his staff
double the normal salary. “That,” he said, “Is actually a very political act
because the handful of families who wield power want to keep the populace
down so they can control them. Doing what I am doing is an overt
political act. “
His father said that he was walking a thin line but if he could get away
with what he was doing, he would win. Others would have to follow his
lead – they would have to match the salaries he was paying or all the best
brains in the country would go to work for him. Once he had the best
brains, he would be in a position to start other companies and continue
to expand his business interests to the detriment of others. But as his
companies grew and he employed more and more people fairly, his ideas
would also spread.
“But that’s a very slow way of doing things,” Ken said. “I want to change
things quickly.”
“There are no quick fixes,” his father said. “Anybody who tells you there
are is just selling you snake oil.”
Ken had complained to his father several times about the servants. He
explained that he couldn’t bear being served – that he felt uncomfortable
with it. “Why can’t we get up and serve ourselves?” he asked. “What’s
wrong with us making our own beds? What’s wrong with us cleaning the
house?”
“That’s the culture we’re in,” his father said. “We’re not in charge here.
This is not our country. We’re here as guests and there’s a limit to how
much we can disrupt this society.”
“It sounds a bit like an excuse.”
“Partially, it is. But anyone who wants to move things along too quickly
is going to destroy the very thing they’re trying to do.”
He added that he paid their servants the same way he paid his office
and factory workers – twice what anyone else paid. He admonished his
son once again to be careful with his conversation in earshot of the servants.
The Kirkbys were a prominent, well-known and powerful family,

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

“I’ll give it to you,” Ken said.
“No,” he said. “You have to learn about artwork. You don’t give it away.
If you do, it becomes worthless. Things that are given, such as works of
art, tend to sit on the shelf for a while and then they go into a bedroom
somewhere and before you know it they’re in the basement and they become
part of the flotsam and jetsam of people’s lives. But if you pay a
great sum of money for something it goes over the mantel and you hold
cocktail parties to boast about your acquisition. That is one side of the art
world you’re going to have to learn about. How do we attribute value to
something in a world that understands very little? Everything is quantified
in our world. Therefore, if it has a big number attached to it, it must
be of great value.”
Ken and Rui agreed on a sum of money that was not too great but that
seemed like a great deal to Ken. With great pride he told his father that he
had sold a drawing to Rui.
“Did you offer to give it to him?” His father asked.
“Yes, I did and he wouldn’t take it,” Ken said and repeated what Rui
had told him.
Ken Sr. smiled. “Yes, that’s probably quite wise,” he said.
One day, When Francisco and Ken came out of the shack to go fishing
they noticed a young woman walking on the beach. Ken had seen her
from time to time walking to or from the hospital where she worked, or
climbing down the cliffs to the ocean. On this day, as so often happened,
the beach was empty, save for themselves and the marine life that scurried
about the rocks. The young woman had not seen the old man and the boy
and thinking herself utterly alone, took off her clothes and walked into
the water. Ken was mesmerized; she was the most beautiful creature he
had ever seen. “Look at that,” he whispered to Francisco.
“Yes,” he said, as though reading his thoughts, “She is very beautiful.
She has a limp, you know.”
“What does a limp have to do with anything?”
“It’s a long and complicated story – and we should not be interfering
here. She thinks she’s alone so let’s let her be alone.”
From that day on she became Ken’s passion. He discovered that she
was a nursing student and that she had come from a village several miles
away. Her family were peasants but she had studied hard because she was
determined that she would not become a servant for rich people.
He also became friends with Dawn Coates, a girl who was being tutored
at the same small school he attended each day. Her parents were
divorced – her mother, American, and her father, English. She was one
of the first children he had ever admired. She was strong and direct and
seemed fearless.

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

“And I suppose you propose that you’re the one who is
going to find these marvellous new things.”
“Actually,” Ken said, “I am – many of them. I have already found some
but they’re mine and they’re secrets.”
“Well, you seem to have some feelings about this.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Go ahead then – express your understanding of this.”
“Yes sir.” Ken picked up the chalk and drew two birds. One bird was
flying along while the other one lay crumpled at the foot of a brick wall
that it had crashed into.
“What precisely does that mean?” the master asked.
“This bird is flying along without thinking about Pythagoras’ Theorem
and this bird was thinking about Pythagoras’ Theorem and flew into
a wall.”
“I suppose you think you’re very funny,” the teacher said.
“In my universe I think I’m funny,” Ken said. “And I enjoy being funny.”
“Is that so?” the teacher said. “And I suppose you think this is very
funny.”
“No sir, it isn’t very funny. It’s actually very, very sad.”
“Yes,” he said, walking to his desk. “Sadder than you think.” He wrote
something on a piece of paper, folded it and handed it to Ken. “Take that
to the headmaster,” he said.
Ken left the classroom to the sniggers of the other students and searched
for the headmaster’s office.
This behaviour about drawing the birds was spawned by the treatment
that I got when I walked in there. I was dealt with in a rather stupid way.
If there were twelve points in one’s life that were important, this incident
would be one of my key ones. I’ve always had somewhere deep inside me a
sense of knowing the moment when I am in the moment. To this day I can’t
explain how that happens but I do know when I’m in it. It had become apparent
to me that there were very specific rules for the “good” people – the
“nice” people – and those were the people who had lots of money. The poor
people lived in a different world. And the rich people were hiring minions
such as this teacher to do their bidding. The rich people didn’t want to look
after their own children – they just shunted them off to boarding schools.
Ken found the office and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a voice called.
Ken walked in and handed the folded note to a woman sitting behind
a desk in the small anteroom. She unfolded it, scanned what was written
there and looked back up at Ken with a curious half-smile.

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