Tag: ptsd

The Circle

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Excerpt

Bevan Longhorn dresses in casual clothes and goes down to the lobby of the
Sheraton Hotel. It’s Sunday morning and the lobby is filled with people coming
and going. Bevan has stayed here before, and this time, although he has only
been here for one night, intends to make the best of it. He has arranged his
departure for the evening with American Airlines and is to arrive in Washington
sometime before midnight, giving him enough time to relax and get to his office
Monday morning. On the other hand, if he feels tired the next morning he can
always skip work for a day; the agency will survive without him.
What presses on his mind today is making sure he can put his hands on what he
needs to proceed with his plan of exit, as he calls it. These two young men better have
thought of everything; he doesn’t have the time to pussyfoot. However, he has faith
in the old man, whom he has always trusted to deliver what is necessary.
He walks into the hotel restaurant and orders his breakfast. He opens the
morning paper and reads the headlines; the same stuff again and again. His breakfast
comes and he tries to enjoy it, despite the headlines and his thoughts. What happens
if the two young men cannot get what he needs? A shiver travels down his spine like
a thunderbolt as this thought sinks deep in his mind, and he squirms out of fear that
all his mental preparation for this last mission might be in vain.
He overhears two couples next to him talking about the Oscars scheduled
for sometime in March. They seem to be very absorbed in what they are
discussing; he hears one of the men supporting one actor over the others, and
the other three people seem to agree, as Bevan doesn’t hear any objection to the
first person’s remarks.
His thoughts take him away again to his plan of action, and he glances at his
watch; it is only 10:30 a.m. He’s so anxious about his plan that he cannot wait to
meet Hakim at Earl’s and get answers. Ibrahim’s nephew had better have good
news for him, or else. What can he do if they cannot get it?
He finishes his breakfast, pays his check and goes for a walk around the hotel
grounds with the manicured lawns and the pretty shrubs and flowers
everywhere. He needs to clear his mind and the crisp morning air will help. He
also needs to stretch his legs.

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Poodie James

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excerpt

This was bound to be about the Poodie James story. Sonny’s face
was reddening. That meant they had a problem, but Sonny ran the
newsroom. She would not jump in. She reached for the pile of budget
sheets on her desk and got back to work, envying the editor and
reporter wrestling with a story. My god, would the price of newsprint
ever stabilize? She sank into the pages of figures, enjoying the whir
and the rhythm as she cranked the handle of the adding machine.
“Got a minute?” Winifred looked up at Sonny standing in her
doorway, with Pease a step behind him. “Ned has something you
ought to know about.” She pushed the budget aside.
“Well, Ned,” she said after she had heard Pease’s story, “nice
work, I must say. Poor George Pearson, carrying that around all
these years. But we can’t go with it. Sonny is right, it’s hearsay. The
hobo, Clarkson, thinks he saw Torgerson that night. You say
Clarkson told you Torgerson denied it. This certainly could
explain the mayor’s hatred of Poodie James, but we need the other
man to confirm Pearson’s story. Even then, Torgerson may not
confess. Have you gone back to Pearson to try to get the name?”
“Yes. He’s terrified,” Pease said. He won’t tell me any more. I
think he has visions of prison. He probably doesn’t know the statute
of limitations on assault.“
“More likely he has visions of his reputation and his business
going to hell,” Sonny said. “And he has a point.”
“I don’t know any other way to find out who was with
Torgerson and Pearson that night,” Pease said.
Winifred straightened up and fixed her gaze on the middle distance.
“I think I might,” she said after a few seconds. She pulled a
scrap of paper from a desk drawer, reached for the telephone,
propped the handset on her shoulder, started dialing and shooed
the men out of her office. They watched from Sonny’s desk. After
she hung up, she waved them back in.
“Ned,” she said, “you’re about to meet your first madam.” She
gave him a look of appraisal. “I hope she’s your first.”

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

A widower, Dwayne Levine was the recipient of a disabled
worker’s pension. Those who had observed him flinging heavy
engine parts around his yard or stumbling home from the Kingsway
Pub most nights viewed with suspicion his claim of an irreparable
lower disc. Few car club members knew—as my pal O’Donnell did,
living across the alley from Ed’s garage—that Mr. Levine routinely
took the Dodge out after midnight. He also disappeared with it on
those occasions when a member was ill and the car at rest. He was
something of a philanthropist with the housewives, Mr. Levine was,
often loitering in the Shop Eazy parking lot offering free deliveries.
– Boys everywhere love two things, Dwayne Levine philosophized:
girls and cars. His sobs had been reduced to a snivel with a
second complimentary wedge of pie.
– If we had what these young fellas have today, he said, the war
never would have happened!
Back on patrol, Mahoney aired another possibility.
– I say the club’s a front for some kind of gangland activity.
Maybe one of us should go undercover. Whaddya think?
– Spit it all out, Mahoney! barked the senior policeman. The Huns
are scaling the walls!
– One of us — me, I guess — could pose as a potential buyer. I
could ask to see the vehicle up close. Maybe get inside the garage
without a search warrant.
The sergeant feared for the future knowing the likes of Mahoney
represented the next generation of law enforcement, although he
agreed the need for a search warrant was the most damaging invention
since the right to silence.
– People in this part of town, McManus reminded his young partner,
distrust strangers with crewcuts and the physique of a footballer.
Besides, he added, perhaps you hadn’t noticed? The Dodge
isn’t for sale!
McManus allowed himself a moment to despair.
– An Indian shaman said the Creator gave us two eyes, two ears
and one mouth, Mahoney. He reminds you of this so that you might
observe and listen twice as much as you talk.

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

– I guess we better get going, I said. We don’t wanna miss our rendezvous.
Burt didn’t budge. Finally he said, Ain’t gonna be no rendezvous.
He loosened the flaps of his pack and spilled its contents.
River rock. I dumped mine — the same.
– What’s going on, Burt?
– Ain’t no satellite receiver, little brother. Those two buggered off
long ago. And look, he said, fingering the napkin map and peering
over the edge into the ravine. They were hoping we’d have ourselves
a little accident.
– But this cable! And the TV store!
Burt chuckled. The van was leased, he said. The TV store was
rented by the month.
I still wasn’t convinced.
– I was checking on my stash one night when I overheard the two
of them talking. It was all Swanson’s idea. He’s done this before.
Bud’s his stooge.
– And?
– I told the cops everything. Those two are probably in cuffs by
now.
Burt removed a nylon bag from his pack.
– Open it, he said.
It was stuffed with paper money, and plenty of it.
– Explain, Burt . . .
– While Bud was trying to find mine, I was looking for his. A couple
of times we almost bumped into each other. With a little help
from a friend, I found his first. All the share money, his cut of the TV
sales.
My brother separated the money into three piles and pointed to
the tallest. The bills were stacked like a column of Chinese characters.
– I figure we’d turn this in, he said. It belongs to Aunt Peggy and
the others. But this one—he stuffed the second pile into the pack—
is ours. After all, folks have their TVs.
– And the third?
– That’s for cousin Mark. A reward. He’s the one found a couple
of Bud’s chewed-up toothpicks down by the river and suggested we
start digging.

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

Every couple of days Swanson visited Aunt Peggy’s. He and Bud held
court at the kitchen table. They fell silent if any of us came too close.
Most evenings Burt retreated to a spot on the river and helped
Mark with his knots. A fear of cougars prevented me from joining
them.
One night Swanson and Bud asked to talk with us. They waited
until our cousin was asleep.
– We’re gonna hook up the receiver on Sunday, Bud said.
– What of it? Burt said. We’ve got a TV back home.
– We’ll need assistants.
– Paying top dollar, Bud said. Up to it?
– Why tell us? Burt sparred. We’re students. On vacation.
–We’ve had dozens of applications, Swanson said.He removed his
cowboy hat. There was a wart above one eye looked like a ladybug.
– We don’t know nothing about receivers, I said. We don’t even
know what one looks like.
– You boys ever heard of the Sherpas? Swanson asked. They help
climbers in the Himalayas.
– Think it over, boys, Bud said. It’s a great opportunity.
After Swanson had left, our aunt scouring dishes, Bud leaned into
Burt and said, Jails are full of punks like you.
He slid a fresh toothpick into his cheek, then quickly removed it
again.
– One night changes their whole outlook. Get my meaning?
– I was 14. I didn’t.
Burt wedged one of Bud’s toothpicks between his lips.
– That the reason, Uncle Bud, you walk like a girl?
Pork Chop Hill seemed considerably steeper standing in a pasture at
its base than it did from downtown Coppermine. Its flanks were
dressed in dense old growth, the highest point smothered in cloud.
A hundred people must have turned up to see us off. A photographer
from the Gazette snapped photos; the school band did its best.
Flatulent cows grazed lazily amongst the muddy pickups.
Swanson reiterated our tasks. He and Bud, carrying sensitive…

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The Circle

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excerpt

The vegetable garden is a large area at the back; located on the north side of
the property and sheltered by a fence to the north. Their house faces east so that
the garden is on the western part, with the western and southern sun hitting it
almost all day. On one side, William has a small area covered with plastic and
Evelyn tells Bevan that’s where they plant the tomatoes and eggplant which like
the heat and not rain.
“We get a lot of rain here, as you know, and tomatoes don’t do well in rain, so
he covers them every year. Everything else we plant is exposed to the weather.”
“What do you usually plant, Evelyn?”
“We grow everything, you name it; we grow potatoes, celery, leeks, beets,
Swiss chard, garlic, onions, greens for the salad, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers,
spinach, beans of three different kinds—oh, Bevan , everything is grown here,
believe me,” she says, quite proudly.
“In other words, you literally live off the land.”
“Yes, and you’ll see all that when you come this way next year.”
Bevan smiles, and it’s his turn to clear his throat. Evelyn looks at him and smiles.
“You’re not planning to come our way when you retire, are you, Bevan?”
“Well, to be honest, Evelyn, I haven’t given it any thought as yet; I have a few
things to do before I retire.”
“What do you still have to do, my brother? Isn’t it enough that you have given
this service of yours your whole life? Aren’t the tragedies that have taken place all
over the world in the last thirty years enough? However, I don’t want to go there
again and upset you; after all, you’re an admiral. Your job is to serve the armed
forces of this land.”
But Bevan doesn’t get upset with Evelyn. He has made peace with that side of
himself, and his sister doesn’t get him upset anymore. As a matter of fact, he’s at
such peace with himself lately that he feels just great, even when she talks harshly
about the army.
“Are you at peace with yourself, Bevan?”
He takes a deep breath and looks at the garden with all the vegetables they
grow. He sees his sister being so relaxed and in a state of complete satisfaction
with herself. He knows he’s in that same state also, but it’s very hard to explain
why. He knows why and that is good enough for the time being. When they read
in the papers later on what has transpired, they’ll understand. She’ll understand
why he’s at peace with himself at this time in his life.
“I am quite happy to see that you and William are in good health and in good
spirits, as always. I’ll make a point of coming back here again some time and then
perhaps we’ll talk about being at peace and all. Right now, I’m very happy to see
you are well, my dearest sister.”

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Poodie James

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excerpt

“There’s no mistaking it, Mr. Mayor. I saw your face for fully
half a minute before you bucked me off and made your escape. I
have never forgotten your eyes, your distinctive eyes. I thought I
recognized you from the back of the hall when you spoke, but I had
to be certain. You know, indeed you know, what I’m talking
about.”
Torgerson glared across his desk at Engine Fred. “You expect
people to believe something dredged up from twenty years ago?”
Fred smiled. “I didn’t say how long ago it was, but your memory
is fairly accurate. It has been twenty-one years. Poodie James and I
were discussing it just this morning. As for people believing it, I
hope that it won’t be necessary for anyone to know. That includes
Poodie.”
“What do you mean?” Torgerson said.
“Poodie doesn’t know who beat him up. He doesn’t know who
attacked Old Sam, and he doesn’t know, as he puts it so simply,
why you don’t like him.”
Glowering at Engine Fred, Torgerson said, “I could have you
thrown out of here.”
“Yes, you could.”
Torgerson got up, turned around and stood looking at cars passing
on the street below. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know why you beat Poodie James when you were a
young man. I don’t know why you are persecuting him now. It
doesn’t matter. I want you to leave him alone, Mr. Torgerson. Just
leave him alone.”
Torgerson spun around and leaned across the desk. “I’ll tell you
why, mister. Because he’s a freak, an unclean little freak. He contaminates
the town. He should have left after he got his warning, but he
stayed here, dragging that wagon around, rummaging through peoples’
garbage, bothering children. All those things you said in the
hearing, all those things Gritzinger said, that’s crap. Poodie James is
nothing but a bum and a beggar. He’s bad for the town.”

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

Dennis was a top student, the school rep at the Science Fair.
Afternoons he skinned cats.
– Whatcha watching?
– Show about bugs, replied young Ronnie. Fucking stupid.
Dennis whispered, Got any smoke?
Mrs. Stinson appeared, a towel around her head. Beads of hair
colouring sluiced across her forehead.
– Burt still not going to Aunt Peggy’s? she asked.
The only way the Stinsons could have known about Burt’s recalcitrance
was if someone had told them. Someone like Mom.
Times like that I’d get these pictures in my head. I could see Al
Stinson disguising his voice and mumbling threats into a telephone,
the three conspirators having a good laugh afterwards. My brother
knew about my visions. He figured I had psychic powers.
Aunt Peggy was waiting for us at the bus station. With her was Bud,
the latest boyfriend, and Mark, our cousin.
Bud walked bull-legged and sucked on a toothpick. Mark was an
awkward 12-year-old with eyes the colour of blue marbles. Aunt
Peggy said he wore his cub uniform everywhere.
– Are you a Sixer yet? asked Burt. Before developing other interests,
my brother had been a pack leader himself.
– I need one more badge, Mark said. Knots.
The five of us squeezed into the cab of Bud’s pickup. Mark and his
dripping Popsicle sat on my lap.
Bud said, Don’t blink, fellas, you’ll miss the highlights.
The town of Coppermine was divided by the Similkameen River,
a marauding deluge of glacier-cold aqua roaring through a steep
gorge. Mountains loomed on all sides, leaving the few thousand residents
in shade for all but a couple of hours a day. The mountains
also blocked TV reception.
A bridge joined the wealthier west side of town with the poorer
east. The narrow wooden span was a popular meeting spot for teens.
A resentful congregation dissolved at our crossing.
– That road there, said Aunt Peggy, indicating a gap in the trees,
leads to the Cherry Creek Indian Reserve. They say all this land
belongs to them.

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The Circle

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excerpt

He laughs and turns to look the other way. They are walking to her car, the
same old Chevy Impala; it must be at least twenty years old by now. He
remembers her having that car for a long time.
“You still drive this Impala? I’m amazed it’s still running; and, yes, to come
back to the subject of retirement, I’m thinking of retiring next year. And yes, I
can see myself without the service.”
“What are you going to do? Most people, after so many years with an
organization, go downhill as soon as they retire, because they don’t know what to
do with themselves. What are you going to do, Bevan?”
“I haven’t thought about that yet, Evelyn. Perhaps I’ll come this way and
retire with you in your hermitage and be as isolated as you for the rest of my life.”
He makes fun of her.
She starts the car and drives out of the parking lot; it’s a busy evening as most
people have finished their work week and are headed home for the weekend.
“You would be welcome to come and stay with us for as long as you like; but I
know you, you like to be with lots of people. You could never live isolated in a
hermitage, as you call it.”
He turns to her.
“Sometimes, one can feel isolated even among people, my dear Evelyn,
particularly in the midst of lots of people, trust me.”
Evelyn doesn’t respond as she concentrates on driving the busy streets of San
Francisco. It takes forty minutes to get to her house, and they find William half
asleep in his chair, watching TV.
Evelyn shouts at him, “William, for God’s sake, you’re asleep, at six in the
evening.”
William gets up and shakes Bevan’s hand.
“Hello, Bevan, what brings you this way?”
“Hello, William.”

Talal and Hakim take the bags and go inside. The house smells stuffy from being
closed up for so many days. The flowers in the pots are dry and Emily takes the
watering can to freshen them up as she talks to Jennifer about her trip. It is, of
course, hard for anyone to understand by just listening.
“You’d have to go there to understand what it’s like, sweetheart; it’s difficult
to grasp the way they live, which is so different from the way we do things here.
Life goes on for them as it does for us. They’re people with dreams and…

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

Poodie James

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excerpt

“I came here to say what I know about hobos.You have been
told that we mean no harm. I believe that we cause none.”
Engine Fred paused to look at Stout. “No more harm than most
people do, and less than some.” He turned toward Torgerson and
halted again.
The room was suspended in silence.
“But now, this hearing about hobos turns into an attack on the
best, the bravest man I have known. He came to help after the train
ran off the tracks near the hobo jungle. If he hadn’t, I could not
have got the engineer out of the cab. I probably would have been
blown up trying. Mr. Stout says that Poodie James is my accomplice.
He says that Mr. James and I caused the train wreck so that
we could make ourselves look good. That is offensive, Mr. Stout. It
is also slanderous.”
The fat on Stout’s face quivered as he ratcheted his head in
Torgerson’s directon and back to Engine Fred.
“’If,’ I said. That’s what I said, ‘If.’ I was only raising a possibility.”
Stout’s voice had lost some of its vigor.
Engine Fred took a step in Stout’s direction. “That is the
defense of a bully and a coward. You made an accusation, Mr.
Stout.” He looked at Torgerson. “It did not occur to you that the
hobo or his accomplice would defend against it.”
He’s even better than I remembered, Sam Winter thought.
“Mr. Clarkson,” Spear’s voice cut through the tension, “under
the hearing rules, you may make a statement and answer questions.
You may not engage in debate.”
“Mr. Spear,” Engine Fred said, with the trace of a smile, “you’re
trying to be fair, of course. I’ll observe the rule.” He stepped back to
the lectern.
“I told the council that Poodie James is the bravest man I have
known. That is so not because he risked his life to save someone. It is
so because under circumstances that would defeat most of us, he lives
his life with independence, dignity and joy. He does not accept charity
and he does not seek institutional help. He makes his own way, gathering
and selling discarded newspapers and bottles.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV