Tag: short-story

Fury of the Wind

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

She gripped the covers and stared at the curtains
moving in the breeze from the open window. The wailing, howling
cry continued without letup – Margaret’s laughter from her dream.
But this eerie sound was not laughter, and it was interspersed by
occasional yelps like those of a dog in anguish.
Recognition dawned suddenly. “Coyotes,” Sarah said aloud. The
sound of her own voice calmed her.
She lay back against the pillows and pulled the sheet up to her
chin. When the howling stopped she whispered derisively into the
sudden silence, “Sarah Roberts, coward.” O
Sarah next awakened to the tantalizing aroma of bacon and coffee.
When she opened her eyes she could see light streaming in through
a gap in the curtains. She lay still, wondering how to face Ben with
the news that she wouldn’t marry him. Breaking her promise was
aberrant to her. And she certainly had promised to marry him.
Otherwise, why was she here alone with him in this house, on this
barren prairie a thousand miles from anything familiar?
Finally, hunger pangs overcame the pangs of anxiety. She got up
and quickly dressed in slacks and a light blouse. She felt annoyed
with herself that she hadn’t thought to bring water into the room
the night before so that she could, at the very least, have splashed
her face and washed her hands. In the house in Tillsonburg she
used to rise early enough to bathe before her mother awoke and
required attention.
When she stepped into the kitchen she saw Ben standing at the
stove. Grease sizzled in a frying pan into which he was breaking
eggs. He looked up briefly when she said, “Good morning, Ben,”
and nodded his head in response.
She dipped water from the stove reservoir into a basin and carried
it to a wash stand in the corner of the room.
“Want some bacon and eggs?”
Sarah half turned. “Yes, please, I would. I’m very hungry this
morning.”
“No wonder,” he muttered, “after the amount you ate last night.”
She glanced at him quickly, childishly grateful that he had noticed
even this much about her. But, as she dried her face …

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

The Unquiet Land

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

“What’s wrong down there, Tom?”
“Ach it’s yourself, Caitlin.” Tom turned to look at her and Nora with eyes scrunched up against the sun. “Oh they just fished a body out of the harbour.”
Michael, Caitlin thought immediately, and her face paled with fright. “Who… who was it?” she asked in a faltering voice.
“It was your Michael that pulled him out,” Tom declared, as if anxious to be the first to tell her.
“Pulled who out?” Caitlin asked.
“Carney’s youngest boy. Joe-Joe.”
“Is he dead?” Nora asked fearfully.
“I don’t know.” Tom spat tobacco on to the wharf. “Dr Starkey’s down there now.”
“What happened?” Caitlin and Nora, looking down on the boat, could see Michael now. He was bent over in the middle of the group with his hands on his knees.
“Well, I didn’t see it myself,” said Tom. “Seamus Slattery just a while ago came up from the boat saying there was nothing he could do, so he was going to the bar for a drink. As far as he could tell, it seems that young Joe-Joe was fishing over the side of Carney’s boat—your father’s boat—when he fell overboard into the water. Carney was in the galley doing woodwork and he didn’t hear the little fellow calling for help. It was God’s doing that sent Michael Carrick to the boat to ask Carney to do something for your father. He fished Joe-Joe out. I think he jumped in and lifted the boy into one of the rowing boats and then called Carney to bring a rope.”
“Joe-Joe can’t swim then?”
“Oh I dare say he can splash about a bit. But he’s only what? Four? Five? Six? Damned if I can keep track of the youngsters anymore.” Tom spat again. He pushed a gnarled, arthritic hand under his cap and scratched his white head. “I dare say he panicked.”
On the boat Michael straightened up. He saw Caitlin and Nora and waved but he did not smile.
One by one the other men unfolded like ferns and almost hid the slight figure of Dr Starkey. Caitlin saw only the round, bald patch on the back of the doctor’s head. Then someone lifted a bundle wrapped in blankets and carried it over his shoulder from the outer boat across the middle one to the inner boat by the wharf-side. Others reached out hands to help steady the man—Joe Carney himself—as he clambered over the sides of the boats…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

Water in the Wilderness

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

… than it had been outside with the frigid wind whipping stinging snow into their faces. Her feet still felt wooden, though, and her fingers were stiff and beginning to hurt. She removed her mittens, then reached for Bobby’s hands and pulled his mittens off. If her fingers were freezing, what must his be like? He whimpered a little as she awkwardly tried to rub his icy fingers.
As she pulled his mittens back on his hands, he slumped over at her feet. “Wanna sleep, Rachael, wanna sleep.”
Ronnie stepped out of the darkness and picked the child up. “No, Bobby, you can’t sleep yet. You’ve gotta keep moving around. I know … let’s all play a game.”
“What game?” Rachael said. “W … we can’t even see. How c …can we play a game?”
Ronnie hesitated, murmuring to himself as if thinking hard. “I know, we can play pattycake. It’ll keep us close together, and keep our hands warm.”
Rachael laughed. “Pattycake? That’s a baby’s game.”
“Okay, Miss Smartypants, what do you suggest?”
“Oh, all right. Let’s do it. Here Bobby, pattycake, pattycake, baker’s man ….”
They pattycaked around the small circle until Bobby suddenly sat down on the board floor. Ronnie reached down for him, but Rachael said sharply, “No, let him be. I’m gonna sit down, too. I don’t wanna play anymore.” She flopped down beside her brother, and put her arms around him. “I just wanna to go to sleep, Ronnie. Please let us go to sleep.”
For several seconds he remained quiet, then he said casually, “Okay, you can sleep – if you don’t mind bein’ woke up by that rat when it runs over your face.”
Rachael screamed and bolted upright. “Where? W … where is it?” She peered around, her eyes trying desperately to penetrate the darkness.
“See, over there,” Ronnie said, “can’t you see its eyes?”
Rachael jumped to her feet, pulling a protesting Bobby with her. “No, no, where?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562884

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

Poodie James

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

“What are you going to do?”
“If the railroad says there was sabotage, I’ll have my people run a
full investigation.”
“If they don’t?”
“I’ll give the mayor my report.”
“And?”
Spanger grinned.
“Thanks for your help, Paul. See you in court. Or somewhere.”
As he passed the checkers players, the old cackler was eyeing his
partner across the board.
Piles of broken ties, twisted rails and fragments of the blasted tank
car bordered Gellardy’s orchard. A section gang was tamping new
ties into place. The smell of creosote was heavy in the air. Spanger
saw the locomotive upright on the track near the hobo jungle, a
section of its cab wall bowed out, a sheet of steel dangling from it.
The crane, engine roaring and cables screeching, was beginning to
ease the distorted chassis of the tank car out of the depression
alongside the track. Spanger walked toward a half dozen men who
stood watching. He recognized all but one. As two of them greeted
him and moved aside to make room, he saw Poodie James. Poodie
looked up and made glottal sounds of greeting. The chief looked
from Poodie’s eager face to the blackenedwreckage and back again.
“It’s good to see you safe and sound today, Mr. James,” he said.
The inspector introduced himself as Lawrence Hall. Spanger
made small talk with the group of railroaders, then took the man
from Spokane aside.
“What have you found so far, Mr. Hall?”
“I’ve found a mess, Chief. There are no orderly derailments. I’ll
tell you, though, the fire department here did everything right and
kept this from becoming a first class disaster. Worst thing, of
course, is that we lost a good man. First death in a wreck since I’ve
been with the company. The coroner did an autopsy this afternoon
at my request and found that Mo d’Aleppo’s heart gave out. Massive
failure. I guess the crash triggered it. He’d had a couple of mild …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

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

The Circle

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

Rassan points as they pass an inspiring, colossal structure, “There is our new
parliament building; it’s only four years old.”
“It looks like quite a bit has been accomplished in the years I have been
away,” Talal comments.
“Yes, it has; the only place that still lags behind is the eastern part of the city.
That area will take the longest; that is where the poorest people live. It’s always
the same, Talal; they’re the ones who wait the longest. The rest of the city is not
too bad. One can say life is getting back to normal; after all, the war ended some
years ago.”
Emily listens, eager to hear as much about this fascinating place as she can.
They arrive at Ibrahim’s at 5:15 p.m. a servant opens the doors of the car after
Rassan drives through the big iron gates. They get out, and Talal signals to Emily
not to worry about her things, as the servants look after those. They enter the
foyer and Emily is left with her mouth half open at the size and grandeur of the
mansion.
Ibrahim with his wife Mara come to greet them.
“Welcome! Welcome to Baghdad,” Ibrahim says, after he kisses Emily’s
hand. “This is Mara, my wife. Mara, this is Emily Roberts from Los Angeles; her
daughter Jennifer is our son’s sweetheart.”
The two women hug and exchange pleasant words.
“Welcome to our humble home,” Mara says to Emily, who is in awe at the
magnificence surrounding her.
Ibrahim hugs Talal and they exchange kisses, as is customary.
“Welcome, my dear Talal; howwas your trip?How is my Hakim?”
“He’s fine, dear uncle. He sends you and Mara his greetings, hugs and lots of
kisses; he’s doing very well. He’s excited about the company he’s taking control
of.” Talal gives a brief summary.
Emily, who’s hearing for the first time about the control of Hakim’s company,
turns to Talal with questioning eyes; he signals her to let it be for now.
Mara wants to take them to their room to freshen up and rest for a while
before dinner; her servant has already taken their bags upstairs. Rassan says
goodbye for now and leaves. Talal stays with Ibrahim as he knows the old man
will want to ask more questions, things about Los Angeles and Hakim.
They go to the study and Talal relays the message from Bevan and all the
other news Hakim wants his uncle to hear. Talal asks, “How are you doing with
your health, my dear uncle?”
“I’m doing very well, my dear boy. The medication seems to work well, and I
haven’t sufferred from any adverse side-effects. Only time will tell how effective the
medication is. It’s in the hands of Allah; his wish will take care of me.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Reality
The ship entered the αρεα of the thick fog. A bell
echoes desperately at prow: the route is full of
innumerable dangers now. On the bridge, however,
the sleepless and bewildered captain watches and
drives the ship safely. The captain … his eyes, his
glance. Yes, indeed, his glance is everything, like
now that his glance, straight, strong, mercilessly
pierces through the thick layers of grey pleats of fog
and inside the dark paths of the human psyche, into
the dark sanctuary of Fate, it calms the wildest and
roughest seas, it enters and stands like a guard into
the hovel of the poor fisherman, it saunters tenderly
around the anchors, the sleeping baby, the spread nets
and finally, it comes, settles and serenely rests, next
to the quiet light of the lamp. Certainly, the captain’s
profession isn’t captain. He has different choices,
different longings, and specialties. Different things
attract him and in different things he’s involved. Yet,
when the ship is in danger, they all run to him, who
although they don’t see him as a man, they allot to him
and he accepts the responsibility of many souls. He,
who has no joy but knows of it, who isn’t free, yet
yearns for freedom and struggles while he hopes.
Let it be known: if the Fates never visited his baby
cradle, Fates, Witches and pure Fairies would come
next to his deathbed. The figurehead of the ship
knows all this and loves him. She’s, his lover. This
wild and hot girl with her undone black hair, fiery
red lips and the light-blue belt goes and finds him
secretly every night and they make love ‘together’
and chit-chat erotically for hours. One moonlit night:
“Don’t forget me”, she says to him, “because I’ll die”
One day when he was in a thick forest, rain caught up
with him. He sheltered himself in the tree hollow and
waited. The rain intensified. Among all the rain he
noticed a few tree trunks burned by the fires of
wayfarers and many pinecones scattered around the soil.
Another time, a summer noon, he stood by a water well.
Further away was a tower. A girl came, like Rebeckah
to get some water. She puts the pitcher down, goes close
to him, uncovers her voluptuous breasts and says, “Don’t
touch them, they are roses and drop their petals; only
caress them” Then again, “No, do as you wish with them,
they are yours, my sweet man, I gift them to you.” This
woman, who he fell in love with passionately, one night as
the winds were blowing, he waited for her and he saw
her going down to the harbour. She ran and cried along
the deserted quay. She had tied her raincoat around her
waist with a leather strap and the strong wind sometimes
glued it on her body and other times it whipped her apron
wildly and took away along with her voice, her long
hair too.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3744799

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

the ship’s rail while Brother Berach bathed his fevered face. Hrafen climbed aboard
in a fury of curses. First, he picked up the bucket of water Berach had been using and
dumped the contents on the two monks. Then he grabbed the protesting Berach by
the back of his tunic, swung him around, and flung him against the rail. The old man
lay unmoving on the deck.
Brother Keallach had taken a few moments from the hot job of caulking to
come on deck to relieve himself over the side. On seeing what was happening between
Hrafen and the two elderly Brothers, he bounded to the prow to face the
bully. Though he shook with anger at such an unwarranted attack, he held himself
in check while the Norseman continued his tirade. When Hrafen bellowed that the
two old thralls must have been responsible for the ram’s escape in the first place,
Keallach, who had seen how the animal bolted the moment it was released from
its pen on board ship, could neither speak nor understand the Norse tongue. As it
was, the two men stood glaring at one another. The Norseman picked up the empty
bucket and flung it with all his might toward the open sea. Then he stomped off to
the far end of the knarr.
Finten, Rordan, Ailan and Lorcan came on deck, along with Atall their guard, to
see what was going on. But Kyrri was sufficiently deaf that he had not been disturbed
by the ruckus on deck. He just carried on caulking and did not come up until he
noticed his helpers were gone.
Father Finten knelt in a slowly forming puddle of blood to hold the old man, now
limp in his arms. Brother Berach’s neck hung at an odd angle, blood trickling from
his open mouth. Rordan and Ailan crossed themselves and dropped to their knees
in silent shock, tears streaming from their eyes. Keallach stood glaring at the bully,
holding his own anger.
Brother Lorcan did not kneel. He looked at Keallach, turned to follow his gaze toward
the killer and slowly, deliberately walked toward him. By the time they thought
to hold him back, it was too late. Hrafen picked him up with both hands around his
throat, shook him violently and heaved him over the side.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562826

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763106

Savages and Beasts

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

indeed happened a few years later when the teacher with her
epiphany passed into the sweet embrace of her Lord, only to leave
behind the unhealed scars of ridicule inflicted upon these Indian
girls; scars which they were meant to retain for the rest of their
lives.
Anton’s and Mary’s feelings strengthened as they days
went by and as they had their occasional intimacy when the circumstances
would allow it and when Mary’s psychological state
of mind would cooperate; they felt strongly about their future
which at times they discussed.
“I want us to leave and go someplace far away,” she would
say to Anton.
“I want that too, and I’m certain time will come for it, yet
for now we have a duty to do: what is best for these kids before
we bail out and leave,” Anton would say to her and to which she
never had any objecting word to say. It was enough for her that
she’d have a future with the man she loved and when it would
come together or in which part of the world they might decide to
move she was wholeheartedly willing to give it a chance.
Anton had devoted some of his time to fix his room. He
took all old things out, donated them to the local charity, one’s
leftovers are always someone else’s treasure, as the saying goes;
he also got a couple of gallons of paint and gave his office a fresh
look. He bought a new bed and beddings from the local Hudson’s
Bay store which he transported with his truck to the School and
put it together. He didn’t even ask Father Nicolas whether the
School would cover the expense, he just bought it and with the
new coat of paint the room it looked a lot better than before.
Anton had also developed a very strong friendship with
George the Cretan cook of the School and they often talked of
Anton’s plans which always included Mary and also the fate …

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

sexual gratification of a bunch of perverts. If this happened to your family,
wouldn’t you want someone to care? Wouldn’t you want someone to
raise a stink? Wouldn’t you want someone to help? That’s all I’m trying
to do. Apparently, to my surprise, it seems this painting was the two by
four needed to apply to the side of your head to get you to pay attention.
My job is to announce to you what has gone on and what continues to
go on. I’m robbing you of your innocence. I’m not going to give you the
chance to say, ‘If only I had known’. Now you know. What are you going
to do about it?”
The mood of the public changed. People began calling to agree with
him. Battle lines were drawn and half – or perhaps even the magic fiftyone
percent – agreed with him.
Ken spent an hour or more each day, at the Columbus Centre, talking
to people who lined up to see the painting and talk to the artist. Thousands
of people came – far more than had attended his opening night.
Ken finished each of his stories with a plea for help. He urged people
not to simply believe his stories, but to investigate and make up their own
minds. And if they discovered that what he said was true, let the government
know how they felt. This was what democracy was about – and he
was appalled at how lightly most people took the democracy they lived in.
“No one that is born here really takes it seriously,” he told them. “Do you
know how many rivers of blood were spilled to have what we have here?
How can we pretend to be this thing that we say we are when you can’t
bother to inform yourselves about what goes on in your own country?
How can you be a nation without knowing what goes on in your own
backyard?”
Ken received a phone call from Wayne Morrison, the executive director
of the Friends of Canadian Broadcasting and the stepson of Northrop
Frye. Could they meet, he asked? Ken invited him to the studio.
Wayne was a dapper and polished gentleman who expressed fascination
with the furor caused by the flag painting. The CBC was about to
suffer large financial cuts, which would seriously endanger its existence,
he said, and he wanted Ken’s help. He wanted to reproduce the flag painting
in full page magazine advertisements with Ken standing beside it
holding a paintbrush with the quote, “I haven’t been this mad in twenty
years.” Below that would be the story of the CBC cutbacks.
Ken said yes, but he was not prepared to use the painting. He would
create another similar one instead. When Diane asked why, he said, “I’m
going to give it to Canada and I don’t want it reproduced. It’s going to go
to the country pure.”
“You’re going to give it away? Good lord, we don’t have enough money to
do what we’re doing and you’re going to give paintings away! Why are you
going to give something to the government? They already take too much!”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

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

The Qliphoth

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

the shop poor Willy had replaced the pagan turmoil of Hrothgar’s Feast with
the blissed-out cooing of George Harrison. Larry grimaced at the music, took
a hit off the joint. As minutes passed he grew into an Easter Island statue, a pitted
mask smitten with sinister benevolence, relishing cosmic absurdities . . .
I wasn’t interested in more drugs. I was cultivating a new yearning—for
comforting fetishes like Turkish rugs or French etchings, or at least quality
post-war British stuff, the old Pye Black Box gramophones, Hornby Trains in
the original blue boxes, I was fed up with bankrupt stock and garage-sale
rejects. And I wanted something with class. Something safe, please. Nothing
too radical.
“It’s not weapons, is it, Larry?”
He passed the joint and began prising open the tea chest with a bent fork.
“Just weird shit. Specially for you.”
The chest contained thick folio-sized notebooks, bulging box files, a crumpled
set of plans or blueprints, and half a dozen books in uniform bindings,
ex-lib, half-calf and purple clo, gilt lttr, top edge gilt, gilt device on sp, approx 200 pp,
frnt brds sl warped and stained, torn frontis in Vol I, some neat inscr, otherwise v good,
ideal for a proper bookseller with a catalogue, not my Surprise Book Bins.
“They’ve been in storage for years . . .” Larry sniffed defensively. A yellowed
newspaper cutting fell out. ‘Fears of Red Atom Bombs’.
He told me he’d acquired this heap of forties memorabilia as payment for
some dope. I asked him which clients usually paid in waste paper.
Larry looked uneasy. He liked to keep the different strata of his life separate.
“A photographer that my gorgeous creature did some work for. A young
guy. But ugly, thank God. She says he snuffles while he’s setting up the poses.
Like a great rat . . .” He sucked the joint and giggled. “He’s heavily into cuisine
and wine. I guess he can’t perform vintage sex.”
Despite the dope I was getting impatient. I might raise something on tomes
with fancy bindings, but as for wartime diaries, old blueprints—I inquired as to
where the stuff originated.
“Some old attic, south of the river. Like Norwood, or Streatham Common.
ForGod’s sake, Nick, I only went there once. One of those high old houses with
stained glass in the porch window. A Victorian rose-window with cruciform
panels . . .” He exhaled slowly,seemingly bemused by the sudden emergence of
this elegant adjective.
“I suppose there aren’t any pieces from the windows in that trunk?” I was
seized with entrepreneurial glee at discovering yet another way of repackaging
splinters of the past, little sunset glints of nostalgia for an already uneasy seventies.
“Too late. His gaffer was tearing the place apart, converting it into a shop

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186508