Tag: short-story

Small Change

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excerpt

Whenever she wanted someone to erase the board, or recite a poem,
or empty the stupid wastepaper basket, or answer her latest booby trap
question, guess who got called? Not Zaccardi, the second smartest boy in
the class, not Cercchio or even Balestieri, but me, Amabile. (Anadora and
Astibianni were so dopey she gave up on them after the first few days).
So I began to have trouble with my eyes. I couldn’t read her tight
little chalk scrawl. The letters in the Italian reader made my eyes itch and
then go swimming off the page into the inkwell. Of course, I had looked up
this eye business in volume five of The Home Library of Health Knowledge,
and I practised a lot, squinting at myself in the mirror and stumbling
over the excerpts we had to read out loud to correct the vulgarities of the
Napolitano dialect in our pronunzia. Blackie caught my drift, but was not
impressed. When I asked to be moved to the middle of the room beside
Rita McCrae, her thick lips curled into a sneer. She informed me that my
debility was a spiritual asset. I must offer my discomfort up to be duly
noted in the heavenly account book beside my name, and be thankful that
I had been given this opportunity to experience the mortification of the
flesh. It would help, she assured me, to correct the sinful smirk I got on my
ratty little face whenever I asked her something she didn’t know. “Pride,”
she said, wagging her fat forefinger. “It’s one of the Seven Deadlies,
and don’t you forget it.” I nodded, trying to make the serious mouth I’d
seen that actor use on the late movie when he did that scene where the
President of the United States gets a phone call telling him about Pearl
Harbor. Blackie ignored it. And before I could beg and plead and reason
about the empty desk next to Rita McCrae, she went back to her boring
and very wordy attempt to explain page one of the Baltimore Catechism.
Even though I had not achieved my ultimate objective, I was not
discouraged. She was convinced, at least, that my eyes were bad. I had
made some headway and I had a well wrought plan, but I knew I had to
proceed with caution. Behind her puritan facade there lurked a spiteful
and unprincipled child. During the first week of December, Balestieri
had given her trouble, asking the smart ass questions he was famous for.
Blackie’s eyes narrowed and her mouth squirmed. She gave him one of her
lectures on pride and we thought that was the end of it, but during recess
one of the kids she’d kept in for detention saw her pour the filthy water

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

Arrows

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excerpt

She was scrutinizing me as though willing herself to see
my soul.
Her hand came up to my cheek, and her thumb followed the line of
my cheekbone. An insurrection was taking place inside me. I wanted to
be close to her. Closer. My hands hurt with desire to touch her. My
breathing became jerky, and I felt myself grow hard in the way I knew I
must not, and the urge to satiate that hunger was ruining my
judgment. She said something, but I could only admire the fascinating
movements of her mouth—a ripe fruit, sweet and yielding.
Thank God she buried her face in my neck, though her breath,
warm on my skin, only added to the mayhem inside me, for it gave
me the time I needed to rally my wits about me. I pushed her softly
away. “Noli me tangere,” I breathed in Latin. Do not touch me. Her
big, dark pupils looked up at me, searching my face. I swallowed
awkwardly, conscious of the movement of my throat. “Chi’ka,” No, I
added in Carib. But it came out more like a strangled plea.
She knelt back, her hand on my thigh. I pushed it off, noticing as I
did the stake lifting my frock obscenely. She saw it, too. I pushed my
knees up, giving my privates the only touch and pressure they
would get. I breathed deeply, swaying softly back and forth.
Thoughts of Jesus on the Cross, at Calvary, flooded my mind,
slowing my heart.
Apacuana left me, a bit confused, I dare say, by my pushing her
away as I did. She fumbled for a long time at the entrance, building
some sort of barrier. I found it a sweet demonstration of her care for
me, but then began to worry she might have a more solid reason for
taking such precautions. I was left with a small fire burning and
enough kindling within reach to feed it.
I slept like the dead but woke up suddenly, certain I had heard
something. I tossed a handful of twigs into the glowing embers and,
moving gingerly, poked the fire until a timid flame revived. I
listened with expectation. Had I dreamed it? No, there it was again,
as if someone were shuffling at the entrance. My spirits lifted at the
thought of Apacuana’s return. But why not come in? I called to her.
Was it perhaps a beast instead?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Poodie James

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excerpt

The chief reminded himself to be charitable
tonight and think of the A-rabs’ good works for crippled and burned
children when the Shriners and their bottle-fed mischief overflowed
from the hotels into the street. A mass of purple, white and brass, the
high school band and drill team crossed the intersection and the band
broke into “I’ll Be With You In Apple Blossom Time.” The drum
major blew his whistle, strutted and kicked toward the sky. Thirty
batons twirled high and back into the hands of the girls, whose smiles
had yet to reach the pasted-on stage. The parade was off to a good
start, Spanger thought as he watched two youngsters sitting on the
curb wide-eyed and laughing, gripping their popsicles. The first float,
a confection of white, pink and green, bore the festival queen and
princesses in their satin gowns. Princess Marcie Welch, her tiara a
double band of apple blossoms, waved to the crowd. When she saw
Poodie standing beside his wagon, she blew him a kiss. Grinning
broadly, he waved back. Well, Spanger thought, the kids in town do
seem to love that strange little man.
On the side of the blue Packard convertible that followed the
queen’s float, signs with block letters a foot high proclaimed
“Mayor and Mrs. Pete Torgerson.” The mayor perched atop the
backrest of the back seat, turning toward one side of the street then
the other, moving his arm in the way Spanger had seen in the
newsreels when the Pope blessed crowds in St. Peter’s Square.
Sue-Anne Torgerson now and then glanced at the onlookers and
lifted her hand, her head just visible above the side of the convertible.
Torgerson waved the chief to the side of the car.
“Did you see that?” he shouted over the band.
“What, Pete?”
“Poodie James, that’s what.”
Poodie had waved and smiled at the mayor’s car as it went by.
That smile, Torgerson thought, that mocking smile. Sure as hell,
he knows. He remembers.
“He’s watching the parade,” Spanger said, striding alongside the
car. Even with Torgerson sitting on the backrest, the chief’s head
was nearly level with the mayor’s.

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

Swamped

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excerpt

“Sounds good, Eteo.”
“Okay George. How expensive is this going to be?”
“For you, Eteo,” George replied, smiling, “for you, you know …
I could do it for 16,500. I have to cover the prospector’s expenses,
that’s about 2,500, and 8,000 for my office expenses. That leaves a nice
chunk for the good guys.”
“Sounds good to me,” Eteo replied, smiling back. “Go ahead and
prepare the papers and send them to Rebecca.”
“I can have an agreement ready for your lawyer within a week.
Will that work for you?”
“A week sounds fine,” Eteo agreed, and the two men shook hands.
Alone in his office Eteo checked the prices of a few stocks. Platinum shares
were trading nicely, with good volumes and steady buying
slowly driving the price up a few cents a day. A classic case of
what they called “healthy” trading. Eteo hoped it would carry on like
this for a while longer, but he also knew that all good things come to
an end. The key was to know when to get out. As for Golden Veins
the price was stale. Eteo had had a couple of offers, which he was selling
through a different brokerage company so that no one would
know he was the seller, but he didn’t expect anyone to buy them anytime
soon.
At that moment Logan came in to his father’s office with a broad
smile on his face.
“Sam regrets selling some shares the other day,” he announced.
“It never fails, does it? Even when we sell something at a good profit,
if the stock goes up even a little bit after that, Sam regrets selling.
Now he wants to buy it back. What should I do, Dad?”
“Do what he wants. There’ll be some profit in it even at this level,
and he also has some of the cheaper stock, so his average won’t be
that bad. Go ahead and buy it back for him.”
A few minutes later Eteo noticed a buying order of 6,000 shares
bought by his house. Sam’s stock was in hand. On impulse, he dialed
Ariana’s phone and caught her doing her morning errands.
“Hello, sweet baby, want to hook up later?”
Ariana laughed and said, “What a question, but of course I want
to. Come and get me as soon as you’re done.”

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

Water in the Wilderness

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excerpt

“I’m cold, and I’m hungry. I don’t want to go no more. Rachael, I can’t walk no more.” Pulling his hand from hers, he fell to the ground and sat in a shivering little heap, the toy truck clasped in both arms.
“Get up, Bobby, come on, we have to keep movin’.” She remembered the lunch bag that Ronnie had taken from her to carry. “We’ve got food; c’mon, get up and we’ll eat a sandwich while we’re walking.”
Ronald handed the bag over, and bent to lift the little boy to his feet. “Here, Bobby, I’ll carry you piggy-back. Get on my shoulders.”
With Bobby on his back, he set off again. Rachael clutched her doll under one arm as she opened the sack of food. She had started to pull the jam sandwiches out when she heard her cousin’s excited yell.
“We’re there, Rachael. See – there’s your neighbor’s house. And look, there’s your place just ahead.” He began to hurry, the weight of the child on his shoulders no hindrance to his renewed energy.
Rachael shoved the sandwich back into the bag, and ran to catch up to them. She strained her eyes in the murky light so that she could better see the house. And there it was – her home. She thought she had never seen anything so beautiful in all her life. Exhilarated, she ran ahead towards the front door. But, as her feet left the sidewalk to turn onto the path, she realized something didn’t feel right. She looked down. Where once a weed covered path led to the house, a concrete walkway clear of snow made an easy approach to the porch – a porch no longer in a state of disrepair, but standing straight with a coat of bright yellow paint. The steps leading up to it were new, and were also made of concrete. Rachael came to a stop, her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide and staring.
She became aware that Ronnie had come up beside her. “Wow,” he breathed, as he lowered Bobby to the ground.
The little boy stared at the house, then glanced around. “Where are we? Rachael, this ain’t our house.”
Rachael wavered between excitement and confusion as panic seized her. She turned to Ronald, a question in her eyes. His look did not reassure her.
“D’ya think maybe your dad has moved away from here?”

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

Small Change

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excerpt

a sweet humming whisper and my fingers closed around the aluminium body shutting off the little air holes that made it sing. I stuffed it into my shirt pocket and my fingers brushed against the last Spud menthol I’d forgotten to smoke that afternoon after baseball. I pulled it out and straightened it carefully into a limp tube that dribbled dry tobacco from its open end. Scary stuff, lighting up in front of your own house, but what the hell. My scalp came alive with little electric maggots, wriggling. I found some matches in my pants. The end of the Spud flared and settled into a hot core that let sparks off in the breeze when I sucked on the cork tip. I put one foot up behind me against the fence, and the movie came on in my head. My eyes narrowed; my ears sifted the sounds of the city for clues.
Then suddenly they were there, the big boys.
Joey comes up to me, all excited and talking like he wants everybody on the block to hear.
“’ey, Georgie, Pasquale wants you to go to D’Amato’s an get im four cansa Ballantine ale.”
He presses a damp, crumpled bill into my palm and says it again.
“Your nonno, ‘ey, he wants you to get ‘im four Ballantine’s.”
He winks at me, and gives me an elbow. He laughs. His eyes are heavy lidded and his face is damp with sweat. He’s been talking loudly at me so the neighbours can hear, and now he makes a face that says to his buddies, it’s cool, don’t sweat it. I remember that look from dozens of Saturday matinees. I feel the damp currency in my hand. I know there’s something wrong with all this, but I can’t figure it out. Then he bends close to my ear and tells me to meet them in the park.
Sometimes Nonno Pasquale would come and stay with us. On a shelf in the pantry he kept this little tin pail with a lid he’d give me to go and get beer in. The guy behind the bar at D’Amato’s, Gioffo, an old guy, but not as old as Pasquale, always thought I was worth a smile, this little kid with a beer pail, and he knew my nonno from years ago, so he’d wink at me and fill it up and give me a Sarsparilla on the house, and I’d run back home so the foamy draft wouldn’t get warm in the sun, and my grandfather would laugh and give me a nickel, and pinch my cheek and tell my mother what a prize she had for a son.
But I never saw him drink from a beer can, ever. Or even a bottle. Still, it was tonight, and they were having a party in there, and what did I know. So I marched importantly into D’Amato’s Bar & Grill.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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Brother Rordan looked around for Svend or Ul, whichever his name was. Determined
he’d find him, he only wished to apologize for his earlier blunder and perhaps
be his friend. Maybe Ul was being ‘used’ by the captain and felt ashamed of his position.
The crew, apart from the captain, seemed to give him a wide berth. Perhaps
already on board, the Irish thrall was nowhere to be found.
When the feast wound down, the late summer sun had moved along the far horizon.
Songs and games became more boisterous. The Norsemen wrestled, stripped
to a narrow loincloth, their bodies glistening with lamb fat. Bjorn, strongest of them
all, won every bout. Bjorn was aptly and fondly named the Blonde Bear for his massive
bushy beard and hairy chest. No Norseman ever refused his challenge. Each
preferred to be thrown by the mighty Bear than be seen as any less than a brave son
of Odinn, god of war. Spectators circled the wrestlers, cheering on each challenger
in his turn. Sometimes, Bjorn allowed a man to hold him for a while, but never long
enough to claim a victory. As each challenger lay defeated, the great champion lifted
him up with the love of a Nordic brother. In all his show of strength, Bjorn was
almost gentle.
When the wrestling was done, other games of skill took place. Some competed in
feats of archery and knife throwing with targets set at greater and greater distances.
Prizes of bone-handled knives and silver jewellery were awarded to winners in each
category. Several men began a game with a leather ball. They used sticks to hit the
ball and one another’s legs. Competition grew loud and fierce. The ball, the size of a
man’s fist, flew hard and fast.
At last, the casks of beer were drained. One by one, the players left the game to
sit in small groups and talk about home and women and their dreams. Each man
speculated on his share of the profits, when they’d sell their catch of sheep and slaves
at the marketplace in Thulé.
By the dying embers of the fire, the captain filled his men’s cups with sweet mead.
He and his crew toasted further adventures and Valhöll, where all slain warriors
would live for all time, happily feasting with Odinn. All grew serious for a while.
Then Bjorn tossed the ball to Kyrri, the Quiet One. Kyrri tossed the ball to Captain
Hjálmar. This was a different game, played with a twist of humour. While Bjorn and
Kyrri covered their eyes, the other men began a song.
“Treasure hidden in the night, so safely out of view,
will not be gained without a fight. The search is up to you.”
Hjálmar tiptoed off to hide the ball. Much to the amusement of the onlookers,
he slipped it up the loudly snoring Finten’s tunic, then stood apart chuckling. On a
signal from the singing crew, Bjorn and Kyrri began the search from man to man, accompanied
by cheers and sighs of “koer, varmr, heitr, kaldr” and the Brothers joined
in with their own shouts of “close, warm, hot, cold.”
Finally, with whispered hints from various members, Bjorn snuck up on the apparently
sleeping monk. But as Bjorn reached under the priest’s tunic in search of
the hidden ball, Finten grabbed his wrist and bellowed, “Do you take me while I am
sleeping? You are desperate, my poor fellow, but I have a vow, and my vow applies to
women and to men. I cannot satisfy you asleep or awake. For shame.”

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

Savages and Beasts

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on to Father Jerome and having a smirk on her face she left.
Mary, who couldn’t stay longer either since her working hours
had started, gave Anton another deep kiss and left; but just before
she walked out of his door she turned and whispered to him, I
love you which made Anton’s day.
During the breakfast the children ate without any incident
and soon after Anton having shared his coffee with Mary,
left to go and check on Dylan. Anton by nature and internally
always recognized and related to the misery of the world in such
a strange way that he believed it was inescapable, therefore something
one has to survive by standing up to it and fighting and that
way he felt he could discover where his sense of justice was laid.
This was his feeling this morning driving to the hospital and a
stressful sensation overconsumed his mind. Truly, this was his
feeling when he arrived at the hospital and went to Dylan’s room,
though he didn’t find him there. The nurse supervising that section
informed him that most unfortunately Mr. Kelly had passed.
“When? What happened?” Anton questioned.
“The doctor will see you soon,” the nurse replied.
Soon, the doctor who was looking after Dylan appeared
and took Anton on the side. An aneurism, he said, an aortic aneurism,
something building inside Mr. Kelly for some time caused
a sudden rupture of his aorta. Cigarettes contributed to it, so did
unhealthy food habits and unhealthy lifestyle, the doctor opined.
They did all they could. He bled profusely, nothing could be
done; he bled to death in just five minutes.
Anton was stunned. He couldn’t utter a word. Didn’t know
what he could say. What one says in such situations? He left the
hospital. He drove to the Residential School not even paying attention
to anything as if dazed, absorbed in his thoughts. He walked
to Dylan’s room, his room now, and sat behind the small desk.

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

Jazz with Ella

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Elizabeth and the other a Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep. The two laughing women that accompanied Slava looked on with interest.
“Let me give you something in return.” A dignified Slava reciprocated with two artistically decorated stamps from his album, which he had brought along for this purpose. Lona, who was seated at the next table, apparently took her cue from Jennifer because she also rummaged in her purse for a gift, pulled out an American nickel, and began explaining the significance of the buffalo to a group of enraptured young men.
By the time the party broke up, some two hours later, the students and visitors had warmed to each other. Jennifer had learned something about their lives: their brothers and sisters, their schools, their music and their anxiety that they would somehow discredit themselves in front of their superiors on the day’s visit—this last concern added in a whisper. She glanced around. But their commissar was still engrossed in conversation with Chopyk and both Ivan Nikolaevich and Natasha had disappeared—presumably leaving the group in good hands. What a relief, Jennifer thought. Finally, Nadezdha brayed her goodbyes to Chopyk, while Lona exchanged addresses with at least four of the panting youths.
Just before he left the dining room, Slava turned to Jennifer. “Stay with us, Zhennifer, please. You can have a good life here. Stay with us.” She was stunned by the request and could only smile and shake her head. Good god, were any of the others asked to stay?
As she walked the trio down to the wharf and waved them goodbye, she did not notice that Paul had also walked his new friend, Vera, to the bus and was now standing behind a copse of rowan trees on the footpath. And if she had not been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she would have overheard Vera explain to Nadezhda that she would not take the bus back with the others, but instead walk to her father’s farm, only one kilometre down the road.
“On your way, then, Vera Fyodorovna,” the political commissar called out to her. “Get there before dark.”
“See you later, Nadezhda Ivanova,” she called out happily as she ran toward the rowan trees.

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

Water in the Wilderness

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excerpt

opened the door to the boys’ bedroom and crept across the floor to Bobby’s bed. Laying a hand on his shoulder, she whispered, “Bobby, get up.”
The boy came to, not with a start as she had feared, but slowly and calmly. Rachael couldn’t see his face well, but she could sense his smile as he yawned and stretched like a kitten.
“Bobby,” she said more urgently, “you have to get up. Hurry now.”
He stopped stretching, and peered at her in the dim light. “Why? I don’t want to get up.”
“Shh, be quiet. You have to get up ’cause we’re leaving.”
She sensed his bewilderment, and noted the beginning of a whine in his voice. “But it’s still night time; it’s still dark. Where we goin’, Rachael?”
She bent close to his ear, and whispered, “We’re going home – to find Daddy.”
Bobby needed no more coaxing. He reached out for his truck where it had been pushed aside during the night, then got out of bed and stood on wobbly legs.
Rachael groped in the darkness for his clothes, then gently but forcibly pushed him out the door into the hallway. In the kitchen she helped him dress, grabbed her doll and the bag of food, and ushered Bobby into the small utility room where she rummaged around until she found both of his high boots from amongst the pile on the floor. Finding her own boots, she pulled them on, then helped Bobby into his coat and shoved a woolen cap on his head. Next, she shrugged into her coat, stuffed the oranges into the pockets, and pulled a toque over her tousled hair.
She glanced around quickly. They were ready to go. Wait, they needed mittens. A few precious moments were spent sorting out two pairs from the mitten pile. Then she opened the door and pushed Bobby out ahead of her. The stinging cold hit Rachael in the face and she saw Bobby cringe and hunch his shoulders. She really should button his jacket up higher but she couldn’t take a chance on him making a sound until they had made it around the house and away from the bedroom windows. Lifting a finger to her lips when he looked up at …

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