Tag: short-story

The Circle

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

have to do now is carry on one day at a time. I’m sure we’ll manage. If you are
concerned about money, don’t worry, we’ll find our way.”
“I don’t worry about money, mother—not at all. I’m just trying to see life
without Dad from now on. It will be hard to adjust.”
“We’ll manage, you’ll see. Just be careful and take care of yourself. Hakim
appears to be a very good man and I know he’s to come into a lot of money. Your
father told me all about it.”
“Why did Dad look into Hakim’s life, Mom?”
“Well, honey, that was your father.”
Later at around six, Hakim tells Jennifer he wants to go see how his uncle is.
The limo will take him to the Sheraton Hotel and from there, when he’s done
with Ibrahim, the driver will drive him to his apartment. Cathy gets up also and
says goodnight to Emily.
“Don’t forget to call anytime, remember?”
Helena also says goodnight and leaves.
“I’d like to go with Hakim, Mom. Are you going to be alright?”
“I’ll be just fine, honey. Go, I’ll be just fine. Talal may stay for a while to keep
me company. You just go.”
Hakim is ready to go, when Talal whispers in his ear, “I’ll stay for a while to
keep Emily company, okay?”
“Are you going to be okay?” Hakim asks, looking at Talal.
“We’ll be just fine. You guys go and see Ibrahim. Say hi to him for me.”
They walk out to the limo and Rassan sits in the front with the driver and
Hakim with Jennifer sit in the back. Fifteen minutes later they arrive at the
Sheraton. They find Ibrahim in his suite happy because he’s out of the clinic and
because the chemotherapy hasn’t given him any negative side-effects, so far.
“Hello, my uncle, how are you?”
“I’m fine, my dear boy. What is this about Jennifer’s dad?”
“He is dead, sir. The police are doing their work now; we’ll hear from the
medical examiner in the next little while,” Jennifer says.
“Oh, my dear, oh, I’m so sorry,” he opens his arms as if ready to hug Jennifer.
She takes the opportunity and falls into his arms. Ibrahim is a bit surprised by
this; however, he knows that this is customary for North Americans, and he hugs
the young woman. Hakim smiles. His uncle is very fond of Jennifer, and that
pleases him a lot.
Ibrahim is already prepared for his return home and Rassan is making the
flight arrangements for as early as tomorrow. Mara will be most happy to have
him home with her.

https://libroslibertad.com/2016/11/09/the-circle-a-novel-by-manolis/

Arrows

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excerpt

Gregorio, mounted on Babieca, joined half a dozen riders who
were pursuing the runaways. Several of the riders were herding the
natives with the points of their spears. There were older men among
the natives, but no warriors.
In the distance, Gregorio chased a young woman who refused to
stop. He took his foot out of the stirrup and landed a kick on her back
that sent her flying. She fell head over heels in the tall grass. When I
saw Gregorio leap off Babieca and throw himself upon the girl, my
legs began moving before I had time to think.
I could see Gregorio’s back in the tall grass and I feared he would
rape her. Beneath him, the girl shrieked. From a distance, I could not
see her face. Losada had explicitly forbidden any harm to the
natives, as the king had forbidden their enslavement, apparently to
the same effect.
I could see them struggling. I called him again and again, still
forty long paces away. He fumbled at his breeches, while keeping
her down one-handed, and pushed against her. Again she shrieked.
Damn his soul. He was not much better than Pánfilo. I came from
behind and kicked him in the ribs, which thudded like a broken
drum. I tumbled over him. He fell on his side. I scrambled away and
got a glimpse of his disgusting member besmeared with blood.
Gregorio stood up, furious, and grabbed a handful of her hair. He
raised her by the hair, and I beheld her face as she threw up her
hands, her eyes round with terror. A dead weight sank inside me.
Horror, mixed with a shameful joy, gave way to a surge of wrath as I
took in what had happened. It was the girl by the river, the girl with
eyes like the setting sun.
Something moved in the grass at her feet, something with
grey-brown fur. The monkey. My hands curled into fists. As I fought
the urge to punish Gregorio, the monkey clambered up his side and
bit him on the ear.
With a swift motion, Gregorio let go of the girl and grabbed the
monkey by the feet. He swung it against the trunk of a massive
rubber tree as it howled and whined, eyes unfocused but terrified.

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

The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

Two doors opened off this part of the landing. One led to Caitlin’s room. The other had led to Nora’s room, but Nora was married now and had a home of her own in the village. Caitlin and Nora, night and day, his sisters in all but blood.
The priest turned sharply to the right and followed the landing alongside the stairwell to the front of the house. The old, brown wood of a large cupboard glowed in the lamplight. The door of the bedroom to the right of the cupboard stood half-open, and heavy, catarrhal breathing rasped in the dark interior.
Old Finn has feasted well and sleeps like a king, thought the tired priest. Better not disturb him.
The priest turned to the door of the bedroom to the left of the cupboard. His old room. The room in which he had lived as a boy, laboured over his books with the patient Caitlin, grew to be a man, a young, raw man, dedicated to God. Was the room the same as when he had left it? Yes, it would be. Nothing ever changed here. Tonight, or what was left of the night, he would sleep again in the old iron bed with the patchwork quilt. Nostalgic remembrance pierced the priest’s heart. The blood drained out into his belly and down into his loins. The hot blood chilled and made him shiver. The hair rose on the nape of his neck.
Seven years ago last September. Seven momentous years. Seven long strides from aspiring youth to zealous priest.
He turned the handle, and the door opened without a sound. He stepped inside, pushed the door shut behind him, and walked with silent tread across the polished wooden floor to the bed. He set the lamp down on the dresser.
“Caitlin,” he said in involuntary surprise.
She lay in a cloud of eiderdown. Gleaming even in the dark, her black hair trailed across the pillow, across the shoulder of her green-flowered nightgown. Her arm lay outside the shiny green covers. The priest leaned forward and touched the cool back of her hand. The body turned. The black cirrus stirred on the pillow.
Caitlin, the priest thought. My God, what a beautiful woman you are.
He had come unwittingly to the wrong room. Caitlin had given up her own old room and moved in here for some reason. Yet little beyond the bedclothes had changed from the way he remembered it. Caitlin had changed, though. She looked more mature and even more beautiful. Having seen her, he felt he had to talk to her.
“Caitlin,” he whispered.

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

Savages and Beasts

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excerpt

“Oh, no,” she said and covered her mouth with her free hand.
Anton pulled her close to his body and held her tightly
when at that moment the laundry door was opened and Sister
Gladys made her appearance saying,
“Oh my, oh my…what have we here, lovebirds?”
Anton let go of Mary who pulled a little away, “it’s not
what it looks, we were talking of Mr. Kelly,” Mary said to Gladys.
“Oh, don’t mind me, sweet Mary and you Mr. Jonas, your
secret, or whatever it is you two have, is safe with me…only,” she
left her phrase unfinished.
“What do you mean, Sister Gladys?” Mary asked.
“Only one thing for you, sweet secretary…shut your door
from now on don’t let anyone come in…not anyone, ok?”
Mary lowered her head as Anton looked at her, dumbfounded,
and though without her saying it a whisper came out of
her lips, “I never invited anyone, nor have I ever provoked anyone.”
“You could be stronger,” Sister Gladys insisted.
“I know,” Mary admitted and her head was lowered even
more than before.
“Okay then, what of Mr. Kelly? What should I report to
Father Jerome?”
Anton told her in a few sentences the news about Dylan
after which Sister Gladys left them. Mary still stood away from
Anton with her lowered head and tears coming down her eyes.
Anton neared her, took her hand again, raised her head with his
other hand and kissed her lips softly.
“Don’t be afraid, don’t be concerned, let it be, Mary, let
it be,” he whispered and hugged her tightly. Time passed like a
flood of sunlight flashing on them, light was there, at the end of
the tunnel Mary and Anton had passed, and now they were out
in the open, out in the beautiful summer August day.

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

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

That idea began to grow within him. He wanted to try being Montreal Paul. Maybe it wasn’t too late. In Canada, he could also study Russian, he thought. By that time it was 1963—the Berlin Wall had been constructed two years earlier, and the fear of Communists had driven many Russian speakers to deny their heritage. Yvonne’s home, on the other hand, had become a safe haven for Russian emigres, a place where they could speak freely, down brandy, and discourse on Russian art without being accused of being bolsheviks.
“Surely this is the time to be learning the language of our enemies—not being afraid of it,” he announced to Yvonne, with the earnestness of a 17-year-old. Although he truly believed his own words, he was also restless. He wanted to get out on his own and see Canada again so he kept at this theme as a possible reason for why he must attend university there. It worked. Yvonne had put aside a trust fund for his university studies, and she turned it over to him on his eighteenth birthday. At the same time she also told him that she would leave the bulk of her estate to him on her death.
He was selected for the University of Vancouver, on the west coast of Canada, far from Montreal but not so much of a culture shock for a kid raised in California. For seven years, he lived in Vancouver and was convinced that the Russian language department was all he wanted. He was torn from his academic shell by the news that grandmother Yvonne had died suddenly of a heart attack. At age 75, she had taken a new young lover who, it was whispered at the memorial service, had exhausted her. The gossip was malicious, Paul thought, but if only half of it were true, he couldn’t help but admire Yvonne’s love of life and her ability to take emotional risks even into her seventies.
Why couldn’t he find a woman who exhausted him? Most of the women he met were not serious students so there was no meaningful conversation. They knew how to have a good time, kind of like the old days at Shakey’s Pizza, and he badly wanted to bed one of them—it didn’t matter which one—but it seemed dishonest because he knew it was purely to alleviate his own carnal desires.
Now, on this warm summer evening in the heart of the Soviet Union, some latent urge was manifesting itself. Unscholarly thoughts filled his mind: ice cold beer in the university pub, a woman’s browned skin in a white summer top. Sensual things, hands-on things. Music moved him.

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

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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excerpt

to the tiny chapel and monks’ refectory above the monastery ruins. Finten, with
the girth but not the disposition of a jolly monk, puffed and panted to keep up
with the abbot.
Shortly after sunrise, Father Finten hurried down to the beach, his tan cassock of
sheep’s wool blowing above his knees. A shock of unruly reddish-yellow hair blew
from behind the stubble of his shaved St. John’s tonsure, and his scraggly beard
groped about his face like strands of frayed hemp.
Unless I can get these dawdling Brothers out to sea before ebb tide, we’ll spend
another day and night on this rock-strewn island. Father Finten cupped his mouth
to shout above the wind. “Brothers, Brothers. Hurry. We must be away.”
Brother Lorcan, a midget of a lad, stood high on the cliff as a lookout above the
harbour. Gazing out to sea, he seemed not to hear.
Come on, Brother Lorcan. Dear Lord, can he not hear me? … Ring the bell. Lord.
No. We must go silently. Father Finten mumbled under his breath. Finten was twenty-
six, much younger than many priests of the order, but older than the teenaged
Brothers he travelled with.
A shrieking pair of gulls swooped down to squabble over a dead crab at the water
line. More gulls arrived and soon there was a battle royal.
Finten covered his ears. Screams of terror from a terrible time seized his mind.
Twenty years earlier, his mother and three older sisters had been torn apart by Viking
monsters. He had crawled beneath a pile of kitchen rags, afraid to breathe. When he
peeked out at the blood spattered walls, his baby sister Ossia ‘Little Deer’ hung over
the shoulder of a Norseman. Finten’s elder brother Senan rushed in to tackle six
huge men. As Senan was brutally knocked out, a hairy hand seized Finten by the hair
and pulled him from his hiding place.
Brother Ailan, the cook, trying to carry too much at once, pulled Finten back to
the present. The bucket Ailan dropped splashed water onto the path as it rolled several
yards to crash against a large rock. Father Finten shook his head and muttered
through tears “Clumsy oaf”.
Finten still felt the whips, hunger, and pain. In his mind, he saw Senan, chained to
a bench and pulling on the big oar, while he, far too young to row, carried the water
bucket from slave to slave. The filled pail was heavy. Water slopped over the edge.
From somewhere above he felt a slap and a kick, then more slaps, kicks, and laughter,
as the pail slipped from his grasp and rattled, empty, down the sloping deck.
A young Brother hurried down the path carrying sleeping gear and a basket of
fresh-baked bread. He stopped and balanced his load to pick up the empty water
bucket, which he handed to the smiling Brother Ailan. “Are you not awake yet,
Brother? Did you not have a good night?”
“Thank you, Brother Rordan. I slept.”
Finten remembered the countless terrible nights when he learned to dread the
dark. Norsemen did unspeakable things to boy slaves in the dark.
Brother Rordan paused as he passed the troubled priest. “Are you all right, Father?”
“Thank you, Brother. Get on with you now.”
Finten’s rebellious brother, Senan, had been torn from him and sold to Danelaw
pig farmers.

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

Water in the Wilderness

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excerpt

“He’s making a snowman with Ronald and Freddy out back,” Rachael said. “I wanted to go outside, too, but I have work to do.”
Tyne frowned. “What kind of work?”
Rachael started to answer but Lyssa interrupted in a loud voice. “Nothing much, she’s just sayin’ that. Mom gets her to tidy the kitchen, and she thinks she’s working hard.”
For a moment Rachael stared at her cousin, then she turned away. “Goodbye, Aunt … Mrs. Cresswell. Thanks for bringing the presents.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
Tyne said hasty goodbyes to the two Harrison girls, then hurried outside before they could see her tears. Wiping her eyes on a tissue, she picked her way through the snow to the backyard where she could hear excited young voices and peals of laughter. At the corner of the house she stopped and watched. Bobby was rolling a ball of snow along the ground as it grew larger, while Ronald and Freddy lifted another ball onto the rounded base of the proposed snowman.
“Whoa, stop Bobby,” Ronald called, “or his head will be bigger than his bottom.”
Bobby stopped rolling, plopped himself down in the snow and giggled. “That’s funny, Ronnie. Nobody has a bigger head than a bottom.”
Ronnie laughed. “You would if I rolled your head in the snow.”
Bobby giggled again, obviously enjoying his cousin’s teasing. But when Tyne stepped forward out of the shadows, his laughter stopped abruptly and he scrambled to his feet. “Auntie Tyne,” he squealed, launching himself at her.
She caught him in a bear hug and lifted him off the ground. “Bobby, honey, how are you? It’s so good to see you.”
He wiggled out of her arms far enough to look into her face. “Have you come to take me home? Is Uncle Morley here? Can we go see the animals now?”
With a tug at her heart Tyne realized that by home he meant the farm, not his father’s house in town. How could she say no and watch the smile disappear from that sweet face?
“Bobby,” she said gently, lowering him to the ground…

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

Missa Bestialis

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The World I Have Arrived From
from dusk to dawn
from dawn to dusk
the same thing I’ve heard on all radio stations
I could no longer stop the device
to interrupt myself I could not do it –
my angry eyes flash
I look around
at the slattern world where
such as my ancestors’ sins
humbly I’ve tried to feel at home
hatred was boiling within me:
in tin pots pooped diapers
trapped the boar thrust its fangs
in its own body
sympathetic and in amazement
speechless
in pubs beautiful boar trophies
stared at me forcing me
that again through their eyes
I look at myself
his fiery sword in paradise
obliged me in the heat of the hangover
he thought of the taste of the apple
what else could be more delicious
than drained pressed guaranteed
lower prices
and only the spoiled God knows
a sickened face and which sin
they caught the fly webbed in honey
the chill of terror
accompanied me out of
the mazy ruin of upsets
where even the dead-end streets have exits
until I struggled with my
unknotted shoelaces
and the last guest bid farewell
slurping the last drop of alcohol off huckleberries
from glasses filthy with fingerprints
I hated them
that with all my might against the wall
I hit my head
I abandoned my body weakened of pain
I ran off and
once more I sat on the cliff tilted toward the valley
I waited
for the phantom to come closer but I couldn’t see it
magnificent the sunset
on the canvas of my sights and mane’s aura
dragging silky doilies
came toward me and
with my eyes goggling
I stared but I could not discern its features
although familiar
I’ve tried to remember and
more impatiently I was waiting
for the date
I stood up
then sat down
I rubbed my hands
and bit my lips
and when the vivid red jelly of the dusk
came closer to me
it sank on the dark falling curtain
only onesmiling star coldly shone
I shivered in the thin coat
and to rest I receded
in fact I converted myself
although peace was not eager to settle
but unleashed monsters
that greeted us
emerging from the unfathomable
mist of the matter and
I had already run among houses
under the heavy silence
and I tried to scream
over sleepy towns
but I’d forgotten the words
that in such occasions were appropriate
I yelped like a newborn puppy
tardy passers-by
eyed me with compassion
hurriedly going before me
to their homes or someone else’s
the night turned colder
I grabbed my Chinese agenda
I searched a familiar name
a number I could dial
strangers were moving at the other
end of the line ( ) the laugh of nothingness
God frowning looked at me
from the menacing tower
high above me He yelped
that even the vagabond cats hissed
their tails between their legs
jumped and disappeared in their dark
nooks and the world I have arrived from
after closing time, the world
I searched for was
a place where ________

The Circle

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excerpt

“Matthew,” she yells, but hears no answer.
She walks upstairs to their bedroom. Everything is the way she left it before
going out. She goes toward the bathroom and before entering, sees his body
through the half-opened door.
“Oh, my God!” she yells to herself. “Oh my God, Matthew…” She leans
against the door frame of the bathroom. “Oh, my God, you found the courage for
that!” It seems as if she’s waiting for an answer from her dead husband.
She lets her body slide down along the door frame to the floor of the bathroom,
and sits staring at him. All the clocks of the world suddenly stop, and Emily
Roberts exists in a timeless state, in a condition of self-absorption and
contemplation, as if amid the petals of a diaphanous flower, or amid the thorns of
a crown an invisible hand has placed on top of her head, and her blood begins to
trickle down her forehead like in a crucifixion. Then suddenly, time strikes loudly
on her left tympanum and pierces her head to the right, making her blink as if
trying to find consolation among the myriad bad thoughts flooding her mind. The
world doesn’t have any consolation for Emily Roberts, not now, not at this
moment, not today. The world has turned into a new purgatory and Emily floats
like a masked misery searching for the proper face. She feels an inexplicable
numbness; not hatred anymore, not anger, not joy—but a feeling of immense
freedom from the chain she has dragged for such a long time. She feels no pain, but
what is it she feels? Is she filled with fear or is she light as a feather, like a free
butterfly flitting from one flower to the other? Time strikes again as if hitting a
loud cymbal and brings her back to this world where she has things to do. She
needs to call Jennifer; she needs to call the police; perhaps she has to call Bevan;
and yes, she needs to call Talal. Oh, God, how she needs to call him now.
She runs downstairs and picks up the phone.
She dials Talal’s number first.
He answers, “hi, sweetheart, what’s up?”
“Matthew. Matthew is dead.”
“What? How? Are you okay? I’m coming right over. Stay calm, I’ll be right
there.”
She dials Jennifer’s cell number.
Jennifer answers, “hi mom, how are you?”
“Sweetheart, it’s your dad. Come home, please. Your dad is dead.”
Jennifer is with Hakim in Ibrahim’s hotel room. They have helped him from the
clinic to his suite at the Sheraton. She’s flabbergasted hearing about her dad being
dead. She says aloud, “What happened? How? I’m coming home, right now.”
Hakim, who has overheard, says, “What happened? Is everything alright?”
“No honey, I have to go home, right now, please. My dad is dead.”

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

Arrows

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excerpt

Worry over everybody’s salvation overwhelmed me. At the
moment, my own salvation seemed too big a task. I relaxed in the
current and let my body drift as I focused on an old Christmas
anthem. Humming, I sunk my head until only my face broke the
surface, and relished in the gurgling of the water below and the
expanse of mottled sky above framed by brilliant green trees.
Some time later, I pulled myself toward shore, with the water
under my chin. There was no doubt in my mind where I had left my
clothes, but they were not there.
A small monkey darted from one bush to another with my frock
trailing behind him. I scrambled out of the water and picked up the
rosary where I had left it hanging from a branch. I found my
undergarments and shoulder cape muddied near the bushes. I put
on my pants, and, just as I tied the laces and started off in pursuit, a
rustle in the bushes cut me short. I was not at all prepared for such
unadorned beauty.
It was a young woman. Her large eyes reminded me of the sun
drowning in the sea, the moment of its most striking beauty. They
glittered, and I could see the light of her gaze sparkling on the ocean
between us. Her giggle broke the spell; two dimples appeared at the
corners of her mouth. Her teeth were even and white, like pearls.
She offered me my frock and I remembered I was almost naked.
The monkey ran out of the bushes and climbed up her arm,
perching on her shoulder. She was so fulfilling to look at, I almost
resented the monkey’s familiarity.Atiara of yellow flowers adorned
the head of that wild Aphrodite; her long hair was like braided
streams rushing down chocolate-capped mountains.
A stream of words tinkled from the sweetest smile. She offered
me my frock, and the movement of her arm tore my eyes from her
face. She pinched her nose and shook her head, but drifted toward
me nonetheless.
I recovered my frock and balled it up like a buckler, for she was
now close enough for the warmth of her breath to cause the hairs of
my nape to stand up on end. I stiffened as her hands came up to my
face. She kept on talking. I listened to the inflections of her girlish

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