Tag: short-story

Poodie James

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excerpt

He tried to raise up, but they jerked him backward down the
step and onto the ground. The clubbing began. He wrapped his
arms around his head and tucked into a ball.Two of them straightened
his body by pulling his hands and feet while the biggest man
alternated kicks with blows from a length of wood. The clubs and
boots battered his arms and legs, his torso, his shoulders. The pain
was like fire on his skin. The ache went to the center of his bones.
They let him go, then knocked him off his feet when he got up,
laughing at his contortions when he twisted and thrashed to evade
their clubs.Theywere killing him, he thought.Hewas going to die.
Suddenly, the big man was on his back and Engine Fred was on
top of him with a forearm bearing down on his windpipe. Poodie
sat up and saw the other two running down the lane. His head
throbbed. Three more hobos came down along the path from the
jungle. The man on the ground got an arm free, knocked Engine
Fred off balance and was up and running away. He disappeared
into the orchard, headed toward the river. Two of the hobos ran
after him, but came back shaking their heads. It all happened in the
space of a few minutes. The Thorps slept through it, but Engine
Fred told Poodie that he heard a scream. Poodie didn’t know that
he was capable of screaming.
Dan Thorp called the police the next morning. By then, the
hobos had hopped a freight. Poodie could not identify the thugs.
The bruises on his face and body took weeks to heal. Thorp put a
lock on the cabin door. The attack was the worst thing that had
happened to Poodie since his mother died. He lived it over in his
dreams night after night for months. Years later, he still awakened
in fear that the men would come back.
Alice Moore looked up to see Poodie James’s face floating just
above surface of the checkout desk, a stack of books next to it. She
had never seen that face without a smile. She looked at the books;
Howard Carter’s The Discovery of the Tomb of Tutankhamen, three
books about whales, a collection of de Maupassant stories.

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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excerpt

“Why?”
“A painting that is given is all but worthless. It’ll be up in the attic or
down in the basement before you know it. A painting must always be
well paid for and it will be up above the mantel quicker than you can
snap your fingers – and it will stay there. And another thing you need to
know – you never give wealth a gift. It’s one of the ‘middle classes’ really
bad habits.”
When Ken walked into the gallery in Kelowna, Jack Hamilton took
him into the back office and handed him an envelope. “I see you keep
very fancy company,” he said.
Ken tore it open. The premier had written that he would be delighted
to visit the gallery the next morning at eight.
At seven-fifty, Jack staggered down the steps from the apartment above
the gallery, in his rumpled pyjamas, unlocked the front door to let Ken
in, and shuffled back up the stairs. At eight sharp, a chauffeur driven car
pulled up, and Bennett stepped out. He gave Ken a hearty handshake, sat
down at a small table near the front of the gallery and asked to hear stories
of the Arctic. “I thought you were just going up there for a month or
two, but you seem to have gotten yourself lost up there.”
“In a way, I did,” Ken replied. “It’s a long story.”
“I want to hear it.”
He told the Premier about his adventures and the atrocious conditions
the people lived with. He talked about the famine and the disease, and the
autocratic rule of the church, the RCMP, and the Hudson’s Bay Company.
When he finished, he asked if there was anything the Premier could do to
help the people up there.
Bennett stood. “Let’s see your paintings,” he said.
They walked through the gallery.
“What do the red dots signify?” Bennett asked.
“It means they’re sold.”
“It looks like they’re all sold.”
“Yes, they are.”
“You must be doing very well.”
“Yes I am – I’m very lucky.”
“I’d say there’s more than luck involved. I know nothing about art but
I do like what you’re doing, especially that one,” pointing to a landscape
of rolling grasslands. “I’d be interested in owning that one.”
“I’m sorry,” Ken said. “I’m afraid the entire exhibit was sold before it
got here.”
He led him into the back office where three paintings leaned against
the wall. “These are not sold,” he said.
Bennett pointed to one of the high plateau on the Douglas Lake Ranch.
“I like that one. Where is that?”

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

He Rode Tall

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excerpt

Trying to remember everything that Tanya had taught him
about reining in the last two months, Joel quietly walked the big
buckskin into the arena and took his position just outside of the
end gate. After nodding to the judge, he began his run into the
show pen. He could not remember feeling so nervous, but he
knew that he couldn’t let that get in his way. He needed to focus
on everything that Tanya had taught him. Sure, he wasn’t on a
100,000-dollar horse and, sure, he wasn’t accompanied by his
own cheering section, but he had a good horse and had worked
hard to learn everything he could. He had put a lot of miles on the
buckskin, not only in the training arena, but also out in the
wide-open spaces, and if anyone was going to get a great performance
out of this horse, Joel knew that would be him. Besides, if
they were going to take full advantage of the quality breeding in
their horses, it would sure help to get a few nice wins on the
three-year-olds—the buckskin and the palomino had shown
them enough to earn the right to be there.
Leaving these thoughts behind, Joel ran the buckskin through
the gate and accelerated into the middle of the arena. With an
incredible blast of raw acceleration and a long run down, the
buckskin executed an awesome sliding stop that went on so far
that it looked like the horse was gliding on Teflon. Once the
buckskin came to a stop, Joel reined the horse to the left, ran him
back down the arena, and executed another excellent sliding
stop, which hurled dirt into the faces of the crowd standing at the
fence. Joel rolled the horse back to the right, quickly moving him
at a gallop past center, and then cued him to stop. This third sliding
stop was immediately followed by a quick reverse to center
with the horse backing effortlessly.
Joel and the buckskin had everyone’s attention—the buzz of
the crowd had quieted and all eyes focused on the horse and rider.
At the center of the arena, Joel waited for a few seconds to allow
the buckskin to rest and Joel to calm himself. Then, with a gentle
shift of the reins, Joel asked for the gelding to spin. With a burst of
energy, the buckskin executed four spins to the right

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

Swamped

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excerpt

He dialed Rebecca’s number first. Her pleasant voice delighted
him when she answered. It was a voice Eteo likened to a mixture of
honey and birdsong, both of which he loved.
“Would you be able to drop by for a few minutes, Eteo?” she
asked. “The annual report for Redama Resources is ready. Come and
have a look at it, and let’s make sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”
Rebecca always consulted him before she filed reports on
Redama with the regulators and other authorities. Eteo had brought
this file to her and she regarded him as the guiding force behind the
company, whose directors, two engineers with little financial background
between them, didn’t know much about these filings. Eteo
had seen many over the years and knew how to peruse them quickly.
“I could come anytime, Rebecca. How is your own schedule?”
“I’m free for the next hour. Could you come over now?”
As usual Eteo had hardly anything to do by this point in his day.
He would have left in half an hour anyway, so he confirmed that he
would walk over soon. It was only two blocks down to the 1177 West
Hastings tower and a quick elevator ride up to the 21st floor where
the Horton and Musgrave offices were located.
Ten minutes later, after telling Helena where he was going and
that he would not be back that day, he was sitting at Horton and Musgrave’s
reception. He only had to wait a minute before Rebecca appeared
and extended her hand, which Eteo squeezed warmly and
held perhaps a moment longer than would have been customary between
business colleagues. Rebecca told the receptionist to hold her
calls and took Eteo to her office. He sat down opposite her and she
handed over the file. It took Eteo only a couple of minutes to be satisfied
that everything that needed to be said was there. When he
handed the papers back he noticed that Rebecca’s hand felt hot and
sweaty, and when he got up to leave, she gave him her hand again.
He pulled her closer and found no resistance at all. Instead Rebecca
almost fell into his arms and returned his deep kiss with equal passion.
Her breathing became fast and excited and Eteo felt his groin’s
hot desire for the body of this attractive young lawyer, who was exploring
his mouth with her tongue and obviously eager for more and
more of him. His hands ran down her delicate body to her buttocks,

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

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

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Fellow Traveller in Melancholy
As she realized how much my tragic love for her overtook my heart, she invited me, among the ruins of the London Tower, for a cup of tea from the same hands, named by the killers of her lovers, depending on the season, sometimes “shovels”, other times “shiners”. She accompanied her offer with the only word she had kept inside her for years like something precious, she said, more than her life, like a secret gift of her breasts in the tempest of my lust. I raised my eyes and looked, as an unexpected shiver shook my body: she was naked before the year’s fountain, the fans of a nighty fire sprouted out of her belly and the wall was splattered with blood. I felt that the famous, “better tomorrow” had arrived, was a present reality. It was obvious that everything from the past was already erased, the nightmare of the tropics and the harbour had already vanished. I was a gigantic red eagle that saw, from a young age, the closing eyes of the opposite sun. She was the big, dark forest spread among the chandeliers, the chest and the big hallway mirror used for official palace events. Her thought was crown, her glance renaissance, her glance a beak. Her name was Rodamne. She had lived in faraway lands from where she had come to meet me. I told her I freaked out, thinking we hadn’t met earlier. How could she have, via the measure of the beautiful woman she was, replaced her eyes with two green Egyptian scarabs and she didn’t see me when I passed her? She had probably cut her long hair short so that the words that escaped from my mouth were one cathedral church built, for the only purpose of executing at the site and a specific moment, the unknown archbishop, and seller of small items, from an irregular Mexican squad. She didn’t talk, she didn’t stir, she only took in her embrace the flowers that decorated the room and scattered them in the fresh ravines, in orchards with the delayed hunter, at the foothills of the Memories Mountains. The candles burned joyously on the graceful bronze candelabras and the song she sang teary-eyed had the same meaning with the phrase “time for Shaba” in the Hebrew neighbourhoods of Thessaly cities.

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

Still Waters

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excerpt

In the nursery, Tyne watched as Miss Pomeroy, the supervising
nurse, cleansed the baby’s tender skin with cotton soaked in mineral
oil. Then she combed the dark mass of hair into a cock’s comb on
top of the rounded head. There was little moulding of the skull because
Jeannette had had a fairly rapid labour, especially during the
last stages. Tyne had received permission to come into the nursery
while the baby was being admitted, but she was surprised when the
supervisor turned to her and told her she may diaper and dress her
little namesake.
“And then,” said Miss Pomeroy, “Daddy’s waiting at the window.
Would you like to show him his daughter?”
Tyne carried her charge to the viewing window and smiled at a
beaming Guy. His eyes were fixed firmly on his daughter, the look
on his face a mixture of amazement and pride. Finally, he looked up
and, realizing for the first time who held his child, his eyes widened
and he grinned broadly. Then he waggled his fingers at the sleeping
baby, and reluctantly turned away.
Tyne carried the infant to her waiting bassinette and laid her in it
carefully. She was pulling the cover up when a voice behind her said,
“Don’t cover it yet. I’d like to examine it before I go.”
Tyne swung around, and came face to face with Bryce Baldwin.
She felt the blood drain from her head, then return in a rush. Her
pulse raced. He gave her an appraising look, then turned his attention
to the baby. As he unwrapped the child, he spoke to Tyne without
looking at her.
“So, Miss Milligan, I understand you are now a full-fledged nurse.
Was this your last day?”
Tyne took a deep breath. “Yes, it was. Too bad Carol Ann Shaughnessy
couldn’t have had the same privilege. This should have been
her last day as well.”
Tyne saw him tense. After a moment he said, “Where is Miss
Shaughnessy? I haven’t seen her for a while.”
“Oh? You haven’t heard then?” Tyne used her sweetest tone.
Dr. Baldwin turned to look at her. His face had paled. “Heard what?”
Tyne smiled, in no hurry to answer. Doesn’t he know she aborted?
Does he still think she’s having the baby? Does he think she had to leave

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

The Circle

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excerpt

incinerated bodies, and pain. Then she remembers the body of a man next to
hers and she is being violated. Her mind, suddenly feels as if it is exploding when
she realizes what had really happened.
She turns to Matthew and says, “So, you have come to enjoy necrophilia
these days, Matthew Roberts. You must be really desperate. You obviously
couldn’t wait until morning.”
He turns looking at her with a smile.
“You looked so attractive, sweetheart, I couldn’t resist.”
Suddenly the room becomes dark and an explosive anger overtakes her
whole body; her eyes darken and her heart accelerates in a frenetic rhythm as if to
break through her chest and run away, burning everything in its path.
“Of course, you couldn’t resist using your weekend whore. That’s what you
always do, five minutes for your pleasure; five minutes is always enough for you
to find your manhood at its peak. The thought of how you view lovemaking
makes me puke,” she yells.
He’s flabbergasted by her outburst; he has never seen his Emily in this state of
mind. This is not his Emily, the quiet calm person he has known all those years.
She screams from the depths of her larynx and her voice carries such disgust,
such pain, such nausea that his eyes and mouth open wide and he doesn’t know
what to do or say. Suddenly, he interrupts her.
“What is it, sweetheart? Why all this commotion?”
“Don’t sweetheart me! Don’t you ever dare sweetheart me again, Matthew
Roberts. I’ve had enough of that. I have had enough of that, do you hear me? I’m
not your sweetheart or your weekend whore, anymore!”
He ducks down as if expecting her to throw something. He has never seen her
this way. He becomes apologetic.
“What would you like me to do, Emily?”
But her anger is so fierce and unappeased that she can no longer think logically.
She yells out her frustration and pain, “When you come to the point of violating me
when I’m asleep, I don’t know what you want me to say, Matthew. You are
despicable! You make me sick! Yes, my God, how you make me sick! I don’t even
want to look at you anymore.Why the hell do I put up with your crap all the time?
For the stupid salary you earn; for the stupid agency you work for; for the stupid life
you and I lead? It makes me sick to think of all that. Yes, Matthew Roberts, it makes
me sick! You make me sick. I want you out of here. Are you listening to me? I want
you out of here, out of my life! I’m not your weekend whore, anymore. Go, go to
your stupid hotel where you spend every day of the week. You may as well spend
your weekends there. Why did you come here? For your five-minute fuck?” The
tears course down her cheeks, and she wonders why she has not revolted before?

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

Poodie James

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excerpt

“Sam, you’re smart enough. You wouldn’t work if your life
depended on it. You been a proper stiff all your miserable life?”
“Only since I was old enough to leave home fifty years ago.
‘Bout you?”
“Oh,” Engine Fred said as he uncapped one of the pints, “I had a
job, a wife, kids, a house, dogs, even a car. They had me, really. I
left all that behind. I had to get out from under.”
“Think you’ll ever go back to it?’
“If I did, it wouldn’t be there.”
Poodie watched, intent on the conversation, marveling that
these men rode freight trains, lived in the open, begged for food,
did odd jobs, wanted no home, and he had found a home. Engine
Fred offered him whiskey out of his tin cup.
“Just a sip, see how you like it.”
Engine Fred and Old Sam laughed at Poodie’s grimace and the
tears in his eyes.
“You’ll get used to it,” Old Sam said, peering at Poodie’s face.
Poodie shook his head and made low sounds. He got out his pad
and pencil, wrote, tore off the sheet and handed it to the old man.
Old Sam studied it, shrugged and passed the note to Engine Fred.
“What’s it say, Engine?”
“It says, ‘No more of that.’ See, Sam, I told you he was smart.”
Two nights later, Poodie made his way up to the jungle carrying a
bag of apples. As he came around the big boulder at the path’s final
turn, he saw Old Sam cowering near the bonfire, trying to shield
his head from the blows of a big man in black clothing wielding a
club, a cloth tied over his nose and mouth, his hat pulled low. Sam
twisted, arched his back, tried to tuck his chin into his chest. The
man kicked at Sam’s groin and aimed the club at his ribs, chest and
face. Poodie dropped the apples and stood frozen. The man suspended
his club in mid-strike and looked at Poodie. All that
Poodie could see of his face was eyes reflecting the firelight. The
attacker started toward him, then turned and ran toward the tracks.
Poodie rushed to Sam. The old man’s neck was bloody.

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

Arrows

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excerpt

Tell him I promise his village won’t be damaged, nor his
fields touched. Tell him.”
Losada dismounted and the others followed suit, but he stopped
them with a gesture of his hand. “Infante, Ávila, Galeas,
Maldonado, Pedro and Rodrigo Ponce, Gregorio de la Parra, with
me. Ten harquebusiers and ten pikemen, come forward as well.
Carlos.”
He snapped his fingers, then turned to me. “Friar Salvador, if you
please, come with me. The rest of you, stay where you are, don’t let
your guard down. It wouldn’t be the first time they welcome and
then betray and kill. Keep an eye on your surroundings. At the first
sign of trouble, Juan Suárez, sound the charge. All of you! Diego de
Paradas will command in my absence. Camacho! You are second.
Good luck and may God be with us.”
“Harquebusiers, check your priming!” yelled Diego de Paradas.
Losada put a hand on the hilt of his sword at his hip, as if to
reassure himself. Behind him, the harquebusiers grabbed their
powder flasks and rammed the charges down the muzzles. A flock
of parrots cawed overhead.
“Take good account of everything, Friar Salvador,” said Losada.
“I have a mind to have you write a record of this expedition.”
Recording the expedition would be considered a great honour and a
great responsibility. I nodded. But I knew immediately it would be
impossible to record the truth.
I admired the orderly arrangement of the village. The streets were
smooth under my feet, the houses skilfully made. Earthen pots
steamed over the embers of fires; hammocks were neatly
distributed; baskets and heads of plantain hung from the wooden
structures. Strings of yarn were stretched over primitive looms. On
the sloping thatched roofs, dozens of round cassava cakes dried in
the sun. Human and animal skulls and bones hanging among the
baskets and plantains reminded me of macabre tales of cannibalism.
The Indians stepped aside as we entered the village. They stared
at my feet and then at the rest of me, for I was the only barefooted
Spaniard, let alone one wearing a frock.

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

Water in the Wilderness

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excerpt

for a long, long time but she had heard her mom say that if he got upset about something, he was sure to wet during the night. She hoped and hoped he wouldn’t do that tonight. What was it Uncle Morley and Auntie Tyne said if something was bothering them? Oh yes, they always said, “Let’s pray about it.”
Rachael had forgotten most of the praying words she had heard them say, but it still sounded like a good idea to talk to God about Bobby. Quietly, she moved her hands so that the palms were together. “God, don’t let my brother wet the bed tonight,” she whispered. “He’s so small and afraid. And please, God, don’t let them send us to an orphanage. Make Daddy come for us soon.” She started to move her hands apart but then realized she had forgotten something. “And, oh yes – Amen.”
The house had gone quiet, so she eased herself from the bed and, in the faint glow from the street lamp on the corner, she made her way carefully across the room to the closed door. In the hallway, she tiptoed towards the bathroom, but stopped abruptly when she heard the baby whimper. Rachael waited, but Maybelle must have only been fussing in her sleep because, once more, the house was silent. She just hoped she wouldn’t rouse anyone when she flushed the toilet.
On her way back to bed, Rachael was a little less cautious. Apart from her uncle’s snoring, she heard nothing until she had almost reached her bedroom door. Then she stopped short as a sound from the boys’ bedroom across the hall caught her ears.
Crying. Someone in the boys’ bedroom was crying. Bobby!
Without even a second thought, Rachael pushed the door open and started towards the child’s cot near the far wall. She stared when she saw him, still fully dressed, lying quietly with gentle little snores coming from his slightly open mouth. She stood still and listened.
“What are you doing in here, Rachael?”
She swung around, every nerve tense, her heart pounding. Ronnie lay on his side, his head propped on his bent elbow. Even in the dim light she could see his swollen eyes and traces of tears on his lean cheeks.
“I … I thought Bobby was crying,” she whispered.

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