Tag: short-story

Swamped

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excerpt

…awkwardly. “It’s about Frances.”
“What about her?” Eteo replied, smiling.
“She’s crazy about you, Dad,” Logan finally said. “She has asked
me twice now about what she can do to get you to go out with her.”
Eteo laughed. “I’m aware of Frances, son. I’ll approach her when
the time comes, don’t worry about her.”
“Be careful though, Dad. She sleeps around, you know.”
“I’ll be careful. No worries, son.”
When Logan went back to his desk, Eteo sighed and began to
make some calls. Yanni. Spiro. Angelo. Tom. Nick. It was time to update
them on their accounts and let them know what he had in mind
to do for them. As usual, they all said it was up to him to choose what
to get into and when to sell their accounts. Eteo felt his chest expanding.
He knew he would make some good money with these clients.
He always made the most with the ones who just said, “Do what you
think is best.” Clients like Ariana who had said exactly that when she
opened her account and deposited a hundred thousand dollars in it.
He dialed her number.
“Hello, sweet baby” he said when she answered.
“Hello, my love,” she replied. “How is your working day?”
“Pretty good, sweet Ariana. How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine, though she’s in her own world these days, I’m afraid.”
“Want to meet for lunch? When I’m done here, I mean. We could
go to the White Spot on Lonsdale or the one at the Royal Park mall.”
“I’d love to, my love. Either place. Just come and get me when
you can.”
“Soon as I’m done, then. I’ll be at your place no later than 1:45.”
“I’ll be ready, baby.”
At exactly 1:40, Eteo pressed Ariana’s buzzer. She came down at
once, and his day turned more pleasant just as quickly. He kissed her,
led her to his car, opened the door for her, and drove to the White
Spot at Lonsdale and 23rd. Ariana ordered their legendary hamburger
with fries and Eteo the equally famous Mediterranean chicken
salad. They shared a half liter of red wine, the house Shiraz, a respectable
Okanagan product, and laughed as they clinked their
glasses, enjoyed their unassuming meals, and talked of simple things…

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Poodie James

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“What’ll it be?” he said.
“Can of Prince Albert, please.”
Gritzinger walked to the shelves. Sam looked over at the big
man. Something about that voice.
The man glanced at him.
“Pardon me, sir,” Sam said, “is your name Clarkson?”
The stranger turned and looked steadily at him from behind
rimless glasses that imparted an air of orderliness to a man otherwise
in dishevelment.
“Why do you ask?”
“Years ago, I spent time in a courtroom with a lawyer by that
name, one of the best I was ever up against. He whipped me. That
rarely happened. I didn’t forget it.”
The man’s gaze softened a little as he continued to study Sam’s
face.
“Condolences on your loss,” the big man said at last. He handed
Gritizinger a few coins, slipped the can of tobacco into his jacket
pocket, dipped his head and said, “Good evening to you both.”
“Glad to see you after all these years,” Gritzinger said.
“And I you, sir. Good evening.”
Sam watched the man’s back as he walked out of the market and
headed north. He turned to Gritzinger only after the door closed
and the sound of the bell interrupted his musing.
“You know him,” he said.
“Used to”, Gritzinger said. “Haven’t seen him since before the
war. He’d come through here on freight trains and stay in that
hobo camp down by the old Thorp place. Poodie James brought
him around. Did a few odd jobs for me. Spent a day once stacking
two cords of cedar in the woodshed out back. Called himself Fred.”
Fred, Sam thought. Fred Clarkson?
When Darwin Spanger walked into the showroom of Torgerson
Packard, the proprietor was conducting a couple on a tour around a
black sedan. With a nod of his head, Torgerson directed Spanger…

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Jazz with Ella

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off a stool lightly for one of her advanced years, and beckoned them. She opened the cage door, then the elevator door, and ushered them in. She waited patiently while Jen, Lona and Maria assembled their baggage. Three persons plus operator appeared to be the elevator’s capacity. Then she closed the doors carefully and pulled a brass lever. Grunting with effort, the box lifted. “Three into seventeen,” Maria calculated as the box jerked upward. “How many trips will this thing make, do you suppose, before we’re all upstairs?”
Ordinarily, I would find this hotel an intriguing anecdote, thought Jennifer, something to tell the folks back home. Right now, I just find it all an intolerable delay. She was becoming quite adept at all the procedures. As she exited at the fifth floor, she went immediately to the dezhurnaya’s desk and rapped smartly on the table. The clerk, another septagenarian, was nodding off in an easy chair. “Key to room 503,” she said briskly in Russian, and proffered her card. This woman could be someone’s grandmother, she thought, and though it’s difficult to view her as the enemy, a nosy floor clerk who noticed that Volodya was Soviet, not Canadian, would be a nuisance or even fatal.
Jennifer opened the door to her room. It was dark and close but not what she would have picked for a briefing session. There was a private bathroom, she discovered with relief, and opened the door thankfully. It held a square, chipped, pedestal basin, a small bath, and gigantic toilet that sat lordly on a dais. Its tank was secured onto the wall above the bowl and there was a chain to pull that worked the flush. Either the last guest had pulled too enthusiastically or the fixture’s age had rendered it incontinent. It had overflowed onto the floor.
“I’d better start working on getting this cleaned up right away,” she muttered. “I don’t want staff in the room while Volodya’s here—that is, if I could even get staff to clean it up.” Once again she was talking to herself—problems, delays. And underneath it all—fear.
Consequently, it was nearly six o’clock by the time Jennifer finally left the hotel, walked briskly along the riverbank, and turned onto the same bridge they had driven across on her way to Red Square. Possibly there was another telegraph office than the one she had already discovered near the east wing of the Hotel Rossiya, but it would save time to head directly toward the familiar one. As she walked, she thought how to word the telegram: “Returned to Moscow. Hotel Bucharest.” That part was easy. Then what? “Jazz with Ella” and maybe she’d better add…

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In Turbulent Times

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‘Right, Joe. And even with the tractors and the rest, Michael and Danny Boylan are still finding it difficult to cope. They’re working long, hard hours every day.’
‘They could bring in a couple of land girls,’ Joe suggested teasingly.
‘They’re not that desperate,’ Caitlin retorted. ‘A lot of farmers don’t want city girls in the fields. I don’t know of any around these parts.’ Then Caitlin leaned forward in her chair with a serious look on her face. ‘Joe, I’m glad you’re here and Michael isn’t. I want to talk to you about something important.’
‘What would that be?’
‘Nora. She’s not happy, is she?’
Joe felt uneasy. ‘Oh she seems content enough.’
‘Joe, you’re not being honest with me,’ Caitlin interrupted. ‘You and I both know she should never have married Liam Dooley. Oh he’s been a good husband. I’m not complaining on that score. He worships her. He’ll do anything for her. Maybe he does be out a lot, but he’s a teacher and he’s involved in a lot of out-of-school activities. Local history societies, the WEA, and all that. But he’s not the man for Nora. He’s twenty-two years older than she is. He’s set in his ways, and they’re not Nora’s ways. He’s stuffy and fussy and a creature of habit. Nora needs someone who’ll … who’ll open doors and windows and let her fly. If you see what I mean.’
‘I do, Mrs Carrick.’
Caitlin got up to pour tea into two cups on the kitchen table and added milk and sugar. ‘I’ll be glad when the war’s over and rationing ends,’ she said. ‘Will you have a scone, Joe? Or a slice of treacle bread and butter? Home-made country butter.’
‘No thanks, Mrs Carrick.’ Joe accepted the proffered cup of tea.
‘Joe, why did Nora marry Liam Dooley?’ Caitlin asked unexpectedly.
Joe was taken by surprise. ‘I suppose she discovered that she loved him. They were working together at …’
‘Blethers, Joe. I want an honest answer. And I know she would have told you. You above all people.’
Joe, put on the spot, tried drinking tea to cover his discomfiture. ‘Haven’t you asked Nora herself? You’re her mother.’
‘But not a good mother,’ Caitlin declared with commendable honesty. ‘She’d be more likely to confide in Michael than in me, but she hasn’t. Not in this case. Nora and I have never been all that close. Not as close as a mother and an only daughter ought to be. We get on badly, she and I.

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Swamped

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…fifteen or so big commercial ships anchored in the bay, and on the
far side of the water at beautiful Stanley Park and further off the Kitsilano
district and the UBC lands to their right, the green thickets of
trees, the roofs of houses, the big apartment buildings, and above
them the airplanes descending slowly as they approached the airport
in flat, distant Richmond, all such familiar sights and yet as fresh and
fascinating every day as if never enjoyed before. Eteo and Ariana
seemed to register the view in the logbook of their souls, tuned to
the same sounds and echoes, to the same relaxation methods and to
the same fiery lovemaking, to the same thoughts and wishes. Their
souls were in tune.
The following Saturday Eteo picked Ariana up from her apartment
and drove to BC Place and the private room Pacific Trends had
rented for the year. A few other people were already there: the vice
president of Pacific Trends, Lucas Stonewall, and his girlfriend, Isabel,
the head trader John with his wife Ekaterina, the head of the accounting
department Dean Magnusen with his girlfriend and two other
women. While the introductions were in progress, Bradley came in
with his girlfriend, a woman of South Asian heritage called Pari.
Other guests soon followed, and in a few minutes the room was full.
The drinks flowed freely and everyone had something in their hands
while they chitchatted and laughed. Eteo sided up to Bradley and
proudly introduced Ariana to him
“So you’re the one who has brought a smile back to Eteo’s lips,”
Bradley quipped as he shook Ariana’s hand. “I’m very pleased to meet
you.”
Ariana only smiled and blushed at his comment.
Before the game started, Bradley took a moment to address them
all.
“I wanted to inform you that this week’s success goes to Eteo,
who introduced Pacific Trends to a new venture, Platinum Properties,
which has made the firm some good money already, and we hope
will make a lot more in the weeks and months to come. Cheers to
Eteo, then. This has been his week.”
“Not bad for a Cretan immigrant,” Bradley called out with a
laugh, “and yes, recommend Platinum to all your clients,”…

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He Rode Tall

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Raising the Winchester 30-30 to his shoulder, he took aim at
the cat. Just as the crazed cougar moved forward, stalking the
unsuspecting filly isolated at the edge of the herd less than
twenty yards away, Joel took his shot. Crack! The dog yelled, the
horses scattered, and the cat’s body dropped to the ground. Without
waiting to see if a second shot was necessary, Joel flew out of
the house and raced to the tree line where he had last seen the
cat. Harry and Tanya chased after him. Then he saw it. The big
cat was dead. One shot through the head. His horses were safe.
But in a way Joel felt sorry for this poor wild beast that was so ill
that it had to risk its life to stalk his horses.
Harry pulled the cat out of the grass by the tail so they could
get a better look. Over six feet in length, the cougar was an older
male with his ribs pathetically showing, it would not have made
it through another cold winter in the hills. Joel had done himself,
his horses, his neighbors, and the cat a favor by putting it out of
its misery.
That night he called Cindy to report the day’s activities. The
two of them had started talking with each other late at night,
which gave Cindy time to spend with Lila after dinner. Joel knew
that Lila would always be number one in Cindy’s life. He liked
that in a woman. Over the years, he had met women who were
willing to leave their children, some emotionally, some physically,
to be with a man, and he knew that was wrong. No matter
where his relationship with Cindy went, he knew that, at best, he
would be number two in her life. And that was a good thing.

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Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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Ken called and told the story of Isumataq. He offered a painting for the
paper, clinching the deal by telling them that everyone involved in the
project would very likely win an award and be exposed in some way to
massive media coverage. He also threw in some dubious oratory that was
so over the top that many people laughed. “Don’t worry about this moment,”
he said. “One day you’ll be in paradise with me.” If they snickered
behind his back, he didn’t care because by the time he was done he had
bartered for every service he needed – ninety thousand dollars worth. His
friends called the money he had used to pay for the brochure “Ken dollars”
and it was a term that stuck.
Elias Vanvakis, another of the young professionals who was a successful
insurance broker, commissioned a small pencil drawing of an Inukshuk.
“I’ll give it to you,” Ken said.
“No, I want to buy it.”
“Why would you want to buy it?”
“You’re painting the largest Inukshuk – I want the smallest,” he said.
Ken pocketed the five hundred dollars Elias offered and drew an Inukshuk,
which he handed to him. A few weeks later, on Ken’s forty-fifth
birthday, Elias presented him with a small jeweller’s box. Inside was a
small gold pin, a perfect replica of the pencil drawing.
Ken pinned it to his shirt. Minutes later he was struck by an idea. A
larger version of the pin was exactly what the front cover of the brochure
needed – but not in gold paint of even gold leaf – a pure gold Inukshuk.
The pin inspired yet another idea. The nation’s highest honour for its
citizens was The Order of Canada. He wanted something even more prestigious
– an honour that was almost impossible to receive – The Order
of the Inukshuk. He ordered a dozen more from the jeweller who had
designed it.
Whenever someone asked about the pin, he smiled and inferred that
it was special and only a chosen few would ever have the honour of receiving
one. To Rocco he said, “Anyone who buys a ten thousand dollar
painting, gets one.”
Ken was invited to the Columbus Centre again to give the keynote
speech at a dinner honouring Premier Peterson. At the end of the speech
he was to give him a painting of an Inukshuk. But instead of doing a
simple presentation, he told the story of the Order of the Inukshuk –
that the pin was the result of a visionary flood of alcohol consumed in
the land of the midnight sun on June 21, the longest day of the year. He
explained that they were almost impossible to get and only a few very
special people would ever be aware of The Order of the Inukshuk. “They
come to certain people who are magic,” he said. “They come to people
like me. Everyone else has to fight for them.”

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

Arrows

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Arrogant and stupid, that’s what I was. And being what I was, I
failed to stop the last great war. I hesitated. I waited too long.
One night I was startled awake by drums in the small hours
before dawn. Indians used hollow tree trunks that were remarkably
loud, hitting them with sticks of about the length and diameter of a
forearm. The women started a hellish racket that would have
awakened Lazarus.
I went outside and found the fires blazing and a sizable group of
women walking rhythmically about in single file, each with a hand
on the shoulder of the next in the firelight.
Some men stood while their women painted their bodies with
crushed onoto seeds mixed with ashes and adorned them with
feathers. Others were ready and gathering their weapons. There was
tension in the air. I made my way through the confusion in search of
someone who could explain what was happening.
I went to Guacaipuro’s hut and saw him standing very still at the
entrance, his gaze lost in the distance. Beside him, Baruta, painted
and feathered, waited unobtrusively. Someone tapped me on the
arm. Pariamanaco was breathing fast, a stern expression on his
boyish face.
“What’s happening?” I asked him.
“War.”
“Who? Where?” I asked.
“The city they founded.”
“Santiago de León de Caracas?”
He shrugged, curving the corners of his mouth. Those words
meant nothing to his ears.
“I must talk to your uncle.”
“He ordered to be left alone. He doesn’t want to talk. All caciques
will bring their men. They will meet at Maracapana. It is too late for
talk.”
“Maracapana?”
He shrugged. He didn’t know where that was. He had never been
more than a few miles from the confines of the village.
Gaucaipuro stood while Urquía ceremoniously placed a jaguar’s

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

The Circle

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The next morning the sun has risen ten feet above the horizon when Emily opens
her eyes and sees Talal standing on the balcony, listening to the birds in the trees
and shrubs in the grounds below. The sun is very bright, and she has to cover her
eyes for a while until she gets used to the brilliance. The sky is blue and clear; she
gets up and walks to the door and hugs him from behind.
“You are up, sweetie; slept okay?”
“Yes, my love, I slept well. I’m thinking of my family; we are going to visit
them soon. I wonder how they’ll look after seven years. I wonder whether they
will recognize me. I feel so much apprehension and such a strong feeling of
anticipation to see them.”
“Oh, Talal. Of course, they’ll recognize you! What a thing to say.”
He turns and hugs her; they kiss and it seems as if the birds in the shrubs and
trees sound louder than before.
“It’s so bright,” she says, cuddling in his arms like a little chick under the
wings of her mother.
“Welcome to Iraq, my love. This is the brightness we fall in love with until
there comes a time when one wishes some clouds would come and relieve us of
it. When we go to the water I assure you that that is going to be the best
experience you’ll ever have.”
“Scuba diving?”
“I can’t promise you scuba diving.However, I promise you a very pleasant day.”
Emily notices another separate building to the left and asks, “What’s that
building used for, Talal?”
“That is the maids’ quarters and perhaps the guards’.”
The villa sits on a huge portion of land located in the northern part of
Baghdad in an exclusive area, with many villa-style homes for the most affluent
of Iraq. Ibrahim and Mara have been living here for over thirty years; they built it
during the Saddam years.
Their day unfolds slowly and lazily, exactly as they feel after the long trip. All
the beautiful, different images have gradually unfolded since the previous
afternoon when they landed in Bagdhad. Emily absorbs everything deep into her
memory, knowing well these images will stay with her for the rest of her life. Yet,
something inside tells her she will come again to this country and that the next
time it will be for a longer period. And that somehow makes her feel okay; it
doesn’t upset her as it would have at the beginning of her relationship with Talal.
She is, after all, prepared to go to the end of the earth with this man, and even if at
some time they part, and a younger woman steals him from her embrace, he’ll
remain with her forever as a sweet memory, exactly as all these beautiful images
that are unfolding before her.

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

Water in the Wilderness

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He stroked her cheek. “Rachael’s in the hospital here. She has hypothermia and frostbite but she’ll be okay.” He took a deep breath. “We brought Bobby and Ronald here, but they had to be transferred to Calgary.”
“Why? Morley, tell me. Is Bobby …?”
He squeezed her arm. “Bobby’s very sick. He … he was unconscious when we found him. It’s too soon to tell ….” Morley buried his face in her shoulder, and when he raised his head, Tyne could see tears coursing down his cheeks through the stubble of his beard. He swallowed hard and wiped a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Tyne, I was going to be strong for you. We have to believe he’s going to be all right.”
Tyne reached over to touch his cheek. When she had swallowed her own tears, she said, “Where did you find them?”
“Ronald had made it to Matt McDonald’s farm, but he’d just got as far as the outbuildings when he collapsed. Matt was going to the barn after the wind died down, and that’s when he found him. He was able to tell Matt that Rachael and Bobby were in a granary, and he begged him to hurry and get them.”
Morley paused and looked down as if trying to collect his thoughts and get control of his emotions. “Matt guessed the granary was his own, not very far away. He called me, and I put the word out. Several of us were just getting ready to go out and search again. When we found them in that building, I thought … I thought ….” He sniffed and took a deep breath. “They were holding each other, and Rachael woke up and saw me, and she smiled at first, then started to cry, and she told me to look after Bobby. But he wouldn’t wake up.” Morley put his head down and sobbed.
Tyne wanted to hold him and comfort him, but somehow she couldn’t seem to lift herself off the bed. Her tears flowed freely with his.
Morley reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his face. “I called the hospital from Matt’s place to tell you we’d found them, but Inge said you were in surgery.”
Tyne gave him a puzzled look. “No, why would she say that? We didn’t have any more cases.” Then suddenly, she knew.

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