Tag: writing

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

Swamped

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excerpt

and as the time approached for the bell to announce the end of trading,
he called Rebecca Horton and suggested they meet at Da Carlo’s,
to which she agreed.
When they met Rebecca in the lounge of the restaurant, Eteo
hugged her. Her body, firm and willing, excited him, and he remembered
when Rebecca had told him about travelling to Crete the summer
after her graduation and the great time she had had there with
the Cretan lover she had met there and would never forget. Eteo had
joked at the time that Cretan men knew how to make a woman happy
and since then they had developed a relationship, a strange one since
Rebecca was a married woman now, but her desire for a Cretan man
had remained in her mind and Eteo was the only Cretan man around.
at was their secret pact, and whenever the opportunity came along,
they enjoyed each other in the fullest of ways.
She was hot today, with an obvious fire burning in her eyes, a
flaming, dark red lipstick and a body that moved next to Eteo in an
outrightly sensual way. As they talked, he couldn’t take his mind away
from the desire to have her today. They sat close to each other and
ordered a drink, but business had to take priority.
“Talk to me” Rebecca said.
“I have a small group I can use to raise a couple of hundred thousand
dollars,” Eteo replied, “and I have a good property from George
Beaton. He assures me it will go through very easily.”
“So you want to put together a new shell company.”
“Yes, and I have the directors. You know my people.”
Rebecca frowned at this.
“You think I shouldn’t use my regulars?” Eteo asked her.
“Well, investors keep an eye on who’s in there, and they tend to
dislike the same people as directors, especially when they aren’t as
qualified. Remember the article that came out lately?”
Rebecca had a valid point. Eteo remembered the article very well.
It was by a well-known VSE critic, George Gains, and had appeared
prominently in the business section of the Vancouver Sun. Gains was
famous for reporting everything and anything he could learn about
the low-lives that run around law firms and brokerages hatching
shady deals.

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

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 ________

Still Waters

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excerpt

to the look on Morley’s face. He looked down at her with a frown,
clearly bewildered. The expressions on Mr. and Mrs. Cresswell’s faces
showed that they simply had no idea what was going on. Tyne
could not see Aunt Millie until she turned her head. Then she almost
gasped at the look of outrage on the older woman’s flushed face.
“No,” Tyne said stiffly, “I didn’t know. Cam and I have no reason to
be in touch. But I can see how pleased you must be, Mrs. Tournquist,
that your son is coming home.” She then turned to her mother with a
forced smile. “I’ll probably be going closer to home myself now that
graduation is over. I think I’d like to work in a small hospital.”
Emily Milligan’s mouth curved in a sudden smile; then she glanced at
her husband and quickly sobered. He wore the same expression of outrage
as his sister had a moment earlier, but for quite a different reason.
The remainder of the evening became a blur to Tyne. She barely
remembered thanking her host and hostess, and saying goodnight to
her family as they left for their hotel. She remembered Aunt Millie
whispering in her ear as she hugged her, “Good night, sweet graduate.
We’ll see you in the morning before we leave.” 


Morley drove his dad’s car through the city streets with uncharacteristic
silence. Mr. Cresswell, sitting in the back seat beside his
wife remained strangely silent, too. Only Rose Cresswell seemed not
to be affected by the events of the last few hours. She did her best
to keep the conversation flowing, and Tyne found herself answering
mechanically. At the entrance to their hotel, Morley helped his parents
out of the car while Tyne got out to shake hands with them, and
thank them for coming to her graduation.
Back in the car Morley drove for several blocks in silence, concentrating
on the unfamiliar city streets. Finally, when she no longer had
to direct him, Tyne chanced to speak.
“Is something the matter, Morley? You’ve been very quiet. Did
something at the Tournquists’ upset you?”
“I think you know, Tyne,” he said quietly.
“Do you mean that business about Cameron Tournquist coming
to the Holy Cross to intern?”
He nodded, grim-faced.
“But Morley, that has nothing to do with me. I personally don’t

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

He Rode Tall

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excerpt

Maybe, thought Joel. But, on the other hand, what price can you
put on a palomino filly that allowed a young girl to find herself?
“Sorry, Mr. Schwartz. I appreciate your offer, but the filly is no
longer for sale.”
Joel quickly jogged the buckskin to catch up with Tanya, who
was way ahead of him by now. When they got back to the barn
they gave each other big hugs and lots of words of celebration,
telling each other how well they had done. Their section of the
barn, which until now was a very quiet and practically abandoned
aisle with no other horses and no traffic, all of a sudden filled
with lots of people to congratulate Joel and Tanya and take a look
at the horses.
And that was just the start. With Friday being just the first of
the three-day show, Tanya and Joel continued their success.
Tanya took first-place on both Saturday and Sunday to sweep the
show. And Joel came in as the runner-up both days.
After the show was over, Joel could tell that he had witnessed
something special. This really wasn’t the end of a show for his
young partner, but the start of her career. With her momentum,
he wondered how far she could go.
It was late on Sunday when they loaded up and pulled out of
the show grounds. Joel guided the old truck and the trailer out of
Great Falls and then they realized that they hadn’t eaten since
noon; they were both running on adrenaline. It would be a few
hours before they would even be home for a midnight snack, so
they decided to stop at the diner at the last gas station on the edge
of the city. Even though it was late, the kitchen was still open and
there was one waitress on duty. Joel’s finances were tight and he
had to figure out his next move soon, but for now, they both
deserved a decent celebratory meal.
Over dinner, Tanya said, “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask
you: as you came out of the ring on the first day of the show, what
was that conversation that you had with Mary Lou’s husband?”
“Oh, nothing really,” replied Joel.
“Come on now. You can’t do that. What did he say to you?”

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

Savages and Beasts

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For now, let us have our supper; come wife get the table
going,” he addressed his wife who was waiting for their word
before she put the table together.
They ate their supper in utter silence; each in their
thoughts: Anton’s mind ran to Mary and the light touch of her
body, which brought a faint smile on his face; his father’s mind
ran to the Indian Residential School and the monsters who have
managed it up to now and the church’s role in all this; Anton’s
mother’s mind ran to the peaceful retirement they might have
come time when her husband would make up his mind to put his
papers in; he wasn’t of excellent heath either and it was time for
him to take it easy, something he despised and always reminded
her that he had no hobbies, other than reading books, and retirement
could be a fast walk towards death; he had followed the
statistics which he had studied and which never lied, as he often
said to his wife, to be sure, most of his pals at work had died
within a year or two after retirement.
Silence the queen of the evening was still in control of
their house when they finished their supper; Anton’s father
took the diary and went to sit by the window. He opened it and
started reading the entries from the beginning. Anton helped
his mother with the dishes before he took his truck and drove
to Molly’s diner; he briefed Molly about Dylan’s heart attack.
Dylan’s buddy, Simon, the drunkard was there and said he was
so sorry Dylan had a heart attack and asked how serious it was;
Anton said to them it was serious enough to make the doctors
keep him there for the angiogram that was to be performed early
tomorrow. The drunkard shook his head in disbelief that all these
things were taking place and how could his buddy get out of this
calamity that struck him.

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

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