Tag: writing

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

“My mother always worked in a household.”
“Why is it bad to ask your name?”
“You didn’t ask my name. Say the words again, and I’ll tell you
what they mean.”
The horse had begun to graze, and Tamanoa took hold of the
bridle again.
“Matircom yeunatir ueipano dauquir” I repeated slowly.
“Breasts, nipples, whore . . .” His voice trailed off as he signalled
the meaning of the last word by pointing to his crotch. “And what
was the other thing you said? Ah, yes. Guecenar onque. That means
give me your . . .” Again his voice trailed off, and he turned and
pointed to his rear end.
Heat rushed to my face. I massaged my eyes with the heels of my
hands and heard him giggle.
Torn between anger and laughter, I laughed. Benjamin, Benjamin.
He had taught me words I would never have dreamed of saying,
and I had repeated them like a parrot. No wonder we had gotten so
many looks. I was laughing so hard I removed myself and my horse
from the convoy.
“It was Benjamin,” I said. “So it’s your turn to help me. How do I
ask your name?”
“It depends. There are Indians from far away who have been
brought here to work, and we all speak different languages. But in
mine it would be atiyeseti?”
“What language is yours?”
“Cumanagoto. Carib. It comes from the eastern coast. It’s the
most common. My mother came from the region of Cumaná.”
“Are the families brought here together? As husband and wife?”
He shook his head. I looked at the Indians around me. That could
explain much of their sullenness.
In the year 1511, the Church had proclaimed the equality of men
and denounced the Spanish debauchery in La Española. But in that
same year, King Fernando El Católico had declared the branding of
cannibals. For the Spaniards, natives out of range of missionary
protection were cannibals. They were raided and sold as slaves.

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

Swamped

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

A dark windy night. Eteocles is about three years old, Nicolas five,
and their mother as old as the worry about how to feed her children
has made her, as old as any mother who lives in the ruins of war, a
woman whose husband is on the front line. It is a windy night, and
the gaps in the doors and windows make an apocalyptic music, as if
the inhabitants of this hovel are walking through the hallways of hell.
Eteocles remembers the scene well. They are sitting around the metal
bucket their mother has made into a heating element. She burns
wood in it, and the heat reaches out perhaps a meter all around it.
They are sitting warming themselves, listening to the wrath of the
tempest just a few meters away beyond the frames of the single door
and the courageous window to the north.
Suddenly from the deadly war of the elements outside a sudden
wind floods the room as the door opens. A man stands in the frame
gazing inside. It is their father returning from the war. He stands
there for long time, not knowing what to say, how to greet them; he
hasn’t seen them for twenty-seven long months. Their mother lets
out a cry, a cry that sounds like the name of the standing man, her
husband, the man who had gone to war when Eteocles was just a few
months old. Her husband is home at last, and she gets up and calls
him inside and walks up to him and hugs him with a fierceness that
expresses the emotional volcano boiling inside her. She hugs him for
a long time, then she pulls away, and their father kneels and calls his
sons to him. Neither of them dares approach this stranger. Eteocles
doesn’t know this man at all, while Nicolas, who was three years old
when his father left his sons, perhaps has some faint memory of him.
Neither of the two dares move toward the man in soldier’s clothes
who calls them again and again until Eteocles observes his feet making
small steps toward the open arms of their father and Nicolas follows
soon after. The soldier clings tightly to them, saying words the
two brothers only feel, the soothing words of a father who has missed
his sons, a man who had gone to war without knowing if he would
ever see them again. They feel those words, and they cuddle with the
man who has come inside their house and ignore the wind that has
entered with him and turned the room into a frozen habitat in which
the small metal bucket with the burning wood cannot warm more

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

Jazz with Ella

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

She stopped at the Blue Bridge, paced on past the Marinsky Palace built for the Grand Duchess Marie, and caught a glimpse of what must surely be ballerinas arriving in a chauffeur- driven car at the Kirov Theatre, their graceful arms laden with costumes and carryall bags. She would attend the ballet. It would be glorious—probably Swan Lake or Giselle.
Suddenly she felt a jolt of pain, a sensation that she recognized as missing Michael. Missing him lots. Was it just missing someone to share the experience with her? Well, she would have that experience with David or Paul. That was okay. Heck, Michael didn’t even like the ballet. Yet she couldn’t help but remember one of the last times they had enjoyed each other’s company. Was it last February, March? It seemed like a million years ago. They had walked to a movie together, through an uncharacteristic sprinkle of snow over Vancouver’s Point Grey, each of them preoccupied. The sadness and distance that enveloped them had lasted all the way to the show, but once they entered, bought popcorn and seated themselves in the sticky seats, they both relaxed. It was a funny film, and he held her hand in the dark. Later, they returned to their married students’ apartment talking together with more animation about the movie, about her essay, about his thesis supervisor.
“What went wrong?” she finally asked him, knowing he would understand that she wasn’t talking about his recent lab experiment. Also knowing that he wouldn’t be able to answer. He would only shrug. In fact, it seemed that her life was very full of loved ones who wouldn’t talk to her. Still, those moments of communication: the laughter in the cinema, the caress on her hand, the discussion about her essay—they were all good. They were shared.
Jennifer continued to stride briskly, restlessly, until she had executed a broad loop which eventually brought her back to the River Moika, one of the many canals that fragmented the city into an island network.
Here, the houses hung over the water, their upper windows nearly touching the shade trees. A graceful wrought-iron bridge, the width of a footpath, led across the Moika into a neighbourhood of worn tenements. She approached it confidently.

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

Still Waters

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

He made a pretence of covering his face with his hands. “Oh no,
please. Only my parents call me Cameron. Everyone else calls me Cam.”
“Okay, Cam. By the way, your dad said you’re here from Vancouver.
May I ask what you do there?”
“I’m a fourth year medical student at the University of British Columbia.”
Tyne’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“So you see, we have more in common than our fathers being
friends. But I’m surprised Dad didn’t tell you. He usually brags about
me to everyone he meets.”
Tyne smiled. “I’m sure he would have gotten around to it. Right
now I think he’s more concerned about losing his gall bladder than
anything else.” She smiled. “And your mother? I’ll bet she’s really
proud of you, too.”
Cam shrugged. “Well, yes and no. Mom was disappointed I didn’t
go into the priesthood. But I didn’t think I could live the celibate life.”
To Tyne’s relief, the waitress came to take their order. She had no
wish to pursue the topic which his last statement could have introduced.
She had known his father was Catholic. And no doubt Cam
knew the same about her. Well, what of it? What could such knowledge
possibly matter to two virtual strangers having a cup of coffee
for no other reason than that their fathers were friends? 
The night nurse’s report on Wednesday morning at seven o’clock
revealed that Adeline Koffer’s family had not got their miracle. Their
mother died during the night surrounded by their presence and
their love. Tyne hoped they would consider the end of her suffering
the true miracle, and trust in a merciful God.
In Room 221, old Mrs. Forsyth still clung to life while her exhausted
family popped in and out of the room all day long and all
night long. And in 224, Jeannette Aubert still clutched her rosary and
prayed for the survival of her baby.
When the report had been read, Sister Mary Louise looked at Tyne.
“Mrs. Aubert’s physician has asked Dr. Jenkins to see her today. Will
you make sure he’s not disturbed while he talks to her?”
Tyne could not control her gasp. “Dr. Jenkins? The psychiatrist?
But why, Sister?”

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

The Circle

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

She cleans up the plates and puts them in the dishwasher to get her mind
away from thoughts that will get her nowhere. Then she gets ready to go to
church for the eleven o’clock service; she hopes Jennifer will come home in the
meantime.

Talal has been up for about an hour. He did his meditating while Helena was still
in bed. He showers, puts the coffeemaker on, and is about to get her up. However,
he finds her awake when he goes into the bedroom.
“Good morning, darling,” she says.
Helena stands five foot ten, a beautiful tall, slender woman with a firm, sexy
body. Talal admires her silhouette as she walks naked to get her robe. He goes
behind her and hugs her, feeling the warmth of her body once more. She rubs
herself against him and laughs.
“Enough of this, mister; it’s time I get ready to go. I have things to do, you
know.”
He lets go of her and pours her coffee black, no sugar. She’s sweet enough. He
smiles at the thought.
They have had a great night of lovemaking; Helena is very devoted to the art
of sex and Talal loved every minute of it. Yet, a number of times during the night,
his mind traveled to an older woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, a firm
body, and a very hungry sexual appetite. He knows her husband is on his way to
work today, and after she goes to church to give the day some holiness, he’s sure
he will be able to see her the same afternoon or, at the latest, tomorrow morning.
He also wants to meet with Hakim some time today after Hakim and Uncle
Ibrahim have had their walk in the park.
Helena hops into the shower when his phone rings. It’s Emily. He doesn’t
remember having given her his phone number.
“Hello, Emily.”
“Hello. I’m sorry I’m calling you at your place.” She sounds apologetic.
“No need to be sorry, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, I’m just fine,” she utters, “I just wanted to hear your voice.” Silence
stops her.
“I’m just fine, and you are fine, so everything is fine. I’ll see you later on,
tomorrow?” he questions her.
“Yes, tomorrow, I guess.” She sounds disappointed.
“I’ll call about ten, okay?”
“Yes, ten sounds okay. Have a good day.”
“You, too.” He puts the phone down.

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

Savages and Beasts

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Absorbed in their work they faintly heard the recess
bell. Children walked out to the schoolyard again. They were
still timid and quiet like the sun behind the clouds that didn’t
dare show itself, same as the light breeze amid the tree leaves
that didn’t know whether to play and create its rustle or to keep
quiet like these hurt and intimidated kids. The savages, Anton
thought, were outside and the civilized and mighty remained
within the walls of this facility. And these civilized and wise
archons had their goal: to educate and make good law abiding
citizens of these brutes, to make them alike themselves so they
could one day go out there and subjugate others, they could one
day go out there and proselytize others to the good word or else.
Anton’s mind ran amok to things unpleasant and cruel,
things these kids were going through at their tender age and
suddenly he revolted at the cruelty of such a system and tears
started flowing down his eyes. He turned aside so Dylan wouldn’t
see him and wiping his eyes with his hand he took a deep breath
that didn’t go unnoticed by the old Irish man.
“What is it Anton?”
“I’m thinking of these kids and my mind went to the
rumors out there, things people talk about. Even the man who
lived under the same roof with you, old Simon, I often meet him
at the diner.”
“That drunkard? He’s of no good. He’s only good when
he prepares the traditional haggis during the Robby Burn’s day
annual festival. He’s no good for nothing else. He’s just a big
mouth that’s who he is, nothing more.”
“He sounded so convincing each time he spoke about these
kids in this school and the archons over them. He sounded so
convincing and he insisted of the cruel ways the church people go
after these children.

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

He Rode Tall

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

the way that they were groomed, he guessed all of the stock in
this sale were show horses or show-horse prospects.
Rounding the corner of one aisle and starting up another to
continue his inspection, Joel saw a growing crowd of people forming
outside of the old mare’s stall. Joel was feeling pretty good
about this turn of events. With that kind of interest, he might
even get the three- or four-thousand dollars that Harry predicted
she would be able to attract. That was a lot of money for an old
mare, but darn, she was a real good looker. Joel wandered past the
group of admirers but wasn’t able to pick up on any of the
conversation.
Once the sale got started, time seemed to fly by. After reading
the rules and regulations of the sale, the auctioneer, a gravelly
voiced man in a big Stetson, rattled the numbers off. After a while
a pattern started to emerge. The auctioneer would call for a while
and then a man beside him in the auction booth would stop the
sale and take a few moments to go on about the breeding and performance
record of the horse in the sale ring. The auction would
then continue for maybe another minute or two, depending on
how the bidding was going, before the auctioneer would call out,
“Sold!” As the sold horse exited from one end of the ring another
horse would be led in from the other end and the process would
start all over again. But while the system remained consistent,
the prices didn’t. Joel could see that most of the horses were
going in the five- to ten-thousand-dollar range with the odd one
going over ten. This was encouraging to see, but these were
prized, well-bred show horses or talented show prospects of superior
breeding, and none of them were twenty-one-year-old mares.
In fact, other than the twenty-one-year-old mare, the next oldest
horse in the sale was twelve.
Even at the fast clip of the auctioneer and the efficiency of the
helpers moving the horses in and out, it was the end of the afternoon
when the crowd of 500 or so horse enthusiasts were reminded
that, despite what the catalogue said, there really was one more
horse. Number fifty-one, the old blonde mare was led in.

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

Neo-Hellene Poets, an Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

IV

                        Argonauts

And the soul

if it is to know itself

must look

into its own soul

the stranger and the enemy, we have seen him in the mirror.

They were good boys, the comrades, they didn’t complain

about the tiredness or the thirst or the frost

they had the behaviour of the trees and the waves

that accept the wind and the rain

that accept the night and the sun

without changing in the middle of change.

They were good boys, for days on

they sweated at the oars with lowered eyes

breathing in rhythm

and their blood reddened a submissive skin.

Sometimes they sang, with lowered eyes

when we passed by the deserted island with the prickly pear trees

toward the west, beyond the cape of the dogs

that bark.

If it is to know itself, they said

it must look into its own soul, they said

and the oars struck the gold of the sea

in the sunset.

We passed by many capes, many islands, the sea

that brings another sea, gulls and seals.

Sometimes grieving women wept

lamenting their lost children

and others angrily sought Alexander the Great

and glories lost in the depths of Asia.

We moored on shores filled with night fragrances

with bird chirps, with waters that left on our hands

memory of a great happiness.

But the voyages did not end.

Their souls became one with the oars and the oarlocks

with the solemn face of the prow

with the rudder’s wake

with the water that shattered their image.

The comrades died one by one

with lowered eyes. Their oars

point to the place where they sleep on the shore.

No one remembers them. Justice.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763513

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

I helped him up and guided him to a seat on top of the same barrel
he had supposedly broken. His weight caused the wine to pour out
even faster. Without a word, I turned to Benjamin and offered him a
hand.
“The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.”
I smiled, extending my hand further. “I apologize for the push; I
didn’t think I could stop you otherwise.”
His eyes darted from my face to my hand, and he took it with a
grunt. I smiled even more, digging my heels to support his weight as
he stood up. I patted him on the shoulder. I was getting rather good
at applying Bartolomé’s persuasive techniques.
“The barrel must have been damaged already,” I said. “You do
realize it could not have been broken by this little fall alone, don’t
you? Please, don’t hurt him or anyone else again.”
Benjamin put a hand on his dagger and leered at the Indian, who
was already picking up the damaged barrel and loading it onto his
narrow shoulders. He was lean and small, the barrel undeniably big
for him.
I met Bartolomé’s eyes, intense and darkened by the shadow of
his scowl in the dawn’s dim light. The corner of his mouth twitched,
and he gave me an imperceptible nod.
“Back to work!” he bellowed.
I felt ashamed for all of us. It sickened me to realize that every
man among us, even Benjamin, someone who had a tendency to be
jovial, was inclined towards cruelty towards the Indians, as if by
some pre-ordained right.

Soon it was almost time to leave Borburata for the city of El Tocuyo.
We would be a party of ten men on horseback, one hundred Indian
servants, fifty tame Indian warriors and three hundred head of
livestock.
The horse they offered me must have been the oldest quadruped
ever to walk under the sun, and a moody one at that. It glared at me.

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

He ran to the first aid clinic next door. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“There’s been an accident on the road,” the medic said.
“What sort of accident?”
“A tractor-trailer jackknifed and went off the road.”
“Anyone else involved?”
“A pickup truck. There’s other help coming from town.”
Ken’s skin crawled. He forced the bile in his throat back down into his
gut and ran back to the lab, yelling through the door to John that he was
going to check on Jessica and her family. He cranked up the truck, his
heart pounding, an unnameable fear rising in his chest. He put his foot to
the floor, the truck careening around potholes and over the rutted washboard
road. About thirty miles down the road he saw the flashing lights.
He pulled up, got out of the truck and ran to the RCMP car parked at the
edge of the road. Below him, at the bottom of the embankment, amid the
jagged broken-up pieces of the semi, the pickup burned. Shaking beyond
control, Ken ran, stumbling and sliding down the steep slope. The young
RCMP officer he had met previously was struggling back up toward him.
He held up his hand. “Don’t go down there!” he shouted to Ken.
Ken stumbled toward him.
“Don’t go down there!” He yelled, again.
The officer grabbed at Ken’s shirt. Ken spun away. “Is the pickup blue?”
he shouted.
“I don’t know.” The officer said.
“How many people are in the truck?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many people in the god damned truck?” Ken screamed.
“Three, I think.”
“What do you mean, you think?”
“Don’t go down there, the officer pleaded. “Please don’t go down there.”
Ken ran down; tripped, fell, rolled, picked himself up and scrambled
down. He stopped when he hit the wall of heat bursting from the truck.
The flames were dying; the truck was gutted. But what he saw was a vision
he would spend the rest of his life trying to erase from his mind – a scene
that would come to him in nightmares over and over, until sleep meant
nothing but reliving the carnage – pieces of charred bodies inside the truck
– one of them still wearing a piece of fringed and beaded leather jacket.
I have spent so much of my life trying to contain these feelings – to deal
with these things. For a person of that age I had seen far too much death. I
was born to it – born in it. Anyone looking at me – coming from the right
side of the tracks, from a privileged family – anyone who would imagine the
sort of life a person like that would have would be completely off the mark.
So, I have to deal with these feelings very severely because I can’t make the
pictures go away. They don’t go away.

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