Tag: writing

The Circle

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

“Thank you, Hakim; I’ll be in touch when I’m in L.A. Bye for now.”
He has committed himself to the task he and Ibrahim discussed the last time
they were together. This makes Bevan Longhorn feel more relaxed and peaceful
inside. His good, old friend, as he calls him, is right and Bevan knows what needs
to be done, before the end of the year.
Hakim’s mind flutters to a variety of things, as he tries to figure out what the
Admiralmeans by his crypticmessage about needing to see Ibrahim before the end
of the year. He shreds themessage and then sits at his workstation and opens the line
to communicate with his uncle. It’s no later than ten o’clock at night in Baghdad.
“Hello my dear uncle; are you there?”
“Hello, my dearest son. I’m here doing some paperwork; Mara is in bed already.
How are you?”
“I’m good; Talal is flying today via New York. He is flying with American
Airlines, flight number A3552. Expect him in Baghdad by four o’clock in the
afternoon, tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll have Rassan pick him up; is Emily Roberts with him?”
“Yes, of course. Bevan sends his regards.”
“Oh, thank you, my dear boy. Please tell him hello when you see or talk to him,
alright?”
“Yes, my uncle, everything else is the same here. Bye for now.”
About 12:30 p.m., Hakim and Jennifer start off to pick up Talal and Emily.
Jennifer is still jittery and Hakim tries to calm her down.
“Come now, baby, relax. You behave as if you are the one who is traveling;
it’s Talal and your mother. They’re going to be just fine and will have a good
time, you’ll see.”
“I know. I know all that; yet, my mind doesn’t know how to stop worrying.
What do you want me to do?” she looks at him distressed.
“I know what you need; when we get to the airport I’ll show you. Don’t forget
you must be strong and relaxed for your mother’s sake.”

Emily is still very upset about the idea of flying on such a long trip. Talal goes to
the bar and pours two glasses of wine.
“Come, my love. Have some wine. It will relax you; we’re going to be fine.
Don’t worry; you’ll make Jennifer worry if she sees you like that. Then she’ll have
a hard time while we’re away.”
Thinking about Jennifer and with wine in her system she feels better in a
matter of minutes, and when Jennifer and Hakim come in, they find Talal and
Emily relaxing on the couch waiting for them.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

The Unquiet Land

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

and, unlike Padraig, who did his best with what physical strength he had, Michael was a farmer to his finger-tips: strong and tireless, with an instinctive knowledge of the land and its needs, bred into him through countless generations of farming ancestry. For these very different characteristics Caitlin loved them both.
Michael was late today and that was unlike him. He knew how much Caitlin hated unpunctuality and he never showed up late for anything without good cause. Something had delayed him. Caitlin stood up from the rock on which she had been sitting and started along the footpath to the harbour, hoping she would meet Michael on the way. A strong breeze from the sea flicked her 1ong, black hair and flappered her skirt like a flag on a pole as she strolled along the path. Tussocks of grass bent over in the breeze like peasants in potato fields. Seagulls sliced the wind with bladed wings. Shags skimmed over the waves, and gannets plunged for fish like suicides. The air smelt of sea-wrack and salty pools.
Then Caitlin thought she heard her name being called. She stopped and turned and saw Nora hurrying towards her. She waited till Nora arrived beside her, breathless and smiling, almost laughing.
“You seem to be in good form today, Nora,” Caitlin said.
Nora linked her arm through Caitlin’s, and they dandered on towards the harbour. “Oh Caitlin, Flynn’s back. He’s back for good. We’re not going to live in Dublin after all.”
“Well, no wonder you’re in good form,” Caitlin said. “I’m glad you’re not leaving. I’d have been lost without you.”
The girls sauntered along in silence, arm in arm, almost mirror images of each other, save that Caitlin wore an old blue cardigan and Nora a brown, woollen coat. An unbiased observer might have said that Nora was the prettier of the two. There was a hardness to the line of Caitlin’s mouth and a certain insensitivity in her eyes, both of which were absent from the gentler, softer features of her sister. Otherwise they bore the physical characteristics of twin girls. As they approached Purdy’s Point they stopped to watch the waves break on the black dike and the wrack-covered rocks. Nora kept her arm entwined in Caitlin’s but she said nothing.
“What’s on your mind, Nora?” Caitlin asked at last.
Nora hesitated, her eyes still fixed on the choppy sea. Then she turned to Caitlin and said, “I was wondering about you and Michael.”
“What about me and Michael?” Caitlin asked, though she knew well what was coming.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

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

Ken Kirkby – Warrior Painter

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

The Promise that Propelled a Life
“But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep…”
(Robert Frost, Poet)
~~
Ken worked at a number of jobs on the lower mainland but never gave up
his fixation on the north. It is unlikely his sense of destiny remotely hinted
that the path he was on would directly consume thirty years and several
fortunes, the majority of which would be spent in one of the major cities of
the world. It was enough that his mind was filled with his dream of this vast
and empty land.
Many thousands of Canadians made their home in Vancouver and
environs, and it frustrated him that he’d not found anyone who had been to
the Arctic, or even expressed more than a passing interest in that inaccessible
land that made up one-third of Canada.
The city was not a good fit for him, and within a year, he was leaving
it behind. He worked for several seasons on the construction of the WAC
Bennett Dam at Hudson’s Hope—an experience that has stood him in
good stead both through the workplace challenges he met, and the lasting
connection he made with WAC Bennett himself.
This odd association resulted in a piece of useful advice offered during
Ken’s long battle on behalf of the Inuit. The Premier of British Columbia
recommended that if all else failed, Ken should practice “Legislation by
exhaustion—the last man standing wins.” Over the years, Ken found it fit
his style admirably.
While working in Hudson’s Hope, he fell in love with a beautiful First
Nations girl and crumbled in broken-hearted despair when she was taken in
a tragic accident on the eve of their wedding. Tormented and withdrawn, he
took refuge in the compelling images imprinted into his brain by Francisco’s
tales of the Canadian northland. These seemed to offer some promise of
respite and became the catalyst that drove him into the Arctic. By the time
he was twenty-five, he had lived several years with the Inuit and travelled
by foot, boat and dogsled from Coppermine, NWT to Baffin Island and
back. In the process, he gave his promise to an Inuit grandmother …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

When he had finished with my face, he gave me an appreciative
look and nodded his satisfaction. Then, he extended the gourd to me
and told me to do the same over the rest of my body. I was reluctant
at first, but after a spell he left, and I began to feel the itching ease.
Good enough for me, I thought, and proceeded to do as I was told.
I was squeezing the last of the sap and applying it to my groin
when Guacaipuro appeared, still wearing his perpetual scowl.
“Mareoka,” he said.
Apparently he was resuming our conversation. He extended his
hand, palm upward. I looked at it stupidly and then at his
countenance, failing to grasp his meaning.
“Mareoka,” he repeated. He thrust his hand toward me again. I
felt as though there was a tiny monk running amok inside my head,
looking in every corner for something related to this one magic word
that was the gateway to his witchcraft.
“Ah! Mareoka!” I slapped my forehead, as if I suddenly
understood.
For the first time, Guacaipuro smiled, as if he had finally won me
over. From the pocket of my habit I extracted my copy of the New
Testament that he had previously rejected by tossing it onto the
ground. I offered it to him again. “Mareoka,” I said, solemnly.
If I was agreeing that Mareoka was superior, it was only to allow
me the freedom to prove to him otherwise. I hoped God would
forgive me.
“Tamanoa,” I said, pointing to my friend.
Guacaipuro was more interested in the strangeness of the book. I
seized the opportunity to take advantage of my newfound
respectability by untying the ropes. Guacaipuro did not appear to
object. I moved slowly, deliberately, until Tamanoa was able to
stand beside me, free.
Guacaipuro shook his head, dissatisfied. He took the rope and
tied Tamanoa’s wrist to my wrist. This was his compromise
solution. I must not allow my servant to run away. As soon as I
gleaned his intent, I yanked hard on the rope, jerking Tamanoa
beside me.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562848

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

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume II

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Neighbourhood Afternoon II

No — it’s nothing — I’m not hungry, you hear me?
It’s just a little headache. I rather go lay down
to put the chin close to the knees — to go to sleep
listening to the wind that grinds its teeth outside.
These faces look so strange
the steps on the sidewalk so strange
and the pepper trees of the street also strange —
the children get frightened by them — and
they pull their hairs without saying any words.
They had tied the rope on the trees over there —
five men stayed there for three nights and three days
like riders of the galloping wind who never got away.
The light of the lamp doesn’t recognize our hands —
the glass is smoked up, you see;
our hands on the table resemble dried up plane-tree leaves
they can’t hold a harmonica, can’t say thank you
or the day after tomorrow;
only when they hold another hand
they become hands again — and then the circle created
by the light of the lamp resembles a dish with warm food
from which two or three or more men can eat
and feel content.
Look, the evening star is rising. A purple dusk
after the rain — the evening star is
like the first I love you of a different spring. Look.
Freshly washed fence walls — the letters are still visible.
Stay by the window for a while yet. Here. We’ll look far away.
Over there to the corner of the road where our old spring
resembles
a green kiosk with many colorful magazines hanging
on cloths-pins fluttering in the breeze as if they clap
joyously;
a kiosk with many cigarette cartons
that the workers stop and buy after work,
a kiosk with small mirrors
where the neighborhood girls stop and pretend
that they don’t look into while absentmindedly
look at the young worker who passes with his hands
in his pockets
and as the mirrors hang slanting in a way
it gives them the impression that the young worker
will fall on them —
as they absentmindedly fix the curls of their hair
that slides on their foreheads like the light slides
on the upper crack of the door that leads to
the next room where two lovers kiss.
Look, then, the evening star has risen.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562968

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0851M9LTV

Swamped

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

up six more cents, leaving a good sixty thousand share purchase
order on the low end. Eteo turned to Logan with a grin, “They obviously
like the stock all of a sudden. Let them buy as much as they
like, but keep an eye out for when they look like they are going out
in case they plan to do that soon.” Logan just nodded and walked
back to his desk.
Eteo’s phone continued ringing all day long because of Platinum
Properties. Even Mario called again, almost at the end of the trading
session, to say how pleased he was that Eteo decided to stay with Platinum
for the long run. Eteo asked him to pass by for a minute or two
after the market closed and Mario agreed and said he would bring
the Nostra Ventures subscription forms with him. Half an hour later,
Mario Messini was sitting in Eteo’s office, his face gleaming with satisfaction.
He waved the forms at Eteo.
“How many copies did you say you needed? I only brought one
of each.”
“No worries, I’ll make some,” Eteo assured him. “Let me see,” he
mused as he studied the forms and thought about who to involve in
this. “Two for Robert and three for me, five altogether.”
“I have to admit, Eteo, that I liked your aggressive buying at the
end of the day,” Mario said. “It up-ticked the stock at once and left it
looking very good for tomorrow’s opening.”
“What can I say,” replied Eteo, smiling. “I like the company, and
I certainly like its trading pattern over the last two weeks. I’ve talked
to my people, and most of them will stay. Some even bought some
extra stock today, but I should also let you know something. Just between
us two. I have your word, right?”
Mario nodded yes.
“The boss is buying most of it.”
“Connors? Hell no! Are you sure?”
Eteo told him about his meeting with Bradley Connors while
Mario shook his head.
“I don’t know whether to take that as good or not,” he finally
replied.
“I know what you mean, but look at it this way. Even if the boss
has a short fuse, as everyone says, at least for the next few days…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562976

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

Fury of the Wind

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

what she had been through since four o’clock that afternoon the
condition of the interior of the house had afforded the most welcome
relief she could imagine.
Ben did not look up so she spoke above the voice on the radio.
“I hope you won’t think me rude if I retire early, Ben, but I’m extremely
weary.”
He nodded. “Be turning in myself soon.”
“Very well. Good night.”
He looked up then and smiled briefly. “G’night.”
In the bedroom she closed the door firmly behind her. There
was no key in the lock. After a moment’s hesitation she carried the
chair from beside the bed and shoved the high back under the door
handle.
She took a cotton nightgown and a hair brush from her overnight
bag, removed the dress she had worn for three days on the
train and hung it, along with her underwear, on a two-inch spike
in the bedroom door. When she had pulled the nightgown over her
head she went to the window, pushed the lacy white curtains aside
and raised the sash. If the flies wanted to come in, so be it, because
she could not stay in that room without fresh air.
Twilight lingered, streaking the western sky red. There were no
outbuildings on this side of the house. The wind of the daylight
hours had diminished to a light breeze in which a field of wheat
waved gently. The faint sweet scent of goldenrod wafted in through
the window. On a fence post a robin sat to warble its evensong.
To the right of the house stood a clump of poplar trees surrounded
by scrub brush. Through them, Sarah discerned the outline of
a small rooftop. Realizing it must be an outhouse she experienced
a moment of panic when she suddenly felt the call of nature. Why
had she not thought to go out before she readied herself for bed?
She didn’t feel inclined to dress again but she certainly had no intention
of embarrassing herself by running into him as she passed
through the kitchen in her robe and slippers. Besides, who knew
what wild animals or species of snake may lurk in the bushes in the
fading light?
Only one hope remained. Sarah quickly got down on her knees
and lifted a corner of the counterpane to peer under the bed. Yes,
there it was – a white chamber pot. She sat back on her haunches…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

The Qliphoth

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment
excerpt

verses the sun will go pop pop. But that’s in the multiplicity of sacred time.We
live in a single vulgar time, time for the butcher boy apprentices to come into
their own, swaggering out into the garden to escort me inside for tea. Soon
they will be shouting for Fuckbeard the Freaker.
I can’t complain about the name. I probably uttered it myself in one of my
ecstasies . . . These damned drugs have erased so much, so many cut-outs,
cut-ups, my golden memory chart is all such a tat album design, my head full of
flowers and stars and triangles and spheres and tits and bums and fiery swastikas.
Later I will carry on secreting all my secrets. Like a scared insect, I mean a
sacred insect . . .
And Lucas may make his annual visitation. Minded by PP, scowling in the
middle distance. I only want a flying visit, Icarus descending for a brief lesson
with Dedalus, nothing histrionic. Just a chat under the shelter of the Brain
Tree. To talk living eternities. I need help to implement the salvation, transformation
of the world. Why, Pol Pot, you bitch, you talking cactus in a pot,
why have you washed out my son’s brain, flooded it with your serums of
untruth? Why, why won’t he come?
I woke up this morning
Mr Blues all around my bed
Mr Blues he’s mean and evil
He done messed up my happy head
Rocking Rod was sprawled on a pile of cushions in the dayroom, strumming
his boogie on an old acoustic guitar, singing de blooze in a thin weaselly voice
with a Cockney Delta accent. I knew that voice. It had roots, long and tangled
as his hair, as his ratty moustache.
When he saw me, he leapt up, switched to a Stones riff, and began a
duck-walk around the ward. At the end of the room, a cluster of huge cardboard
boxes had been upended in a semicircle. The cartons displayed the logos
of great multinational drug companies—Wellcome, Bayer, Glaxo, Sandoz—as
if they were sponsoring this world tour. He stopped in front of the biggest box,
and made a jabbing bayonet thrust with his guitar. He whirled an arm to hit an
inaudible power chord and froze the pose.
“Get a load of that back line! Four five-hundred watt Marshalls.
Fanfuckingtastic, man! You can’t beat the old valve amps when it comes to
raunch, right?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186508

Water in the Wilderness

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, be with us sinners now and the hour of our death. Amen.”
After a moment, she said aloud, “Please keep Morley safe, Lord. Send him to me, I need ….” Her words cut off by another sharp pain, she cried out, “Dr. Rosthern, please hurry.”
Rachael knew she couldn’t go any further. Her feet and hands were blocks of wood. Her whole body felt as though it didn’t belong to her. To make matters worse, she was beginning to see things that weren’t there. Several times she had called out to Ronnie where he walked ahead of her breaking the trail.
“Ronnie, look,” she’d called, “there’s a house up ahead of us.”
But each time he had dashed her hopes. “No, there’s nothin’ … no buildings … nothin’.”
She had felt like crying but was too exhausted to do even that; anyway, her tears were all dried up.
She glanced at Bobby on Ronnie’s shoulders. Her brother had been quiet for a long time. His head had fallen forward, and he looked to be fast asleep.
Sleep – that’s what she needed. She absolutely could not go on another minute without sleep. She stopped walking, sank down on the snow and let her eyes close of their own accord.
“Rachael, get up. Get up.”
She struggled to open her eyes. Her mother was calling her. She must have overslept and she’d be late for school. She tried to sit up, but a heavy weight on her whole body seemed to be holding her down.
“Rachael, Rachael, please get up. You can’t go to sleep. We’ve got to keep moving or we’ll freeze.”
Ronnie stood over her, jolting her back to reality – the reality that seemed more dream that real. He grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Bobby’s sleeping,” she said tonelessly. Actually, it made no difference to her whether she slept or whether she froze. She teetered on her …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562884

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

excerpt

so that the next morning there they would be – mysteriously having arrived
out of nowhere.
Salvador thought it was a marvellous plan, but his reason for the visit
was to arrange a meeting with Albert Reichmann. It had to be planned
several months in advance, but it could be done.
At last! Ken stipulated that the meeting take place at the Reichmann
home on an afternoon when Salvador and his crew were working in the
garden. “And this is what I want you to say: ‘Mr. Albert, there’s the man
in the garden – the man I told you about. He’s been sent.’ Just use those
words.”
“Why would I say that?” Salvador asked.
“Because that’s what I want you to say.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I promise I’ll tell you when the meeting is over, but those are the
words that have to be used.”
“Give me some idea about why those particular words.”
“Right now I can’t, but I just know that those are the right words.
They’re magic words. Merlin put them in my ear.”
Salvador promised to say the exact words, but as Ken got up to continue
painting and looked back at him, smiling enigmatically, he admitted
to himself that he had no idea whether he would say those words – or
indeed, what he would say or do.
The fundraising campaign was a flop. Most of the corporations sent no
reply and the two that came were gracious refusals. “Send more letters,”
Ken said.
“But they’re not working,” Diane protested.
“It doesn’t matter. Send more anyway!”
The Canadian Cancer Society sent a letter asking for his help in their
own fundraising campaign. Would he donate a painting of an Inukshuk
for a raffle? He and the Premier of Ontario, David Peterson, would pick
the winner at a large media event. Ken saw an opportunity for more publicity
and cheerfully said yes.
On the last day of the campaign, he met with Peterson, an affable, witty
man who was also an art lover. He told Ken that he and his wife had attended
his show at the Columbus Centre, but by the time they had arrived
every painting was sold.
Ken invited him to his studio for a private showing – and a guarantee
that some paintings there would not have a sold sticker. A few days later,
Peterson and his wife arrived and lingered in the studio, taking in the
large paintings and the sketches of Isumataq. They picked out a canvas
and, while Diane and Peterson’s wife selected a frame, …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

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