Tag: writing

The Circle

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Excerpt

HAKIM ISONHISWAY to the Sheraton Hotel to meet his uncle so they can go
together to the medical center. He’s worried about what they will find out, but he
doesn’t want this to show. He wants to be courageous and strong for his uncle.
They arrive by limousine and a specialist meets them in a consultation room.
He confirms what’s already known about the tumor in Ibrahim’s liver. He
indicates it’s a very small-sized malignancy. At this stage, it’s unclear what type of
cancer it is, but he confirms that the tumor is a new type they don’t know very
much about. Therefore, it would be inappropriate for him to tell Ibrahim with any
certainty that it will respond positively to the new chemotherapy. For that reason,
he’ll start Ibrahim on a light dose. The specialist has arranged for Ibrahim to be
admitted to a private clinic where the medication is to be administered, and he’ll
be monitored twenty-four hours a day.
The specialist stops briefly, but continues to look at Ibrahim and Hakim to
ensure that, so far, everything is understood. Then he carries on.
“If we see that the drug doesn’t produce any adverse effects, the second dose,
and the third and fourth, can be given orally in the form of a pill that you can take
on your own, in the comfort of your own home. However, the first time the drug
is administered, we would like to monitor you very closely at the clinic. I’ll leave
you alone for a few minutes to absorb what I’ve told you. Then I’ll return with
further instructions.”
He gets up and the other two follow him out of the consultation room.
Hakim turns and gazes him. Ibrahim is pale and shaken. This is the first time
Hakim sees his uncle with fear in his eyes. The pride and gracefulness that he
possessed are gone. A layer of fear has taken over like a black shroud covering the
old man’s eyes.
“I wouldn’t worry they do miracles with medicine these days.” Hakim says
trying to relieve his uncle’s gloom.
“I guess so,” his uncle nods in agreement. “But, it means I cannot go home yet.”
“When were you planning to go home?”
“As soon as I’m done with these guys dear boy; Mara is most anxious for me
to get home; however, now she has to wait for a few more days.”
“You have to be here for only one or two more days so they can see …

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

Water in the Wilderness

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Excerpt

Jeff’s lean face took on a scowl, but his eyes twinkled. “I’ll thank you not to malign my good old Chevy, young lady. Sure, I still have it. It’s safe and sound in the shed in the back yard.”
Tyne groaned. “I might have known.”
Jeff’s long, slender body reclined against the back of his swivel desk chair. “So what brings you here? Have you been to see your mother?”
“Yes, I just left her. Aunt Millie was there, so we had a good visit. And as for what brings me here – Morley and I would like you all to come to dinner on Sunday evening.”
For just a moment, Jeff looked at her, then he swung his chair towards his typewriter at the side of his desk, and began to hit the keyboard with one determined finger.
Tyne took a deep breath. “Will you come, Dad?”
“I thought you have dinner at noon on the farm,” he said without looking at her.
“We usually do. But we’ll have a light meal after church, and dinner in the evening.”
The typewriter keys flew over the page in the carriage, surprisingly fast for one finger typing. Tyne waited. Finally, her dad turned to face her.
“I don’t know if I can make it … deadline, you know.”
Tyne tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “It’s Sunday, Dad. The paper doesn’t come out until Wednesday.” She sat forward. “Look, you’ve been out to the farm only once, and that was just after we were married to bring some of my things. Morley and I have been to see you and Mom several times. Just for a change, I’d like to cook dinner for my family.” She sat back in her chair, and said quietly, “You’re part of my family.”
Jeff drew his lips together in a tight line. “Have you asked your mother?”
“Yes I did. She’d like to come but she said she’d leave it up to you.” As always, Tyne thought. In that respect Emily Milligan had not changed.
Jeff nodded. “I’ll think about it. Your mother will call you tomorrow.” He turned back to his typewriter.

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

Arrows

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Excerpt

“Leave me alone, will you?” he scowled.
But I wanted to make peace with him.
“I mean it, Gregorio. You need a bleeding to drain all those bad
humours and grudges. Hombre! I saw you in battle; if I hadn’t been
so busy running, I would have stayed put to watch you. What
shooting and fighting! You are a born conquistador. From now on, it
will be quite comforting to have you around.”
I uncorked a flask of marigold oil. Gregorio chortled at last. He
took a gulp from the mug he was holding.
“I saw you, too,” he said, “running like a hare.”
“Little wonder! I have never been so frightened in my life!”
Gregorio and Benjamin laughed. Perhaps I was more useful to
them as feckless character, someone to jeer at.
“Why, you don’t want to go to heaven, Friar?” Benjamin taunted.
“I know I am but a sinner,” I smiled. “But I could use a bit more
time before God blows out my candle. I’m hoping to find some way
to skip purgatory.”
“Trying to become a saint, are you?” Gregorio said. “Become a
martyr, then. That will do, won’t it?”
“That would be an improvement, no doubt. I’ve been thinking
about it. Perhaps one of these days someone will favour my
aspirations.”
Gregorio swatted at a hornet that came too close. “We’re going to
make it, I think,” Gregorio said. “Losada knows what he is doing.
You can see it in his face. I’m convinced he knows how the bastards
think. He has lots of experience. But, if you ask me, Francisco Infante
is the better of the two.”
Losada struck me as a man of principle whereas Francisco Infante
impressed me as a schemer, someone who would rather run things
for himself, so I decided not to respond to the bait. It was odd for me
to sometimes feel so close to Gregorio and Benjamin, and yet at the
same time I sensed their camaraderie was fickle, transitory. For
them, the New World was strictly a land of opportunity, and the
state of their souls was a distant second.
Were they ever my friends? Or did they even want to be?

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

He Rode Tall

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Excerpt

was down to his last seventy-five dollars. And if they were going to
be able to buy gas to get back home, he had to be very careful with
the little bit of cash that he did have.
Joel and Tanya had just finished tidying up their supplies
adjacent to the stalls and were giving the horses one last look
when an attractive, middle-aged woman dressed in fancy western
wear approached them. From her looks, Joel guessed that
she had never cleaned a stall in her life. He only wished that he
could say the same for himself—in the last few months he had
done enough stall cleaning to last a lifetime. Helping Harry
change the bedding in the stalls was more of a workout than
what city people would get at high-priced health clubs. “That’s
it,” Joel thought. With a chuckle he told himself that if the
horse business didn’t work out he could always convert the
Circle H into a health and fitness center. One thing was certain,
Joel was in the best physical condition that he had been in
for years.
“You the owner?” the lady asked.
“I am,” Joel replied.
“Mary Lou Schwartz. Is the palomino for sale?”
Joel looked at Tanya and, as he saw the word “No” forming on
her lips, stepped up and replied, “Well now, I guess everything is
really for sale at the right price isn’t it?”
The shock showed on Tanya’s face. As she started to protest,
Joel continued, “What did you have in mind?”
“I was looking for a young reining horse that could eventually
join our broodmare band. This little girl might fit the bill. She’s
nicely put together and seems real sweet and gentle. How does
5,000 dollars sound?”
“Too low” is what Joel thought, but he bit his tongue, knowing
that the offer was just a starting point. He asked, “Would you like
to see her papers?”
“Sure. You are probably going to tell me that she is some kind
of a great-great granddaughter of a Doc Bar or something like
that, aren’t you?”

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

Still Waters

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Excerpt

She felt Morley give her hand an extra squeeze to bring her attention
to the scene before her. People were coming out of the church,
laughing and talking, wishing each other a merry Christmas. Among
them, almost at the bottom of the steps, she saw her mother and
dad. Tyne drew in her breath and waited. Her mother looked in their
direction, and her eyes grew large with disbelief. Then she turned to
speak to her husband.
Jeff swung around. In the light from the doorway Tyne saw his expression
change from surprise to displeasure. Then he walked away
from his wife and came towards them.
Tyne let Morley’s hand go, and took a couple of steps to meet her
father. “Hello, Dad. Merry Christmas.” She lifted her face for his kiss.
It landed, cold and stiff, on her cheek.
“What are you doing here, Tyne? We didn’t know you were coming
home.” He glanced at Morley who had moved to her side. “We
would have met you at the bus depot, you know. You didn’t have to
bring Morley in from the farm. I’m sure he has better things to do
on Christmas Eve.”
“Not at all, sir,” Morley said. “I was only too happy to come. And
I’m pleased Tyne invited me to church with her.”
Jeff cleared his throat but did not reply. He turned back to his
daughter. “Well, I see you’re not afraid of being snowed in, after all. I
only hope, for your sake, that you don’t have to miss any days of your
training this close to the end.”
“I’m sure it will be all right, Dad,” Tyne murmured as she turned
to hug her mother who appeared bewildered and anxious.
Tyne felt her mother’s anxiety, and understood. All her married
life, Emily Milligan had lived in her husband’s shadow, obeying him,
pleasing him, keeping the peace within the family as far as it was in
her power to do so. Tyne knew that whatever her mother said to discourage
her daughter’s relationship with Morley was only a reflection
of her husband’s feelings. She said what she knew he would want her
to say, and felt about it the way she perceived her husband to feel.
Tyne hugged her mother hard as tears stung her eyes. Oh, Mom, I
don’t want to bring you grief. Please try to understand, and be strong
for my sake.

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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Excerpt

One day the dogs heralded the arrival of a new family. They staggered
into camp with barely enough dogs to pull the sleighs. The animals’ ribs
stood out through their fur, and they lay down exhausted, their eyes
glazed. The people had to be helped from their sleds. Inside the big igloo,
they explained that they had come from far away and had left most of
their people behind. They had not found caribou this season and had run
out of food. They had no seal oil for heat. They were dying.
One young man’s toes were badly frostbitten. The elders determined
that they would have to be removed to prevent gangrene, a common condition
in the North where blood circulation to the extremities slowed.
There was no hospital – not even a doctor. The old woman said she
would select the person to perform the operation, but the young man
said he would do it himself.
The old woman stopped Ken as he turned to leave. “No,” she said.
“Kabluna wants to go everywhere and experience everything. This is part
of everything.”
The young man honed a knife and with immense concentration and
deliberation, selected the correct place to amputate the toes. One by one,
he sawed through flesh, sinew, and bone. He did not complain, cry, or
moan, taking the same impassive, measured care that he would if he had
been skinning an animal.
It shocked me. How can someone do that in that way and not fall into
paroxysms of agony? And I knew I had something to learn. I had to investigate
what pain was and how it was dealt with. I knew these people were not
superhuman but their understanding of humanness was very different from
mine and it probably came from eons of living in that environment.
These things set me on a very different track in my own head. They led me
to deal with our concepts of possible/impossible, difficult/not difficult and
so on. Nature is neither good nor bad. Nature is neither kind nor unkind.
Nature simply is. Possible and impossible are things of the imagination –
just as the pain is in our imagination. And seeing as we don’t know enough
to make these judgments, we shouldn’t even consider worrying about them.
If there is something in you to be done that is powerful then you set about
doing it and you take out all the imaginings of the dark monsters you might
meet on the road ahead. They may, in fact, never materialize. These concepts
were the golden door through which I walked toward a completely different
understanding, an understanding that has made it much more difficult for
me to live in our culture.
A council was held to decide the fate of those who had been left behind
to starve to death. Four dog sleighs were loaded with food, blankets, and
other necessities, and when it seemed that Ken was to be left behind…

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

The Circle

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Excerpt

Thursday morning Los Angeles opens her eyes, staring at the sun rising steadily
on the eastern horizon, gifting the city with warmth and joy. Even the homeless
smile this morning knowing it will be easier to locate food in the restaurant garbage
bin or the neighborhood pub garbage; there’s always something edible
there. The smog overarches the city touching the taller buildings, sitting lazily on
top of the high-rises. Rush hour is beginning and traffic increases with bottlenecks
in main arteries. One can hear the morning sounds of the commercial,
business center as people slowly reach to their destinations, stores open their
doors and customers rush in.
Ibrahim Hazim Mahdi sips his morning coffee and reads the latest news. He’s
pleased with the way his day went yesterday; he felt pride with Hakim next to
him all along. Sometimes, he remembers having asked Allah why he wasn’t
gifted with a son of his own, yet that was years ago. These days he takes what
comes his way as a gift from the Almighty because he knows the days of each are
counted first by Him and next by His people.
Ibrahim knows deep in his heart that Hakim is going to do just fine with the
money that he’s leaving for him. He also knows that Hakim will take good care of
his Auntie Mara, as long as Allah choses to keep her in this world. Despite all
these positive thoughts there still lingers an unexplained anxiety which has taken
hold of his mind and makes his heart ache; yet he cannot find the reason for it.
He wonders why he feels this now, after has taken care of everything.
The phone rings and he answers to a girl’s voice.
“Good morning, I’m calling from the medical center. Mr. Mahdi, please.”
“This is Ibrahim Mahdi.”
“Sir, I need to arrange an appointment for you with the specialist who
examined you. He has the results from your tests. What would be the best time
for you later today?”
“Any time is fine, young lady.”
“Alright then, is one in the afternoon okay?”
“Yes, that will be fine; I’ll be there at one.”

It’s early evening in Baghdad, and Ibrahim decides to call Mara. He dials his
number at home. The maid gets the phone and calls his wife.
“Hello,” he says, “how are you? I haven’t talked to you for two days.”
He hears Mara weeping on the other end and asks, “Why are you crying, my
beloved? I’ll be home in a couple of days. Is everything alright?”
“Yes, everything is alright,” she manages to say while sobbing. “Are you really
on your way home soon?” She doubts him.

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

Arrows

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Excerpt

Through the smoke I made out the hem of her dress some distance
away. She was kneeling beside an inert body, which was pierced by
an arrow through the thigh and another in the chest. It was her
husband.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a near-naked man running. The
smoke partially hid him, but I saw he was tall, with strands of black
hair pasted to his chest by sweat and speed and others floating over
his shoulders. Funny, I thought, I have not seen that kind of long
loincloth before.
Then I realized he was charging toward Josefa. He bore a
belligerent expression, and there was blood on his naked chest
under his quiver’s band. A pang of fear hit me like a bucket of cold
water. Surely he wouldn’t kill a woman, would he?
We were both closing in on Josefa and her dead husband but from
different directions. I was closer than he was. Josefa looked up at the
Indian, open-mouthed and white as the ghost she was in danger of
becoming. I sprinted toward her, heart throbbing, and tore the
buckler from her dead husband’s grasp. There was a serviceable
harquebus lying at his side and the sheathed dagger at his belt but I
didn’t want to use any potentially lethal weapon.
I squared my shoulders and braced myself for whatever might
come. It was God’s choice to see us through or not. I raised the small
shield on my forearm as I had seen others do. His bare feet landed
underneath the buckler, and he delivered a savage blow that
shocked its way up my arm, pushing me back, the clang resonating
in my ears.
He held his arm high, ready to deliver another blow. I was
crouching, peering over the buckler. Josefa yelped. I charged and
overthrew him, grunting like a beast. He fell but was on his feet
before I knew it, the hellish macana still in his grasp. His eyes leered
at me from his horribly painted face. I could feel his anger, his pride,
his hate, but there was a fortitude that sent a chill down my spine.
He turned and swung at my belly, but I leapt backwards as the
macana came within inches. “Run!” I shouted.

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

Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

the civil rights movement would make headlines in the Soviet Union. It would probably be couched in the language of the state extolling how the slave masses had risen up against the capitalist oppressors or some such jargon. She realized she had not seen a single black person since her arrival in the country, although Moscow University reportedly attracted African students.
“Excuse me. I am naïve,” he went on. “I must ask a very important question. Promise me not to laugh?” She nodded. “Is it only black persons who make jazz music in Canada or America? Or can white people like me make jazz?”
She tried not to grin at his earnestness. “Why would you ask that? Lots of people of all colours play jazz! You’re safe there to play whatever music you want…” She could see his discomfort, so she continued more gently. “It’s true, jazz has its roots among black musicians, that’s for sure. Many of them grew up singing in church choirs, like Aretha Franklin, for example. She’s my favourite. Do you know her?”
“No, tell me.” They spent the next while with Jennifer dredging up anything from her memory that she had ever learned about jazz, gospel or blues in the west to share with Volodya. While they were engrossed in this, Alya tapped on the door and entered with a bottle of brandy, some cheese, bread and a cut-up cake that she served. She settled herself comfortably with an air of possession. When the three were seated, the woman’s eyes swept up and down Jennifer appraisingly. She asked the usual questions in broken English. Where did she work? Was she married?
Jennifer responded more quickly this time on the marriage question. She had decided to answer questions with the vague, “My husband and I no longer live together,” rather than a more elaborate explanation.
Volodya switched on a radio that played American swing music. “It’s time for Voice of America,” he told her. “Reception is good at this time of day.”
“They must be broadcasting from somewhere outside of the Soviet Union?”
“Military base in Germany, I think.”
“Please eat,” said Alya, who was not having any of the cake herself.
Jennifer was just getting ready to ask Alya about herself when the woman swung toward Volodya in a gesture of approval. She rose, made her apologies, and left the bedroom with a significant glance at the bed.

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

He Rode Tall

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Excerpt

“Well,” Tanya said, “you certainly have as nice a string of horses
as I have ever seen. You have a dozen good horses here that are
better than all the horses I have ridden in my entire life. What are
you going to do with them?”
“What do you mean?” Joel asked.
“Well, the word around the rodeo grounds is that, with you
running the Circle H, it isn’t going to be as easy as it has in the
past for a cowboy or horse trainer to pick up a CircleHhorse. You
know, a lot of those cowboys came to depend on your dad for
quality horses at a cheap price. I used to hear them say that they
were only afraid of one thing—that your dad would leave the
ranch one day and discover what other people were selling their
horses for. I heard that there are a couple of trainers that aren’t
too pleased with you, Joel.”
“Well, news certainly does travel fast in these hills, doesn’t it?”
“So what are you going to do?” Tanya pressed.
“I am not sure. After the success of selling the old blonde mare,
I started to figure out that I have some pretty sought-after stock
here. I am just trying to figure out what would work best. Do you
know Cindy at the auction yard? We had lunch a week or so ago
and she was saying that she might be able to interest her boss,
Roy, in doing a special sale right out here at the ranch. I don’t
know about that, but, with these horses coming along the way
they are and the end of summer around the corner, I guess I
better figure out what would work best. What would you do if
these were your horses?”
“The first thing I would do is pinch myself to make sure that I
am not dreaming. Just about any horse is beautiful to me, but
these are special animals. And if everything I hear about their
breeding is true, this may be the finest band of horses in this part
of the country. Is it true? Are the mares all daughters or granddaughters
of Doc Bar? Is your stud an own son of Topsail Cody?
That would be really incredible!”
“Incredible it is. Yes, that is exactly what we have. There is
only the one old mare that is left that is a daughter of Doc Bar

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