Archive for 13/12/2025

excerpt

with worry, and the corners of her mouth twitched. Our eyes locked
for a moment, and her sorrow flowed into me: I felt we were one.
I took the hem of my frock and wet it in the river. I returned to
clean her face. Tamanoa was staring at the river, transfixed. While I
cleaned her face, she told us what had happened.
She had been betrothed to Baruta since before she was born. As
she blossomed into a woman, he sought to realize the marriage, but
she pleaded with her parents to let her stay with them longer. A
couple of years elapsed and Baruta grew impatient.
She didn’t live in Chacao’s village after all. It turned out she was a
niece of Paramaconi, the war chief cacique of the valley of the
Toromaynas where we now stood. Baruta was the son of
Guacaipuro, war chief of the entire north-central region of the
province of Venezuela.
Tamanoa said there was some danger of flies depositing their
eggs in Apacuana’s cut. He insisted she let him cover it with chewed
tobacco leaves. She complied. We resumed walking at an easy pace.
She explained she had come to visit her friend, Yulema, before the
rains started. Baruta had arrived unexpectedly, bringing news from
his father to Paramaconi, and so he had descended farther into the
valley looking for her.
Apacuana had enlisted her friend Yulema to help, but Yulema did
so reluctantly. Baruta was not pleased by Apacuana’s absences.
Possibly Yalema had told Baruta about me. Wehad to stop talking in
order to ford the river.
We took time to refresh ourselves in its waters. As she bathed,
Apacuana was so beautiful that even Tamanoa’s eyes followed her
helplessly. Most of the time he seemed unmoved by her charms,
apparently inured to exposed breasts, long legs, glimpses of loins
and innocent displays of coquetry. Indeed, he went so far as to shoo
her away whenever she listened to our language lessons. She
appeared as eager to learn my language as I was to learn hers.
Perhaps Tamanoa valued his role as translator and did not wish to
have any competition.

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

Swamped

Posted: 13/12/2025 by vequinox in Literature

excerpt

Chapter XI
“She seemed like an excellent lady, Dad,” Logan said in his father’s
office early the next day.
“I’m very excited about her, son,” Eteo answered, “and we make
hay, as the saying goes. She’s a very good woman. And quite independent
financially as well as in every other respect. She has no children
either. Can you imagine me getting seriously involved with a
woman who has her own children?”
Logan only smiled and nodded.
“And what’s more, she trusts me completely. She opened her account
with a hundred thousand dollar cheque and no questions
asked. She also knows Darius Ahmadi,” Eteo added after a thoughtful
pause. “The guy we tried to make a deal with about Robert’s company,
you remember?”
“Yes, I do, Dad. How’s her account doing anyway?”
“Not bad at all. I got her a few Lionsgate shares, some Wheaton,
and some Platinum too. She should do fine.”
Eteo paused for a moment to check his computer screen. “By the
way, Wheaton is another one we should keep an eye on.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562976

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

The Incidentals

Posted: 13/12/2025 by vequinox in Literature

Numbers
Day in and day out he calculated,
added, subtracted, multiplied,
divided his clients’ wealth
in pieces, allotted some
to the fair or unfair tax man
he filled out forms, balance sheets,
statement of receivables,
invoices and depreciation
life’s depreciation when days
lessen on one column and days
in the underworld increase
dark schedule, millions of dollars
arrayed on sheets, poor man rich man
the dichotomy that people fall for
then they rise once and go beyond
the ephemeral wish of wealth
realizing no one takes it with them
when the irresistible Hades
makes his unexpected appearance,
the accountant, a poor man
in dollars, rich in his understanding
of need for food and shelter and
for the odd game recalled at times
when he didn’t eat all day only
to reach home late at night
exhausted that he could only
open a can of porky beans, his
supper, though he served his clients
well, had exemplary work habits, they
all had said at his funeral service,
to which just a few showed up.
No females attended, he hardly
had time for a woman’s body
the dutiful accountant who he was,
decided to go up to Heaven,
perhaps St. Peter would
give him the bookkeeper’s
job in the accounts of Heavenly
wealth fairly or unfairly gained.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3745812

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763637