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SELF-PORTRAIT I was the only one who could suspect, with the steady god from myself, Where I would find the long forgotten song and the thin quest Of the Transylvanian seagull again, then, much later ― keeping still ― I understood That all my fairy tales had been squandered on who knows what Exotic, marvellous or poor lands a long, long time ago, Only sometimes could I recognize them crouched under millennia and waterfalls, Like a twisted Faustian pact ever since prehistory, Like wounded haughtiness under lashing pride (The tango, the tango people danced in Buenos Aires, told me Such a throbbing, full of tension story ―) A dagger thrust only in bones
light flurry around noon, was coming down in huge flakes. Looking closely, she could see that the previous packed covering was overlaid by at least four inches of new snow. And, to make matters worse, the wind, stronger than it had been earlier, was whipping the white blanket into near blizzard conditions. Tyne groaned. She couldn’t go home tonight; she had to work tomorrow, and she couldn’t take a chance on being snowed in. Anyway, she was afraid to drive in such conditions, and she knew Morley would be upset if she even tried to get home. But as long as she could make it down the hill into Emblem, she didn’t have to worry. She could stay with her parents . . . or Aunt Millie. Yes, that made more sense. Aunt Millie was a little closer, and Tyne knew her aunt never liked to be alone in a storm. So she would go to Aunt Millie’s because her mom and dad had each other. She hurried to the small OR office and reached for the phone just as it rang, startling her. Calming herself, she picked up the receiver. “Operating Room, Mrs. Cresswell.” “Tyne honey, I was afraid you might have left.” Morley sounded strange, almost breathless. No doubt he thought she might already be on the road. She smiled at the sound of his voice. “Hello, dear. I was just going to call you. I know what’s going on outside so I won’t even try to get home. I’ll go to Aunt Millie’s for the night.” It took a moment for him to answer. “Good, I definitely don’t want you driving. But listen, Tyne, I have something to tell you.” His somber tone made her swallow hard, her heart suddenly in her throat. “Morley, is something wrong?” “The Harrisons were here; they’ve just left. Tyne ….” “The Harrisons? They were there … to see us?” “Yes, Ruby and Bill. They were looking for Rachael and Bobby.” “Looking for them? What do you mean they were looking for them? Where are they?” Tyne’s voice had risen several octaves. “What’s going on? Morley, tell me.”
David Joiner was always out on deck early, stripped down in the fresh air and performing his 5BX exercises, the rigorous program designed by the Canadian Air Force. It was a pity to be doing them so early, he thought, when there was no one on deck to admire his prowess with the combination push-ups and hand claps. He particularly liked it when women appreciated his tight, firm figure. Sadly there were only two women among the American cultural tourists that he had met who seemed promising in a summer affair fashion—and they were both older than he was. Lying flat on his back, David stretched and flexed. When he began to do sit-ups, he sighted along the trees at shore line, watching them rise and fall as he moved. But on one of the sit-ups, he glanced out to the river and saw an object in the water, moving intently toward the boat. Soon, the object resolved into a face, head held high above the current and body doing some kind of a breast stroke underneath. He abandoned his sit-ups and stared until he was sure that it was the face of a man. He didn’t know what to make of this. The river was wide at this point and looked swift. A man would have to be desperate to attempt such a swim. But David had recently read The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, so he knew all about desperate men. One of ours, returning to his cover from some secret assignation? What would he find of importance in the Volga region countryside? Or one of theirs? Again, that made no sense. Why would one of their agents want to get on board a tour boat with a group of Russian language academics and a gaggle of culture-seeking tourists? And why in blazes would he swim? Surely the Kremlin could afford small boats. David started to do some deep knee bends but didn’t finish. As the figure swam more into focus he could see clearly that the swimmer was Paul. He pulled on his track suit top and zipped it up. It was time for a quick rinse in the communal shower room, then some explanations. ★ Professor Walter Chopyk had also been up since first light but was oblivious to any activity on deck or in the river. He chose to spend these quiet morning hours seated at the tiny desk in his cabin, text books arranged neatly, writing in his journal.
Embalming And time came to speak the truth rising through the cracks of the floor four signs of distress sent to the four corners of the globe and I positioned myself before the wrath of Zeus when the mistral blew against me and the terrace creaked as if agreeing with my anger at the little people who always kneeled while golden nymphs reminded me of man’s misery when finally I placed my head onto the pillow to spend my long night of solitude truthfully Him I was, the splendorous loner, the irritable savior foolish enough to be embalmed
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 