Fury of the Wind

excerpt

Dave looked up from stripping milk from the last cow in the row.
“Like what?”
“Like he’s going to be married on Friday to a woman who’s already
staying at his house.”
Dave straightened his six foot frame and stared at his wife. “Are
you all right, Pen? Have you been out in the sun too long today?”
She walked over to him and gave him a playful shove. “Dave, I’m
serious. Mrs. Andrews from the station called to say that a woman
who got off the train on Monday, and who’s staying with Ben, had
dropped a glove or something in the waiting room. Of course, it
was just an excuse to see what I know. Then she said they’re getting
married on Friday.”
Dave whistled softly. “Well, Ben really is a close one. He never
said a word to me.”
“But that’s just like him, isn’t it? I wonder where he met her.”
“Probably in Winnipeg. I guess old Ben can be on his best behaviour
when it suits him.”
“Well, I don’t envy the girl, whoever she is.”
Dave reached out to brush a dark wisp of hair from his wife’s cheek
and grinned down at her. “She must be as brave as you were, Pen. You
didn’t know what you were coming to, either.”
Penny looked up into his face and smiled, but her hazel eyes were
full of concern. “But I was lucky, love, I had you. I just hope she’s
prepared for what she’s come to.”
Dave lifted his straw hat and ran a hand through his damp, curling
hair. “Hey, that explains why I saw Mrs. Thompson and Joyce
heading for Ben’s place yesterday morning. Joyce must have been
taking her mother there to stay until the wedding.” He riffled his
son’s red curls then turned around to release the cows from their
stanchions.
On the way back to the house, Penny reflected on the phone call – not
only on the surprising news it brought but on the fact that one of
the town women would call her to ask questions about her neighbour.
Why were people so interested in Ben, anyway? It certainly
wasn’t because they had any affection for him. Penny knew that on
the Nimkus social ladder the farmers occupied the lowest rung –
Ben’s rung, if possible, even lower than that.

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

Red in Black

Calculation
Indifferent to reward
or rebuke
your effort hides
behind your eyelids and
deep in your heart
you stand knowing
you had one chance
to show to him your love
before he left
yet your fear
made the best of you

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1771713208

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

Mrs. Urania
She, who certainly exists in the snow-covered dwelling in Byzantium, can’t play in the country shooting ranges with the many superstitions of popular regiments of Western monks. Its prospect is unpleasant, its pragmatism wrong, the point of 6500 meters in height has many fans, however, so that no one could sense the size of her loss, the comments of her children are not enough, the assurances of her innumerable lovers, the conclusion of Kolkhozes of her infidelities. The cuffs of Hagia Sophia, the nation’s hope, the drink of plains, here is the evidence in her defence, always forgotten, that we want to underline in a desperate effort for expiation and awe. Her name is Euterpe. Don’t tell me that she wasn’t worthy of the tears you shed on her apron, the reverent incense of passion we burned to the image of her breasts, the lit candle we occasionally offered to the memory of the feathers she used to adorn her hats with. Thus, the fantasizing of the lawless aren’t needed here, at this time. The night temperature doesn’t dare anything against the deadly traps or fishing. Homeland of democracy is the Arc and the eulogy.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3744799#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734

In Turbulent Times

excerpt

Nora was so glad of having someone to talk to that she prattled away like the gutting girls in the kippering house. Nora missed company. Liam was out most of the time and busy with his books in the evening. Only lately had he begun to skimp on the invested evening hours he normally gave to study in order to squander them on Nora. But then he drew as many out from his midnight reserves to pay back what he owed to his reading and writing. Nora’s only close friend was Janet Gordon. Janet lived in the village and helped her mother in the post office; she didn’t have much time to visit and talk, especially now when she had just become engaged to Colin Patterson, the nephew of a former barber in the village who had been shot dead, presumably by the IRA, with Nora’s uncle, Flynn Casey, as the prime suspect. With her mother Nora had never been particularly close. Caitlin stopped in only rarely on her way to or from the village or the church, and Nora made infrequent calls at her mother’s. Even these often ended in a row.
Joe watched Nora with warm affection as she talked about the names for her unborn child. And he remained silent for a while when she appeared to have fallen deep into thought. Then he said, ‘Yes, I’ll be the child’s godfather and gladly so.’
‘I am so pleased, Joe.’ Nora stood up, placed her forearms on his shoulders, locked her fingers behind his neck and stared at him for a moment with a happy smile that her dimples made so sweet, so innocent-looking, so endearing. And those powerful emotions returned, wrenching at his stomach. He felt his face take on the look of wistful melancholy. At the same time the smile faded from Nora’s lips. A sad, pensive yearning took its place. Lightly, lingeringly, tenderly, she kissed his mouth.
Liam put a brave face on Joe Carney’s visit. He talked amiably about the war in general, about the Battle of the Atlantic in particular, about Joe’s older brothers, Tom and Stephen, about the village itself and the latest local gossip, all of which gossip Joe had heard twice over already. But all the while Liam’s heart was thumping in his chest, his breathing was uneven, and a dull ache gnawed at his entrails. He knew that Nora still loved this spruce young sailor. He watched for every glance exchanged, for every inadvertent contact of their hands or eager fingers. He recalled the hours that Nora spent in writing letters every week, the excitement that she could not hide when letters came for her, letters that she put aside and never allowed Liam to see. Liam felt almost sick. He only picked at the ham sandwiches that Nora had made for tea and did not even touch the apple tart she had baked. He compared his own balding head, his tight, hard mouth and hollow…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270