The Circle

excerpt

“I know something should have been done during the last ten or so years, my
good, old friend, and time is still on our side. A new generation of people is
coming, and they’ll straighten up what we have messed up. They are the ones
who will straighten the crooked canes, as the saying goes.”
Bevan looks deeply into his eyes again, looking for the answers to the
questions he has.
“Yes, time is on our side. Patience and perseverance is the key to all. I suppose I
canmeet and have a glass ofwine with Hakim sometime. He looks, to me, like a very
sophisticated and well-mannered young man. You must be very proud of his
accomplishments so far.”
“Yes, I am very proud of my dearest son, but trust me, you haven’t seen
anything yet from this young man. He’ll see to the end a lot of things that I have
started and things that other people have started. I have no doubt whatsoever.
And no, I see no problem with you two getting together sometime. Have a drink
to my health when you two meet.”
His pride is expressedwithin his wrinkles and hismind flies to the joyous days of
the future when Hakim will overcome the difficulties life will surely bring his way.
He’s proud, like the father eagle seeing his young ready to fly fromthe security of the
nest toward the danger of life which it naturally craves to taste and conquer.
Soon, Bevan and Ibrahim have to part, each knowing it’s hard to predict
when they will meet again, or where.
“I wish you the best, my good friend.” Bevan says. “May Allah grace you with
healthy and pleasant days. My regards to Mara,” Bevan says.
“My best wishes to you, for every effort you make in your life. When you
decide to retire, consider coming over to visit and stay as long as you like. After I
leave, my dearest son will accommodate you as well as he can,” Ibrahim gives
Bevan the customary hugs and kisses.
“Yes, perhaps I may come and visit you when the time comes.”

---

Mario Bonetti has already decided what to write on the cover of the Matthew
Roberts file: case closed. Suicide, a terrible thing, yet the family deserves closure,
and the sooner the better. The Feds have paid him a visit and reviewed all available
information. They have spent about two hours at his precinct. Now he has
the duty to close this file and turn the body over to the family for a funeral.
He calls officers Taylor and Ziegniew into his office and instructs them to call
the Roberts family and let them know they can claim the body.
“I wonder why the boss wants to close this file so soon,” John Taylor remarks
on their way out.

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

Small Change

Sammy`s in Love
THE FIRST TRULY RELIGIOUS event I ever witnessed… well, maybe not the first, but the most impressive, was disguised as a fist fight.
It happened on the first day of school in grade five.
Sister Margaret really did look like somebody’s sister. She was a blue-eyed, pug-nosed nineteen-year-old with frizzy blonde hair that kept working out from the tight edge of the black wimple that framed her face. I remember thinking how much it reminded me of something that had caught my attention so strikingly and repeatedly over the summer. I had spent weekends at my grandfather’s summer house at South Beach on Staten Island where there were dozens of young women in bathing suits, strolling on the boardwalk or on the sand, and I was totally enthralled by one in particular, a blonde in her twenties whose pubic hair peeked out from the hem of her black one-piece and took my breath away every time I saw her. This was not an appropriate thought to have about a nun or a teacher, so I tried to imagine what Sister Margaret might look like in street clothes. Jeans and a plaid shirt, for instance, to go with her tomboy walk and that grin she had that curled up the side of her mouth, like Mickey Levine’s older sibling, Anita, as she swaggered demurely across the front of the classroom, picked up a blackboard pointer, and lashed it a few times over the desk, scattering notes, paperbacks, and pencils. I guess she wanted us to know she was a tamer. I was ready to jump through rings of fire, just for a shot of light from those blue eyes. But Sammy Ferretti was not impressed.
He was the round-faced, left-handed hit-man-to-be we all revered and admired. He’d already beaten up the bullies in grade eight. So, after the whisssh and slap and the pages fluttering and the blue gleam of power under those thick blond eyelashes, after the slummy accent we recognized as Railroad Avenue, our little, victimized souls began to collect around Sammy’s inevitable rebellion.
We weren’t disappointed. He called her a slut and a wet nurse, in impeccable Sicilian. Some of us looked down at our desks and snickered.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

Ubermensch

Unattainable
Then, there, by chance I met the old man who decided
before his death to name himself God. He had always
been in love with the unattainable. He liked to sit on a wet
mattress and asked the passersby for a moment of silence
because he knew, he alone, could carry the most gold at
the final Day of Judgement, one completely certain event
and of course unwished to the busy men of this city and
for this, the jester didn’t ever pay attention to such details
while the old man leaned into the restaurant garbage bin
to get his evening meal.
I like those who seek knowledge and become the reason
for the coming of Übermensch. Thus they seek their death.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGFRGLVH