The Unquiet Land

excerpt

“I was wondering if you had agreed to marry him yet.” Nora’s face brightened again and looked excited. “You know who would be at the altar to perform the ceremony.”
“Padraig of course. I’ve thought of that.”
“Is that why you’ve waited?”
“Not exactly.”
“I think it’s wonderful that Padraig will be the priest at your wedding.” She looked at her twin sister as if for a favourable reception. Caitlin showed none. “How is he, Caitlin? I haven’t seen him yet. He called at the house yesterday, but I was in Lisnaglass.”
“He’s the same Padraig seven years older and seventy years wiser,” Caitlin replied. “He’s even thinner than he was before, if you can believe such a thing possible. And those wild eyes of his are even wilder. He’ll make a great preacher with eyes like that. He should have been a Presbyterian.”
“Caitlin! How can you say such a thing?”
“I can say many a thing, Nora, and you haven’t heard the worst.”
“You’ve lived too long with Daddy.” The words were out before Nora thought of stopping them. Caitlin looked hurt; even, for a moment, angry. “I’m sorry, Caitlin. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Caitlin agreed. “Would you have our father be like all the rest of the sheep in the village, each one bleating like all the others, each responding the same way when one starts? No thank you, Nora. Finn MacLir is a man, not a sheep.”
A mischievous gleam came into Caitlin’s eyes, sparked by a wish to get her own back on her sister. “About Michael and me,” she began, “I don’t know if I want to get married in church. Father wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t in church when you and Flynn were married. He’d never sit in a church for love nor money. I think Michael and I will simply move into the same bedroom and live openly as man and wife.”
Nora stopped. Her arm came away from Caitlin’s, but she grasped her sister’s two arms with her hands and looked pleadingly into her eyes. “Caitlin, you can’t. It’s wrong. Think of the scandal. Hasn’t our house seen enough of that kind of thing? You’ll be living in sin.”
“I don’t see it as sin,” Caitlin said with conviction. “I see it as something beautiful. I love Michael as much as you love Flynn. That’s the important thing. What difference does it make if Padraig or some other priest pronounces us man and wife from the altar of a church?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

In the Quiet After Slaughter

excerpt

Larry pestered his parents to let us go off on our own. They wanted
us to take Lenore.
The youngest Cameron was a timid 10-year-old with a mouthful of
braces. She wore glasses held together with electrician’s tape. In all the
years we’d lived on the same street, I’d never once seen Lenore smile.
– Maybe next time, Larry said. Sorry, sis.
After the three of them had left, Larry and me doffed our shirts
and sprawled on a bench facing the sea. Lifeguards were perched in
elevated lookouts, walkie-talkies crackling, binoculars trained on
the overcooked swarms frolicking at water’s edge.
A pair of giggling girls passes in a gust of perfume.
Females liked Larry; they hardly noticed me. There was always a
couple following him at school. He trained his hair with a blow
dryer like the singer Bobby Vinton. He had muscles; I, freckles.
– ’Merican poontang, Larry said. It was a new word; he liked
using it.
The pair sat at the end of our bench.
– The tall one is mine, Larry says.
– Are you from around here?
– Nope, Larry replied. Tennessee. You?
– Canada, said one.
– We never met American guys before, the friend gushed.
– It’s your lucky day, Larry winked.
– I’m Cindy, the tall one said, sliding closer. She’s Corrine.
Larry introduced himself as Tate. I, he said, was Ken.
As the girls huddled, he whispered to me: I changed my mind.
The other one’s got bigger jugs.
Larry handed out Camels and corralled us around a lighter. For
just an instant Corrine’s shoulder brushed mine. The heat off her
tanned skin surged through mylimbs like a jolt of something powerful.
Another body. A woman’s.
– Are you guys going to the fairgrounds tomorrow night? asked
Cindy. There’s going to be live bands.
– For sure, Larry said.
– Have you got wheels?
Larry indicated a Corvette across the street and dangled a set of
keys — his house keys.
– It’s got a .327, he said.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562874

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897971

Ken Kirkby, Warrior Painter

excerpt

The most dramatic of Ken’s painterly works, Isumataq pushes the
meaning of large to the next level. This spectacular 1824 square foot portrait
is of a majestic Inukshuk towering over Pangnirtung Fjord and is composed
of 38 vertical panels, each 4 foot by 12 foot tall. Incorporated into the
painting are images of Mount Thor (known for the greatest vertical drop
in the world) and Mount Asgard (featuring the dramatic flat-topped twin
towers). Examination of the glacier behind the Inukshuk will reveal that it
is the shape of a stylized Canadian flag. The first brushstroke was applied in
September 1986, and the last on the longest day of the year, June 21st 1991.
The actual working hours on this record-breaking project totals 6840. It is
deemed a portrait rather than a landscape because, to the Inuit, the land is a
living being.
The creation and excitement of the painting and launch of Isumataq
most certainly did its job by exposing the reality of the Arctic and the people
who inhabit it to the gaze of the Canadian people, including those in the
Federal Government. In ways almost as mystical as the northland itself, the
gigantic painting opened the ears of decision makers and Ken became an
integral (although nearly invisible) force behind the formation of Nunavut,
Canada’s third territory. It can accurately be claimed that the outcome of
one man’s youthful promise to correct a long-time wrong changed the face
of the Nation. On April 1, 1999 the map of Canada was redrawn.
History is an odd thing. It doesn’t mean much to anyone under fifty
years of age, and when the story is told of Ken’s dedication to Canada’s
north and the fact that a mere promise made such an impact on his life, he
is often faced with a pacifying smile and conciliatory comment along the
lines of, well, that’s very nice, but of course Canadians are far more aware
of what goes on now than people were half a century ago.
Perhaps that is true; certainly we are privy to instant communication,
compliments of the technological age, but that has a negative side as well.
Recipients of a continual barrage of ethnic misfortune become dulled to
it—perhaps as a necessity to save one’s sanity. We develop similar selective
deafness with respect to telephoned demands on our charitable nature, or
guilt-raising harangues. We retaliate with the hopeless statement: I’m just
one person. What possible difference can I make?
The warrior painter quietly insists that every single person can make a
significant difference if they simply hold their heads up …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG

Marginal

Alliance

He always faced the sun
even when it blinded him
others took refuge under
the beach umbrellas and
he stood like a bronze Hermes
challenging the power of light
staking his claim on emptiness
as if a new world could
be created by his irises and
by the few butterflies that
dutifully attended to the wishes
of the bloomed carnations
love lost and found
miracles unfolding in broad daylight

https://draft2digital.com/book/3747032#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1771715987