Savages and Beasts

excerpt

Indian kids; George’s Mediterranean spirit drawing strength and
inspiration from the four thousand year old Cretan civilization
and tradition rebelled at the thought that these children might
had been sexually abused and when he heard of it he jumped up
off his seat while his face was as red as the fire in his kitchen. He
looked at Anton’s eyes and said,
“If I ever catch someone abusing any of these kids I’ll kill
him, I swear to God I will exterminate him.”
“Relax George,” Anton said, “take it easy; we have to be
practical, not let our emotions make the best of us, we have to
be careful not to let anything go unnoticed, we have to be observant,
we have to act when we have proof,” Anton tried to calm
him down.
George nodded his agreement though his face was still
as red as the fire in his kitchen and his rebellious mind wouldn’t
let him relax.
“Why Anton, tell me why? Who are the educated ones
who do bad things like that? Why these kids have to suffer and
no one has ever done anything about it?”
“To answer the first part of your question,” Anton said “the
issue lies in the perception of today’s people, the English people
of British Columbia, we don’t have any French speaking people
here we have just Anglos and, like Tyson, still fondly reminiscent
the glorious era of colonialism when they would invade any country
and after plucking a wooden cross on the new soil they would
declare it property of the English King or Queen and all local
inhabitants were subjects of their King. Undoubtedly todays
Anglos still glamor these ideals with the results we find here.”
“I’m lost, Anton, truly I’m lost,” George said.
“Look, George, the concept of colonialism still abounds
and still floods the minds and hearts of the Anglos, the concept…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume VI

THE LIFT OPERATOR

Spring noon in an Athens suburb; now, with an extension of the train line, this suburb has become busy. Big commotion, although benumbed, new stores, aesthetic display windows with shirts, ties etc, kiosks, neon signs, three or four apartments with a few floors, real estate offices, tailors, lawyers and a bookstore on the main floor. Only the kites became fewer as if the children were all day long in school. The cemetery was moved a little higher, and only a few cypresses and pines were left on the fertile soil with the abundant verdure, like a strange, green, silent island moored at this suburb, encircled by a strip of sea, its old half-standing fence wall. It has been changed into a small park now with some benches, small signs, and untrimmed grass. They had also built a fountain, which was left, who knows why, half finished. A few old men find refuge here during the hot noon hours, unemployed men or some children with their tricycles or barrel rings and sometimes the polite, handsome lift operator of the apartment. When you see them sitting there, you think that they sit behind silence, or behind faraway windows, and they look elsewhere. Yet, you only imagine it. They look at their time, here, with their concerns, common or heroic, in the usual calendar of the regular holidays.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763785

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

Song for the Moon

The old moons, he answered, shattered and became
ightning bolts. Don’t you see that when it thunders
they shine like swords?
by Nasrudin

the most beautiful songs
are the moon songs
there are of course
many other
and beautiful
what am I saying,
fantastic songs,
but the most beautiful
we must accept it
are the songs
of the moon
when
tes seins ruissellent d’ argent
moons
as you didn’t fear the touches,
caresses and questions
of the Nereids
the crowing
night
rooster
doesn’t understand
anything
nor the forecast of the weather
they allow to it…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3744799

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

Poodie James

excerpt

heart attacks before. We would have lost two people if it hadn’t
been for Mr. James over there, and Engine Fred.”
“Engine Fred; is that name familiar to you?”
“He’s been one of our most faithful non-paying customers since
the 1920s. Every Great Northern detective from here to Minneapolis
knows Fred. He’s a favorite of the freight crews, right up there
with Sawdust Charlie and High Iron Jack. Now, I think he’s
moved into first place. I’m surprised that he showed up here. We
haven’t seen him on the road for more than a year.
“What caused the derailment?”
“Track separation. It looks like loose spikes gave way in a couple
of rotten ties, and that led to pressure on a faulty weld. It’s the sort
of thing we’d like to think routine maintenance would catch, and it
should have.”
“Could there have been some other cause?”
“Other cause, Chief? I’m a little behind you here.”
“Could a person have made this happen?
“Oh. Well, we always look for that possibility. We’ve had
derailments caused by debris on the tracks, but that’s when a train’s
highballing, not when it’s moseying through a town, like this one
was. And we didn’t find logs or concrete blocks or boulders. That’s
the kind of thing you look for.”
Poodie stood in the half circle of men watching the tank car’s
undercarriage dangle from the crane’s big hook.
“Mr. Hall,” Spanger said, “could someone have done something
to the rails?”
“Section of rail removed, switches opened, bolts cut; that sort of
thing happens, but not in this one. No, I’m afraid we’ll find that the
maintenance gangs overlooked a deteriorating situation. After so
many trains pushed on the weak section, it finally gave way and
that rail swung out of position at just the wrong time. I don’t think
I’d like to be the district supervisor around here.”
“You’re sure there was no sabotage?”
“I’m sure, Chief. That’s how it’s going into my report. But if you…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV