The Circle

excerpt

Bevan Longhorn sits in his room, reading his morning newspaper. He takes a sip of
coffee and decides he doesn’t feel like drinking it; usually, he has consumed two cups
by this time. The news of the day is not much different from the news of yesterday
and the day before; plenty of crime on the front pages, to show readers a world most
people don’t like to look at, although it’s before their eyes all the time. People try to
erase the real world and replace it with the magical world of television.
He wants to get up and go out; yet, he thinks, ‘What the hell do I want to go out
for this morning?’ It’s a morning heavy with clouds, heavy as his heart feels right
now. The first days of October have been cooler than September and people are
wearing light jackets and windbreakers. He needs to organize his paperwork and
prepare for the following morning’s work, yet he cannot concentrate on work at
the moment.
The hell with it, he thinks and his mind goes to the terrifying thought of
doing something very bad. What can he do to change the great myth called
regulation? What can he do to stop the misery that they unleash out there?
No, I amnot Matthew. I have a duty; I have to stay and perform what will be
my last task in the office regarding ‘The Circle’.
He gets up and puts on his jogging suit to go for a walk; there is a small
walkway along a park a few blocks away. When he reaches the park, he realizes
it’s crowded with people, even though it’s quite cool. He takes a few minutes to
look around; Yes, it’s chilly, yet a walk in the park will help him feel better, he
thinks. He looks around and feels more alive, yes, he feels better already. He
carries on; before him walks a young, big- breasted woman who moves the
cheeks of her ass quite enticingly and he decides to pay a bit more attention to
her. His eyes take hold of the woman’s buttocks as they move from one side to
the other; Bevan stares and then laughs at himself for looking at her in that way.
An older man, obviously frustrated about something, perhaps with the
movements of the young woman’s ass, walks with a cane in his hand, and since
he cannot keep up with the pace of the young woman’s ass, would love to stick
his cane where he cannot put his hand. As Bevan walks past him he hears the
man’s breathing, so fast and erratic. He turns and says to the older man, “Are you
okay?”
“Who the hell cares?” the man growls and keeps walking.
Perhaps this is the best answer one can expect from an old man frustrated
with himself who doesn’t know how to vent his frustration. Bevan keeps walking
and passes him without another word.
People have anxiety about their lives and anxiety about their future…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

The Circle

excerpt

“I’m very happy to hear that, my uncle; what’s Bevan looking for, with this
message of his?”
Ibrahim looks him in the eyes and says, “Explosives! Can we get them for him?”
“What does he need explosives for?”
“It’s Bevan’s business; can we get them for him?”
“Of course, we can; how much?”
“Enough to fit in a briefcase, enough for a big bang.”
Ibrahim sits in his chair in the study and takes a deep breath; he looks at Talal
again and nods for him to take a seat. He takes a pen to write something down;
then changes his mind and says, “Don’t forget, no matter what happens and how
it goes down, Hakim is not to be involved, and it’s your responsibility to make
sure of that; am I clear Talal?” Ibrahim’s eyes dive deep into Talal’s, as if he’s to
get Talal’s soul to swear to it right there.
“I promise you, my dear uncle, Hakim’ll be kept out of it, no matter what.
Ahmed has met a few American punks who will find what we need. When that
happens, I’ll make sure Ahmed leaves and returns home.”
“Very good, very good. You have money for all this, I suppose. We’ll talk
about this again; now go and rest. The servant will call you soon for dinner.”
Emily has been in the guest room for a while; it’s quite a large bedroom with
its own bathroom and a small sitting area on the side. The floor is decorated with
large tiles in light and dark earth tones; the bathroom is huge and the tub big
enough for two. There’re two windows and a door opening onto a large balcony
overlooking the grounds filled with colourful trees and shrubs. She’s standing
outside on the balcony when Talal comes in and hugs her. They stay there
looking toward the garden below with the desert sun still quite high in the sky.
It’s 6:30 in the evening and the temperature is a comfortable 30+ degrees on this
first day of October. He kisses her lips.
“Welcome to my country, sweet Emily.” He leaves her to examine every little
detail of the room as he steps into the shower.
The maid comes and gets them for dinner at 8:30 p.m. Ibrahim and Mara are
waiting for them, and to Talal’s surprise, Rassan and Abdul, the two guards, join
them for dinner. The dining room is huge and can accommodate more than
twenty diners sitting; the table and chairs are a different style from what Emily is
used to in the United States, yet they are very functional and comfortable. For
dinner tonight there are six of them.
Emily and Talal are seated to the right of the head where Ibrahim sits, but there is
a seat left vacant between them and Ibrahim. Mara sits to his left, then there is an
empty seat and the two guards sit next to that. Mara leans across the table and says to
Emily, “This is Hakim’s seat to your left; nobody sits there except Hakim.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

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

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

In the Quiet After Slaughter

excerpt

spaghetti western. The ballplayer tried willing the inebriated soldiers—
wrestling in the dirt now, smashing bottles, urinating in the
ditches — to vanish, all a mirage. For the film crew to put away its
equipment and the brutal caliph to strip off the fake moustache and
disappear inside a trailer.
But it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a movie. The comandante was
swaggering through the clearing.
– El hombre comunista! he roared, a prosecutorial digit aimed at
Paco. And then, leaning over Witherspoon, Your Mexican friend is
not a student, yanqui! He is a dangerous radical!
But Witherspoon’s formal education had ended prematurely. He
wouldn’t have been able to identify a communist if one was standing
before him, although he seemed to recall being told that to be one
was a bad thing. Since puberty his had been a world of curves and
splitters, of wind sprints through a freshly cut outfield grass.
There had been an American teammate in the Florida State
League, a prospect from California. Every time he struck out, which
was often, the kid muttered, Effing commie bastards! For the longest
time Witherspoon believed a communist to be a southpaw who
threw breaking balls.
The comandante ordered his centurions to strap Paco to a tree. A
mango was placed atop his head. The soldier reached into
Witherspoon’s duffel bag and removed a baseball. It was Wild
Man’s talisman, the ball used in his first professional victory. He’d
intended to place it alongside his father’s war medals.
– It’s very warm today, the comandante addressed the crowd. We
need some entertainment, no?
Witherspoon was familiar with the expectations of spectators —
knew well that where they collect in sufficient numbers, so must
there be a performance.
First in Spanish, then in English, the comandante explained his
intentions:
– If the gringo knocks the mango from his friend’s head, the rebel
can continue his journey. We’ll pick him up another time. But if he
misses . . . The comandante’s gold tooth gleamed under the blazing
afternoon sun.
Witherspoon rose to his feet. He placed his fingers along the
seams of the baseball. A murmur rippled through the crowd.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562874

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

The Circle

excerpt

“Yeah. Jennifer wants to see her mother off. What time do you need to be
there?”
“The flight is at four o’clock; if we get there by two o’clock, we’ll be fine, don’t
you think?”
“It sounds right; we’ll be at your place by one. By the way, do you have a
direct flight?”
“No, we have a stopover in New York.”
“Did you get first class?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ll have the chance to really relax over the Atlantic. See you later,
then.”
As he finishes talking, he sees Jennifer coming from the bedroom, still in her
nightgown.
“Good morning, baby. Are you not going to work today?”
“No, I’m calling in sick.”
“Are you sick, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know how I feel. My mom is going away for two weeks for the first
time in a long time; it makes me feel apprehensive.”
“Oh, baby, don’t worry. She’ll not be alone, Talal is going also, and he knows
the place they’re going to; what’s there to worry about?”
“I don’t know; I just don’t know. I’ll stay home; this way I don’t have to ask
for two hours off in the afternoon. We’ll spend the morning together, maybe go
for a walk in the park together. Do you want to do that?”
Hakim promises to walk with her later on.

---

Bevan Longhorn is at his post this Friday morning working on the papers, reports,
and data he needs to look into every day of the week. He has managed to get a few
things done over the past three days, and has promoted one of his analysts to the
position of middle manager, to fill the void Matthew Roberts created with his
unexpected death. The routine of the office absorbs everything as always, like a
merciless machine. It absorbs everyone within its gears, controlled by a relentless
computer that doesn’t think of people for anything except what they produce,
turning them into the same kind of machines that machinate one crooked idea
into another. The gaps between spaces occuring, with or without thought, are
filled by Bevan who completes the image with impeccable clarity and exactness.
Bevan Longhorn is a single guy who has never had the pleasure of having a
wife by his side, as most of his friends have. His mind goes back to Laura Palmer.
Yes, she got his heart pounding at one time; that was some thirty-five years ago,

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

Poodie James

excerpt

darkness and silence, currents of air on his skin, the scent of the
apples surrounding him. I am floating in space. I am with my
mother, in her arms. I am safe inside her, waiting to be born, fearing
to be born, wanting to be born. The perfume drifting down
from his apple trees became the fragrance of his mother, the breeze
the dark swirl of her hair falling around him. Without my silence I
could not hear her laughter. He saw her laugh, felt her laugh, heard
her laugh, listened to her laughter echo down the years.
When he opened his eyes, the moon was clear of the ridge and
yellowing. The smoke of a cooking fire spiraled near the tracks and
Poodie wondered if anyone he knew was among the hobos in the
jungle. As he fell asleep, the moonlight etched the pattern of the
window across the foot of his bed.
He awakened hours later to a shuddering of the earth. In the
dimness, he saw a dish fall from the table to the floor, land on edge,
roll to the wall, stand against it for a second, fall flat and shatter.
He pulled the covers over his head and readied himself for another
shock. It did not come. He lay still for a minute, then eased his way
out of bed and across the floor. He opened the door slowly. Just
beyond the hobo jungle, he saw a red glow, and smoke. He pulled
on his clothes, went outside, grabbed his wagon and headed along
the path toward the tracks. It was as bright a moonlit night as that
one so long ago when the three men dragged him out of his cabin
and beat him. A hundred yards south of the jungle, a locomotive
was on its side, cars twisted off the track behind it, the one nearest
the engine capsized and on fire.
Poodie left the wagon and hurried down the tracks. Liquid from
the burning tank car flowed off the grade in molten rivulets, igniting
the brush between the Gellardy orchard and the tracks. He
caught sight of a big man clambering up the side of the overturned
locomotive. Twenty feet from the wreck, he walked into a wall of
heat. When he reached the engine, he looked up to see the man
gesturing to him to climb into the cab. He was saying something,
but Poodie could not make out what it was. The man grimaced,
waving him forward, and in the light of the flames Poodie saw…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

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

Poodie James

excerpt

Pete Torgerson glared at the the head of the health and safety
department, then again read the report on his desk. Poodie James’s
cabin was sanitary and safe. The wood stove was well away from
the wall, sitting on sheet metal and properly vented. The wiring
was good. The plumbing, a cold water sink, was up to code. The
outhouse was 50 feet from the cabin, sitting over a pit that had
recently been dug. No, the health officer told the mayor, Mr. James
did not know the inspector was coming. It was a surprise visit. No,
he said, the inspector was not a friend of Mr. James, he had never
met him. There was no need to put the comment in the report, but
the inspector said that he had never seen such an orderly little
house—a place for everything and everything in its place. No,
there was no reason for a second inspection. He wasn’t entirely sure
that the first one had been legal, but the mayor had ordered it.
Torgerson scowled and gestured that the meeting was over. He
swiveled his chair around and stared out the window.
September 25
High school is out so students can help with the harvest. They are everywhere,
in packing sheds and warehouses, picking in orchards. Little kids
not so long ago, at the pool, learning to swim, playing in the park. They
wave when I go by. I see them say, “Hi, Poodie.” My friends, almost
grown up. Marcie on the dock at the Red Chief warehouse, eating lunch
in the sun with other girls. My good friend Marcie.
Marcie Welch watched her hands reach onto the conveyor for the
fruit, twist the golden apples into their paper wraps, settle them
into their pasteboard niches, layer after layer, box after box with its
blue premium Red Chief label. They were off to—where, she
wondered—Seattle, New York, London, Hong Kong, South
America, Spain? Would a handsome young Spaniard admire one
of her apples, polish it on his sleeve, imagine that a beautiful girl
had packed it, fantasize about her before he bit through its skin
into the perfection of the white flesh? Would he live in a castle,
ride a white stallion when he inspected his vineyards, …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

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

The Circle

excerpt

Talal and Hakim are enjoying a morning walk in the park across from Hakim’s
place. It’s the cool end of September, and one can feel the need for a sweater or a
light jacket. One can also see the coolness by watching the park inhabitants such
as the flock of ducks by the pond, who argue as lawyers about the pieces of bread
thrown to them, while the smaller birds flutter around preparing for their
annual migration south. Even the crows, who gather in bunches here and there
and claim their domain, confirm the fact that fall is here and winter approaching.
There are a lot of visitors in the park this morning, and one can see the frustration
on the faces of the people who live under the pressure of a bad economy,
high unemployment, and the high cost of fuel and food.
Hakim is wearing a light windbreaker and running shoes and is ready for
conversation although notices that Talal looks tired and withdrawn.
“What’s up, man? You look terrible, what’s eating you?”
Talal doesn’t say anything, but Hakim persists.
“What is it, my friend? You look frustrated. Come on, talk to me.”
“The same old nightmares. They never change. I see the same scene, the same
corpses, feel the same pain and the same hate; I was up at three this morning.”
“Sorry to hear that, pal; I hope things will get better from now on. I have news
for you. I talked to Ibrahim this morning. He wants you to visit him. He says
preferably with a woman?”
Talal stops walking and looks at him.
“He wants me to go and see him? Have someone along?”
“Yeah, cover I suppose. Take Emily and go for a couple of weeks, like a holiday.
She needs to get away for a while after what she has been through the last few days.”
Talal likes the sound of that. It’ll give him the chance to see his brother and sister
in Falluza and to show Emily his country, about which he has told her so much
lately. Perhaps he’ll take her for a boating trip on the gulf, or even for a swim.
“That sounds pretty good. It’ll get Emily away from the funeral and all that,
and at the same time I’ll go see my sister and brother and Ibrahim.”
“Now you are talking; how is your money situation? Do you need help?”
“Not really. I just have to sell a few shares of Advanced, like I have been doing
lately. There is no other money, you know.”
“There is no problem with that. Put ten thousand shares out there Monday
morning and you’ll be alright. The price is good these days, although I expect
them to do even better in the near future.”
“I only need to put out eight thousand, maybe only seven. That would
probably be enough.”
“Put out ten and don’t worry. That will leave you with some left over.
Perhaps you can give some to your family.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

Poodie james

excerpt

It must have been the old man’s genes, he thought; I wish
he’d been alive to see it.
George Pearson’s cry of golf agony brought Jeremy back to
1948.
“Look at that,” George said. “I can’t hit out of that tangle, especially
with a tree in the way.”
“Just use your 12 iron,” Jeremy told him, and chortled when
Pearson kicked the ball onto the fairway. “That’s a stroke,” he said.
“Don’t lose track of it.”
At lunch in the clubhouse, Jeremy gazed across the green
expanse of the course, taking in the order of the town across the
river, its bustle, the leafiness of its neighborhoods, the orchards
marching up into the brown foothills. Edging along just beyond
the river, a locomotive hauled cars of apples headed east.
“The steamers used to put in there right below the foot of
Orondo Street with wheat from upriver to be loaded on the trains”
he told Pearson. “What a jumble of a place it was. The buildings
were shacks and lean-tos, for the most part. The electric plant up in
the canyon had been running for a year or so, but most of the shanties
had oil lamps, and in winter lots of them burned down. The
streets were paved with dust that choked you when the weather
was dry and mud that tried to suck you under when the snow
melted. There were boulders in the middle of the avenue. When
she saw the place, Winifred wanted to get back on the train. It was
hard living, but folks kept coming. The population went from
fewer than 500 at the turn of the century to almost 2000 when we
came. They weren’t all farmers and families and legitimate businessmen.
There were half a dozen taverns with heavy gambling,
and until 1908 there was a booming red light district. The Dispatch
had something to do with ending that, and with voting out booze,
too.”
“The Dispatch, meaning Jeremy Stone,” Pearson said.
“And Winifred. This town had to be cleaned up if it was going
to develop properly.”
“I won’t mention Ted and Angie’s.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

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