Adelaide literary Magazine No 35, April 2020

INDEPENDENT REVISTA
MONTHLY LITERÁRIA
LITERARY INDEPENDENTE
MAGAZINE
MENSAL

ADELAIDE FOUNDERS / FUNDADORES
Stevan V. Nikolic & Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Independent Monthly Literary Magazine
Revista Literária Independente Mensal EDITOR IN CHIEF / EDITOR-CHEFE
Year V, Number 35, April 2020 Stevan V. Nikolic
Ano V, Número 35, Abril 2020
[email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1-952570-33-9
MANAGING DIRECTOR / DIRECTORA EXECUTIVA
Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent inter- Adelaide Franco Nikolic
national monthly publication, based in New York and
Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco GRAPHIC & WEB DESIGN
Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality Adelaide Books LLC, New York
poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as
well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS IN THIS ISSUE
English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding
literary fiction, nonfic-tion, and poetry, and to promote Matthew Rennels, Andrew Martin,
the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and Jannai Calderon, Richard Rose,
established authors reach a wider literary audience. Britney Saint Joy, Savonte Hicks,

A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação men- Franco Amati, Donald Zagardo, Bogi Beykov,
sal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Clive Aaron Gill, Michael Robinson,
Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Ade-
laide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é Meghan Dimmick, Zach Murphy, Martin Toman,
publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de Brian Feller, Linda Marshall, Magdalena Blazevic,
qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas
literárias, escritas em inglês e por-tuguês. Pretendemos Henri Colt, Marta Pelrine-Bacon, Red Rollins*,
publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim Adelaide Shaw, Diana Raab, Terry Sanville,
como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudan-
do os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiên- Josie Hughes, Jack E Lorts, Rosangela Batista,
cia literária mais vasta. Dana Gioia, George Payne, David Lee Garrison,

(http://adelaidemagazine.org) George Thomas, Sarette Albin, Roger Singer,
Diane Webster, Ambrose Gibbs, Peter Mladinic,
Published by: Adelaide Books, New York
244 Fifth Avenue, Suite D27 Manuel Madera, Mark J. Mitchell,
New York NY, 10001 Fabrice Poussin, John Sweet, Francis Moraine,
e-mail: [email protected] Donny Barilla, Alberto Ambard, Donna Stramella
phone: (917) 477 8984
http://adelaidebooks.org

Copyright © 2019 by Adelaide Literary Magazine

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission from the Adelaide Literary Maga-zine
Editor-in-chief, except in the case of brief quo-tations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS TANGO
by Henri Colt 65
FICTION HER LOVING ARMS
by Marta Pelrine-Bacon 68
TAMING OF THE BRO DEATH AND BASEBALL
by Matthew Rennels 7 by Red Rollins* 71
THE MAKEOVER
WAITING FOR by Adelaide Shaw 78
LULU AT WUTHERING HEIGHTS
by Andrew Martin 12 NONFICTION
A GRATITUDE PERSPECTIVE
THE NIGHT I MET LOVE by Diana Raab 87
by Jannai Calderon 16 FIFTY YEARS WITH CATS
by Terry Sanville 92
CONFESSIONAL CAMPING AS SOLACE
by Richard Rose 19 by Josie Hughes 98

WHO AM I POETRY
by Britney Saint Joy 26 EPHRAM PRATT REMEMBERS
TWISTING & TURNING
ZOETIC DEMISE by Jack E Lorts 107
by Savonte Hicks 28 AS CINZAS DO SOL
by Rosangela Batista 110
SQUISHY STAR TUBE PRAYER
by Franco Amati 30 by Dana Gioia,
translated by Rosangela Batista 112
ACCOUNTABLE VICTIM MAKING LOVE
by Donald Zagardo 33 by George Payne 114
AMERICAN IN BRAZIL
LOST CAT by David Lee Garrison 117
by Bogi Beykov 35 SPOT ON MY BACK
by George Thomas 119
ERNIE STILL LIFE
by Clive Aaron Gill  40 by Sarette Albin 121
FROM ABOVE
LEAVES FROM THE FIELD by Roger Singer 124
by Michael Robinson 41
3
FLAMENCO, FIVE BELOW
by Meghan Dimmick  45

DOUBLE SHIFT
by Zach Murphy 50

SPIRAL
by Martin Toman 52

TWO SHAWLS
by Brian Feller 57

MISTAKEN IDENTITY
by Linda Marshall 59

IVANA
by Magdalena Blazevic  63

EXHALE Adelaide Literary Magazine
by Diane Webster 126
INTERVIEWS
THE SHALLOW
by Ambrose Gibbs 129 FRANCIS MORAINE
the author of the
PULL OVER “BEULAH WHO THOUGHT
by Peter Mladinic 130 SHE WAS SWIMMING” 147

IMMORTALITY DONNY BARILLA
by Manuel Madera 134 Poet and Lover of Words 154

WITH A GUITAR ALBERTO AMBARD
by Mark J. Mitchell 136 author od the
HIGH TREASON and DOGMA,
SOUTHERN RAINS A RED DOOR, AND A BIRTHDAY 157
by Fabrice Poussin 138
DONNA STRAMELLA
LIN author of the
by John Sweet  141 COFFEE KILLED MY MOTHER 161

4

FICTION



TAMING OF THE BRO

by Matthew Rennels

Sammy looked at Dee, his eyes darker than Robert’s handsome face appeared on
merlot, his teeth the color of milk. He bit the TV. She and Robert’s marriage had gone
into the bread loaf’s golden-brown crust cold; she hadn’t slept in the same house
and dropped the loaf to the concrete floor. since Nos died. This warehouse was where
she had stayed; she hardly even left.
Sammy was an African lion, and he lived
in this warehouse with Dee, his owner. Dee Sammy focused his gaze on Dee. His
rested in a nearby black leather recliner; drool dripped onto the floor, some of it
she was watching TV. Used to be, she’d dappling the bread’s crust. As a diabetic,
barely even sit down, but then everything he wasn’t supposed to have bread. Dee
changed. knew this, so this loaf confused Sammy.
He stood and visited his bone-dry water
“Sammy, baby. Sit tight. I’ll get you real dish, licked it twice, looked back at Dee
food in a minute.” once more, and went to the window. Out-
side, a dirt path led from the warehouse
Dee pushed up out of the chair and to a hilltop, where two crows performed a
made her way to the kitchen sink for a glass mad dance across the path, a frolic amidst
of water. Her hand shook as she carried the pecking at each other. This made Sammy
glass back to her seat. miss his brother; they had often romped
together.
Sammy sat on his hind legs and looked
down at the bread loaf and then at the TV, Sammy left the window and padded to
which showed censored videos of the attack. the front door.
Two weeks ago, Sammy’s brother, Nos, had
clawed his trainer’s neck straight through “Why are you near that door? Why are
the vocal cords. The trainer, Zebulun, pulled you looking to escape?” Dee said. “I already
out his gun and fired shots into the lion’s lost one of you, I am not about to lose the
stomach. Dee dashed to his side, and ran her other. And besides, you know about the
hands all over his blood-soaked fur. bears.”

The nation was still grieving the loss. Nos She gripped one of her stress balls, a
and Sammy had starred on the hit reality pig’s face, its eyes bugging out with each of
TV show, Taming of the Bro, in which two her squeezes.
siblings, Zebulun and Robert, trained the
lions. Dee was the show’s emcee, and she “I get it. You’re really just hungry. Let me
was married to Robert. find something for you.”

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Dee rummaged in the kitchen and got Dee stood before the TV, her hands on
Sammy a couple turkey legs. She hummed her hips. She sighed and lumbered to the
a tune and poured herself more water. Her kitchen counter to fetch her phone.
hand continued to shake as she pressed
the glass to her lips. “Darling, forgive me. Sitting by the window, Sammy watched
You must also be so thirsty.” She stuck her a donkey join the crows on the hilltop. One
head in the cupboard and pulled out a wine of the crows jumped onto the donkey’s back
bottle, a winking owl on its label. For a few and perched there, and the other bumbled
moments she smirked at it before bending around on the ground.
her arm to pour. Burgundy liquid splashed
the sides of Sammy’s dish and Dee chuckled; Sammy growled slightly as he left the
small red droplets painted the perimeter of window, and he returned to the bowl of
the bowl. wine. Fixing his gaze again upon Dee, he
dipped his mouth into the dish.
Dee flung the turkey legs at Sammy. He
devoured one of them, and then brought “Finally. You know I don’t like to drink
the other to her. He tore the meat from alone,” Dee said, tipping her water glass to
the second turkey leg inches from her feet, him.
and she pointed at his water dish. “Don’t
let that go to waste,” she said. Sammy lay Sammy shuffled over to the gray and im-
his head by the wine dish and gazed at the posing solid steel door. With his back to it,
red liquid. Disgusted, he rose and strode to he sat and panted at Dee.
the window.
“What’s gotten into you?” Dee said. “You
On the TV, the news anchor lowered his know better than to be messing with that
voice. “Robert, we must ask, how is Dee?” door. The bears, Sam. The bears.”
Robert’s face went blank; the news anchor
spoke again. “We’ve heard the rumors, but The bears. She’d shared this story with
we don’t even want to go into that. We just Sammy many times. She’d even written a
want to know, is she okay?” book about the account. When she was
eight-years-old, Dee spent the summer
“That’s kind of you to care so much,” said with her family at a cabin just outside Du-
Robert, “but please, Dee’s requested that luth, Minnesota. Here, pine cones the size
everyone respect her privacy during this of babies’ heads dropped just outside of the
emotional time, and that request includes front door. Foxes peaked around bushes and
even me.” made little Dee squeal. Neighbors knocked
on the front door to gift them warm batches
“But with all due respect, as your wife, of apple crisp.
shouldn’t she be letting you into her pain?
Don’t you miss her?” One sunny afternoon, little Dee stood
alone in the cabin’s kitchen, her hand
“Of course, I miss her. And I miss my stuffed in a Raisin Bran box, when the
brother. And thanks to the miracles of screen door suddenly shut. Then came a
modern medicine, I am pleased to have my rumble, a baritone that wasn’t human. Dee
brother back. Zebulun is expected to make turned and saw the coarse hair, the huge
a full recovery. I’m just making sure to count black head. The bear was sniffing the floor
my blessings, is all.” and cabinets.

Dee dropped the cereal box. “Dad!”

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Her father ran into the room, causing “Sugar, I wish you could enjoy this, too.
the black bear to tear down the door and Silly me, taunting you with it. God must
bound away. Dee’s father picked her up and really have it out for you, making it so you
took her to the window. The bear was down can’t enjoy bread. I won’t tell a soul, go
the driveway, its head in the dumpster, and ahead and eat it.”
Dee nearly put her hand through the glass
to point at it. Her father untangled the Behind them, the TV announcer kept
phone cord and pushed Dee away from the talking.
window. “There’s nothing to see,” he cried.
“And did you hear about this?” he asked
Once the park ranger arrived, Dee’s fa- his audience. “Dee’s been in negotiations
ther went outside to show him the bear. with a certain television network for her
Quick-stepping to his jeep, the ranger own talk show. When it comes to rags to
hoisted a rifle onto his shoulder and fired. riches, who has a better story than Dee?
The bear collapsed into a leafy, green bush, She was living in her car on the streets of
while Dee stared through the cabin window. Omaha, picking through dumpsters for alu-
minum cans and food scraps, until she met
Shaking off this memory, Dee set the Zebulun, Robert, Sammy, and Nos. And now
water glass on the counter and stripped look at her! About to sign on the line for a
down in the middle of the room. Hurrying, deal worth millions. About to be on-screen
she dressed into the clothing of her on- in a comfortable chair with a mint julep, or
screen persona: a silver sequin dress, mini- whatever they drink on talk shows. And she
skirt, and glittery Venetian masquerade has a red-hot book coming out, Bear With
mask. It: The Reason I Keep My Door Shut (And
Maybe You Should, Too). Joy is the only
Sunbeams entered the warehouse emotion we should feel for her, yes?”
window, bounced off the sequins of her
dress, and traveled into her glass of water, The news anchor mentioned his up-
which acted as a prism, bending the white coming interview with Dee, her first since
light into rays of blue, yellow, and green. As the tragedy.
the sun lit up the glass, Dee sat on the floor
beside Sammy. One of her hands held the The toilet flushed and Dee re-entered
hunk of bread while the other hand stroked the room. “Oy! All of this water has gone
his mane. Sammy let his head fall forward right through me. Better now than when
and settle into her bosom. Clutching his the camera crew gets here. Oh, for Christ’s
mane, she pulled his forehead to hers. Their sake, they’ll be here in ten minutes.”
foreheads touched, rubbed together, and
he purred. Moments later, she rose and Dee collapsed to the floor, turned her
walked over to the window. back against a cabinet, and again put both
hands on Sammy’s mane. She gripped tight
Sammy joined Dee at the window, up on and put her nose against his.
his hind legs. “Oh, my. Looks like Ms. James
lost her donkey again. That poor woman,” “How on earth did I end up here, Sammy?”
she said. she asked, her voice shrill. “I didn’t want
anything special, just a soft bed to sleep
While patting his head, Dee dangled the in, never even dreamed of Egyptian cotton
bread in front of him. sheets. I wanted to feel the breeze and see

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

the sunsets, and I did and I was happy. But the lock and muttered about how much of
then you and Nos entered my life, and I a piece of shit it was, and how she couldn’t
discovered something I was good at, some- wait to replace it. But then it opened, and
thing that brought other people joy, and her dress sparkled in the dying sunlight. She
they gave me money ... I’ve cherished you stepped out and squinted at the field. “The
and Nos, but I’ve also adored my expensive camera crew should be here any minute.
bedsheets, and I hate myself for it. Did I let I just hope Mr. Donkey won’t mess every-
my defenses down because of you? Plus, thing up.”
who will I be able to enjoy those sheets
with? Not Robert, not any longer. Not Nos, The setting sun expanded Dee’s shadow.
God bless his tortured soul. And you? We The warehouse door remained open behind
can’t even break bread.” her, and Sammy fixed his eyes on her out-
line. He put one paw on the ground, then
Her mind raced back to the day the bear the other, his back low to the ground. Dee,
was shot. Dee’s father sat soberly on the this won’t hurt. Not one bit. He sprang for-
couch. His hand covered her head. Her eyes ward, struck her, and dug his claws into her
were dim, and every few breaths she wig- back. She fell forward and landed on the dirt
gled nervously. path. There was no scream, nor did Sammy
growl or roar, he just pressed his teeth into
“There, there, sweet girl. Everything is all her neck, much like a bread crust. The pale
right. Mr. Bear, he’s in a much better place.” amber beams of sunlight splashed on top
of her dress, and little drops of blood filled
Holding Dee’s head, her father read- her sparkling sequins. Seconds turned into
justed both of them on the couch so they minutes, and Dee remained face down.
faced each other. He straightened her body
and held her by the shoulders. Her arm twitched, and then her leg.
Sammy, cold and determined, seized her
“Listen. Mr. Bear was doomed long be- foot in his jaws and dragged her onto the
fore he ever stepped foot into our cabin. path, which wound up to the crows and
Some other family must have given him a donkey. The donkey huffed at Sammy, and
taste of something he never should have Sammy grunted back. The crow hopped on
licked, and he wasn’t going to stop until he the ground over to Dee, but Sammy let out
tasted it again. That’s what bears do; they a roar that sent the bird into a nearby tree.
can’t help it, can’t show restraint like you
or me. And that’s why we did that, to keep A cargo van appeared in the distance,
other campers safe.” speeding along the dry gravel road. A plume
of dust clouds trailed behind it, fogging
Dee’s father kissed the top of her head what was otherwise a gracious sunset.
as he carried her to the door. “Also, it’s our
duty to keep the wildlife from hurting them- The van arrived, and a big man got out.
selves,” he said, while pressing his body He stumbled to the van’s side door, got his
against the door and turning the deadbolt. camera and put it on his shoulder. He hus-
“Now all the other Mr. Bears will be okay, tled towards the warehouse.
too.”
Twenty yards away, Sammy stood over
Dee’s memory faded, and she found Dee’s sprawled-out body. He then lay down
herself at the warehouse door. She shook calmly, an effort not to alarm the man. Too

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Revista Literária Adelaide

late; the cameraman gasped and dropped The cameraman hung up and dialed
his camera, his eyes fixed on the horror in again on his way back to the van. Carrying
front of him. He stepped closer and shouted a couple LED video lights and stands, he
at Sammy, but his words were just a jumble, set them on the dirt path while explaining
like the sound of Dee’s hair dryer in the the situation to the 911 operator. “Yes, the
morning, or her blender as it pureed a pro- lion is still loose and looking at me, but I
tein shake. somehow don’t feel in danger.”

The cameraman took a few steps towards The live-feed began to roll. The camera
Sammy and Dee’s body, but Sammy roared, was set on Sammy and Dee, though only her
sending him back a few steps. Reaching into hand was visible on the screen. The audi-
his back pocket, the cameraman pulled out ence was told they were looking at presum-
a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty brow. ably Dee’s beautiful hand, attached to her
With a shaking hand, he pulled his cell precious body. Words filled the bottom of
phone from the clip on his belt and dialed. the screen: “Nation mourns as beloved lion
tamer severely injured, presumed dead.”
“Howard?” he said. “Dee, you know, Dee The announcer then lowered his chin. “If
is dead, I’m pretty sure of it. The lion has that truly is Dee, and she really is dead, then
killed her. I just saw her neck. Oh, my God. God bless her soul.”
Holy shitballs.”
Sammy opened his mouth to let out a
The cameraman listened to Howard and bellowing cry. The camera zoomed in on his
pinched his eyes with his fingers. He blew eyes, pained, moist, and gentle, no longer
his nose into his handkerchief. the color of wine. The crow inched his way
back over to Sammy and hopped onto his
“Listen, I’m not about to go to jail. I’m back. Sammy and the donkey locked eyes
calling 911 first, there ain’t no way you once more, and Sammy released one more
can stop me. Then I’ll set up your precious cry, his softest and gentlest yet.
camera feed.”

About the Author
Matthew Rennels is a technical writer in the finance
industry, and has a bachelor’s degree in Journalism from
Eastern Illinois University, and an MFA in Creative Writing
from Sierra Nevada College. He lives with his wife, cat, and
dog in Bradenton, FL.

11

WAITING FOR LULU
AT WUTHERING
HEIGHTS

by Andrew Martin

“If all else perished, and he remained, I place hasn’t changed. It still has the same
should still continue to be; and if all else decor: the lead windows and ornate mir-
remained, and he were annihilated, the rors; paintings of the Yorkshire landscape
universe would turn to a mighty stranger.” - in gilt frames. The smell of polished wood
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte and real ale. I’m the only customer tonight.
I look towards the door, half expecting Lulu
I’m in The Wuthering Heights pub. I to walk in but it’s extremely unlikely. It’s
know, it’s a shameless exploitation of the been eight years since I last saw her.
novel’s title, but Lulu and I didn’t care when
we stumbled across this place in the early I reach into my shirt pocket for a pic-
nineties. We liked the way it blatantly took ture of her, taken in her student house in
advantage of its location on the edge of the Glasgow. Her eyes stare back, wild and dark.
remote Haworth moorland. We had dinner Her pale skin is unblemished, with naturally
here before we set off into the open country pink cheeks; blonde hair cropped short at
with our tent and camping equipment. the back; long at the front, hanging down to
her jaw-line on one side. She changed hair
Tonight though, I’m finishing my meal colour frequently, but blonde suited her
alone. I undo the top button of my shirt and best. Behind her, scrawled over the walls
release the pressure around my neck. I re- in black ink, are verses of her poetry. She
move my Anglican clerical collar and place never stopped writing: in notebooks, on
it on the table in front of me. Being back scraps of paper, on her hands, wherever she
here, I feel like a twenty-year-old again. I was, whenever she thought of it. She even
look at the oak beams on the ceiling. The wrote one on the back of this photo. I study
the familiar words:

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Revista Literária Adelaide

It’s a picture of a house I built burning Then I saw Lulu. She walked up to the
in my head, bar and stood inches from me. She wore a
purple, knee-length dress with Doc Marten
It’s a picture of a little boy bouncing on boots, but what drew me to her most were
a bed, her eyes. They were dark, but incandescent
with life.
It’s a picture of a little girl bouncing by
his side, ***

It’s a picture of a daddy who may as well “Your bill, sir!”
have died.
The waiter places my bill on the table.
I turn it back over. There’s a white fold Two men stand by the door, ready to lock up
line across the middle of the photo, but for the night. A glance at my watch tells me
it’s the only picture I have. I place it on the it’s midnight. I apologize for keeping them,
table next to my dog-collar. put my collar and photo in my pocket, and
settle up. I step outside into the cold air. The
Outside, snowflakes tumble down in moon is big and bright. It’s stopped snowing
ever-changing courses. Fleeting shapes and the wind has died down. Everything is
fall and disintegrate on the glass before white.
my eyes can catch them. More drift down
against the winter landscape and I’m lost in There’s no sign of anyone outside. I pull
memories of Lulu once again. my coat collar tight around my neck and
stroll along the path towards the heath,
The first time I saw her was on my twen- the inspiration for Emily Bronte’s tragic love
tieth birthday. I was in The Jug of Ale with story. ‘Wuthering Heights’ was Lulu’s favou-
my mate, Coddy. It was crowded; music rite book.
thumping, lights flashing, everywhere the
cacophonous din of laughter and chatting. Last time we were here it was under
cloudless blue skies. I remember sitting
“Hey, Dan.” Coddy nudged me, pointing outside our tent in the long grass sur-
to a girl on the dancefloor. “What do you veying the endless moors, breathing the
think of her?” sweet warm air, watching the wings of in-
sects dancing in sunlight. The memory is
I wasn’t sure who he meant. Most of the etched in my mind. Lulu noticed a white
girls looked the same to me - short skirts rose growing next to us.
and white stilettos.
“Look,” she whispered. “That is so rare.”
“Yeah...she looks all right,” I said. She took hold of it and broke it off halfway
down it’s stem. A thorn pierced her skin and
It wasn’t my kind of venue. I spent most drew blood but she didn’t flinch.
of the night slowly nursing a pint of Guin-
ness while Coddy did his best to impress “Whenever you see a white rose, think of
any female who would listen to him. He’d me.” She handed it to me.
managed to speak to a girl with long dark
hair. I wanted to ask her to marry me there
and then, but I was scared of being turned
“So, what do you do?” she asked him. down.

“I’m an astronaut,” he said, with his typ-
ical straight-faced confidence.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Instead, I asked, “Do you think we’ll still calves in soft, fresh snow. All I can hear is my
be together in ten years?” own breathing and the light crunch of each
step as I move forward.
“Maybe.” She smiled, amused at my
question. Lulu didn’t know her parents. She was
brought up in a Catholic orphanage on the
And then, to try and ensure we didn’t west coast of Ireland. She didn’t talk about
ever lose contact, I came up with this ridic- her childhood very much. All she ever
ulous idea: “Let’s meet back here in the year told me was that she’d been abandoned
2000, whether we are or not, on the date of when she was six years old. She hated the
Bronte’s death. Midnight.” thought of being left by anyone again; she
told me she preferred not to get too close
“The nineteenth of December. Okay.” She to people.
looked deep into my eyes and smiled.
I stop for a moment and hold my breath.
I held the side of her face in my hand There’s not a sound except for the very faint
and reached towards her. Our lips touched. whisper of snowflakes landing all around
Tongues. Two souls merged together; the me. As I set off again, the crunch of my foot-
outside world non-existent. Bodies touched; steps is deafening.
stirred.
I arrive at a steep bank and the snow
*** slides away in clumps. I grab a branch above
my head and a dusting of white powder falls,
A single snowflake lands on my nose. Then but I’ve made it. I’m in an open space with a
another. I look up into the night sky as the view of endless hills. I stand for a long time,
snow starts to fall again. I pull back my coat taking it all in, looking for any sign of life on
sleeve and look at my watch. It’s quarter the beautiful, desolate moor.
past midnight. I don’t know if the idea was
to meet at the pub or where we camped. I We saw each other every day for a year.
don’t hold much hope but wander further She gave no explanation before she left,
down the lane. except that she needed to get her head
straight. A week afterwards, I received a
“Like the eternal rocks beneath.” That’s poem from her in the post, along with a
how Lulu once described her love for me note saying she was staying with an aunt in
and I felt the same for her. I’d never met Ireland. A few weeks after that, the lease
anyone so fearless and unpredictable, yet ran out on my house. I tried everything
at other times she’d be lost in deep thought. to get in touch with her but no-one could
She studied Art, while I read Theology. We help. The university wouldn’t provide me
started going out after lectures, drinking with any information and no-one knew her
and smoking together, talking into the early home address, or even which village she
hours, spending every available moment was from. I never heard from her again. I
with each other. spent a few months drinking myself into a
numb haze until I realised I was better off
I walk through the falling snow, along a getting my life back on track, training for
dim, deserted path in the direction of the the ministry, helping all those other bro-
rock-face, close to where we camped. From ken-hearted people.
the gate on my right, the lane slopes to-
wards the open countryside. I sink up to my

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I’ve been the rector at St Matthews in Another memory unfolds. Something
Ayr for three years. None of the leadership she said to me. A Bronte quote. What was
or parishioners know anything about Lulu. I it? I close my eyes to concentrate. There
take a deep breath. After tonight I’ll be able was a moment when Lulu had slipped from
to put to rest any thoughts of a reunion. The my arms and looked straight at me:
air is crisp and still. Nearby branches crack as
they strain under the weight of fresh snow. I “Be with me always - take any form - drive
stand motionless on the moor, listening. me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss,
where I cannot find you!”
Moonlight shines through the clouds and
my eyes become accustomed to the light I open my eyes. The seriousness of her
reflected on the heath. Apart from black face when she said it. And yet here I am,
shadows under bushes, everything seems back on the heath, unable to find her.
as bright as daylight. Then I hear a faint thud
and feel a chill on my neck. I listen carefully. Praying feels pointless tonight. I reach
I can sense someone near. Close behind me. into my coat pocket and take out a small
Maybe two meters away. Maybe closer. I’m bottle of Glenlivet. There’s a crack as I twist
too scared to turn. A rustle. Someone out off the cap. I hold the bottle to my mouth
walking their dog perhaps? Or is it just the and take a generous gulp. The acrid taste
sound of winter on the moors? of scotch burns the back of my throat. My
eyes are warm with tears and I throw the
“Lulu?” bottle as hard as I can onto the heath. It
lands with a quiet thud and disappears into
I turn, but there’s not a soul for miles. It’s the snow.
stopped snowing.
I stumble backwards a moment and
A memory comes to mind. A burned-out through blurred vision, I see the burned
tree nearby, destroyed by lightning. All that out tree. Such a distinctive sight. It must
was left was the remains of the trunk; the have been hit directly to cause that kind
top brown and charred. I’m not far from it. of damage. One side of it is covered in
I step forward. snow and the other is untouched. I walk
towards it and see words scratched into
Around the side of a hill is the rock-face the bark:
we climbed - its towering presence imposing.
It was at the top that Lulu and I held each IF ONLY
other, surrounded by endless countryside. I
stand motionless, absorbed by the familiar YOU’D COME
sight, and it feels like Lulu is here with me.
X

About the Author

Andy Martin is a teacher of Philosophy in England. He has had several
articles published in the music magazine Brum Beat. This is his first
short story.

15

THE NIGHT I MET
LOVE

by Jannai Calderon

“Hey Babe, you ready? OH NO NO NO NO, “Sheesh, you caught me off guard. Don’t
come on’ you’ll have to come. you’ll have sneak up on me like that.”
so much fun! Hun. And plus, I believe it will
good for you because finally you could for- The “Girl, you okay. Tracey, you were at
get that jerk off you called boyfriend for so my house. No sudden treats are there.”
many years”.
“Yedah.. You right, HAHAHAAA girl, what
Really, Tracey. Can you be a little bit was I thinking!”
more sensitive?” Joan said as invited her in
as well gave her a cold hard glare that could “Girl, you were tripping!”
kill her in seconds if it wasn’t for her being
her Best Girl Friend in the entire planet. After 30 minutes of blasting Ariana
Grande Tracey finally put on the brakes and
“Tracey, I really don’t want to go. I mean said: “Guirl! We’re here! As we both got of
how could I!?” the car, we could hear the magic of Coney
Island. “I’m so going to regret coming” I
“Oh hunny, it’d be okay. Things will get thought aloud.
better. You’ll just wait and see. Who knows
maybe on this night out you could meet the “We are here, we are here, OH MY
one!” GOSH!!! THE FAMOUS CONEY ISLAND” Ex-
citedly said as she jumped up and down as
“Oh, geez well, alright I’ll get ready. I’ll be she then burst out in a happy dance.
out in 15.”
Girl, I want to ride on the wonder wheel
As she went down the hall to her room and the Lunar Park and talk a stroll across
and get all dolled up. Atlantic Ocean Boardwalk”.

As Tracey made herself feel at home and Girl, I know. I know. Oh, my what a sight!
turned on the T.V and was shocked to dis- This is truly so breathtaking!
cover that-
See, I told you so. Tracey said with a little
“Hey girl, should we go!?” smirk.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

As we watched from afar, I couldn’t bear don’t get on it well- it was nice meeting you,
the thought of something going wrong miss”- He said as he gave me a chuckled
though out the ride. “Whoosh! Clickty with a smirk attached to it.
clickty clickty” the rollercoaster zoomed by.
“Joan- my name is Joan. And you are- “
“We are next!”
“Love. My name is Love. And it’s nice
“WHAT!” meeting you, miss joan”

“OH YES” “What will it be? Are we going out on a
date or not?”
“OH NO NO”.
While, my dilemma is going on full swing
“Oh, come on that was that whole point inside my head- love has gone to get a drink
of us driving out here, remember?” for me and himself. He would want an an-
swer I tell myself. Finally, I leaped out of the
I was hesitant to ride but, Afterall, Trac beach I was in and said: “We’re going on
was right we came to forget him and to this date.”
have fun while doing so. “Yeah, okay! Girl
let’s do it!” “Alright! Let’s go.” he whispered in my ear.

Tracey sprinted out of sight as soon as I As we were making our way to the en-
said those magical phrases. Without even trance, he grabs hold of my hand and com-
realizing, a guy was watching her as she fort me giving me neck rub.
looked up from where she was sitting and
began to fumble with her thumbs. This gen- “No turning back now, joan” his words
tleman wearing a blue navy capri pants and echo though out my ears and into my brain
a blue with white striped shirt came over in slow motion.
and sat next to me and said:
“No, I guess not love” My subconscious
“First-timer anxiety?” answered for me because my brain and
body is in a fear driven paralysis. Our row
Without any thought I reacted and was two people away from being next. My
said:“Yup”. brain was in denial of me riding this roller
coaster. Still, my body was being dragged by
As I thought about what I said and came all efforts go to my subconscious.
to realization I was speaking with a stranger
I turned my head and saw the most gor- “NEXT IN LINE”! Shouted the man.
geous man ever seen - dark skinned, aes-
thetically beautiful with hot facial symmetry. Well, that’s us! Exclaimed love.

“Ahh, I see- well maybe I could help. I was “Clickty, Clickty, Clikty” as the rollercoaster
watching you from afar- was that your sister went uphill love was there ever of the way
you came with?” He asked. holding my hand.

“No”. I said with a slight chuckled. As we went uphill the rollercoaster locked
its wheels. “BROKEN”!
“Sorry, well tell you what- If you could
grab all your courage and ride the roller- BROKEN”!
coaster like no bodies business, no pun in-
tended I’ll go on a date with you but, if you “BROKEN! NO NO- this cannot be broken”
I said frantically.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Every little effort love tried to do it’s to YES!”
no avail. EPIC FAIL.
Okay well, we’ll get off soon. Don’t worry”.
“HOW COULD YOU BE SO CALM AND RE-
LAXED WHILE THIS GOING ON”! What if we don’t. You know there are
bad people out there”.
“I can be calm and relaxed because I am
with you, joan” Meanwhile, Tracey and this stranger
walked around – Joan could spot them from
Then, right in that moment was when I the coaster. “Who’s that guy she’s with?”
met Love. Our love story started. It felt out
of a fairytale. I even forgot I was in a roller- “AHHHH!!!” Tracey screamed at the
coaster and had to get back to my sister. touch of the stranger who had his hand up
her skirt and a tight grip on her.
“MY SISTER”!
Will joan ever get off the rollercoaster? ..
You mean, your friend”

About the Author

Jannai Calderon is 27 year old, enrolled in Full Sail
University for creative writing for Entertainment. Writing
has been her passion since she was in middle school. That
passion grew in intensity when her high school teacher
saw that her talent for storytelling was one of kind and
it was then when she had the determination to make a
name for herself as a published author and in dreams of
one day a best book seller! Well..she’s well on her way.

18

CONFESSIONAL

by Richard Rose

The request for a visit from a priest had she would draw her last breath. Lucy found
taken Lucy by surprise. She knew that as a it painful to envisage such a moment and all
child her mother, encouraged by her par- the emotion that she knew would inevitably
ents who were devout Catholics, had been take over when it came.
a regular church goer, but in her entire thir-
ty-two years she could never recall her at- Lucy and her mother had always been
tending services other than the occasional close. As a single mother, Clara had strug-
wedding or funeral. gled in the early days to ensure an adequate
income, whilst devoting herself to the up-
Knowing that she had at most a few bringing of her daughter. Despite the ab-
weeks to live, Clara Smith had requested sence of a father, Lucy never felt deprived
that she return home from the hospice in any way and indeed her recollections of
where she had been cared for over the past childhood were almost exclusively happy.
three weeks, even though she recognised From an early age Lucy had learned not
that this would place a burden upon her to enquire too closely after her father, ac-
daughter. But she reasoned, this would be cepting the word of her mother that he had
for only a short time, and to spend one’s last been at heart a good man, but that circum-
days surrounded by the familiar features stances meant that he could never play a
and comforts of home seemed to be a rea- part in their lives. Whenever the topic was
sonable demand. Lucy was indeed appre- raised Clara Smith was evasive and some-
hensive, though not so much about the re- times pensive and as she grew older Lucy
sponsibility of nursing her mother through simply accepted that this was a subject best
her final days, after all the hospice nurses left alone.
had agreed a comprehensive package of
support to be in place throughout this pe- Without hesitation and knowing that
riod. Lucy had moved into her mother’s time was precious, having received the un-
house knowing that this temporary ar- anticipated request from her mother, Lucy
rangement was destined to be for only a had made the phone call seeking a visit
sort time and did so not out of a sense of from a priest. But not just any priest. Lucy
duty, but more as a final act of love. No, it had been surprised when her mother had
was not the duty of caring for her mother issued specific instructions that she should
that worried her, but rather the thought of call for Father Thomas Cleary from St Jo-
witnessing that final, dreadful instant when seph’s church. His was a name unfamiliar

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

to Lucy. Why specifically this priest was de- had lain almost motionless in her bed, Lu-
manded, she could not imagine. St Joseph’s cy’s mother appeared animated. “Father
was situated some distance away, across Thomas Cleary,” the name was barely au-
the other side of the city and she knew of dible but uttered purposefully in Lucy’s
at least two other catholic churches, which direction. “No other priest; Father Cleary.”
were in much closer proximity to her moth- Lucy sat beside her mother on the bed and
er’s home. But Clara had been insistent that took her wizened hand, squeezing gently
only Father Cleary would do, and Lucy knew and reassuring her. “Yes, Father Thomas
that it was important to do all that she could Cleary from St Joseph’s. He has promised
to satisfy her mother’s needs and make her that he will come in person. Six o’clock this
final days as comfortable as possible. evening. He was clear that he would come.
He will be here.”
During her telephone conversation with
Father Cleary, Lucy was reassured by his Clara appeared reassured and relaxed a
kindly and concerned response to her re- little, smiling affectionately at her daughter
quest. As she explained her mother’s con- before seemingly exhausted by the exer-
dition and the urgency of the situation she tions of the past few minutes she drifted
was relieved to hear his calm and affirma- into a deep sleep, allowing Lucy to leave her
tive response, assuring her of his attention alone to rest in preparation for the forth-
and promising that he would respond as coming visit.
quickly as possible. Having confirmed the
address and repeated this and Lucy’s tele- The day passed with its familiar routine
phone number back to her, the priest prom- until at ten minutes to six the doorbell rang
ised to be with her at around six o’clock that and Lucy, with a glance at her wristwatch
evening. Lucy could be assured that such rose to welcome the visiting priest. On
situations as that which she had described, opening the door, she was greeted by a man
were wholly familiar to him and that he who fitted almost perfectly the image that
would come prepared to offer whatever she had in her mind immediately after their
service was needed. earlier conversation. Thomas Clearly was
tall, with slightly unkempt grey hair, a long
Having made the arrangements in accor- face and dark eyes. Dressed much as Lucy
dance with her mother’s wishes, Lucy felt imagined all priests on duty must be, in a
an immediate sense of relief. The request charcoal grey suit, dark overcoat and grey
for a priest had been unexpected and being shirt which gave precedent to the clerical
unfamiliar with the formalities and rituals collar that signified his status, Father Clearly
of the church she has been apprehensive smiled reassuringly.
about contacting the stranger. But now that
the task was complete she felt that at least “You must be Lucy,” he began. “The direc-
she had done her duty according to her tions you gave me were excellent, indeed I
dying mother’s wishes. Entering the bed- am a little early, I hope this doesn’t incon-
room, she was pleased to see her mother venience you in any way.”
smile as she reported the outcome of her
telephone conversation and confirmed “No, not at all, please do come in, I’m
the impending evening’s visit. For the first very pleased to meet you. Come on through
time in many days during which Clara Smith to the living room, I’ll just check on mother
and let her know you are here.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Following Lucy along the hallway, Father Lucy shook her head, “I’m sorry fa-
Cleary entered the living room and pro- ther, but no. I’m afraid I have never been
ceeded to remove his overcoat, handing it a churchgoer, not even as a child. I have
to Lucy who draped it casually over the back passed St Joseph’s on many occasions but
of a chair. have never been inside. I do hope that this
is not a problem, my concerns here are for
“Would you like tea or coffee before you my mother who was, when younger a much
see my mother?” Lucy suggested. “It may more devout catholic than she has been in
take me a minute or two to make sure that recent years. I suppose you could describe
she is comfortable and ready to receive you.” her as what I believe is usually termed a
lapsed catholic”
Seeing Lucy for the first time in clear
light since entering the room from the dark “No, no, of course not,” stuttered the
hallway, the priest began to respond. priest. “Not a problem at all. I am here
for your mother at a time of need, it is my
“I think perhaps after I have seen your calling to serve all at such times, whether
mother. We might then want to have a they are members of my congregation or
friendly chat about things, don’t you…” even total strangers, my questions were in
no way intended to sound critical. Please
The priest halted mid-sentence, hesi- don’t misunderstand me. It’s just that, well
tating as if he might have changed his mind your face, your hair, even the way in which
about the offer of refreshments. He looked you speak, it sounds so familiar.”
intently at Lucy as though he was seeing her
for the first time. “Well Father,” Lucy responded, “I have
to say that I don’t meet a great number of
Lucy was aware of a quizzical expression priests as a rule, and I feel sure that had we
that had passed across the priest’s face, his met before I would have remembered.” She
brow furrowed and his eyes scrutinising her smiled in what she hoped would be a reas-
as if something that he saw in his host was suring manner, trusting that this would put
demanding that he search for the answer to an end to the matter. But the priest appeared
a particularly challenging question. Some- unconvinced and tried once more to solve
what hesitantly, she was about to enquire whatever the strange conundrum might be
after his well-being, when Father Cleary that had taken possession of his mind.
appeared to recognise Lucy’s discomfort
and tried to move the conversation forward, “Perhaps you are right, though I seldom
though in a somewhat unexpected direction. forget a face and yours is so familiar that I
feel sure our paths have crossed at some
“Lucy, I can’t be sure, but haven’t we met point in the past,” Cleary persisted. “Maybe
somewhere before? I don’t recall you ever it will come back to me later, or perhaps you
attending St Joseph’s, though I have been yourself will suddenly recollect some event
there for almost forty years and obviously from your past.” He nodded confidently,
I can’t remember everyone who enters the though whether this gesture was intended
church. But perhaps you attended service for Lucy or himself was not clear.
or a baptism or confirmation or something
at some point in the past?” In asking his Lucy was beginning to feel slightly un-
question the priest appeared genuinely comfortable with the priest’s strange in-
perplexed, as if some lapse of memory was terrogation and the manner in which he
causing concern.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

appeared to explore the finest features of “Wait, Smith, Smith, is that your mar-
her face and decided that she should move ried name?” Father Cleary’ nodded in Lu-
things along as quickly as possible. Turning cy’s direction as if he had suddenly solved
in the direction of the bedroom where she a mystery. The continued questioning was
knew her mother would be waiting for news starting to irritate Lucy, who under other
of Father Cleary’s arrival, she requested that circumstances might have ushered the
her visitor should make himself comfort- priest from the house, but for the sake of
able and that she would fetch him in a few her mother she felt it best to be compliant
minutes. But on reaching the door she was and play along with whatever course this
abruptly halted as the priest uttered an in- strange man’s interrogation might follow.
sistent command ordering her to stop. Lucy,
shocked by this sudden outburst turned to “No,” she replied firmly, “I have never,
face the priest whose behaviour over the well that is not yet, I have never married.”
past few minutes had begun to make her a
little anxious. Lucy, who would have liked to state
more boldly that her marital status was no
“Please wait, wait,” Cleary pleaded, with business of the priest’s, but felt that a more
a voice that seemed to betray a level of diplomatic course might be required, had
panic. “Smith, he continued. Smith; you did hoped that this might put an end to this
say Smith, didn’t you? Lucy Smith that was bizarre conversation, and indeed Father
it wasn’t it?” Cleary did seem a little more confident after
her reply and fell quiet for a moment as if
Lucy looked hard at the priest who re- reflecting on her response.
sumed his intrusive exploration of her face,
scrutinising her every feature. Lucy emitted “So, Lucy, please forgive me asking all
a loud sigh which must instantly have be- these questions. I can see that you are a
trayed her exasperation. “Yes, that’s right. little uncomfortable, but please believe me
As I told you over the phone. Lucy Smith, I ask only in order to have some background
that’s my name.” before seeing your mother. So that means
that your father’s name was Smith and that
“Lucy Smith, yes Lucy Smith.” The priest your mother took his name when married.
was become less coherent as he muttered Is that right?”
her name apparently still searching his
memory for where they might have met Lucy was becoming increasingly vexed
and anticipating that by applying a name and uncomfortable with the priest’s inter-
his powers of recall might be nudged into rogation and was having some difficulty in
action. “Lucy Smith, Lucy Smith,” he re- maintaining her decorum. Was this man
peated her name over and over whilst questioning her legitimacy? Who was he to
shaking his head as if seeking to dislodge a ask her all these questions? Was he about
memory that had become stuck in his brain. to pass judgement upon her, or worse still,
The man who had seemed so calm when on her mother? Looking him straight in the
they spoke on the phone that morning ap- eye she decided that she would take an as-
peared now to be in a state of some dis- sertive line. She would not allow herself to
tress, and all thought Lucy, over the trivial be challenged by any sanctimonious priest
matter of her name and whether they had who wished to lecture her or her mother
previously met. about family values.

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“My mother is and always has been Miss “No, no of course not. Forgive me if I gave
Smith,” Lucy acclaimed boldly and placing that impression.” Father Cleary raised his
an emphasis upon Miss. “She never married, hands towards Lucy, whether seeking for-
and I never knew my father. I know that your giveness or offering an apology she wasn’t
church does not approve of such circum- sure.
stances, but I assure you that she has always
been a kind and loving mother and I brought “I am not in any way being critical, please
you here today only at her request. If it had forgive me if I gave that impression, but per-
been just my decision, I would never have haps. Maybe. I don’t know”. With his face
invited anyone to perform any kind of rites, turned towards the floor it appeared that
or to mutter any form of mumbo-jumbo or the priest might be seeking for the exact
whatever it is that you do during her final words necessary to assist him to escape an
hours. So, can we now move on, cease the uncomfortable situation.
questioning and do whatever it is that you
feel needs to be done for my mother.” “Actually, I am feeling a little unwell. It
might be better; yes, it would certainly be
The moment she had concluded her better if I could arrange for one of my col-
speech Lucy began to feel a little guilty. leagues, another priest to come. Yes, that
Might she have gone too far? Had she been would be for the best. I’m sorry, but I think
unreasonable with this man who had, after perhaps I should go now and make the ar-
all travelled across the city at her mother’s rangements.”
bidding? This specific priest was there at her
mother’s request and, she reasoned, once Recognising a degree of panic in the
he had performed his duties she would priest’s voice, Lucy approached him and
never have to deal with him again. For now, took him firmly by the shoulders, forcing
she would do her best to remain calm and him to look up at her. Firmly, but she
polite. “I’m sorry,” she said adopting a more hoped also with a degree of sympathy for
placatory tone, “this is a very stressful time a man who might be unwell, Lucy asserted
for all of us. My comments were not per- herself.
sonal, but I would rather you simply did
whatever is necessary without any more “You sit still, I will get you a glass of water.
questions being asked. My mother asked Perhaps in a few minutes you will feel better.
specifically to see you at this terrible time My mother asked for you specifically by
and I am grateful that you have crossed the name. Call Father Thomas Cleary, that was
city to be with her, so please can we now her specific request. No other priest would
proceed?” do. She doesn’t want anyone else. This
might well be her final wish and I am going
Father Cleary slumped into the nearest to make sure she gets what she wants.” Lu-
armchair. “Never married,” the words ap- cy’s staccato sentences made clear to the
peared directed more to himself than to priest that she was taking command and
Lucy. that he would not be leaving the house until
his responsibilities had been fulfilled.
“Does that matter?” demanded Lucy, de-
termined to protect her mother’s dignity “Water, yes water please,” muttered the
from what she perceived to be an archaic priest, then with greater clarity. “Of course,
form of moralising by the priest. you are right. Give me a few minutes and I
will be fine.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Lucy hurried to the kitchen and on her to wait. Sitting in the armchair recently va-
return found Father Cleary kneeing on the cated by the priest, she tried to imagine the
floor, his hands clasped together and his lips scene that might be passing in her mother’s
moving but offering no sound. Unfamiliar room. Unfamiliar with church rituals she
with such demonstrative behaviours but could only hope that the visit of this pe-
wishing to show respect, she waited quietly culiar man would bring her mother some
holding the glass until finally the priest rose relief. As she waited, she recounted in her
from the floor, calmly took the proffered mind the strange events of the evening,
vessel and emptied its contents in a single reflecting on the unpredictability of the
swallow. priest’s behaviour and his ever-changing
moods. Whilst pondering all that had hap-
About to enquire after his health Lucy pened she tried to recall when she might
was halted as the priest raised his hands in- have notified Father Cleary of her mother’s
dicating that previous events were to be for- name. Clara, he had sought affirmation that
gotten and that further discussion was un- her name was Clara. Yet she could not re-
necessary. In a voice as calm as that she had member having informed him of this at any
experienced in their initial telephone con- point during their various exchanges. But
versation earlier in the day, Father Clearly then, so much had passed between them,
smiled gently at Lucy and requested that she must at some point surely have used
she should lead him to meet her mother. her mother’s name in conversation.

“Forgive me Lucy, I hope you will not think Lucy, had no idea of how long the rituals
me discourteous. I’m ready now and I fear I taking place in her mother’s room should
have kept your mother waiting long enough. last. An hour passed, and she was surprised
Now then, Clara you said, your mother’s that Father Cleary had not reappeared and
name is Clara I believe?” He looked towards speculated that this might be a good sign.
her for confirmation. Lucy said nothing but A further half hour went by and feeling un-
nodded believing that it was better not to comfortable about her lack of understanding
engage further in conversation and began of the situation she became a little anxious
to lead the priest in the direction of her and hovered around the bedroom door
mother’s room. wondering if all was well and if perhaps she
should enter. Listening at the door she could
Opening the door Lucy enquired, “shall I hear nothing but felt that she should not in-
come in and introduce you?” trude upon what could be an important and
private time for her mother. Time passed
“No,” came the firm response. “This is and Lucy, having watched the hands of the
a duty I have performed a thousand times. clock move slowly for a further half hour,
We are now entering my domain and what decided to knock tentatively upon the door.
passes here will be between your mother Gaining no immediate answer, she hesi-
and God. Please leave us, I will take mat- tated then knocked again, this time more
ters from here.” And with this assurance the forcefully, yet still she elicited no response.
priest entered the room closing the door Finally, after repeated knocking which had
softly between himself and Lucy. prompted no reaction from within, she
pushed the door open, just enough to wit-
Relieved that the purpose of the priest’s ness the scene inside the bedroom.
visit appeared to be at last reaching its con-
clusion, Lucy returned to the sitting room

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Revista Literária Adelaide

The sight with which Lucy was con- strewn a small glass phial, a wooden box
fronted far from clarifying the situation, and a leather-bound book. Lucy hesitated
pushed her deeper into confusion. Across for no more than a couple of minutes be-
the room, kneeling on the floor beside the fore advancing towards the bedside. Slowly,
bed and holding her mother’s hand was Fa- but no longer fearfully crossing the room,
ther Cleary, his shoulders rising and falling Lucy knew before ever she reached the bed-
as he emitted a muffled, fearful sobbing. side that her mother was dead. One glance
Lucy remained rooted to the spot in the at her face which appeared restful and calm
doorway for several minutes unsure about was enough to confirm the situation.
how she should proceed. Cleary appeared Turning her attention to Thomas Cleary and
not have heard her enter the room, or if seeing the sorrow in his eyes, Lucy for the
he had, then he had chosen to ignore her. first time felt a genuine sympathy for this
Lucy observed the scene before her and rec- distressed man. Kneeling beside him she
ognised that what she was witnessing was placed a comforting hand gently on his
a profound moment for the man who knelt shoulder. Now at the last she felt that she
and wept beside her mother’s bed. was beginning to understand what had
passed between the priest and her mother.
The silence of the room was disturbed Now she believed that a much more com-
only by the sobbing of the priest, which in plex story had that evening been unfolding
turn was broken only as he occasionally re- before her. One that until today her mother,
peated almost in a whisper, words that even with her final breath had never been
sounded like some form of apology to her able to tell.
mother. Beside him on the floor were

About the Author
Richard Rose is a British writer. His fiction, poetry and essays
have been published in a wide range of literary magazines
including Muse India, Spadina Review, Cannon’s Mouth, Taj
Mahal Review and Adelaide Magazine. More information
about his work can be found at www.richard-rose.net/

25

WHO AM I

by Britney Saint Joy

The hot sun hit the face of a woman who The woman, not satisfied with the an-
stood very confused examining her sur- swer, left the waiter scrolling through his
roundings. A shopping district aligned with phone. Her feet dragged her deeper into
numerous shops and cafes surrounded her the shopping district, the woman could
while a plethora of people who didn’t pay barely see what was up ahead as she could
her any mind circulated? People moved only gaze upon the sea of heads before her,
in an array of different speeds as they all that is until she found two boys attempting
had somewhere to be. The woman, on the to win a toy in a crane machine.
other hand, felt directionless as she didn’t
even understand why she was there in “Come on, is it that hard to play? Let me
the first place it felt...wrong. A feeling she try!” the younger boy whined.
didn’t want to sit alone with as it brought a
wave of a feeling of uncertainty. “I almost got it, stop whining!” the older
brother answered. Sadly, the toy fell before he
A waiter currently taking a break from could get it, and his face fell just as the toy did.
his job at a nearby cafe was seen having
a smoke and casually scrolling through his The woman examined the sad expres-
phone. He lifted an eyebrow as his eyes met sion on the two boys’ faces and the younger
hers after looking away from his phone. one took notice of her. Before he could
speak the woman rummaged in her pocket
“May I help you?” the waiter asked. for a coin.

“Do you know who I am?” she ques- “Who am I?” she asked the two boys with
tioned, her voice rose in pitch to show the the same expectant look she gave the waiter.
distress behind the question.
She was met with the same confused
The man gave her a look that seemed to look the waiter gave her but in the form of
be a cross between judgemental and one two young boys.
filled with confusion.
“Are you our mom’s friend? She’s in the
“No? You a YouTuber or something? store.” The older brother pointed to a wom-
You kinda look like one of those TEDTalk en’s clothing store in front of them.
speakers.” He opened up the app on his
phone and began scrolling as if he would The woman shook her head and took a
find the woman on the front page of the app. step up to the crane machine and inserted
her coin. The children watched in amaze-
ment as she was able to get the toy they so

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Revista Literária Adelaide

desperately played for. Their faces lit up as The woman’s skin crawled. “I’m sure, I’ll
she handed it to the both of them. be fine,” she lied.

The younger boy smiled widely, excite- Before the man could say anything else
ment written across his face, and exclaimed a much gentler voice called, and she was
in his wild happiness “Thank you! I know surprised she recognized the name.
who you are! You’re a nice lady!”
“Rachel?” A much kinder looking man
She smiled at the boys but that wasn’t ran up to the two, his face glistened with
quite what she was looking for. The two boys sweat and he panted as he stopped in front
ran into the shop to show off their new toy of the two. “Honey, I’ve looked everywhere
to their mother, forgetting the woman at the for you!”
crane. Any child would play with their new toy
instead of talking to a strange woman, even Rachel blinked as she took a step away
if she was the one to win the prize for them. from my the smug-looking man which now
seemed more deflated than anything else.
She continued her adventure around “That’s my name isn’t it?”
the shopping district once again looking for
someone to have the answer to her question. The gentler man smiled. “Of course,
you’re the kindest, most beautiful, and
Is it always so overwhelming to be in the greatest woman I know, but best of
crowds? she thought. It was strange hearing all you’re Rachel and that’s whatever you
people whisper and look at her as she tried to make yourself out to be.” He very tenderly
get people’s attention. She heard the musings took her hand as he spoke.
and chatter of the onlookers who couldn’t
fathom someone not knowing who they are. She still couldn’t think of the man’s name
but she couldn’t deny he gave her the best
A man was seated at a bench and exuded answer out of everyone today.
a most unpleasant aura. His eyes immedi-
ately shot to the woman and a smug grin The kinder looking man took her hand
grew on his face. so the couple could head home. He turned
to look at the smug-looking man. “Thank
“What’s a pretty thing like you looking you for sitting with my wife I appreciate it
lost for?” the smug man asked her while greatly.”
drinking her in.
The smug-looking man grumbled to him-
Her eyes narrowed. She almost didn’t self as he left the happy couple. The two
want to ask him, the vibes he gave. “Have now gave him mischievous grins.
we met? Do you know who I am?”
Rachel smiled up at her husband as the
“Well, you look like someone who needs two left hand in hand and for once in this
someone to help show you around, I can help crowded shopping district, she felt she
you find out,” the smug man gave a wink. knew who she was.

About the Author

Britney Saint Joy is a writer who currently resides in Florida she’s currently studying to
get her bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing for Entertainment. Her twitter handle is @
BritneySaintJoy for professional inquires.

27

ZOETIC DEMISE

by Savonte Hicks

As I opened my eyes the first thing I saw “My baby is gone, but he’s in a better
was me, clear as day in a mahogany casket place now, I never would’ve thought I’d be
laid out in a black tuxedo, my drab hands burying my youngest child so soon but...but
clasped and my eyes sealed shut, never to you never know what life has in store right?”
open again. she said while getting choked up. I went
over to her to comfort my dear mother one
Why me? Why now? how did it come to last time. I stood by her side holding her,
this? I thought to myself. I couldn’t grasp she almost lost composure when I touched
how I got here, everything became a blur her like I made her emotions spike more but
and then, the minister spoke. she continued then suddenly I got a burst of
thoughts that weren’t my own.
“Taye Salim Negasi, a man of life, a man
who has now been called to the Lord. His Why? Why did someone have to take
passing being unexpected and unfortunate, my child away from me? Sick, this world is
blessings go out to his loved ones.” I looked sickening full of hatred and murder. I can’t
over to my family and friends, my mother believe he’s actually gone. I let go of her
sat in the front with her eyes bloodshot overwhelmed.
and her face puffy, my siblings sat nearby
hyperventilating while sobbing along with Murder?! Someone killed me?! my mind
my grandparents. My uncle sits in the back- was in a frenzy yet everything was still a blur.
biting his lip as tears slowly stream down his I headed over to where my friends were sit-
face. I hover over to him and place my hand ting to analyze and see what I could find out.
on his shoulder as he would in my time of
need, and then he glances over his shoulder There’s only one person who would
as if he sensed I was there. He looked back know something, and that’s Zakara
at the casket saying to my cold dull body,
Zakara sat in the midsection quietly sob-
“Nephew, you’ll always be with us. I’m bing but something seemed off, she never
going to find out who did this to you I swear.” looked in my direction, she never got up to
say her farewells to the stiff me that’s lying
Find out who did what? I thought. The there.
services continued and my mother got up
to speak, her voice worn out and weary but “What is it that she knows?” I questioned.
softy she said: I put my hand on hers, she flinched at first,
sensing something but brushing it off. As I

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held her hand again thoughts ran through flashed before me. Me, Zakara, and Gadreel
my head. went out to a cabin one night to invite more
friends over and have some drinks and
“It wasn’t supposed to end this way, it’s smoke. Zakara was Gadreel’s crush but she
all his fault! He’s the one who killed him! It was deeply in love with me, I never knew
had to be him!” that Gadreel resented me for that. As Za-
kara took a nap in the cabin awaiting her
Uncertain if it would work I whispered to friend’s arrival, Gadreel and I headed into
her, “Who? Who killed him?” and like telep- the woods to smoke. As we were walking
athy her first thought was Gadreel seemed to get more suspicious
saying things like,
“Gadreel, Gad was the one who lured
Taye out that night, Gad was the one that... “This’ll be a night to remember.” “I got a
that-” surprise you’ll never forget.” “How do we
know we can trust these people coming
“Where’s Gadreel? Where is Gadreel?’ I here? If something happened no one would
muttered to her. know.”

“Here…” I let go of her, again over- I paid no mind to the remarks being
whelmed. Things began to clear up more made because I had trust in my friend but
but now it felt like my body was pulling little did I know I was being lured to my own
me back. I hover above the entire sections, demise. As we got deeper into the woods
face to face, swooshing by one another Gadreel asks me,
looking for Gadreel and then… all the way
in the back right corner, leaned against the “Yo Taye, you want to see my new 9mm
wall stands Gadreel. A ghastly vibe present glock?”
around him as I approached. His grave face
covered by his dark hood but not enough to “Yeah sure, bust it let’s see what it can
keep the bullets of sweat from being notice- do,” I said turning to see him shoot.
able. His eyes were dilated and stuck on my
casket then they began darting from person “You’re right Taye, let me show you what
to person across the room before finally re- it can do.” he said while slowly pulling the
verting back to me. His hands fidgety, palms trigger. The flesh tearing, the ringing in the
sweaty, legs shaky, and now to see his mind. ears, the world turning white and your body
Without even touching him I could hear his now cold. Major arteries punctured inter-
thoughts, they were roaring. nally bleeding as the heart pumps out its last
beats. I laid there in cold blood. That was
“He was my friend, but he had to go, he my death, betrayal, and jealousy. Coming
had to. I was always in his shadow, always back distraught but in a way at peace, my
overlooked by him, but now I get to be in body draws me back in before the casket
the spotlight, now I can have everything closes. Understanding my family’s grief I say,
and he has nothing.” He said smirking. It all “Be at peace, one love.”
came back to me, the night that I was killed

29

SQUISHY STAR TUBE

by Franco Amati

The thing I remember most about that “Jacob, come out here,” Dad said to me.
day was the squishy star tube. The way it He was greeting an approaching woman.
moved all slippery in my hand and how
those colorful plastic stars inside just sort “Wait,” I said. “I’m looking at something.”
of floated all suspended-like in whatever
that fluid was. Maybe they stopped selling “Get your brother and come out here. I
them in toy stores in the nineties because want you to meet someone.”
kids could easily pop them open and drink
the liquid. And who knows what the hell The woman was taller and younger than
that would do to a kid. my mom and had blonde hair. She wore
tight denim shorts that showed off her legs.
My dad took us to the mall and let us Her sneakers were pristine white, with laces
roam around the toy store while he waited looped like big bunny ears.
outside for someone. He kept checking his
pager, clipping and unclipping it from his I grabbed my brother by the shirt. “Let’s
belt. He wore a short-sleeved white T-shirt go,” I said. He was on the verge of tears.
tucked into his jeans. He always folded up “Let’s just go meet this lady. Maybe Daddy
the sleeves to show off his arms. will buy those for you, okay? Don’t cry now.”

My little brother Birdie was looking “I want Mommy. I want to go home,”
at stuffed animals. He sat in the corner Birdie said, tears starting to flow.
with a turtle in one hand and a dog in the
other making them talk. I kept palming the “Soon,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
squishy star tube, squeezing it so that one
end would get bigger and bulge through my I didn’t realize I was still holding the
fingers. squishy star tube. Nearly walked out with
it. I tossed it back in the bin. It bobbled and
My dad was supposed to be watching bounced as it landed on its squishy brothers
us, but I was the one doing the watching. I and sisters. Some were filled with dolphins
wondered how hard I’d have to squeeze the or dinosaurs. I really wanted the star one
thing for it to burst and spill the liquid and though.
stars everywhere. Then my dad would have
to come in and pay for the toy and act like a “Kids, this is Laura,” Dad said. We both
responsible parent. just looked at her.

“Daddy, can we go home? Birdie’s not
feeling good.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“Come on. Don’t be a baby,” he said, run- “This is only two months worth, Ray. You
ning his big crusty hand through Birdie’s curls. owe at least six. You see how we’re livin’ here.”

“Laura’s on her break. She wants to get “Listen, Jo. I don’t have it right now.”
pizza with us. You guys want pizza?” He
knew we were hungry, having not fed us “You better not be late next week. Did
since he picked us up hours ago. you feed them at least?”

I knelt down and whispered in Bird- “Pizza.”
ie’s ear. “Let’s just eat the pizza fast. Then
there won’t be anything else to do. I’ll tell “Bye, Ray.”
Mommy to come back here to get the turtle
and dog for you, okay?” Mom gave us hugs and kisses. She asked
if we had fun. We both said yes.
That kept the tears away. I was also
hoping to go back for that squishy star tube. “And we met a lady,” Birdie said.
Sometimes you have to distract yourself
with hopeful thoughts so you don’t pay at- “A lady?” My mom stood up. Her mood
tention to the awful things adults are doing. changed. She looked out the vertical blinds
to see if Dad left yet.
***
“What lady?” She turned to me.
After the pizza, Dad agreed to take us back,
but first he had to give Laura a quick ride in “I don’t know,” I said.
his pickup truck.
She ran to the telephone on the wall. I
“Your car really smells like cigarettes,” heard the numbers go beep, boop, boop,
she said. beep. She started screaming and crying and
saying all kinds of angry words. That night
“Sorry,” Dad said. Mom locked her bedroom door and cried
herself to sleep.
“No, it’s good. I like it.”
***
We rode around a while all squeezed to-
gether. Good thing I had the window. I just I didn’t find out until years later, when I was
looked out and counted the trees. old enough to understand, that my dad had
left my mom to be with that woman. I sup-
When he dropped her off, they both got pose in a way I did know. Birdie probably
out of the car. He had parked so that we knew too. We just didn’t have the concept
couldn’t really see them saying goodbye to for it.
each other. But I could still kinda see what
they were doing by looking in the mirrors. We saw her one other time. She ap-
They kissed. Then, as he walked back, he peared at our door and talked to my mom
checked his pager again, got back in the car, for a while. I remember watching them talk.
and finally took us home. I was on the floor playing with my brother,
toys scattered everywhere on the dirty
*** carpet. The turtle and the dog were there
too. So was the squishy star tube.
At the front door, my dad kissed our cheeks,
and we ran inside. He handed my mom an
envelope.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Franco Amati is a writer from New York. He has worked as a front desk clerk, as a college
instructor, and as a user interface designer for a speech recognition company. His educational
background is in cognitive psychology. You can find more of his work at francoamatiwrites.com

32

ACCOUNTABLE
VICTIM

by Donald Zagardo

A black and green lamppost, tall with his walk home, then realized he could use
chipped paint, across from Bryant Park, in a drink or two.
front of a classic brown and gold twelve
storied building, the wind reeking of the The man on the black and green lamp-
park’s dead yellow grass, cigarette smoke, post groaned through the rags that bound
automobile exhaust and blood. Hanging his mouth, barely a sound was heard. He
from the lamppost is a half-skinned, large went on like that, groaning, for a few hours
white male wearing only trousers, support- before the pre-death silence set in. Bryant
ed by ropes about his torso, legs and arms. Park was empty now, the sky dark and the
In agony, still alive but barely. New York City crows squawking. The dying man was meant
is some kind of town these days. He will be to be a public display, erected to teach a
dead in less than a day. lesson of some kind to someone. Not an un-
common spectacle these days, raised by a
In a mid-western city, the lake winds powerful enemy, one would assume. But no
blow the hat from a small, nicely garbed one else watched the man die. Silly waste of
man’s bald head. He reaches up very quickly a lesson if you ask me.
and catches it. I am faster than the Chicago
wind, he thinks to himself. Clifford is many Birds will soon pick at the dead man’s
things, but faster than the wind? eyes and flesh. Early morning children will
point at him and ask questions that their
He walks for a block before replacing his teachers, nursemaids and parents will ig-
hat, across an ancient bridge toward Lake nore.
Michigan. When he finds a favorable spot,
isolated and quiet, he drops two of Ericson’s Young Jonathan at The Lakeside Tavern
severed fingers into the restless water, then knows what kind of man Clifford is. Jona-
the knife he used to sever them. than instantly walks toward him whenever
he enters the room. Yes Mr. Jeffers, no
The sun was nearly set on Chicago. Lake Mr. Jeffers, but mostly yes. Jonathan has a
Michigan glowed with dark colors and im- careful, sensitive understanding of people.
mense beauty. Clifford turned and began He is very good at his job.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Clifford tries not to think about Ericson little secrets as required, with only two
very much, and after a few stiff drinks he’s digits lost. Erickson was lucky as far as he’s
almost there. He sits at the bar and drinks concerned.
for just over one hour, happily pays his bill
and leaves a good tip for young Jonathan, The morning birds, birds of all kinds,
then says good night. Clifford exits through flutter around the poor victim’s right hand,
the front door into the cool night. The dark- attracted by the bloody remains of two fin-
ened streets, glowing streetlamps and gusty gers. The half-skinned man is long dead. He
lake-winds make him feel at ease, at home will hang above the park for another two or
in his Chicago. Erickson’s future existence three days before anyone finds the courage
is not his concern. He did his job and did to take him down. A late winter snow be-
it well. Clifford discovered all of Erickson’s gins to fall upon our little city, making it
beautiful, this New York.

About the Author

Donald Zagardo is a former Professor of Modern World
History at St. John’s University. He has a life-long passion
for literature and has studied fiction-writing at NYC’s
Gotham Writers Workshop. In the past few years he has
directed his writing efforts toward short stories and novels,
searching for unusual topics. He is presently assembling a
collection of his own work. Donald lives and writes in New
York City. He enjoys international travel, foreign languages
and photography.

34

LOST CAT

by Bogi Beykov

“Good evening, this is DreamNet - your I hate the thought of something bad hap-
friendly neighborhood internet provider. pening to her.”
My name is Lilly. How can I help?”
“I’m sure she is fine, Missis Hartford,”
“Thank God it’s you, sweetie?” Lilly was thinking about all the work she
still had to finish for uni after she got home.
“Missis Hartford, how are you today?” The finals were getting closer and while her
position at DreamNet was supposed to be
“Oh, you know, still breathing. I wish a part-time job, the part was becoming in-
there was a way I could remove all of my creasingly bigger.
bones and put them in a jar with my teeth,
so I don’t feel this constant pain, every “Have I told you before how beautiful she
living minute…” is?”

Lilly looked around the office, her eyes “Yes, several times.”
trying to escape another dreadfully long
conversation with the old lady. Almost ev- “She has this black fur that’s so shiny, it’s
eryone had already left, and she was too almost greasy. But she’s not because she
polite to cut the conversation short. is so clean. I taught her well and she never
ever caused any problems like that, you
“...But you are still young, so you have know? In the bathroom I mean. She only
nothing to worry about!” has this scar…”

“Missis Hartford, you know that this is “Missis Hartford, I’m so terribly sorry but
an internet company and I’m not even sure we have other clients waiting on the line
you have internet.” who may need help with their internet con-
nection…”
“No, but you know, it’s Jessa.”
“I thought you closed the office at eight.”
“Your cat?”
“Oh well, time flies.”
“Yes, my cat. She is still missing, darling,
and I can’t find her anywhere. I know, I know, “Ok, sweetie don’t worry, I will not bother
I shouldn’t be calling but my son won’t even you but if you see her by any chance…”
pick up these days and I am worried sick.
You see, she never leaves for this long, not “I will definitely let you know, Missis Hart-
even in the spring. She is just the nicest cat, ford. Have a good night.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“You too, Lilly. Thank you.” herself after a while to ‘come down from
the clouds’ as her Mom says and resume
It was getting dark fast this time of the her worries where she left them. This time
year and Lilly’s bike had no lights on. Thank- the old lady called only once, right as Lilly
fully she didn’t live that far away, and the was turning off the lights.
streets were almost empty. She would
usually make it back in fifteen. A couple “Still no sign of Jessa, sweetheart, what
of blocks later and a turn around Sham- am I to do?” This time the sadness in her
rock Park and she’d be home to help Mom voice was stained by defeat. Emptied of
with dinner. Slightly Distracted she almost hope she sounded dull and quiet.
missed the red light at the crossroads next
to the old Baptist church. She stopped for a “Misses Hartford, I’m sure she will come
moment to catch her breath. An old rusty back. As a matter of fact, I saw a black cat
van parked at the corner was momentarily just like her last night on my way back home.”
brought back to life by the illuminating red
glow of the traffic light. Then Lilly spotted “Oh no, no, she knows the way back
something moving on the roof of the van. home...” the connection was poor, filling
It jumped off and flashed across the street up with white noise, “She always found her
and into the darkness. It was a black cat. way in the darkest of hours.”
The light was back on and Lilly instinctively
drove off. “Don’t worry, Misses Hartford, I will go
look after work, she is still there probably.”
“Could it have been Jessa?” she won-
dered, “She might get hungry and find her “Be careful. These days, it’s cold in town.
way back.” I need to go now, sweetie, need to look for
my Jessa. Good night.”
She saw Jessa in her dream that night.
Standing in the middle of the street, calmly “Misses Hartford?”
waiting as the cars drove by. It was like one
of the old silent movies she had seen as a There was no one on the other end of
child. The pace was all wrong. It looked like the line. The old lady was right about one
things were moving too fast or maybe the thing though, it was getting much colder.
scene was recorded in reverse and then
played backwards. Only the cat was unaf- After locking the office and on the way
fected by it all. Staring straight into her eyes. to her bike, Lilly heard a noise. She felt a
brush against her leg and turned around to
“You can’t leave here without locking the see the cat. Jessa was looking up at her with
server room!” her boss yelled at her the typically feline disdain.
next day, “What if someone had broken in?”
“Ah, here she is. Why are you not home,
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Ales, it won’t happen huh?”
again.” She hadn’t even taken her coat off
yet. “Meow…”

There was a cliché stock image print of “I see.”
Brooklyn Bridge hanging on the wall in the
office. Lilly would sometimes look at it and She had an old scar on her right leg that
wonder about things. Only to reprimand seemed to have been caused by a pretty
deep cut, maybe a fall or a vehicle hit. Lilly
thought she could take Jessa home with her
and then call Missis Hartford with the good

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Revista Literária Adelaide

news. But when she reached down, the cat Lilly’s ears. The heavy snow piling up out-
lashed out and scratched her viciously. side, must have been sticking to the cables
and messing with the signal.
“Why did you do that?”
“Are you all by yourself, Misses Hartford?
Jessa started licking her palm bored with Do you need some help around the house?
indifference. I could drop by…”

Maybe she could at least lock her in the “No, you can’t.”
office until the morning. But as soon as she
thought of that, the cat pranced off and ran “I can barely hear…”
down the stairs.
“You are such a good girl, Lilly...”
“Wait, hold on!”
The wind blew open the window. The
Lilly followed her down and across the haze of snow, invading in, mixed with all the
street. But the cat was fast. Before Lilly sheets of paper and flew around in a frenzy.
could catch up, she had already jumped
over a fence and disappeared into the night. Lilly struggled with the window for a mo-
ment and by the time she came back to her
Missis Hartford had not called in a few phone, the old lady had left her too. After
days. But Lilly kept seeing Jessa. Once be- doing her best at putting everything in place
hind a trash can, another time on a bench and mopping the floor, she finally left ex-
under a streetlamp. It was as if Jessa was hausted. Her bike, waiting for her to be late
the one discovering Lilly, lost in her thoughts as usual, had frozen to the pole.
on the way home and bringing her out of it.
She once showed up outside her window. She shouldn’t have brought it today.
Or maybe it was another dream. She should have paid more attention to the
forecast.
The next day it suddenly started snowing.
The office was almost empty. People were Lilly thought, “I will be home soon. It’s
evacuating town, escaping their disap- not that far after all. Fifteen minutes...”
pointing family obligations in pre-booked
hideouts. Lilly, now busier than ever, was Or maybe longer this time. The storm
flooded with work and an avalanche of pa- was growing stronger. Slowing down time
pers for her winter break. in its freezing embrace.

She felt lonely. “...Only a few blocks away, then the
park...”
This small town now seemed perplex-
ingly vast and hollow. The cold slowly If she could only see it. The snowy cur-
creeping in and reaching for her heart. tain, carefully laid down over the town, was
the storm’s claim to the stage tonight.
The phone was ringing for a while. Lilly
had to pick up. And she knew it was her. “...It’s muscle memory. I remember. There
is nothing I forgot this time, did I?”
“Missis Hartford, she keeps running away.
I can’t grab a hold of her.” She hit the brakes and came to an abrupt
stop. At the corner of the old Baptist church
“There is nothing we can do, sweetie.” Jessa was standing in the middle of the
The line was moaning with noise, hurting street, staring at her.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“You’re not running away this time!” “Is this a hospital?”

Lilly abandoned her bike and sprang into “Come this way.”
a pursuit. Jessa turned into a small alley
where the light was so dim, Lilly had to run She stepped into a room and Jessa
with her arms extended. But the cat stopped jumped onto a chair next to the bed.
a few times and looked over her shoulder, to
give the girl a chance to catch up. Lilly saw “Is this better now, sweetie?”
Jessa’s shiny eyes, reflecting the dying glow
of the streetlights in a mirror of bottomless Lilly recognized the voice. This was
darkness. The girl’s lungs were burning. Every Misses Hartford. She looked younger and
breath was painful, as if forced by a torturous was dressed as a nurse. Bent over some
machine. She slowed her pace and so did machine, she pressed a few buttons.
Jessa. She was now only a few steps in front
but ignoring Lilly’s pleas, she kept moving for- “Ok, your infusion pump is adjusted. Let’s
ward inch by inch. The wind was blowing so check the respirator.”
hard, Lilly now couldn’t see anything but Jes-
sa’s tail. She kept crawling forward until her She was attending the patient in the bed.
freezing outreached hand stumbled across
the metal railing of a staircase. The cat was Suddenly, Lilly felt bad about being in
already climbing up the steps. Lilly followed this room. She didn’t want to stay here any
and floor by floor they started ascending longer. But trying to open the door, she now
an invisible building. Supported by the rails, realized it was locked.
Lilly felt her strength recover momentarily
and she leapt forward to grab a hold of Jessa. “I’m so tired,” Lilly mumbled, “I don’t
Her hand slid over the shiny coat. She felt the think I’m feeling too well.”
warmth, the surprise of an escaped heart-
beat a second before the animal slid through Shy stumbled towards the bed and sat
an open door. Lilly was startled for a moment down for a moment.
but quickly recovered, opened the door and
was now inside too. Blinded by the light, she Everyone had so many expectations of
followed along a long and bright corridor. her and she had to make them all happy.
Feeling heavy and very sleepy, she sat down Maybe if she paid more attention... But she
on a bench for a moment. But Jessa didn’t let was always so easily distracted.
her rest for long. She was in front, waving her
tail provocatively. “I hope it’s ok if I just lay my head down
for a moment.”
“Follow me,” she whispered in her own
silent way. It was ok. Because there was no one else
in the bed but her. She remembered now.
“I’m tired. Leave me alone.”
Missis Hartford’s pleasant voice. The
“We’re almost there.” voice she used to hear every day when
the nurse came to check on her. The dark
And so, they continued. Now walking evening when she left the office late. The
side by side. Lilly looked around slowly. She freezing cold of the first snow outside. The
was disoriented, her eyes hard to focus. icy road which made it so hard for her bike
to break. And that one black cat that jumped
in front of the road out of nowhere, causing
her to veer off into the incoming traffic. Lilly
hadn’t left this room in over a year. She had
been in a coma since the accident.

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“You come with me, Jessa,” nurse Hart-
ford ordered.
“Meow.”
“Don’t meow me, now. We need to leave
Lilly to rest on her own,” then leaving the
room she looked out of the window and
added, mostly to herself, “This winter looks
to be even colder than the last one. Good
night, sweetie.”

About the Author
Bogi Beykov is half Polish and half Bulgarian. Most of his
short stories combine humor with sci-fi elements. You can
read more on: http://boguslaugh.com/

39

ERNIE

by Clive Aaron Gill

I can’t decide if I should stay with Ernie. We’ve So why am I thinking about leaving
been together for fifteen years, and it will be Ernie? For the last few months, he’s been
hard to leave. But lately, I’ve been craving arriving late. Sometimes he makes me wait
something… something different, you know. a whole hour. I’m not stupid. I know what’s
One day I woke up crying and thought, this right and wrong. I think I should give up on
relationship isn’t working anymore. him.

My time with Ernie has never been Maybe I should find someone else be-
smooth sailing. He expects the most expen- fore I leave him. But Ernie would know by
sive gifts, he’s vain and can’t take criticism. the look in my eyes, the smile on my lips,
Things I could say to a good friend, I wouldn’t and that would be too stressful for me.
dare say to him. But he doesn’t have mood
swings and never lies. The best thing about Where am I going to find another hair-
him is that he knows what’s right for me and stylist as good as Ernie?
almost always makes me happy.

About the Author

Forty stories by Clive Aaron Gill have appeared in literary
journals and in “People of Few Words Anthology.” He
tells his stories at public and private gatherings. Born
in Zimbabwe, Clive has lived and worked in Southern
Africa, North America and Europe. He received a degree
in Economics from the University of California, Los
Angeles and lives in San Diego. More of Clive’s Stories are
available at https://www.amazon.com/Clive-Aaron-Gill/e/
B00FADQIR6

40

LEAVES FROM
THE FIELD

by Michael Robinson

At Christian Appalachian Southern Bap- across the goddamn middle and hit some-
tist Institute (CASBI) there are two statues body.”
in the garden with the water-spring pond
and a brick walkway leading to the main He coached the eternity of moment.
campus. One of them is of Led Shear, hold- How there are some things you can do and
ing a rolled-up playbook and appearing as achieve on this field that will be so glorious
though he’s going to smack somebody with and so almighty, they can never be lodged
it, his mouth and teeth and tongue roaring from memory, from the soul of earth, from
like a bear being hunted and shot. And the the field. He coached each practice like
other statue nobody really cares about. giving a sermon, reading from the playbook
as it were a Holy scroll. “We’re gonna run
Shear coached the Cherokee Rose for some plays today men. Gonna run some
thirty-four years. He was never a man of good plays. I know you’re tired and I know
small stature, even during his first year in you might be scared of many things. You’re
command. Six foot two inches tall with a gut young. There’s a hell of a lot of pressure on
that carried the conviction of his thudding you to not be young anymore. Good Book
roar and a gut that is hard as stone. says come against your fears with great fury.”
If there was not tracks of blood left behind
He started balding since before he on the field each day he grew disappointed
walked up and down the sidelines like a and he grew angry too. He’d have them run
ship’s captain and had beach blonde hair Oklahoma drill til men broke bones and
and the gaze set in his eyes similar to that of men cried, til their flesh bled.
a cowboy outlaw. His eyes were a calm sea
and of patience and they were screaming. When they ran wind-sprints up and down
the field they usually ran beyond the point
He called his playbook the Good Book, of men vomiting and would run until some-
hollering at his players when they came body finally collapsed, and often run further
off the field, grabbing their facemasks and and longer than that, and he’d chase them
saying, “Good Book says Zebra Stripe Y Jet. from goal line to goal line in a golf cart and
Says crossing route. Good Book says cut

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

megaphone. “You think you’re gonna beat season started and it gave birth to that
anybody if you don’t got the grit to run in a aroma which is the sport of football.
hundred n‘levin degree heat. There’s boys
in Texas and they’re big and they can’t wait He gave them the name Cherokee Rose
to play us. They want to beat you like your and designed the helmets. Painted Navy
daddy beats you. You think what you want blue with an emblem of the flower on one
is given. Hell no. You got to take it.” side and the other side a Cherokee chief with
a mohawk and blood face paint shaping its
On game-days he made sure there’d be eyes, a single brown thrasher feather risen
blood. Before the first snap if he pointed to from the scalp like an extension of its own
a player they had to bull-rush him and jar hair and an arrow tethered to it appearing
their helmet against his forehead. By the as it were slithered through its skull.
time they sang the national anthem, he
stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his players, During camp, the helmets were white
holding their hands and blood streaming and plain revealing the scratch marks, the
down his face like a man borne by war. If dents and the blood. They wouldn’t be
they took a knee he’d take a knee with painted and decorated until the heat felt a
them. They were his sons. breeze, until the leaves fell, until the world
smelled like the skin of pig. And they made
By the time he was hired he was already their helmets smooth and reflective of the
forty years old and washed up. He had been sun, and with tomahawk stickers as it were
prosecuted for gambling on college football, a ceremony before battle.
and on many occasions bet against his own
team, and found guilty too, for the soliciting He gave them seven national champion-
of transvestite prostitutes over the course ships and produced about half as many NFL
of twelve years. His family forgave him but players. Probably the most famous player
no University ever has. he coached was Freeman Lord, or The Rev-
erend as he’d be known, who played the
CASBI was the only program to give him once-upon-a-time position of rover and
a second chance, and they didn’t even have ended up with the Lions for three seasons.
a football team. He was hired to draw one Shear gave him a scholarship when the
up from the dust and so he did. other coaches told him good sense says
cut that boy. In camp, during sprints he had
Their field was also the baseball field dropped to a knee and took off his helmet
with wooden stands which were always revealing a mohawk dyed blonde and vom-
creaking and a triangle of dirt mounting the ited and wiped the fowl from his face and
fifty-yard line. When they fell down upon put on the helmet again and rose and ran
the baselines the dirt scratched and scraped from Shear’s golf cart which could not
against their skin feverishly. One of the catch him. If anybody listened to Shear, it
sheerest and sharpest pain this world has was Lord. He’d wind up for most of his adult
to offer. “Get up and hit somebody,” he’d life in and out of jail for crystal meth and
shout. “You can feel sorry for yourself if you domestic violence, and with nine children
want but on this goddamn field. No-sir.” from three different women, and did not
make a lasting impression in the pro’s, but
Red and yellow, and green and brown for four years with Shear he was the best
leaves fell from the oak trees and came safety in the game, and won three awards
gently down upon the field when the

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Revista Literária Adelaide

during that stretch proving it, listening to California, or Texas. Washington or Syracuse,
coach tell him ‘I don’t care who carries that New York or to the Great Lakes. Not going to
ball for the other team–I don’t care if it’s the high plains of Kansas or Nebraska. Not
Jesus Christ at running back, you come at going to the Rocky Mountains. That they
him how you’d come at the devil, you hear,’ were going to the Blue Ridge Mountains in
and Lord would come screaming savagely Georgia and they were going to school at
from boundary to boundary imitating a Christian Appalachia Southern Baptist Insti-
Cherokee war-cry or rebel-yell, leveling up tute and play football for Coach Led Shear.
upon opposing ball carriers like a bullet.
Like a sacred spirit. Like a messenger of One day it was all over. His career record
God made flesh upon the earth, upon the there was 272 wins and 88 losses. He made
football field. A dancer in cleats, galloping the playoffs every year except for three. His
across the field with a lunatic’s grin under last three. His three years he won ten games
his face paint which was his own blood. and lost twenty. It hit him like an old gun-
slinger who was at one time the quickest,
This is how Shear coached. He watched who finally gets shot in a draw before he
game film every night with great passion, even touches his gun. He was staring in the
his wife saying, “You watch all those film mirror when it hit him like a bullet, seeing
sessions like it’s a good movie,” studying his wrinkles and his hardened jaw, and the
and making notes behind an ashen cloud of little bit of hair he had going from gray to
cigarette smoke and the sound of whiskey white, from some strands to nothing, and
swirling and ice clinking within glass. his soul getting softer and softer like the
Breathing the beat of his heart. wings of dove are about to carry it some-
place else, and when he admitted to him-
During the offseason he’d drive his 1983 self he can’t coach anymore he was alone,
Buick Skyhawk station wagon, painted red, looking at himself and he started to cry.
through the bible belt like Moses, searching
for the Grace of God in the fire of flesh–raw After he retired he lived for three more
talent, that special type of blood which days.
when people witness, people testify, saying,
“My God. That boy is going to play on Sun- Gathering around the hearse were thir-
days.” ty-four years’ worth of players multiplied by
fifty players each year, plus their families,
He’d sit down in homes and eat home- and the fans spanning over three or four
made pie and wait for it to get quiet and generations—seven-year-olds crying by the
then tell the parents about their son, that sides of tearful men aged eighty-eight, and
he’s going to be their father, he’s going to be there was even News Channel 7 there to
their preacher and their teacher too. “Hell cover the event.
I’ll even be their mama-away-from-mama.”
He would smile saintly. “I’m gonna see them “John, I’m standing by here, live where
through until they can see through it them- the souls of so many…”
selves. Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So, I’m gonna
be their football coach.” He was buried in Paradise Cemetery
with the old gates that has paint chipped
And many mothers and many fathers and chipping from forty years ago, and
told their sons that they’re not going to some paint from a hundred years ago. The
creek and the forest and the oak trees, and

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

just a few tombstones in that small fielded
patch of land. Before they let him down the
preacher ended with “Hit Somebody!” and
everybody said Amen.

His resting place is popular for many
to come and pay respects. They touch the
earth sharing his soul. They snort their nos-
trils and rub their cold wet cheeks and stare
at the stone, standing there with him, not
wanting to leave.

Cherokee Roses are planted all around
the frame, above the ground of his coffin. It
is said even the hawks and the deer there
will come before his tombstone for an
eternal moment and bow their heads at the
presence of his spirit and the words carved
and stenciled there forever on stone which
reads Good Book Says Come At Your Fears
With Great Fury.

About the Author
M.F. Robinson was born and raised in North Georgia, and
has held and been fired from a variety of jobs in his home
state as well as Tennessee, Texas, Utah and California.

44

FLAMENCO,
FIVE BELOW

by Meghan Dimmick

John and Beatrice are dating. Eric and I are Beatrice and Eric met at work. They’re
their friends. lifeguards at the Y pool. The lifeguards are
very chummy. The pool closes at ten which
Beatrice and I met on the first day of means several of them are walking back to
grade school. We were six. We were all six, their cars with nothing to do and a significant
but somehow she seemed older, cooler, “in bit of the night left. They take advantage.
the know” about I don’t know what. She
wore hoop earrings the size of bracelets Beatrice told everyone at work that she
and had a fringed jacket. She lived right had a boyfriend. It just makes it easier, she
by me. I started to linger helplessly when I said. What she means is that she can count
passed her house on my way to school and on the fact that a healthy percentage of the
the first time she saw me and hurried to people she meets in the world are going
grab her bag and make it down the steps in to hit on her without a specific directive
time to meet me, I felt like I’d finally made against it. It gets annoying. More so for me
it to the big time, that real life had started, than for her, I imagine. But, also, for her.
and on the merit of proximity alone, some-
thing big was bound to happen, if not to me Eric has a crush on Beatrice. He doesn’t
then near me, as near as she was. say so, but he spends an awful lot of time
complaining about the fact that John al-
John and Eric met playing baseball. John ways gets the girls on the bare merit of his
was the pitcher and Eric was the catcher. drop-dead gorgeous good looks. He says
This is supposed to be meaningful. I don’t that girls always complain that men are su-
know anything about baseball. I know even perficial but hanging around John just goes
less than they think because they still tell to show you that girls are the worst. They
me things like this and imagine that there’s swarm him like bees just because he has a
something there for me to understand. To chiselled chin, a broad expanse of shoulders,
be totally honest, I’m not even sure which a slow-moving grin.
one of them is called the catcher. Aren’t
they all catchers? John is very good-looking. Beatrice was
so impressed she ditched her imaginary

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

boyfriend on the spot. John asked her if He’s always trying to get her to talk about
she had one and she just said no. Eric spent work. His eyes keep sliding in her direction
the rest of the night looking for explana- almost helplessly and he’s too busy paying
tions. He grilled me for about ten hours in attention to what she’s doing or saying to
the back corner of the bar while John and look in my direction. But then the night gets
Beatrice kept leaning into each other on the longer, and Beatrice and John’s conversa-
dance floor trying to hear what the other tions quit allowing for outside input. I try to
one was saying. think of a scenario where I would imagine
winning John away from Beatrice. Where I
Eric and I started fooling around. We’re would think that worth doing to Beatrice
not dating. We’re just in close enough prox- and where I would think that possible with
imity at the end of enough nights to make John. I can’t think of one. Is this the essen-
it convenient. I don’t know what to think tial difference between men and women?
about it. I vacillate wildly between thinking Yes. I think it is.
I’m totally cool enough to handle it and
worrying that, regretfully, nauseatingly, I’m Beatrice and I went to Spain last spring.
not. It makes it hard to get ready to go out. My dad told us to eat as much bread as
I tell myself I’m not going to dress up if it’s possible. He said the whole of Europe has a
not a date; I flirt with the idea of dressing bakery in quick walking distance from wher-
aggressively down. I’ll wear sweats. Put my ever you are with the best bread that you’ve
hair in a ponytail. No make-up. I tell myself ever eaten in your life. Her mum told us to
I don’t actually care, but I always get stuck enjoy the tapas. She said that in Spain bar
on the good underwear. I wish I were brave food was neither bad for you nor deep fried.
enough to go for comfort, the fruit of the She said Spain makes drinking and eating a
looms with the distended elastic, or break part of a well-lived life rather than a momen-
out the period pants, but it wouldn’t be him tary, guilt-inducing retreat from a busy one.
that would be embarrassed, it would be
me. So I end up getting dressed up anyway. In Spain, walking the streets at night,
If only for myself. I wonder about that. I there are no mini-marts or vendors selling
wonder about the implications of doing it street meat. Well, there probably are,
only for myself. But it isn’t considered mas- somewhere, but in the old part of town,
turbation if any of his parts are involved, I you wander through cobblestoned streets
looked it up. and, beneath the high stone walls of the ca-
thedral, a man plays an accordion. The slow,
Beatrice thinks Eric is nervous or shy mournful notes bloom around you until you
about officially asking me out. She thinks are surrounded by echoes that you can feel
that he’s trying to find a way to date me. on your skin, that move through your chest
She thinks he’s reluctant and self-conscious and straddle your heart. The sweet, deep-
and that’s why he avoids me at the begin- ness of the night, the soft glow of the lamps
ning of the night, but that he can’t help and the man’s white shirt belong to no time
himself and is inevitably, ineluctably drawn that holds itself separate from the centuries
to me in the end. She says you can track it. that have swept through this place. You’re
The wide circle he sets and then the slow not just yourself; you’re here, and you can
spiralling in. I think Eric still imagines that he feel time’s immoderate bulk pulling on you
will be somehow able to win over Beatrice. like a tide.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

In Spain, all the guidebooks recommend At first, she just kind of sways to the
the flamenco shows. We book one. It’s a bit music. She just kind of plays with it and as
expensive. It’s in a bar with a stage on one she moves her hands it’s like she’s twining
side. Everyone sits at tables in chairs and the notes in between her fingers and teasing
waitresses bustle around delivering drinks the music out from the band. It’s as if the
before it starts. On stage, there’s a guitarist music is responding to her rather than the
playing a six stringed Spanish guitar and a other way around and she tosses her head
man that sits on a white, plastic, industrial and claps her hands and the drum rever-
sized tub that he pounds on with his hands, berates and the singer responds. Then, all
reaching down between his knees. There is of a sudden, the blurring staccato of her
a singer and a couple of dancers. The main stomping feet starts to fill all the spaces.
dancer is a woman. She has on an elabo- She lifts her skirt and looks down at her
rate skirt and a plain black top with fringed shoes and it looks like she’s riding her feet,
sleeves. She isn’t young. She’s maybe in her riding the storm of her dancing feet, and
forties, maybe older. She isn’t particularly all the musicians start to sweat. They stop
beautiful. She has her dark hair gathered looking at each other. They stop trying to
up on top of her head in a large bun. She’s look around; they stop blinking into the
a little bit thick set for a dancer. Not a wil- lights and casually smiling. Suddenly they
lowy ballerina, or some other-worldly waif, all shift to get a better seat, a tighter grip
but a matron: a woman who has delivered and they quit remembering that they’re
children and scrubbed dishes and made it being watched. They start to bear down on
a regular habit to deal with the ordinary, their instruments with a kind of ferocious
tedious affairs of a less than privileged life. concentration. As if they need to struggle
At the beginning, when the musicians start to keep up, as if the dancer is pushing them
playing, she stays off to one side and claps all out a little farther than they’ve ever
and urges the male dancer on. She smiles been before and they need to hold on, lean
and calls out every once and awhile. She in. The singer sings tremulously through
could be a back up singer but for her skirt several phrases and then seems to get
that swings heavily around her and gleams. caught on long, plaintive notes that won’t
agree to release her. Every note seems to
The show is well worth the price before swerve dangerously close to a wail and her
she really even does anything, but when it voice keeps breaking right on the edge of
is her turn, a palpable thrill of excitement disaster, of a sob, or a crack or a collapse,
runs through the room. Everyone in the only to continue. Suddenly it is too much
group, the musicians, the singer, the male for everyone. It’s hot and the musicians are
dancer, turn to her expectantly, as if def- frantic; the singer has totally lost control
erentially, and she does this kind of slow and the dancer is overwhelmed, agitated,
walk to centre stage. While she walks, she feverish. She shakes her head like she can’t
dips her chin down and looks around the take anymore, like she has to stop. She
room at the crowd. She spreads her arms smacks her legs and chest as if the music is
out wide as if she’s encouraging everyone’s going to break her and we will all be there
expectations and desires, as if she’s gath- to witness it, her total and complete sub-
ering them in, welcoming them because all jugation, her painful, her violent eviscera-
of them, every single one, would not tax her, tion. But just at that last moment, just as
couldn’t. And she begins to dance.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

her desperation seems poised to overtake night and leave before he really even be-
her, she dredges down and finds something lieves I’m serious.
hard. She falls all the way to the bottom and
rather than breaking finds an indestructible Beatrice and John are dancing so I slip
sense of resolve, an answering steel that out. Walking home, I get myself a sausage
makes her bigger and stronger than every- and eat until it makes me wish I hadn’t. I
thing else. Suddenly her haughty self-pos- consider throwing the rest away but by the
session is back. It seems to rise up from her time I see a garbage can I’ve finished it. I
feet and engulf her. It moves up her body stay on the brightly lit streets as long as pos-
and over her face, and her feet beat the mu- sible as if the vapid glow of fluorescent light
sicians’ frenzy back into a steady cadence might counterbalance even the possibility
over which she exerts a swift and exacting of my defencelessness. A girl, walking alone,
control. With a look of furious determina- in the late night/not dark. My underwear
tion, she is in charge of it all again. She is keeps creeping up and I have to resist the
the centre. She is unbeaten. And with a urge to stop and spend time picking it out
glancing, mocking triumph, she gathers it of my bum.
all up inside her in a fanatical, final spin and
then throws it at her feet for the audience Beatrice and I join a flamenco class. The
to witness. Swinging into a concluding pose, first lesson is about clapping. In flamenco,
her hands raised, her breast heaving, her there are two distinct ways of clapping. The
skirt circles around her dizzyingly and then first, fuertas, makes a hard, brilliant sound.
slowly, heavily, slides back into place. To do it, you have to tense the palm of your
receiving hand and then smack the centre
The crowd jumps to their feet and cries of your palm with fingers equally tense in
out, and then, disoriented, bewildered, a short, hard clap. This makes the sound
starts to remember themselves. They clear ring out and it can be piercingly loud. The
their throats; they lean forward and laugh. other way, sordas, is softer. It requires that
They clap. It takes about a full minute for you cup your hands and bring them both
Beatrice or me to react. I only notice that together so that the outer parts of your
I’m standing when Beatrice sinks back down palms meet around a hollow in the middle
to her chair beside me. I look at her and she that sort of pops and creates a soft, warmer
sits back. “I think that changed my life,” she sound.
says.
Manuela, our teacher, spends several
Eric will, eventually, turn to me and say, classes walking up and down from student
“Hey.” I’ll laugh at the note of resignation in to student as we all clap in unison, inter-
his voice, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I’ll vening. She’ll stop someone’s hands and try
say, “Oh, are you still here?” Or, “Oh, there to rearrange them, try to make them stiffer
you are, I thought you didn’t make it.” Com- or rounder, tell the student to try and hit her
ments that he greets with unaffected baf- palms squarely. And each one tries, but too
flement. He’s depressed and I can’t help many hands seem to fly out of control as soon
but notice that he’s asking me to make him as they start. They careen off at wild angles
feel better. I think that’s the idea, that we’re and bang bones and smack odd, less fruitful
both supposed to be making each other feel planes of the hand and Manuela hesitates,
better. Instead, I say I’m going to call it a seems to stand there for a minute, won-
dering how in the world to explain clapping.

48